[Illustration: Initial: "About the Fairies"]
The Oriental luxuriance of the Irish mythology is nowhere more
conspicuously displayed than when dealing with the history, habits,
characteristics and pranks of the "good people." According to the most
reliable of the rural "fairy-men," a race now nearly extinct, the fairies
were once angels, so numerous as to have formed a large part of the
population of heaven. When Satan sinned and drew throngs of the heavenly
host with him into open rebellion, a large number of the less warlike
spirits stood aloof from the contest that followed, fearing the
consequences, and not caring to take sides till the issue of the conflict
was determined. Upon the defeat and expulsion of the rebellious angels,
those who had remained neutral were punished by banishment from heaven,
but their offence being only one of omission, they were not consigned to
the pit with Satan and his followers, but were sent to earth where they
still remain, not without hope that on the last day they may be pardoned
and readmitted to Paradise. They are thus on their good behavior, but
having power to do infinite harm, they are much feared, and spoken of,
either in a whisper or aloud, as the "good people."
Unlike Leprechawns, who are not considered fit associates for reputable
fairies, the good people are not solitary, but quite sociable, and always
live in large societies, the members of which pursue the cooeperative plan
of labor and enjoyment, owning all their property, the kind and amount of
which are somewhat indefinite, in common, and uniting their efforts to
accomplish any desired object, whether of work or play. They travel in
large bands, and although their parties are never seen in the daytime,
there is little difficulty in ascertaining their line of march, for, "sure
they make the terriblest little cloud o' dust iver raised, an' not a bit
o' wind in it at all," so that a fairy migration is sometimes the talk of
the county. "Though, be nacher, they're not the length av yer finger, they
can make thimselves the bigness av a tower when it plazes thim, an' av
that ugliness that ye'd faint wid the looks o' thim, as knowin' they can
shtrike ye dead on the shpot or change ye into a dog, or a pig, or a
unicorn, or anny other dirthy baste they plaze."
As a matter of fact, however, the fairies are by no means so numerous at
present as they were formerly, a recent historian remarking that the
National Schools and societies of Father Mathew are rapidly driving the
fairies out of the country, for "they hate larnin' an' wisdom an' are
lovers av nacher entirely."
In a few remote districts, where the schools are not yet well established,
the good people are still found, and their doings are narrated with a
childlike faith in the power of these first inhabitants of Ireland, for it
seems to be agreed that they were in the country long before the coming
either of the Irishman or of his Sassenagh oppressor.
The bodies of the fairies are not composed of flesh and bones, but of an
ethereal substance, the nature of which is not determined. "Ye can see
thimselves as plain as the nose on yer face, an' can see through thim like
it was a mist." They have the power of vanishing from human sight when
they please, and the fact that the air is sometimes full of them inspires
the respect entertained for them by the peasantry. Sometimes they are
heard without being seen, and when they travel through the air, as they
often do, are known by a humming noise similar to that made by a swarm of
bees. Whether or not they have wings is uncertain. Barney Murphy, of
Kerry, thought they had; for several seen by him a number of years ago
seemed to have long, semi-transparent pinions, "like thim that grows on a
dhraggin-fly." Barney's neighbors, however, contradicted him by stoutly
denying the good people the attribute of wings, and intimated that at the
time Barney saw the fairies he was too drunk to distinguish a pair of
wings from a pair of legs, so this branch of the subject must remain in
doubt.
With regard to their dress, the testimony is undisputed. Young lady
fairies wear pure white robes and usually allow their hair to flow loosely
over their shoulders; while fairy matrons bind up their tresses in a coil
on the top or back of the head, also surrounding the temples with a golden
band. Young gentlemen elves wear green jackets, with white breeches and
stockings; and when a fairy of either sex has need of a cap or
head-covering, the flower of the fox-glove is brought into requisition.
Male fairies are perfect in all military exercises, for, like the other
inhabitants of Ireland, fairies are divided into factions, the objects of
contention not, in most cases, being definitely known. In Kerry, a number
of years ago, there was a great battle among the fairies, one party
inhabiting a rath or sepulchral mound, the other an unused and lonely
graveyard. Paddy O'Donohue was the sole witness of this encounter, the
narrative being in his own words.
"I was lyin' be the road, bein' on me way home an' tired wid the walkin'.
A bright moon was out that night, an' I heard a noise like a million av
sogers, thrampin' on the road, so I riz me an' looked, an' the way was
full av little men, the length o' me hand, wid grane coats on, an' all in
rows like wan o' the ridgmints; aitch wid a pike on his showldher an' a
shield on his arrum. Wan was in front, beway he was the ginral, walkin'
wid his chin up as proud as a paycock. Jagers, but I was skairt an' prayed
fasther than iver I did in me life, for it was too clost to me entirely
they wor for comfort or convaynience aither. But they all went by, sorra
the wan o' thim turnin' his head to raygard me at all, Glory be to God for
that same; so they left me. Afther they were clane gone by, I had curosity
for to see phat they were afther, so I folly'd thim, a good bit aff, an'
ready to jump an' run like a hare at the laste noise, for I was afeared if
they caught me at it, they'd make a pig o' me at wanst or change me into a
baste complately. They marched into the field bechuxt the graveyard an'
the rath, an' there was another army there wid red coats, from the
graveyard, an' the two armies had the biggest fight ye iver seen, the
granes agin the reds. Afther lookin' on a bit, I got axcited, for the
granes were batin' the reds like blazes, an' I up an' give a whilloo an'
called out, 'At 'em agin! Don't lave wan o' the blaggards!' An' wid that
word, the sight left me eyes an' I remimber no more till mornin', an'
there was I, layin' on the road where I seen thim, as shtiff as a crutch."
The homes of the fairies are commonly in raths, tumuli of the pagan days
of Ireland, and, on this account, raths are much dreaded, and after
sundown are avoided by the peasantry. Attempts have been made to remove
some of these raths, but the unwillingness of the peasants to engage in
the work, no matter what inducements may be offered in compensation, has
generally resulted in the abandonment of the undertaking. On one of the
islands in the Upper Lake of Killarney there is a rath, and the
proprietor, finding it occupied too much ground, resolved to have it
levelled to increase the arable surface of the field. The work was begun,
but one morning, in the early dawn, as the laborers were crossing the lake
on their way to the island, they saw a procession of about two hundred
persons, habited like monks, leave the island and proceed to the mainland,
followed, as the workmen thought, by a long line of small, shining
figures. The phenomenon was perhaps genuine, for the mirage is by no means
an uncommon appearance in some parts of Ireland, but work on the rath was
at once indefinitely postponed. Besides raths, old castles, deserted
graveyards, ruined churches, secluded glens in the mountains, springs,
lakes, and caves all are the homes and resorts of fairies, as is very well
known on the west coast.
The better class of fairies are fond of human society and often act as
guardians to those they love. In parts of Donegal and Galway they are
believed to receive the souls of the dying and escort them to the gates of
heaven, not, however, being allowed to enter with them. On this account,
fairies love graves and graveyards, having often been seen walking to and
fro among the grassy mounds. There are, indeed, some accounts of faction
fights among the fairy bands at or shortly after a funeral, the question
in dispute being whether the soul of the departed belonged to one or the
other faction.
[Illustration: Music: Fairy Dance]
The amusements of the fairies consist of music, dancing, and ball-playing.
In music their skill exceeds that of men, while their dancing is perfect,
the only drawback being the fact that it blights the grass, "fairy-rings"
of dead grass, apparently caused by a peculiar fungous growth, being
common in Ireland. Although their musical instruments are few, the fairies
use these few with wonderful skill. Near Colooney, in Sligo, there is a
"knowlageable woman," whose grandmother's aunt once witnessed a fairy
ball, the music for which was furnished by an orchestra which the
management had no doubt been at great pains and expense to secure and
instruct.
"It was the cutest sight alive. There was a place for thim to shtand on,
an' a wondherful big fiddle av the size ye cud slape in it, that was
played be a monsthrous frog, an' two little fiddles, that two kittens
fiddled on, an' two big drums, baten be cats, an' two trumpets, played be
fat pigs. All round the fairies were dancin' like angels, the fireflies
givin' thim light to see by, an' the moonbames shinin' on the lake, for it
was be the shore it was, an' if ye don't belave it, the glen's still
there, that they call the fairy glen to this blessed day."
The fairies do much singing, seldom, however, save in chorus, and their
songs were formerly more frequently heard than at present. Even now a
belated peasant, who has been at a wake, or is coming home from a fair, in
passing a rath will sometimes hear the soft strains of their voices in the
distance, and will hurry away lest they discover his presence and be angry
at the intrusion on their privacy. When in unusually good spirits they
will sometimes admit a mortal to their revels, but if he speaks, the scene
at once vanishes, he becomes insensible, and generally finds himself by
the roadside the next morning, "wid that degray av pains in his arrums an'
legs an' back, that if sixteen thousand divils were afther him, he cudn't
stir a toe to save the sowl av him, that's phat the fairies do be pinchin'
an' punchin' him for comin' on them an' shpakin' out loud."
Kindly disposed fairies often take great pleasure in assisting those who
treat them with proper respect, and as the favors always take a practical
form, there is sometimes a business value in the show of reverence for
them. There was Barney Noonan, of the County Leitrim, for instance, "An'
sorra a betther boy was in the county than Barney. He'd work as reg'lar as
a pump, an' liked a bit av divarshun as well as annybody when he'd time
for it, that wasn't aften, to be sure, but small blame to him, for he
wasn't rich be no manner o' manes. He'd a power av ragard av the good
people, an' when he wint be the rath beyant his field, he'd pull aff his
caubeen an' take the dudheen out av his mouth, as p'lite as a dancin'
masther, an' say, 'God save ye, ladies an' gintlemen,' that the good
people always heard though they niver showed thimselves to him. He'd a bit
o' bog, that the hay was on, an' afther cuttin' it, he left it for to
dhry, an' the sun come out beautiful an' in a day or so the hay was as
dhry as powdher an' ready to put away.
"So Barney was goin' to put it up, but, it bein' the day av the fair, he
thought he'd take the calf an' sell it, an' so he did, an' comin' up wid
the boys, he stayed over his time, bein' hindhered wid dhrinkin' an'
dancin' an' palaverin' at the gurls, so it was afther dark when he got
home an' the night as black as a crow, the clouds gatherin' on the tops av
the mountains like avil sper'ts an' crapin' down into the glens like
disthroyin' angels, an' the wind howlin' like tin thousand Banshees, but
Barney didn't mind it all wan copper, bein' glorified wid the dhrink he'd
had. So the hay niver enthered the head av him, but in he wint an' tumbled
in bed an' was shnorin' like a horse in two minnits, for he was a
bach'ler, God bless him, an' had no wife to gosther him an' ax him where
he'd been, an' phat he'd been at, an' make him tell a hunderd lies about
not gettin' home afore. So it came on to thunder an' lighten like as all
the avil daymons in the univarse were fightin' wid cannons in the shky,
an' by an' by there was a clap loud enough to shplit yer skull an' Barney
woke up.
"'Tattheration to me,' says he to himself, 'it's goin' for to rain an' me
hay on the ground. Phat 'll I do?' says he.
"So he rowled over on the bed an' looked out av a crack for to see if it
was ralely rainin'. An' there was the biggest crowd he iver seen av little
men an' wimmin. They'd built a row o' fires from the cow-house to the bog
an' were comin' in a shtring like the cows goin' home, aitch wan wid his
two arrums full o' hay. Some were in the cow-house, resayvin' the hay;
some were in the field, rakin' the hay together; an' some were shtandin'
wid their hands in their pockets beways they were the bosses, tellin' the
rest for to make haste. An' so they did, for every wan run like he was
afther goin' for the docther, an' brought a load an' hurried back for
more.
"Barney looked through the crack at thim a crossin' himself ivery minnit
wid admiration for the shpeed they had. 'God be good to me,' says he to
himself, ''tis not ivery gossoon in Leitrim that's got haymakers like
thim,' only he never spake a word out loud, for he knewn very well the
good people 'ud n't like it. So they brought in all the hay an' put it in
the house an' thin let the fires go out an' made another big fire in front
o' the dure, an' begun to dance round it wid the swatest music Barney iver
heard.
"Now be this time he'd got up an' feelin' aisey in his mind about the hay,
begun to be very merry. He looked on through the dure at thim dancin', an'
by an' by they brought out a jug wid little tumblers and begun to drink
summat that they poured out o' the jug. If Barney had the sense av a
herrin', he'd a kept shtill an' let thim dhrink their fill widout openin'
the big mouth av him, bein' that he was as full as a goose himself an'
naded no more; but when he seen the jug an' the tumblers an' the fairies
drinkin' away wid all their mights, he got mad an' bellered out like a
bull, 'Arra-a-a-h now, ye little attomies, is it dhrinkin' ye are, an'
never givin' a sup to a thirsty mortial that always thrates yez as well as
he knows how,' and immejitly the fairies, an' the fire, an' the jug all
wint out av his sight, an' he to bed agin in a timper. While he was layin'
there, he thought he heard talkin' an' a cugger-mugger goin' on, but when
he peeped out agin, sorra a thing did he see but the black night an' the
rain comin' down an' aitch dhrop the full av a wather-noggin. So he wint
to slape, continted that the hay was in, but not plazed that the good
people 'ud be pigs entirely, to be afther dhrinkin' undher his eyes an'
not offer him a taste, no, not so much as a shmell at the jug.
"In the mornin' up he gets an' out for to look at the hay an' see if the
fairies put it in right, for he says, 'It's a job they're not used to.' So
he looked in the cow-house an' thought the eyes 'ud lave him when there
wasn't a shtraw in the house at all. 'Holy Moses,' says he, 'phat have
they done wid it?' an' he couldn't consave phat had gone wid the hay. So
he looked in the field an' it was all there; bad luck to the bit av it had
the fairies left in the house at all, but when he shouted at thim, they
got tarin' mad an' took all the hay back agin to the bog, puttin' every
shtraw where Barney laid it, an' it was as wet as a drownded cat. But it
was a lesson to him he niver forgot, an' I go bail that the next time the
fairies help him in wid his hay he'll kape shtill an' let thim dhrink
thimselves to death if they plaze widout sayin' a word."
The good people have the family relations of husband and wife, parent and
child, and although it is darkly hinted by some that fairy husbands and
wives have as many little disagreements as are found in mortal households,
"for, sure a woman's tongue is longer than a man's patience," and "a
husband is bound for to be gosthered day in an' day out, for a woman's jaw
is sharpened on the divil's grindshtone," yet opinions unfavorable to
married happiness among the fairies are not generally received. On the
contrary, it is believed that married life in fairy circles is regulated
on the basis of the absolute submission of the wife to the husband. As
this point was elucidated by a Donegal woman, "They're wan, that's the
husband an' the wife, but he's more the wan than she is."
The love of children is one of the most prominent traits of fairy
character, but as it manifests itself by stealing beautiful babes,
replacing them by young Leprechawns, the fairies are much dreaded by west
coast mothers, and many precautions are taken against the elves. Thefts of
this kind now rarely occur, but once they were common, as "in thim owld
times, ye cud see tin fairies where there isn't wan now, be razon o' thim
lavin' the counthry."
A notable case of baby stealing occurred in the family of Termon Magrath,
who had a castle, now in picturesque ruins, on the shore of Lough Erne, in
the County Donegal. The narrator of the incident was "a knowledgable
woman," who dwelt in an apology for a cabin, a thatched shed placed
against the precipitous side of the glen almost beneath the castle. The
wretched shelter was nearly concealed from view by the overhanging
branches of a large tree and by thick undergrowth, and seemed unfit for a
pig-pen, but, though her surroundings were poor beyond description, "Owld
Meg," in the language of one of her neighbors, "knew a dale av fairies an'
witches an' could kape thim from a babby betther than anny woman that iver
dhrew the breath av life." A bit of tobacco to enable her to take a "dhraw
o' the pipe, an' that warms me heart to the whole worruld," brought forth
the story.
[Illustration: "Owld Meg"]
"It's a manny year ago, that Termon Magrath wint, wid all his army, to the
war in the County Tyrone, an' while he was gone the babby was born an'
they called her Eva. She was her mother's first, so she felt moighty
onaisey in her mind about her 's knowin' that the good people do be always
afther the first wan that comes, an' more whin it's a girl that's in it,
that they thry to stale harder than they do a boy, bekase av belavin'
they're aisier fur to rare, though it's mesilf that doesn't belave that
same, fur wan girl makes more throuble than tin boys an' isn't a haporth
more good.
"So whin the babby was born they sent afther an owld struckawn av a widdy
that set up for a wise woman, that knew no more o' doctherin' than a pig
av Paradise, but they thought she could kape away the fairies, that's a
job that takes no ind av knowledge in thim that thries it. But the poor
owld woman did the best she knew how, an' so, God be good to her, she
wasn't to be blamed fur that, but it's the likes av her that do shame thim
that's larned in such things, fur they make people think all wise wimmin
as ignerant as hersilf. So she made the sign o' the crass on the babby's
face wid ashes, an' towld thim to bite aff its nails and not cut thim till
nine weeks, an' held a burnin' candle afore its eyes, so it 'ud do the
deeds av light an' not av darkness, an' mixed sugar an' salt an' oil, an'
give it to her, that her life 'ud be swate an' long presarved an' go
smooth, but the owld widdy forgot wan thing. She didn't put a lucky
shamrock, that 's got four leaves, in a gospel an' tie it 'round the
babby's neck wid a t'read pulled out av her gown, an' not mindin' this,
all the rest was no good at all. No more did she tell the mother not to
take her eyes aff the child till the ninth day; afther that the fairies
cud n't take it.
"So the nurse tuk the babby in the next room an' laid it on the bed, an'
wint away for a minnit, but thinkin' she heard it cry, back she come an'
there was the babby, bedclothes an' all just goin' through the flure,
bein' dhrawn be the fairies. The nurse scraiched an' caught the clothes
an' the maid helped her, so that the two o' thim pulled wid all their
mights an' got the bedclothes up agin, but while the child was out o'
sight, the fairies changed it an' put a fairy child in its place, but the
nurse didn't know phat the fairies done, no more did the owld struckawn,
that shows she was an ignerant woman entirely. But the fairies tuk Eva
away undher the lake where they trated her beautiful. Every night they gev
her a dance, wid the loveliest music that was iver heard, wid big drums
an' little drums, an' fiddles an' pipes an' thrumpets, fur such a band the
good people do have when they give a dance.
"So she grew an' the quane said she should have a husband among the
fairies, but she fell in love wid an owld Leprechawn, an' the quane, to
sarcumvint her, let her walk on the shore o' the lake where she met Darby
O'Hoolighan an' loved him an' married him be the quane's consint. The
quane towld her to tell him if he shtruck her three blows widout a razon,
she'd lave him an' come back to the fairies. The quane gev her a power av
riches, shape an' pigs widout number an' more oxen than ye cud count in a
week. So she an' Darby lived together as happy as two doves, an' she
hadn't as much care as a blind piper's dog, morebetoken, they had two
boys, good lookin' like their mother an' shtrong as their father.
[Illustration: Eva calling the Cattle]
"Wan day, afther they'd been marred siventeen years, she an' Darby were
goin' to a weddin', an' she was shlow, so Darby towld her fur to hurry an'
gev her a slap on the shouldher wid the palm av his hand, so she begun to
cry. He axed her phat ailed her an' she towld him he'd shtruck her the
first av the three blows. So he was mighty sorry an' said he'd be careful,
but it wasn't more than a year afther, when he was taichin' wan o' the
boys to use a shtick, that she got behind him an' got hit wid the
shillaly. That was the second blow, an' made her lose her timper, an' they
had a rale quarl. So he got mad, sayin' that nayther o' thim blows ought
to be counted, bein' they both come be accident. So he flung the shtick
agin the wall, 'Divil take the shtick,' says he, an' went out quick, an'
the shtick fell back from the wall an' hit her an the head. 'That's the
third,' says she, an' she kissed her sons an' walked out. Thin she called
the cows in the field an' they left grazin' an' folly'd her; she called
the oxen in the shtalls an' they quit atin' an' come out; an' she shpoke
to the calf that was hangin' in the yard, that they'd killed that mornin'
an' it got down an' come along. The lamb that was killed the day afore, it
come; an' the pigs that were salted an' thim hangin' up to dhry, they
come, all afther her in a shtring. Thin she called to her things in the
house, an' the chairs walked out, an' the tables, an' the chist av
drawers, an' the boxes, all o' thim put out legs like bastes an' come
along, wid the pots an' pans, an' gridiron, an' buckets, an' noggins, an'
kish, lavin' the house as bare as a 'victed tinant's, an' all afther her
to the lake, where they wint undher an' disappared, an' haven't been seen
be man or mortial to this blessed day.
"Now, there's thim that says the shtory aint thrue, fur, says they, how
'ud a woman do such a thrick as go aff that a way an' take ivery thing she
had, just bekase av her husband hittin' her be accident thim three times.
But thim that says it forgits that she was a young wan, aven if she did
have thim boys I was afther tellin' ye av, an' faith, it's no lie I'm
sayin', that it's not in the power av the angels o' God to be knowin' phat
a young wan 'ull be doin'. Afther they get owld, an' do be losin' their
taythe, an' their beauty goes, thin they're sober an' get over thim
notions; but it takes a dale av time to make an owld wan out av a young
wan.
"But she didn't forget the boys she'd left, an' wanst in a while she'd
come to the aidge av the lake whin they were clost be the bank an' spake
wid thim, fur aven, if she was half a fairy, she'd the mother's heart that
the good God put in her bosom; an' wan time they seen her wid a little
attomy av a man alang wid her, that was a Leprechawn, as they knewn be the
look av him, an' that makes me belave that the rale rayzon av her lavin'
her husband was to get back to the owld Leprechawn she was in love wid
afore she was marr'd to Darby O'Hoolighan."