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[Illustration: "She beckoned the children to her"]
THE GOLDEN SPEARS
And Other Fairy Tales
BY
EDMUND LEAMY
ILLUSTRATIONS BY CORINNE TURNER
New York
Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.
Copyright, 1911
By DESMOND FITZGERALD, INC.
_All Rights Reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE vii
INTRODUCTORY NOTE X
THE GOLDEN SPEARS 1
THE HOUSE IN THE LAKE 23
THE ENCHANTED CAVE 49
THE HUNTSMAN'S SON 76
THE FAIRY TREE OF DOOROS 101
THE LITTLE WHITE CAT 123
PRINCESS FINOLA AND THE DWARF 149
NOTES 170
ILLUSTRATIONS
"She beckoned the children to her" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"'I have mourned you as dead, my darling,' said he" 39
"The queen wished to know if he would join them" 58
"Fergus knew it was the Pooka, the wild horse of the mountains" 81
"He was very sad, and tired" 106
"At the sight of him the prince remembered everything" 137
"Standing before him was the little princess" 169
PREFACE
It comes to me as a very welcome piece of news, and yet a piece of news
which I have been long expecting, that a special American edition of
Edmund Leamy's Irish fairy tales is about to be published. This, then,
will be the third issue of the little book. I venture to predict that it
will not be the last; and I fancy the American publisher who has had the
judgment to take the matter up will soon be rewarded for his enterprise.
For I believe the book to be a little classic in its way, and that it
will go on making for itself a place in the libraries of those who
understand children, and will hold that place permanently.
This is the verdict of competent literary judges. I am spared the
necessity of attempting a discussion of the grounds on which so strong
an opinion of Leamy's fairy tales is based by the fact that this is
already done in Mr. T. P. Gill's Introductory Note. Mr. Gill, though he
was, like myself, one of Leamy's intimate friends, is a conscientious
critic, and to his analysis not merely of the "Tales," but of that
attractive personality which Leamy infused into all he said or wrote
I can safely refer the reader. I think no one of taste and judgment who
reads these Tales will fail to agree with the view which is expressed in
that Note and which I here, with some confidence, venture to reiterate.
My chief hope with regard to this American edition is that when it has
made its mark with the general public, as it is sure to do, it will be
taken note of by those who are specially concerned with education.
Leamy, while a public man, a patriot steeped in the lore of Ireland's
past and ever weaving generous visions for her future, was before all
things else a child-lover. That was his own, his peculiar endowment.
He had an exquisite gift with children and seemed always able to speak
directly with the higher parts of their nature. It is this, I think,
which is evident in every page of these Tales, and which gives the book
its unique character. One to whose judgment on an educational matter
I attach the greatest value writes to me these words: "For refining
influence, for power to stimulate the sense of beauty, the tenderness,
the sentiment of nobleness of the child-soul, I can imagine no volume
more worthy of a place on the book-shelf of the people's schools."
Having myself often witnessed this influence at work, I can emphatically
indorse this opinion. I say I hope American educators may agree with it,
for if they do our educators here at home will follow so distinguished
a lead.
Of Edmund Leamy, in his personal aspect, I have already said something
in my preface to the Dublin edition. I need only add here that this
true-hearted Irishman had many friends on the American continent, and
that to them this little flower of his genius will be a vivid and
abiding souvenir of one of the most lovable of men.
If this book have the success in America which it deserves--and I hope
that success may be extended to Canada and the Australias--I believe a
charming and ennobling boon will have been conferred upon the child-life
of these great communities; and it will be a source of gratification to
those who were the author's friends and colleagues to think that that
gift came from one by whose side we had the honor to serve in Ireland's
struggles.
J. E. REDMOND.
Aughavannagh, _June, 1911_.
THE GOLDEN SPEARS
Once upon a time there lived in a little house under a hill a little old
woman and her two children, whose names were Connla and Nora. Right in
front of the door of the little house lay a pleasant meadow, and beyond
the meadow rose up to the skies a mountain whose top was sharp-pointed
like a spear. For more than halfway up it was clad with heather, and
when the heather was in bloom it looked like a purple robe falling from
the shoulders of the mountain down to its feet. Above the heather it was
bare and gray, but when the sun was sinking in the sea, its last rays
rested on the bare mountain top and made it gleam like a spear of gold,
and so the children always called it the "Golden Spear."
In summer days they gamboled in the meadow, plucking the sweet wild
grasses--and often and often they clambered up the mountain side, knee
deep in the heather, searching for frechans and wild honey, and sometimes
they found a bird's nest--but they only peeped into it, they never
touched the eggs or allowed their breath to fall upon them, for next to
their little mother they loved the mountain, and next to the mountain
they loved the wild birds who made the spring and summer weather musical
with their songs.
Sometimes the soft white mist would steal through the glen, and creeping
up the mountain would cover it with a veil so dense that the children
could not see it, and then they would say to each other: "Our mountain
is gone away from us." But when the mist would lift and float off into
the skies, the children would clap their hands, and say: "Oh, there's
our mountain back again."
In the long nights of winter they babbled of the spring and summertime
to come, when the birds would once more sing for them, and never a day
passed that they didn't fling crumbs outside their door, and on the
borders of the wood that stretched away towards the glen.
When the spring days came they awoke with the first light of the
morning, and they knew the very minute when the lark would begin to
sing, and when the thrush and the blackbird would pour out their liquid
notes, and when the robin would make the soft, green, tender leaves
tremulous at his song.
It chanced one day that when they were resting in the noontide heat,
under the perfumed shade of a hawthorn in bloom, they saw on the edge
of the meadow, spread out before them, a speckled thrush cowering in
the grass.
"Oh, Connla! Connla! Look at the thrush--and, look, look up in the sky,
there is a hawk!" cried Nora.
Connla looked up, and he saw the hawk with quivering wings, and he
knew that in a second it would pounce down on the frightened thrush.
He jumped to his feet, fixed a stone in his sling, and before the whir
of the stone shooting through the air was silent, the stricken hawk
tumbled headlong in the grass.
The thrush, shaking its wings, rose joyously in the air, and perching
upon an elm-tree in sight of the children, he sang a song so sweet that
they left the hawthorn shade and walked along together until they stood
under the branches of the elm; and they listened and listened to the
thrush's song, and at last Nora said:
"Oh, Connla! did you ever hear a song so sweet as this?"
"No," said Connla, "and I do believe sweeter music was never heard
before."
"Ah," said the thrush, "that's because you never heard the nine little
pipers playing. And now, Connla and Nora, you saved my life to-day."
"It was Nora saved it," said Connla, "for she pointed you out to me,
and also pointed out the hawk which was about to pounce on you."
"It was Connla saved you," said Nora, "for he slew the hawk with his
sling."
"I owe my life to both of you," said the thrush. "You like my song, and
you say you have never heard anything so sweet; but wait till you hear
the nine little pipers playing."
"And when shall we hear them?" said the children.
"Well," said the thrush, "sit outside your door to-morrow evening, and
wait and watch until the shadows have crept up the heather, and then,
when the mountain top is gleaming like a golden spear, look at the line
where the shadow on the heather meets the sunshine, and you shall see
what you shall see."
And having said this, the thrush sang another song sweeter than the
first, and then saying "good-by," he flew away into the woods.
The children went home, and all night long they were dreaming of the
thrush and the nine little pipers; and when the birds sang in the
morning, they got up and went out into the meadow to watch the mountain.
The sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and no shadows lay on the
mountain, and all day long they watched and waited, and at last, when
the birds were singing their farewell song to the evening star, the
children saw the shadows marching from the glen, trooping up the
mountain side and dimming the purple of the heather.
And when the mountain top gleamed like a golden spear, they fixed their
eyes on the line between the shadow and the sunshine.
"Now," said Connla, "the time has come."
"Oh, look! look!" said Nora, and as she spoke, just above the line of
shadow a door opened out, and through its portals came a little piper
dressed in green and gold. He stepped down, followed by another and
another, until they were nine in all, and then the door slung back
again. Down through the heather marched the pipers in single file, and
all the time they played a music so sweet that the birds, who had gone
to sleep in their nests, came out upon the branches to listen to them,
and then they crossed the meadow, and they went on and on until they
disappeared in the leafy woods.
While they were passing the children were spellbound, and couldn't
speak, but when the music had died away in the woods, they said:
"The thrush is right, that is the sweetest music that was ever heard
in all the world."
And when the children went to bed that night the fairy music came to
them in their dreams. But when the morning broke, and they looked out
upon their mountain and could see no trace of the door above the
heather, they asked each other whether they had really seen the little
pipers, or only dreamt of them.
That day they went out into the woods, and they sat beside a stream that
pattered along beneath the trees, and through the leaves tossing in the
breeze the sun flashed down upon the streamlet, and shadow and sunshine
danced upon it. As the children watched the water sparkling where the
sunlight fell, Nora said:
"Oh, Connla, did you ever see anything so bright and clear and glancing
as that?"
"No," said Connla, "I never did."
"That's because you never saw the crystal hall of the fairy of the
mountains," said a voice above the heads of the children.
And when they looked up, who should they see perched on a branch but the
thrush.
"And where is the crystal hall of the fairy?" said Connla.
"Oh, it is where it always was, and where it always will be," said the
thrush. "And you can see it if you like."
"We would like to see it," said the children.
"Well, then," said the thrush, "if you would, all you have to do is to
follow the nine little pipers when they come down through the heather,
and cross the meadow to-morrow evening."
And the thrush having said this, flew away.
Connla and Nora went home, and that night they fell asleep talking of
the thrush and the fairy and the crystal hall.
All the next day they counted the minutes, until they saw the shadows
thronging from the glen and scaling the mountain side. And, at last,
they saw the door springing open, and the nine little pipers marching
down.
They waited until the pipers had crossed the meadow and were about to
enter the wood. And then they followed them, the pipers marching on
before them and playing all the time. It was not long until they had
passed through the wood, and then, what should the children see rising
up before them but another mountain, smaller than their own, but, like
their own, clad more than half way up with purple heather, and whose
top was bare and sharp-pointed, and gleaming like a golden spear.
Up through the heather climbed the pipers, up through the heather the
children clambered after them, and the moment the pipers passed the
heather a door opened and they marched in, the children following, and
the door closed behind them.
Connla and Nora were so dazzled by the light that hit their eyes, when
they had crossed the threshold, that they had to shade them with their
hands; but, after a moment or two, they became able to bear the
splendor, and when they looked around they saw that they were in a noble
hall, whose crystal roof was supported by two rows of crystal pillars
rising from a crystal floor; and the walls were of crystal, and along
the walls were crystal couches, with coverings and cushions of sapphire
silk with silver tassels.
Over the crystal floor the little pipers marched; over the crystal floor
the children followed, and when a door at the end of the hall was opened
to let the pipers pass, a crowd of colors came rushing in, and floor,
and ceiling, and stately pillars, and glancing couches, and shining
walls, were stained with a thousand dazzling hues.
Out through the door the pipers marched; out through the door the
children followed, and when they crossed the threshold they were
treading on clouds of amber, of purple, and of gold.
"Oh, Connla," said Nora, "we have walked into the sunset!"
And around and about them everywhere were soft, fleecy clouds, and over
their heads was the glowing sky, and the stars were shining through it,
as a lady's eyes shine through a veil of gossamer. And the sky and stars
seemed so near that Connla thought he could almost touch them with his
hand.
When they had gone some distance, the pipers disappeared, and when
Connla and Nora came up to the spot where they had seen the last of
them, they found themselves at the head of a ladder, all the steps of
which were formed of purple and amber clouds that descended to what
appeared to be a vast and shining plain, streaked with purple and gold.
In the spaces between the streaks of gold and purple they saw soft,
milk-white stars. And the children thought that the great plain, so far
below them, also belonged to cloudland.
They could not see the little pipers, but up the steps was borne by
the cool, sweet air the fairy music; and lured on by it step by step
they traveled down the fleecy stairway. When they were little more
than halfway down there came mingled with the music a sound almost
as sweet--the sound of waters toying in the still air with pebbles
on a shelving beach, and with the sound came the odorous brine of the
ocean. And then the children knew that what they thought was a plain in
the realms of cloudland was the sleeping sea unstirred by wind or tide,
dreaming of the purple clouds and stars of the sunset sky above it.
When Connla and Nora reached the strand they saw the nine little pipers
marching out towards the sea, and they wondered where they were going
to. And they could hardly believe their eyes when they saw them stepping
out upon the level ocean as if they were walking upon the land; and away
the nine little pipers marched, treading the golden line cast upon the
waters by the setting sun. And as the music became fainter and fainter
as the pipers passed into the glowing distance, the children began to
wonder what was to become of themselves. Just at that very moment they
saw coming towards them from the sinking sun a little white horse, with
flowing mane and tail and golden hoofs. On the horse's back was a little
man dressed in shining green silk. When the horse galloped on to the
strand the little man doffed his hat, and said to the children:
"Would you like to follow the nine little pipers?" The children said,
"yes."
"Well, then," said the little man, "come up here behind me; you, Nora,
first, and Connla after."
Connla helped up Nora, and then climbed on to the little steed himself;
and as soon as they were properly seated the little man said "swish,"
and away went the steed, galloping over the sea without wetting hair or
hoof. But fast as he galloped the nine little pipers were always ahead
of him, although they seemed to be going only at a walking pace. When
at last he came up rather close to the hindmost of them the nine little
pipers disappeared, but the children heard the music playing beneath
the waters. The white steed pulled up suddenly, and wouldn't move a
step further.
"Now," said the little man to the children, "clasp me tight, Nora, and
do you, Connla, cling on to Nora, and both of you shut your eyes."
The children did as they were bidden, and the little man cried:
"Swish! swash!"
And the steed went down and down until at last his feet struck the
bottom.
"Now open your eyes," said the little man.
And when the children did so they saw beneath the horse's feet a golden
strand, and above their heads the sea like a transparent cloud between
them and the sky. And once more they heard the fairy music, and marching
on the strand before them were the nine little pipers.
"You must get off now," said the little man, "I can go no farther
with you."
The children scrambled down, and the little man cried "swish," and
himself and the steed shot up through the sea, and they saw him no more.
Then they set out after the nine little pipers, and it wasn't long until
they saw rising up from the golden strand and pushing their heads up
into the sea above, a mass of dark gray rocks. And as they were gazing
at them they saw the rocks opening, and the nine little pipers
disappearing through them.
The children hurried on, and when they came up close to the rocks they
saw sitting on a flat and polished stone a mermaid combing her golden
hair, and singing a strange sweet song that brought the tears to their
eyes, and by the mermaid's side was a little sleek brown otter.
When the mermaid saw them she flung her golden tresses back over her
snow-white shoulders, and she beckoned the children to her. Her large
eyes were full of sadness; but there was a look so tender upon her face
that the children moved towards her without any fear.
"Come to me, little one," she said to Nora, "come and kiss me," and in a
second her arms were around the child. The mermaid kissed her again and
again; as the tears rushed to her eyes, she said:
"Oh, Nora, mavourneen, your breath is as sweet as the wild rose that
blooms in the green fields of Erin, and happy are you, my children, who
have come so lately from the pleasant land. Oh, Connla! Connla! I get
the scent of the dew of the Irish grasses and of the purple heather from
your feet. And you both can soon return to Erin of the Streams, but I
shall not see it till three hundred years have passed away, for I am
Liban the Mermaid, daughter of a line of kings. But I may not keep you
here. The Fairy Queen is waiting for you in her snow-white palace and
her fragrant bowers. And now kiss me once more, Nora, and kiss me,
Connla. May luck and joy go with you, and all gentleness be upon you
both."[1]
Then the children said good-by to the mermaid, and the rocks opened for
them and they passed through, and soon they found themselves in a meadow
starred with flowers, and through the meadow sped a sunlit stream. They
followed the stream until it led them into a garden of roses, and beyond
the garden, standing on a gentle hill, was a palace white as snow.
Before the palace was a crowd of fairy maidens pelting each other with
rose-leaves. But when they saw the children they gave over their play,
and came trooping towards them.
"Our queen is waiting for you," they said; and then they led the
children to the palace door. The children entered, and after passing
through a long corridor they found themselves in a crystal hall so like
the one they had seen in the mountain of the golden spear that they
thought it was the same. But on all the crystal couches fairies, dressed
in silken robes of many colors, were sitting, and at the end of the
hall, on a crystal throne, was seated the fairy queen, looking lovelier
than the evening star. The queen descended from her throne to meet
the children, and taking them by the hands, she led them up the shining
steps. Then, sitting down, she made them sit beside her, Connla on her
right hand and Nora on her left.
Then she ordered the nine little pipers to come before her, and she said
to them:
"So far you have done your duty faithfully, and now play one more sweet
air and your task is done."
And the little pipers played, and from the couches at the first sound of
the music all the fairies rose, and forming partners, they danced over
the crystal floor as lightly as the young leaves dancing in the wind.
Listening to the fairy music, and watching the wavy motion of the
dancing fairies, the children fell asleep. When they awoke next morning
and rose from their silken beds they were no longer children. Nora was a
graceful and stately maiden, and Connla a handsome and gallant youth.
They looked at each other for a moment in surprise, and then Connla
said:
"Oh, Nora, how tall and beautiful you are!"
"Oh, not so tall and handsome as you are, Connla," said Nora, as she
flung her white arms round his neck and kissed her brother's lips.
Then they drew back to get a better look of each other, and who should
step between them but the fairy queen.
"Oh, Nora, Nora," said she, "I am not as high as your knee, and as for
you, Connla, you look as straight and as tall as one of the round towers
of Erin."
"And how did we grow so tall in one night?" said Connla.
"In one night!" said the fairy queen. "One night, indeed! Why, you have
been fast asleep, the two of you, for the last seven years!"
"And where was the little mother all that time?" said Connla and Nora
together.
"Oh, the little mother was all right. She knew where you were; but she
is expecting you to-day, and so you must go off to see her, although
I would like to keep you--if I had my way--all to myself here in the
fairyland under the sea. And you will see her to-day; but before you go
here is a necklace for you, Nora; it is formed out of the drops of the
ocean spray, sparkling in the sunshine. They were caught by my fairy
nymphs, for you, as they skimmed the sunlit billows under the shape of
sea-birds, and no queen or princess in the world can match their luster
with the diamonds won with toil from the caves of earth. As for you,
Connla, see here's a helmet of shining gold fit for a king of Erin--and
a king of Erin you will be yet; and here's a spear that will pierce any
shield, and here's a shield that no spear can pierce and no sword can
cleave as long as you fasten your warrior cloak with this brooch of
gold."
And as she spoke she flung round Connla's shoulders a flowing mantle of
yellow silk, and pinned it at his neck with a red gold brooch.
"And now, my children, you must go away from me. You, Nora, will be a
warrior's bride in Erin of the Streams. And you, Connla, will be king
yet over the loveliest province in all the land of Erin; but you will
have to fight for your crown, and days of battle are before you. They
will not come for a long time after you have left the fairyland under
the sea, and until they come lay aside your helmet, shield, and spear,
and warrior's cloak and golden brooch. But when the time comes when you
will be called to battle, enter not upon it without the golden brooch
I give you fastened in your cloak, for if you do harm will come to you.
Now, kiss me, children; your little mother is waiting for you at the
foot of the golden spear, but do not forget to say good-by to Liban the
Mermaid, exiled from the land she loves, and pining in sadness beneath
the sea."
Connla and Nora kissed the fairy queen, and Connla, wearing his golden
helmet and silken cloak, and carrying his shield and spear, led Nora
with him. They passed from the palace through the garden of roses,
through the flowery meadow, through the dark gray rocks, until they
reached the golden strand; and there, sitting and singing the strange,
sweet song, was Liban the Mermaid.
"And so you are going up to Erin," she said, "up through the covering
waters. Kiss me, children, once again; and when you are in Erin of the
Streams, sometimes think of the exile from Erin beneath the sea."
And the children kissed the mermaid, and with sad hearts, bidding her
good-by, they walked along the golden strand. When they had gone what
seemed to them a long way, they began to feel weary; and just then
they saw coming towards them a little man in a red jacket leading
a coal-black steed.
When they met the little man, he said: "Connla, put Nora up on this
steed; then jump up before her."
Connla did as he was told, and when both of them were mounted--
"Now, Connla," said the little man, "catch the bridle in your hands,
and you, Nora, clasp Connla round the waist, and close your eyes."
They did as they were bidden, and then the little man said, "Swash,
swish!" and the steed shot up from the strand like a lark from the
grass, and pierced the covering sea, and went bounding on over the
level waters; and when his hoofs struck the hard ground, Connla and
Nora opened their eyes, and they saw that they were galloping towards
a shady wood.
On went the steed, and soon he was galloping beneath the branches that
almost touched Connla's head. And on they went until they had passed
through the wood, and then they saw rising up before them the "Golden
Spear."
"Oh, Connla," said Nora, "we are at home at last."
"Yes," said Connla, "but where is the little house under the hill?"
And no little house was there; but in its stead was standing a
lime-white mansion.
"What can this mean?" said Nora.
But before Connla could reply, the steed had galloped up to the door
of the mansion, and, in the twinkling of an eye, Connla and Nora were
standing on the ground outside the door, and the steed had vanished.
Before they could recover from their surprise the little mother came
rushing out to them, and flung her arms around their necks, and kissed
them both again and again.
"Oh, children! children! You are welcome home to me; for though I knew
it was all for the best, my heart was lonely without you."
And Connla and Nora caught up the little mother in their arms, and they
carried her into the hall and set her down on the floor.
"Oh, Nora!" said the little mother, "you are a head over me; and as for
you, Connla, you look almost as tall as one of the round towers of Erin."
"That's what the fairy queen said, mother," said Nora.
"Blessings on the fairy queen," said the little mother. "Turn round,
Connla, till I look at you."
Connla turned round, and the little mother said:
"Oh, Connla, with your golden helmet and your spear, and your glancing
shield, and your silken cloak, you look like a king. But take them off,
my boy, beautiful as they are. Your little mother would like to see you,
her own brave boy, without any fairy finery."
And Connla laid aside his spear and shield, and took off his golden
helmet and his silken cloak. Then he caught the little mother and kissed
her, and lifted her up until she was as high as his head. And said he:
"Don't you know, little mother, I'd rather have you than all the world."
And that night, when they were sitting down by the fire together, you
may be sure that in the whole world no people were half as happy as
Nora, Connla, and the little mother.
THE HOUSE IN THE LAKE[2]
A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut, in the midst of one
of the inland lakes of Erin, an old fisherman and his son. The hut was
built on stakes driven into the bed of the lake, and was so high above
the waters that even when they were stirred into waves by the wind
coming down from the mountains they did not reach the threshold of the
door. Around, outside the hut, on a level with the floor, was a little
wicker-work platform, and under the platform, close to the steps leading
up to it from the water, the fisherman's curragh, made of willows,
covered with skins, was moored, and it was only by means of the curragh
that he and his son, Enda, could leave their lake dwelling.
On many a summer evening Enda lay stretched on the platform, watching
the sunset fading from the mountain-tops, and the twilight creeping over
the waters of the lake, and it chanced that once when he was so engaged
he heard a rustle in a clump of sedge that grew close to one side of
the hut. He turned to where the sound came from, and what should he see
but an otter swimming towards him, with a little trout in his mouth.
When the otter came up to where Enda was lying, he lifted his head and
half his body from the water, and flung the trout on the platform,
almost at Enda's feet, and then disappeared.
Enda took the little panting trout in his hand; but as he did so he
heard, quite close to him, in the lake, a sound like that of water
plashing upon water, and he saw the widening circles caused by a trout
which had just risen to a fly; and he said to the little trout he held
in his hand:
"I won't keep you, poor thing! Perhaps that was a little comrade come
to look for you, and so I'll send you back to him."
And saying this, he dropped the little trout into the lake.
Well, when the next evening came, again Enda was lying stretched outside
the hut, and once more he heard the rustle in the sedge, and once more
the otter came and flung the little trout almost into his hands.
Enda, more surprised than ever, did not know what to do. He saw that it
was the same little trout the otter had brought him the night before,
and he said:
"Well, I gave you a chance last night. I'll give you another, if only to
see what will come of it."
And he dropped the trout into the lake; but no sooner had it touched the
waters than it was changed into a beautiful, milk-white swan. And Enda
could hardly believe his eyes, as he saw it sailing across the lake,
until it was lost in the sedges growing by the shore.
All that night he lay awake, thinking of what he had seen, and as soon
as the morning stood on the hill-tops, and cast its shafts of golden
light across the lake, Enda rose and got into his curragh.
He rowed all round the shores, beating the sedges with his oar, in
pursuit of the swan; but all in vain; he could not catch a glimpse of
her white plumage anywhere. Day after day he rowed about the lake in
search of her, and every evening he lay outside the hut watching the
waters. At long last, one night, when the full moon, rising above the
mountains, flooded the whole lake with light, he saw the swan coming
swiftly towards him, shining brighter than the moonbeams. The swan came
on until it was almost within a boat's length of the hut; and what
should Enda hear but the swan speaking to him in his own language:
"Get into your curragh, Enda, and follow me," said she, and, saying
this, she turned round and sailed away.
Enda jumped into the curragh, and soon the water, dripping from his oar,
was flashing like diamonds in the moonlight. And he rowed after the
swan, who glided on before him, until she came to where the shadows of
the mountains lay deepest on the lake. Then the swan rested, and when
Enda came up to her:
"Enda," said she, "I have brought you where none may hear what I wish to
say to you. I am Mave, the daughter of the king of Erin. By the magic
arts of my cruel stepmother I was changed into a trout, and cast into
this lake a year and a day before the evening when you restored me to
the waters the second time. If you had not done so the first night the
otter brought me to you I should have been changed into a hooting owl;
if you had not done so the second night, I should have been changed into
a croaking raven. But, thanks to you, Enda, I am now a snow-white swan,
and for one hour on the first night of every full moon the power of
speech is and will be given to me as long as I remain a swan. And a swan
I must always remain, unless you are willing to break the spell of
enchantment that is over me; and you alone can break it."
"I'll do anything I can for you, O princess!" said Enda. "But how can
I break the spell?"
"You can do so," said the swan, "only by pouring upon my plumage the
perfumed water that fills the golden bowl that is in the inmost room of
the palace of the fairy queen, beneath the lake."
"And how can I get that?" said Enda.
"Well," said the swan, "you must dive beneath the lake, and walk along
its bed, until you come to where the lake dragon guards the entrance of
the fairy queen's dominions."
"I can dive like a fish," said Enda; "but how can I walk beneath the
waters?"
"You can do it easily enough," said the swan, "if you get the
water-dress of Brian, one of the three sons of Turenn, and his helmet
of transparent crystal, by the aid of which he was able to walk under
the green salt sea."[3]
"And where shall I find them?"
"They are in the water-palace of Angus of the Boyne," said the swan;
"but you should set out at once, for if the spell be not broken before
the moon is full again, it cannot be broken for a year and a day."
"I'll set out in the first ray of the morning," said Enda.
"May luck and joy go with you," said the swan. "And now the hours
of silence are coming upon me, and I have only time to warn you that
dangers you little dream of will lie before you in your quest for the
golden cup."
"I am willing to face all dangers for your sake, O princess," said Enda.
"Blessings be upon you, Enda," said the swan, and she sailed away from
the shadow out into the light across the lake to the sedgy banks. And
Enda saw her no more.
He rowed his curragh home, and he lay on his bed without taking off his
clothes. And as the first faint glimmer of the morning came slanting down
the mountains, he stepped into his curragh and pulled across the lake,
and took the road towards the water-palace of Angus of the Boyne.
When he reached the banks of the glancing river a little woman, dressed
in red, was standing there before him.
"You are welcome, Enda," said she. "And glad am I to see the day that
brings you here to help the winsome Princess Mave. And now wait a
second, and the water-dress and crystal helmet will be ready for you."
And, having said this, the little woman plucked a handful of wild
grasses, and she breathed upon them three times and then flung them on
the river, and a dozen fairy nymphs came springing up through the water,
bearing the water-dress and crystal helmet and a shining spear. And they
laid them down upon the bank at Enda's feet, and then disappeared.
"Now, Enda," said the fairy woman, "take these; by the aid of the dress
and the helmet you can walk beneath the waters. You will need the spear
to enable you to meet the dangers that lie before you. But with that
spear, if you only have courage, you can overcome everything and everyone
that may attempt to bar your way."
Having said this, she bid good-by to Enda, and stepping off the bank,
she floated out upon the river as lightly as a red poppy leaf. And when
she came to the middle of the stream she disappeared beneath the waters.
Enda took the helmet, dress, and spear, and it was not long until he
came to the sedgy banks where his little boat was waiting for him. As he
stepped into the curragh the moon was rising above the mountains. He
rowed on until he came to the hut, and having moored the boat to the
door, he put on the water-dress and the crystal helmet, and taking the
spear in his hand, he leaped over the side of the curragh, and sank down
and down until he touched the bottom. Then he walked along without
minding where he was going, and the only light he had was the shimmering
moonlight, which descended as faintly through the waters as if it came
through muffled glass. He had not gone very far when he heard a horrible
hissing, and straight before him he saw what he thought were two flaming
coals. After a few more steps he found himself face to face with the
dragon of the lake, the guardian of the palace of the fairy queen.
Before he had time to raise his spear, the dragon had wound its coils
around him, and he heard its horrible teeth crunching against the side
of his crystal helmet, and he felt the pressure of its coils around his
side, and the breath almost left his body; but the dragon, unable to
pierce the helmet, unwound his coils, and soon Enda's hands were free,
and before the dragon could attempt to seize him again, he drove his
spear through one of its fiery eyes, and, writhing with pain, the
hissing dragon darted through a cave behind him. Enda, gaining courage
from the dragon's flight, marched on until he came to a door of dull
brass set in the rocks. He tried to push it in before him, but he might
as well have tried to push away the rocks. While he was wondering what
he should do, he heard again the fierce hissing of the dragon, and saw
the red glare of his fiery eye dimly in the water.
Lifting his spear and hastily turning round to meet the furious monster,
Enda accidentally touched the door with the point of the spear, and the
door flew open. Enda passed through, and the door closed behind him with
a grating sound, and he marched along through a rocky pass which led to
a sandy plain.
As he stepped from the pass into the plain the sands began to move, as
if they were alive. In a second a thousand hideous serpents, almost the
color of the sand, rose hissing up, and with their forked tongues made a
horrible, poisonous hedge in front of him. For a second he stood
dismayed, but then, leveling his spear, he rushed against the hedge of
serpents, and they, shooting poison at him, sank beneath the sand. But
the poison did not harm him, because of his water-dress and crystal
helmet.
When he had passed over the sandy plain, he had to climb a great steep,
jagged rock. When he got to the top of the rock he saw spread out before
him a stony waste without a tuft or blade of grass. At some distance in
front of him he noticed a large dark object, which he took to be a rock,
but on looking at it more closely he saw that it was a huge, misshapen,
swollen mass, apparently alive. And it was growing bigger and bigger
every moment. Enda stood amazed at the sight, and before he knew where
he was the loathsome creature rose from the ground, and sprang upon him
before he could use his spear, and, catching him in its horrid grasp,
flung him back over the rocks on to the sandy plain. Enda was almost
stunned, but the hissing of the serpents rising from the sand around him
brought him to himself, and, jumping to his feet, once more he drove
them down beneath the surface. He then approached the jagged rock, on
the top of which he saw the filthy monster glaring at him with bloodshot
eyes. Enda poised his spear and hurled it against his enemy. It entered
between the monster's eyes, and from the wound the blood flowed down
like a black torrent and dyed the plain, and the shrunken carcass
slipped down the front of the rocks and disappeared beneath the sand.
Enda once more ascended the rock, and without meeting or seeing anything
he passed over the stony waste, and at last he came to a leafy wood.
He had not gone far in the wood until he heard the sound of fairy
music, and walking on he came upon a mossy glade, and there he found the
fairies dancing around their queen. They were so small, and were all so
brightly dressed, that they looked like a mass of waving flowers; but
when he was seen by them they vanished like a glorious dream, and no one
remained before him but the fairy queen. The queen blushed at finding
herself alone, but on stamping her little foot three times upon the
ground, the frightened fairies all crept back again.
"You are welcome, Enda," said the queen. "My little subjects have been
alarmed by your strange dress and crystal helmet. I pray you take them
off; you do not need them here."
Enda did as he was bidden, and he laid down his water-dress and helmet
on the grass, and the little fairies, seeing him in his proper shape,
got over their fright, and, unrestrained by the presence of the queen,
they ran tumbling over one another to try and get a good look at the
crystal helmet.
"I know what you have come for, Enda," said the queen. "The golden cup
you shall have to-morrow; but to-night you must share our feast, so
follow me to the palace."
Having said this, the queen beckoned her pages to her, and, attended by
them and followed by Enda, she went on through the wood. When they had
left it behind them Enda saw on a green hill before him the snow-white
palace of the fairy queen.
As the queen approached the steps that led up to the open door,
a band of tiny fairies, dressed in rose-colored silk, came out, carrying
baskets of flowers, which they flung down on the steps to make a
fragrant carpet for her. They were followed by a band of harpers dressed
in yellow silken robes, who ranged themselves on each side of the steps
and played their sweetest music as the queen ascended.
When the queen, followed by Enda, entered the palace, they passed
through a crystal hall that led to a banquet-room. The room was lighted
by a single star, large as a battle-shield. It was fixed against the
wall above a diamond throne.
The queen seated herself upon the throne, and the pages, advancing
towards her, and bending low, as they approached the steps, handed her
a golden wand.
The queen waved the wand three times, and a table laden with all kinds
of delicacies appeared upon the floor. Then she beckoned Enda to her,
and when he stood beside her the fairy table was no higher than his
knee.
"I am afraid I must make you smaller, Enda," said the queen, "or you
will never be able to seat yourself at my fairy table."
And having said this, she touched Enda with the golden wand, and at once
he became as small as her tallest page. Then she struck the steps of her
throne, and all the nobles of her court, headed by her bards, took their
places at the festive board.
The feast went on right merrily, and when the tiny jeweled drinking-cups
were placed upon the table, the queen ordered the harpers to play.
And the little harpers struck the chords, and as Enda listened to the
music it seemed to him as if he was being slowly lifted from his seat,
and when the music ended the fairies vanished, the shining star went
out, and Enda was in perfect darkness.
The air blew keenly in his face, and he knew not where he was. At
last he saw a faint gray light, and soon this light grew broader and
brighter, and as the shadows fled before it, he could hardly believe his
eyes when he found himself in his curragh on the lake, and the moonlight
streaming down from the mountain-tops.
For a moment he thought he must have been dreaming; but there in the
boat before him were the crystal helmet, and the water-dress, and the
gleaming spear, and the golden bowl of perfumed water that was to remove
the spell of enchantment from the white swan of the lake, and sailing
towards him from the sedgy bank came the snow-white swan; and when she
touched the boat, Enda put out his hands and lifted her in, and then
over her plumage he poured the perfumed water from the golden bowl, and
the Princess Mave in all her maiden beauty stood before him.
"Take your oar, Enda," she said, "and row to the southern bank."
Enda seized his oar, and the curragh sped across the waters swifter than
a swallow in its flight. When the boat touched the shore Enda jumped
out, and lifted the princess on to the bank.
"Send your boat adrift, Enda," she said; "but first take out your
shining spear; the water-dress and the crystal helmet will take care of
themselves."
Enda took out the spear, and then pushed the boat from the bank. It sped
on towards the hut in the middle of the lake; but before it had reached
halfway six nymphs sprang up from the water and seizing the helmet and
dress, sank with them beneath the tide, and the boat went on until it
pushed its prow against the steps of the little hut, where it remained.
Then Enda and the princess turned towards the south, and it was not long
until they came to a deep forest, that was folding up its shadows and
spreading out its mossy glades before the glancing footsteps of the
morning. They had not gone far through the forest when they heard the
music of hounds and the cries of huntsmen, and crashing towards them
through the low branches they saw a fierce wild boar. Enda, gently
pushing the princess behind him, leveled his spear, and when the boar
came close to him he drove it into his throat. The brute fell dead at
his feet, and the dogs rushing up began to tear it to pieces. The
princess fainted at the sight, and while Enda was endeavoring to restore
her, the king of Erin, followed by his huntsmen, appeared, and when the
king saw the princess he started in amazement, as he recognized the
features of his daughter Mave.
[Illustration: "'I have mourned you as dead, my darling,' said he"]
At that moment the princess came to herself, and her father, lifting her
tenderly in his arms, kissed her again and again.
"I have mourned you as dead, my darling," said he, "and now you are
restored to me more lovely than ever. I would gladly have given up my
throne for this. But say who is the champion who has brought you hither,
and who has slain the wild boar we have hunted so many years in vain?"
The princess blushed like a rose as she said:
"His name is Enda, father; it is he has brought me back to you."
Then the king embraced Enda and said:
"Forgive me, Enda, for asking any questions about you before you have
shared the hospitality of my court. My palace lies beyond the forest,
and we shall reach it soon."
Then the king ordered his huntsman to sound the bugle-horn, and all his
nobles galloped up in answer to it, and when they saw the Princess Mave
they were so dazzled by her beauty that they scarcely gave a thought to
the death of the wild boar.
"It is my daughter, Mave, come back to me," said the king.
And all the nobles lowered their lances, and bowed in homage to the
lady.
"And there stands the champion who has brought her home," said the king,
pointing to Enda.
The nobles looked at Enda, and bowed courteously, but in their hearts
they were jealous of the champion, for they saw he was already a
favorite of the king's.
Then the pages came up, leading milk-white steeds with golden bridles,
and the king, ordering Enda to mount one of them, lifted Mave on to his
own, and mounted behind her. The pages, carrying the boar's head on a
hollow shield, preceded by the huntsmen sounding their horns, set out
towards the palace, and the royal party followed them.
As the procession approached the palace crowds came rushing out to see
the trophies of the chase, and through the snow-white door the queen,
Mave's cruel stepmother, attended by her maids-of-honor and the royal
bards, came forth to greet the king. But when she saw seated before him
the Princess Mave, who she thought was at the bottom of the lake under a
spell of enchantment, she uttered a loud cry, and fell senseless to the
ground.
The king jumped from his horse, and rushing to the queen, lifted her up
and carried her in his arms to her apartments, for he had no suspicion
of the wickedness of which she had been guilty.
And the court leeches were summoned to attend her, but she died that
very night, and it was not until a green mound, worthy of a queen of
Erin, had been raised over her grave that the Princess Mave told her
father of the wickedness of her stepmother. And when she told him the
whole story of how Enda had broken the spell of enchantment, and of the
dangers which he had faced for her sake, the king summoned an assembly
of all his nobles, and seated on his throne, wearing his golden helmet,
the bards upon his right hand and the Druids upon his left, and the
nobles in ranks before him with gleaming helmets and flashing spears,
he told them the story of the princess, and of the service which Enda
had rendered to her.
"And now," said the king, "if the princess is willing to take her
deliverer for her husband, I am willing that she shall be his bride; and
if you, my subjects, bards and Druids and nobles and chiefs of Erin,
have anything to say against this union, speak. But first, Mave," said
the king, as he drew the blushing princess to him, "speak, darling, as
becomes the daughter of a king--speak in the presence of the nobles of
Erin, and say if it is your wish to become Enda's bride."
The princess flung her white arms around her father's neck, as she
murmured:
"Father, it was Enda brought me back to you, and before all the princes
and nobles of Erin I am willing to be his bride."
And she buried her head upon the king's breast, and as he stroked her
silken hair falling to her feet, the bards struck their golden harps,
but the sound of the joyous music could hardly drown the murmurs of the
jealous nobles.
When the music ceased the king beckoned Enda to him, and was about to
place his hand in Mave's when a Druid, whose white beard almost touched
the ground, and who had been a favorite of the dead stepmother, and hated
Mave for her sake, stepped forward and said: