Last June I had a few free days, and I chose to spend them among the
imaginative class, the holders of the traditions of Ireland, country
people in thatched houses, workers in fields and bogs.
I was looking for legends of those shadow-heroes, Finn and his men, to
help me in writing their story; and I heard many tales and long poems
about fair-haired Finn, who 'had all the wisdom of a little child'; and
Conan of the sharp tongue, who was 'some way cross in himself,' and who
had a briar on his shield; and their adventures beyond sea, and their
hunting after deer that were 'as joyful as the leaves of a tree in
summer time.' But some of the people repeated verses by Raftery and
Callinan and Sweeny, and some told stories of the kingdom of the Sidhe.
I spent three happy afternoons in a workhouse in my own county, but not
in my own parish; and after we had spoken of the Fianna for a while, the
old men began to tell me these long, rambling stories I am about to
repeat.
We sat in a gravelled yard, where only the leaves of a few young
sycamores told that spring had come. Some of the old men sat on a bench
against the whitewashed wall of a shed, in their rough frieze clothes
and round grey caps, and others stood round, pressing closer and closer
as their interest in the story grew.
Some of the stories were new to me; some I had heard in other versions;
but all--even those like the 'Taming of the Shrew,' which have, one must
believe, been brought in from other countries--have taken an Irish
colouring. I began to listen, half interested and half impatient; for I
had never cared much for this particular kind of tale.
But as I listened, I was moved by the strange contrast between the
poverty of the tellers and the splendours of the tales. These men who
had failed in life, and were old and withered, or sickly, or crippled,
had not laid up dreams of good houses and fields and sheep and cattle;
for they had never possessed enough to think of the possession of more
as a possibility. It seemed as if their lives had been so poor and rigid
in circumstance that they did not fix their minds, as more prosperous
people might do, on thoughts of customary pleasure. The stories that
they love are of quite visionary things; of swans that turn into kings'
daughters, and of castles with crowns over the doors, and lovers'
flights on the backs of eagles, and music-loving water-witches, and
journeys to the other world, and sleeps that last for seven hundred
years.
I think it has always been to such poor people, with little of wealth or
comfort to keep their thoughts bound to the things about them, that
dreams and visions have been given. It is from a deep narrow well the
stars can be seen at noonday; it was one left on a bare rocky island who
saw the pearl gates and the golden streets that lead to the Tree of
Life.
One of the old men told me a story in Irish--another translating it as
he went on; for my ear was not practised enough to follow it
well:--'There was a farmer one time had one son only, and the son died,
and the father wouldn't go to the funeral, where he had had some dispute
with him.
'And, after a while, a neighbour died, and he went to his funeral. And a
while after that he was in the churchyard looking at the grave. And he
took up a skull that was lying there--one of four--and he said: "It's a
handsome man you may have been when you were young; and I'd like to know
something about you," he said. And the skull spoke, and it is what it
said: "I'll go spend to-morrow night with you, if you'll come and spend
another night with me." "I will do that," said the farmer.
'And on the way home he met with the priest, and he told him what had
happened. "I would never believe that a skull spoke," said the priest.
"Come to my house to-morrow night, and you'll hear him speak," said the
farmer.
'So the next night they were sitting together in the house, and they had
dinner set out on the table. And after a while they heard something
come to the door; and the skull came in, and it got up on the table, and
it ate all the dinner that was there; and after that it went out again.
"Why didn't you speak to it?" said the farmer to the priest. "Why didn't
you speak to it yourself?" said the priest. "What will it do to me at
all when I go to see it to-morrow night?" said the farmer; "but I must
hold to my promise when it came here first."
'So the next evening he set out for the churchyard, and he could see
nothing at all in it. And then he went down three steps that were beside
the church; and presently he was in a field, and it full of men fighting
one against the other with spades and reaping-hooks. "Is it looking for
a head you are?" they said; "it's gone into that field beyond."
'So he went on into the other field; and it was full of men and women,
all of them fighting one against the other. "Are you looking for a
head?" they said; "it's after going into that field beyond."
'So he went into the third field; and there he saw a big house, and he
went into it. And he saw a fire on the hearth, and a lady in the room,
and a serving-girl. And the lady was walking up and down the room; and
whenever she would go near to the fire to warm herself, the serving-girl
would put her away from it.
'Then they said: "If it's for a head you're looking, it's within in the
room."
'So he went into the room; and the head was there before him, and it
asked him would he have some dinner; and he said he would, and it
brought him into a kitchen; and there were three women in it, and the
head bade one of them to give the man his dinner; and what she put
before him was a bit of brown bread and a jug of water, and he did not
think it worth his while to eat that; and then the head bade the second
woman to give him his dinner, and she gave him a worse dinner again; and
then the third woman was told to give it to him, and she spread a nice
table, and put the best of everything on it, and he ate and drank; and
then he asked the head what was the meaning of all he saw.
'And the head said: "The men you saw in the first field used to be
fighting when they were in life, because they had land near to one
another, and they used to be for moving the merings, and now they have
to be fighting with one another for ever and always. And the men and the
women you saw, they were married people that used to be fighting with
one another, and they must go on fighting for ever now. And the lady you
saw in the house, when she was in life, she usedn't to let the
serving-girl near to the fire when she would come in wet and cold, and
would want to warm herself; and now the serving-girl is doing the same
to her, and that will go on to the Day of Judgment.
'"And as to the three women in the kitchen," he said, "those were my own
three wives. And when I asked the first wife for my dinner, she gave me
nothing but brown bread and a jug of water. And when I asked the second
wife for my dinner, she gave me a worse dinner again. But the third wife
when I asked her, set out a grand table, and a white cloth on it, and
gave me the best of food and drink.
'"And as for yourself," he said, "the reason you were brought here is,
that you wouldn't go to your son's funeral, because you had a falling
out one day when you were ploughing the field together, but you went to
a stranger's funeral. And go back now," he said, "to where your son was
buried, and make your repentance there, and maybe you'll get forgiveness
at the last. And how long is it since you left your home?" he said. "I
left it on the afternoon of yesterday," said the farmer. "It is seven
hundred years you are here," said the head. Isn't that a long time he
was in it, and he thinking it was only a few hours?
'So he went back to where his own son was buried; and he knelt down
there, and made his repentance, and asked forgiveness and his son's
forgiveness. And at last a hand came up out of the grave and took his
hand; and then he and the son went up to heaven together.'
* * * * *
Another old man says: 'There was a Protestant and a Catholic one time;
and the Protestant said if the Catholic would come to his church one
Sunday, he'd go to his the next.
'So the Catholic went first to the Protestant church for one day, and
it seemed to him as if it was a week he was in it.
'And the next Sunday the Protestant went into the Catholic church; and
there he stopped for a year and a day, and he thought it was only a few
hours he was in it.
'And at the end of that time he died, and he went up before our Lord.
And he had done some things that were not good in his life, and our Lord
said: "I will give you as many years of heaven as there are penfuls of
water in the sea, and hell at the end of that." "That is not enough of
heaven," said the man. Then our Lord said: "I will give you as many
years of heaven as there are grains in the sand, and hell after that."
"That is not enough of heaven," said the man. Then our Lord said: "I
will give you as many years of heaven as there are blades of grass on
the earth, and hell after that." "That is not enough of heaven," said
the man. "And I will ask you for this," he said; "give me a year of hell
for all these things you have spoken of: the drops in the sea, and the
blades of grass, and the grains of the sand, and give me heaven in the
end."
'And when the Lord heard that, He said, "I will give you heaven first
and last."
'That is how the Catholic had him saved.'
* * * * *
Another old man says: 'There was a king one time that had a daughter;
and she went out one day in the garden, and there she saw a bird--a
jackdaw it was--and she thought it very nice, and she followed it on.
And at last it spoke to her, and it said: "Will you give me your promise
to marry me at the end of a year and a day?" "I will not," she said; and
she went into the house again.
'After that the king's younger daughter went out, and she saw the bird
and followed it, and it asked her the same thing. And she gave her
promise to marry it at the end of a year and a day.
'And at the end of that time a great coach and horses came up to the
door of the king's house; and the jackdaw came in, and he took the edge
of the young girl's dress in his beak to draw her out of the house. And
she went away in the carriage with him, and they came to a sort of a
castle, and went into it. And there was no one in it; but no sooner did
they come in, than there was a table set out before them, with every
sort of food and drink, and beautiful gold cups and everything grand.
And when they had eaten enough, the bird said, "Don't be frightened at
anything you may see; and whatever happens, don't say one word; for if
you do, you will lose me for ever."
'And then some sort of people came in, and began hitting at the bird and
attacking him, and he keeping out of their way. And at last they got to
him, and began to knock feathers from him. And when the young girl saw
that, she cried out, "Oh, they are destroying you, my poor jackdaw!"
"Oh!" he said, "why did you say that? If you had not spoken," he said:
"I would be all right; but now I must leave you for ever. And here is a
ring I will leave with you," he said: "and whatever desire you have, you
will get it when you rub the ring."
'He went away then, and there was no one left in the house but the young
girl; and all was darkness around her. And she went up the stairs; and
at last she saw a little sign of light through a hole in the roof; and
she rubbed the ring, and she said: "I wish that hole to be made bigger."
And so it was on the moment, and more light came in.
'And then she wished she could be up on the roof, and so she was. And
from the roof she could see the sea, and there was a ship on it in the
distance; and she said: "I wish I could be on the deck of that vessel."
And there she was on the deck, and the sailors not knowing where did she
come from. And she said to the captain: "Can you give me something to
eat?" And he said: "That is what I cannot do, for the harness casks are
empty, we are so long at sea; and we have not as much meat in them as
would go on the point of a knife." So she rubbed the ring then; and
there was a table before them, set out with every sort of food and
drink, and they all had enough.
'And then they came to a strange country; and she said to the captain to
leave her on land. And she went up to a big house, where some great man
lived, and she asked for employment as a sewing-maid. And they said:
"You may sew one of those dresses that is for the master's daughter
that is going to be married to-morrow. And mind you do it well," they
said.
'So she brought away the dress to her room, and she wished it to be the
best dress, and the best-sewed, that would be seen on the morrow. And
when the morrow came, so it was.
'Then she went out into the garden, where there were beautiful flowers
and trees; and she fastened a thread of silk from one tree to another,
to make a swing-swong, and she began swinging on it. And the young lady
that was going to be married, came down the steps into the garden, and
she wanted to go on the swing-swong. And the other said she had best not
go on it where she was not used to it, and she might get a fall. But she
said she would; and the other warned her secondly not to go on it. But
up she got, and the thread broke, and she fell and was killed on the
spot.
'Then all the people came out; and when they saw her dead, they had a
court-martial on the strange girl, and they were going to put her to
death; but she told them how it all happened. And when the jury heard
it, they said there was no blame on her, where she had given two
warnings.
'That's a closure now.'
'And what happened her after that?'
'I don't know what happened her; they let her off that time anyhow.'
'And what became of the bird?'
'How would I know? Didn't I say that's the closure?'
* * * * *