for us when the time came, and sure enough, when we'd been out for a
little look at the country before starting, and were coming back,
there sat this same Guleesh na Guss Dhu, between the rath and the
gable of his father's house, that was near by, staring up at the moon,
like he'd never seen one before. There was no need to try to catch him
or to bring him with us, or the likes of that. All we had to do was to
let him hear us as we passed and let him see the door of the rath
open, and in he came of himself to see what it was all about. We
hadn't let him see ourselves yet, but he heard us all calling: 'My
horse and bridle and saddle! My horse and bridle and saddle!' and what
did he do but call out after us: 'My horse and bridle and saddle!'
"There was the beam of a plough lying near, and I changed it into a
horse for him, and pleased he was when he saw it standing forninst
him, with its bridle of gold and saddle of silver and all. The minute
he saw it he jumped on it, and then we let him see all ourselves and
our horses, and he nearly fell off again, with the sight of the crowd
of us.
"Then I said to him: 'Are you coming with us to-night, Guleesh?'
"'I am,' he said.
"And with that we set off, and we overtook the wind that was before
us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us. And we never
stopped till we came to the sea. Then every one of us said: 'Hie over
cap! Hie over cap!' and Guleesh said it after us, and the next second
we was all up in the air, and we never stopped till we was in Rome.
And why the whole tribe wanted to go by the way of Rome, never a know
I know, for it's not on the way from Ireland to the palace of the King
of France at all.
"Then I spoke up to Guleesh and says I: 'Do you know why we brought
you here?' says I. 'The daughter of the King of France is to be
married this night, and we mean to carry her off, and we need you so
that she can sit behind you on the horse, for you are flesh and blood
and she'll have something to hold to. Will you do that for us now?'
"'I'll do whatever you say,' says Guleesh; 'and where are we now, if
you please?'
"'We're in Rome,' says I.
"'Oh, in Rome is it?' says Guleesh. 'Sure, then, I'm glad of that. The
priest of our parish lost his place a little while ago, only because
they said he drank too much, as if there'ld be any harm in that, and
now is the fine time to go to the Pope and get a bull to put him back
in his place.'
"'Ah, we've no time for that, Guleesh,' says I, 'and we must be
gettin' to the palace of the King of France before we lose any more.'
"'Not a foot will I go,' says Guleesh, 'till I get the bull for the
priest. You can go on and leave me here if you like, and you can stop
for me when you come back.'
"Well, we had more talk about it, and then one of the others says:
'Sure, Naggeneen, we can't go without him and we can't get him to come
with us, so we'll have to try to get the Pope's bull for him. Go with
him to the Pope and help him all you can, and we'll wait for you.'
"'Come with me, then,' says I, and I took him by the hand, and before
he knew how I did it, I had him in the room where the Pope was. The
Pope was sitting by himself, reading a book, and he had a tumbler of
hot whiskey, with a little bit of sugar, beside him on the table, all
as comfortable as you please. 'Now, Guleesh,' says I, 'ask him for the
bull, and tell him that if he won't give it to you, you'll set the
house on fire. Then leave the rest to me.'
"So Guleesh walked up to him as bold as you please, and when the Pope
saw him he was near scared to death, because he thought that nobody
could get into the room where he was. Then Guleesh says to him: 'Don't
be afraid, Your Honor; all I want of you is your bull to put our
parish priest back in his place, that lost it some time ago, because
somebody told lies about him and said that he drank too much. And when
I have your bull I'll be leavin' you in peace again.'
"'Go on out o' this,' says the Pope; 'where are all my servants?' and
he began calling for them, but Guleesh put his back against the door,
so that nobody could open it on the other side, and then he began
telling the Pope all about the priest, and the Pope had nothing to do
but listen.
"And when he was done the Pope refused up and down to give him any
pardon for the priest. 'Then,' says Guleesh, 'unless you give it to
me at once I'll burn your house.' And with that I began blowing fire
out of my mouth all around the room.
"'Oh, stop the fire,' cries the Pope, 'and I'll give you the pardon or
anything else you ask!'
"So then I stopped the fire, and the Pope sat down and wrote the
pardon for the priest, giving him back his old place, and gave it to
Guleesh. That second I caught him by the hand and we were off again
through the keyhole to where the other fairies were. In another minute
we were all on our horses and away again. We overtook the wind that
was before us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us
till we were at the palace of the King of France. And there my fine
boy Guleesh saw sights that he never saw the like of before.
"The place was almost as fine as this of yours here. There were long
tables all about it, with everything on them that a body would be
wanting to eat and drink, and as fast as any of it was eaten or drunk,
there was more put in its place. Then there were hundreds of noblemen
and ladies, all in clothes of silk and velvet and gold and silver, and
all covered with jewels, till they shone in the light of the gold
chandeliers, almost like they'd been chandeliers themselves. And they
were talking and laughing and singing and playing, and some of them
were dancing--not so well as we dance, of course, when we've a mind,
but enough to make Guleesh think he was seeing the grandest sight that
ever was in the world entirely. And up at one end of the hall was an
altar and two bishops, ready to marry the Princess to the King's son
as soon as it would be the right time.
"'And which of them all is the Princess?' says Guleesh to me.
"'That one there near to ye,' says I, pointing her out."
Naggeneen stopped in his story and seemed to forget for a moment that
he was telling it. "Oh, but she was the beauty of the world!" he went
on, speaking so low that the fairies could scarcely hear him. "There
was the lily and the rose in her cheeks, and her arms like snow, and
her hair like soft gold. Not like the gold that you dig out of the
ground for your palace, but gold with life in it. And her eyes were
like two big violets with the dew on them. And there stood the others
all around her, all merry and happy, and she--
"'What is she crying for?' says Guleesh to me. 'Sure it's not right
that eyes like those would have tears in them.'
"'True for you, it's not, Guleesh,' said I, 'and it's because there's
no love in her heart for the man that she's to be married to. It's
her father that's compelling her, for he has some arrangement of the
sort with the other King, that's the father of the young man. And it's
for that,' I said, 'that we're going to carry her off, and it's the
best thing we could be doing for her as well as ourselves.'
"Just that minute the young Prince came and offered her his hand, and
away they went in the dance, and the tears in her eyes all the time.
And as soon as the dance was over, the King, her father, and the
Queen, her mother, came and said that it was time they were married,
and the two bishops waiting there all the time. So they led the Prince
and the Princess up toward the altar, and she with the rose all gone
out of her cheeks and only the lily left. But when they were not more
than four yards from the altar I put out my foot before the Princess,
and she fell, and then, with a word of a charm, I made her invisible
to all but Guleesh and ourselves. Then I made a sign to Guleesh, and
he took up the Princess and ran with her out of the hall, and all the
rest of us after them. 'My horse and bridle and saddle!' says every
one of us, and the same says Guleesh. He lifted the Princess up behind
him on his horse and we were away again. We overtook the wind that was
before us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us till
we came to the sea. 'Hie over cap!' cried every one of us, and 'Hie
over cap!' cried Guleesh, and in a moment we were in Ireland again.
"Another minute and we were close to our own rath, and it was then
that all the work of the night was lost. For then what did the fool
Guleesh do but take the Princess in his arms and leap down off his
horse, and he cried: 'I call you to myself, in the name of--' Oh, now,
you little cowards, you've no call to shrink away like that and to try
to be hiding in the dark corners! You know I can't say the name that
he said. But he said it, and then the enchantment was all gone, and he
saw that the horse he'd been riding was nothing but the beam of a
plough and that the horse that each of the others had was only an old
broom, or maybe a rag weed, or the like of that.
"And you know that there was no getting the Princess away from him
after the words that he said. But I came close to her and struck her
on the mouth. 'Now, Guleesh,' said I, 'you may keep her if you will,
but she'll be dumb forever.' And with that we all disappeared from
them.
"But you may be sure I watched them. They stood there together and
Guleesh talked to her and tried to make her talk back, but it was of
no use at all, and he soon found that she was dumb completely. Then
he stood thinking what would he do with her, and at last he took her
by the hand and started toward the priest's house. It was getting near
day now, and the priest was up by the time they came to the door, and
he opened it himself. And when he saw Guleesh and the girl, sure he
thought they were come to be married, and he said: 'Ah, Guleesh, isn't
it the nice boy ye are, that ye can't wait till a decent hour to be
married, but ye must be comin' to me this early? And don't ye know I
can't marry ye lawfully anyway, and I put out of my place?'
"Then says Guleesh: 'Sure, father, you can marry me or anybody else
you like, for you have your place back again, and here's the Pope's
bull for that same. But it's not that I come for, but to ask you to
give shelter to this young lady, the daughter of the King of France.'
[Illustration: "HERE'S THE POPE'S BULL FOR THAT SAME."]
"And with that he takes the Pope's bull out of his pocket and gives it
to the priest, and the priest looked at the writing and the seal and
saw that there was no doubt but it was right. And so he made Guleesh
and the Princess come in and sit down, while Guleesh told him the
whole story, and not a word of it would he have believed only there
was the Pope's bull that he couldn't deny, and so at long last he had
to believe all that Guleesh told him. And the end of it was that the
Princess stayed at the priest's house, for they didn't know how to
send her back to her father's palace, and they had no money, and she
couldn't speak to help them. And the priest gave out that she was the
daughter of his brother, that lived in another county, and that she
was making him a visit. And Guleesh went home and said how he'd been
sleeping beside the rath all night."
Naggeneen paused in his story, while all the fairies drew quietly
closer to him. "Do you see," he said, "how I was tricked by a fool of
a mortal? Oh, she was the beauty of the world, and he took her from me
with a word, as easily as you'ld steal the butter out of a churn. And
that was not all.
"I said to myself that I was not done with my revenge on them yet. She
could not speak and it was a sore punishment on the both of them. Yet
she stayed on at the priest's house. The priest wrote letters to her
father, as I heard, and gave them to merchants who were travelling,
but none of them ever reached him. And Guleesh got mighty serious
about his soul all at once, so that he had to be at the priest's house
every day, and every day he saw the Princess. She could never talk to
him, but she learned to make signs that he could understand. And so it
went on for a year.
"And then, when it was November Eve again, and we had been out of
the rath and were all coming into it again in a great crowd, there sat
Guleesh, the same as before. He couldn't see us, but he must have
heard us, for you could see that he was listening with all his ears.
And I thought now was the fine time to be having the laugh on him. By
that time everybody was shouting: 'My horse and bridle and saddle! My
horse and bridle and saddle!' and Guleesh shouted as before: 'My horse
and bridle and saddle! My horse and bridle and saddle!'
"'Now is my chance to be even with him,' thought I, and I said: 'Ah,
Guleesh, my boy, is that yourself that's to the fore again? You'll get
no horse to-night and you'll play no more tricks on us. How are you
getting on with your Princess? Does she talk to you much? Or do you
just like to sit and look at her?'
"And when I said that, he looked so pale and so sad that I almost
screamed with joy, and I couldn't keep myself from whispering to the
man that was next to me: 'And isn't he the stupid omadhaun, not to
know that there's an herb growing close to his own door that would
give her back her speech if he'd only boil it and give it to her?'
"'It's the stupid omadhaun he is,' said the other man.
"Oh, and it was me that was the omadhaun, to be saying it at all. Oh,
why couldn't I hold my jaw? But it was like some spell was on me, and
I had to say it. I had to say it! I couldn't have kept it back if I'd
tried. And he heard every word!
"It's little more there is to tell. The next morning, as soon as there
was light, there was Guleesh searching for any herb that was strange
to him around the door. And it was not long till he found it. Then he
boiled it, and he drank some of it himself, to see whether it might be
poison, and it put him into a deep sleep. And when he woke he went to
the priest's house and told the whole story and gave the Princess some
of the drink, and then she went to sleep and did not wake till the
next day. And when she woke she had her speech back.
"Ah, well, by this time they was both in love with each other, and all
that I did for myself or against them had only helped them. But it was
not long before the Princess was saying that she must be off to her
father, and nothing that the priest and Guleesh could do would make
her stay. So the priest took the jewels that she had on her when
Guleesh first brought her, and he sold them and gave her the money,
and she took it and paid her way back to France.
"And after that great grief and melancholy came over Guleesh, and
nothing would do him but he must start off for France to find the
Princess again. Start off he did, and that was the last that I ever
saw of him, only I heard that he found the Princess at her father's
court and that at long last they were married."
There was nothing strange in the last that Naggeneen had told--nothing
more strange, I mean, than that a peasant boy should marry the
daughter of the King of France--but his voice, before he had ended,
was so low and so full of grief that all the other fairies kept very
still to listen, and when he had told his story none of them spoke for
a little while. At last the King said: "How long was all this ago,
Naggeneen?"
"Many years," Naggeneen answered; "I couldn't be counting how many."
"Then what is it to you now?" said the King. "Sure they're both dead
long ago, and here are you as sound as ever."
"Yes," Naggeneen cried, "as sound as ever and as sound as I'll ever
be. They're not dead. They had souls. They're alive now, and when what
they call 'the Last Day' comes, they'll live still, forever. And then
I shall go out, like a shadow when the light falls on it. There's no
more of me that can last than a shadow. And you will go out that way,
too, and all of us. It was not her that I wanted so much. It was the
soul that I thought I'ld get, and her married to me. That was it. And
a stupid mortal had tricked me twice. It was then I left the rath. It
was then I could bear to look at nobody, man or fairy. Then I put on
the red jacket and went by myself. After a time I was a lepracaun, and
a cluricaun, and nothing at all, as it suited me, and sometimes I
lived in a rath with others, as I have in yours, and other times I
went by myself. But I never forgot how I was tricked by a mortal, and
I've never forgot how I missed getting a soul when I was near to it.
"You've never liked me; you've always thought me sour and harsh and
cruel. Do you see why now? Since that time I've always hated all men,
because of the one that tricked me; and I've always hated all women,
because of the one I lost; and I've always hated all fairies, because
they are all as weak and helpless and pitiful as myself. I hate myself
and I hate all of you, because there's no good for any of us in all
the world forever."
"Naggeneen," said the King, "we've never been too fond of you, it's
true, but maybe we'ld have liked you better if you'd told us this
before. But you're cleverer than all of us. Tell us what we'll do now,
so that these mortals won't be getting the better of us all out."
"What'll you do?" Naggeneen answered; "there's nothing you can do.
They'll outwit you, whatever you do."
"But there must be some way. Tell us what to do, Naggeneen," the King
pleaded.
"I'll tell you what to do, then," said Naggeneen; "send out your
people and let them learn the ways of men. Let them learn to make the
iron coaches that go up in the air; let them learn to make the coaches
that go on the ground, with the iron ropes; let them learn to talk
miles away through iron strings; let them learn to make the bright
lights that you see; let them learn to open the rock so that it will
not close again; let them learn to cross running water in boats full
of iron; let them learn to handle iron and do what they like with it,
as if it were only gold, and then, maybe, they'll be able to do all
the things that men do."
The fairies were simply cowering away from the King and Naggeneen and
shivering and squealing with fright at the talk of handling iron and
crossing running water. "Ah, Naggeneen," said the King, "you know we
can't do all that. Tell us what we'll do at all."
"There's nothing that you can do," said Naggeneen. "There's only one
thing I know you can try, and I think that'll do no good either."
"But what is it?" said the King. "We'll try it, anyway."
"It's not the time to try it yet," Naggeneen answered. "When the time
comes I'll tell you."
"Then, Naggeneen," said the King, "give us a tune out of the fiddle."
And Naggeneen took the fiddle and played. But there was no merriment
in it now. It was only the breath of sorrow and loss and
disappointment that breathed from the shivering strings. The fairies
did not dance; they only stood and listened, pale and still. In a few
moments the King gave the sign for Naggeneen to stop, and in a minute
more the lights were out and the whole palace was as quiet as the
hill, before any palace was there.
[Illustration: ]
V
THE TIME FOR NAGGENEEN'S PLAN
Little happened that needs to be told in the next few months, either
to the fairies or to the human people. John O'Brien and Peter Sullivan
were not long in finding work to do, and they were paid for it, and
the two families got on better than they had in Ireland. The O'Briens
got on better than the Sullivans. John was a better workman than
Peter. Peter could do the work that was set before him in the way that
he was told. But John could do better than that. He could see for
himself how the work ought to be done, and he saw that if he did it
well he might get better work to do. In Ireland, work as he would, he
could no more than live, and so he had come to care little what he did
or how he did it. But it was different here. The men who employed him
saw that he was not a common workman, and soon they gave him better
than the common work and more than the common pay.
But Peter was a common workman. Then, too, John's mother knew how to
care for the house better than Ellen did, and because of that, too,
the O'Briens did better. Every day, just as she used to do in Ireland,
Mrs. O'Brien left something to eat and drink outside the house for the
Good People. She said that she did not know whether there were any
Good People here, but if there were they must be well treated. And
when she found that what she left for them was taken, she said that
she knew that there were Good People here. Of course she did not know
that they were the same ones who had lived near them in Ireland. She
put the milk and the water and the bread, or whatever she had for
them, on the fire-escape, at the back of the rooms where they lived.
And first she always laid down a little piece of carpet to put the
dishes on, so that the fairies could come and get the food without
touching the iron, for she knew that they could never do that. There
was only one thing that did not go well with the O'Briens. Kitty's
health did not come back to her, as they had hoped that it would. She
did not need to do any work now, though she would do some, and the
rest was good for her, but she was still pale and still weak.
Though the Sullivans did not find their fortunes so much improved in
the new country as the O'Briens did, yet they felt that they had
gained, too, and in one way especially. For the King of the fairies
had forbidden Naggeneen to trouble them any more. Naggeneen asked what
for at all he had come over all the sea, if he was not to trouble the
Sullivans. The King was always ready enough to have Naggeneen's help,
when he thought that his cleverness would be of use; but there were
times when he would be obeyed, and this was one of them, so Naggeneen
had to do as he was told.
The King tried all the things that Naggeneen had told him to do, to
make his people learn all the wonderful magic that the human people
knew so well. Naggeneen had told him at first that it would all be of
no use, and so the King found it. The fairies were sent out to watch
the men, to see all that they did, and to learn how to do it. It was
all in vain.
The King often asked Naggeneen what was the one other way that he had
said they might try. Naggeneen would never tell. When the time came to
try it, he said, he would tell what it was, but it would be of no more
use than the rest that they had done. Naggeneen laughed at all the
others when they came home baffled and out of sorts. "You'll never do
the things that men do," he said, "any more than they'll ever do the
things that you do. And their wonders are more and better than yours."
After a time they ceased to try to learn any more. They began to live
much as they had lived in Ireland. They had found a green place where
they could dance, near the palace, but it was winter now, and the snow
was over everything much of the time. They went to the O'Briens every
day for the food that was left outside the window for them, and, for
the most part, they spent the rest of the time in the palace. Often
Naggeneen played the fiddle or the pipes for them. Then they forgot
that it was his fault that they had ever come here, but when he
stopped playing they remembered it and hated him again. And Naggeneen
laughed at them. He had a strange laugh, without a bit of merriment or
good-humor in it. There was something sad in his laugh and something
sour, but nothing that it was pleasant to hear.
Then the spring began to come. The grass was looking a bit green and
the air was warmer. They could dance on the grass now, whenever they
liked. They had given up trying to learn the ways of men, and they
were beginning to feel as if they had always lived here. Then
Naggeneen came one evening and stood before the King and said: "It is
the time now to try my plan, if you want to try it, but it's no
good."
"What's the plan, then, at all?" the King asked.
"You know well," said Naggeneen, "that your people can find out
nothing by going out and watching what men do. Now, what you want is
to get a human child here, or maybe two of them, and keep them and let
them grow up with you here, and then send them out to learn everything
that men do, and come back and teach it to your people. Then you'll
learn all these things that men do, and you can do the like."
"Ah, Naggeneen," said the King, "it's yourself was always the clever
boy. We'll do that same."
"You will so," Naggeneen replied, "and no good will it ever do you.
I've told you before and I tell you again, you'll never do the things
that men do. But it's crazy you are to try all ways, and I have to be
telling you the ways to try. Go on and do it, if it divarts you."
"And where'll we get the human child at all?" the Queen asked.
"Sure then," said Naggeneen, "and haven't you heard the news? Why,
there's a baby at the Sullivans' since this morning, and one at the
O'Briens' since this afternoon. The one at the Sullivans' is a boy
and the one at the O'Briens' is a girl. Go and get them and leave two
of your own people in their places. You know how to do that; it's
nothing new to you."