They both returned that very way,
And whom should they meet where the man had been
But a highway robber gaunt and lean!
And in his belt a naked sword--
For an alms he, too, besought the Lord.
"He's a fool," thought Peter, "to cross us thus,
He won't get anything from us."
But Peter was seized with such surprise
He scarcely could believe his eyes,
When he saw the Master, without a word,
Give to the man who had the sword.
After the man was gone again
His wonder Peter could not restrain
But turning to our Saviour said:
"Master, the man who asked for bread,
The poor old man of yesterday,
Why did you turn from him away?
But to this robber, this shameless thief,
Give, when he asked you for relief.
I thought it most strange for _you_ to do;
We needn't have feared him, we were two.
I have a sword here, as you see,
And could have used it as well as he;
And I am taller by a span,
For he was only a little man."
"Peter," said the Lord, "you see
Things but as they _seem_ to be.
Look within and see behind,
Know the heart and read the mind,
'Tis not long before you know
Why it was I acted so."
After this it chanced one day
Our Lord and Peter went astray.
Wandering on a mountain wide.
Nothing but waste on every side.
Worn with hunger, faint with thirst,
Peter followed, the Lord went first.
Then began a heavy rain,
Lightning gleamed and gleamed again,
Another deluge poured from heaven,
The slanting hail swept tempest-driven.
Then when fainting, frozen, spent,
A man came towards them through the bent.
And Peter trembled with cold and fright,
When he knew again the robber wight.
But the robber brought them to his cave,
And what he had he freely gave.
He brought them wine, he gave them bread,
He strewed them rushes for a bed.
He lent them both a clean attire
And dried their clothes before the fire,
And when they rose the following day
He gave them victuals for the way,
And never left them till he showed
And put them on the straightest road.
"The Master was right," thought Peter then,
"The robber is better than better men.
There's many an honest man," thought he,
"Who never did as much for me."
They had not left the robber's ground
Above an hour, when, lo, they found
A man upon the mountain track
Lying dead upon his back.
And Peter soon, with much surprise,
The beggarman did recognize.
"Ochone!" thought Peter, "we had no right
To refuse him alms the other night.
He's dead from the cold and want of food,
And we're partly guilty of his blood."
"Peter," said our Lord, "go now
Feel his pockets and let us know
What he has within his coat."
Peter turned them inside out,
And found within the lining plenty
Of silver coins, and of gold ones twenty.
"My Lord," said Peter, "now I know
Why it was you acted so.
Whatever you say or do with men,
I never will think you wrong again."
"Peter," said our Saviour, "take
And throw those coins in yonder lake,
That none may fish them up again,
For money is often the curse of men."
Peter gathered the coins together.
And crossed to the lake through bog and heather.
But he thought in his mind "It's a real sin
To be flinging this lovely money in.
We're often hungry, we're often cold,
And money is money--I'll keep the gold
To spend on the Master, he needs the pelf,
For he's very neglectful of himself."
Then down with a splash does Peter throw
The _silver_ coins to the lake below,
And hopes our Lord from the splash would think
He had thrown the whole from off the brink.
And then before our Lord he stood
And looked as innocent as he could.
Our Lord said: "Peter, regard your soul;
Are you sure you have now thrown in the whole?"
"Yes, all," said Peter, "is gone below,
But a few gold pieces I wouldn't throw,
Since I thought we might find them very good
For a sup to drink, or a bite of food.
Because our own are nearly out,
And they're inconvenient to do without.
But, if you wish it, of course I'll go
And fling the rest of the lot below."
"Ah, Peter, Peter," said our Lord,
"You should have obeyed me at my word.
For a greedy man you are I see,
And a greedy man you will ever be;
A covetous man you are of gain,
And a covetous man you will remain."
So that's the reason, as I've been told,
All clergy are since so fond of gold.
KNOCK MULRUANA.
PREFACE.
This story was told by my friend, Mr. Peter McGinley, who printed it
in 1897 in the "Gaelic Journal" of that year. He told me that though
the story came from the Irish speaking part of the country it was in
English it was first repeated to him when he was a young boy, and he
retold it in Irish, without any change in the story itself. He says
that he feels sure it is just as he heard it. The story comes from
Gleann Domhain, which is near Gartan, in Donegal, celebrated as the
birthplace of Colmcille, and Cnoc Mhaoilruandha is near at hand,
and the lake is a little below it. The proverb, "as I have burned
the candle I'll burn the inch," does not, he says, always signify
impenitence, but means rather to hold out in any course, good or evil,
until the last. The name Maolruanadha, which I have shortened into
Mulruana, is variously anglicised Mulroney and Moroney. This story may
remind the reader a little of Lewis's "Monk."
THE STORY.
On this side of Glen Domhain, there is a little hill whose name is
Mulroney's Hill, and this is the reason why it was given that name.
In old times there was a man living in a little house on the side of
the hill, and Mulruana was his name. He was a pious holy man, and
hated the world's vanities so much that he became a hermit, and he
was always alone in that house, without anyone in his neighbourhood.
He used to be always praying and subduing himself. He used to drink
nothing but water, and used to eat nothing but berries and the wild
roots which he used to get in the mountains and throughout the glens.
His fame and reputation were going through the country for the holy
earnest life that he was living.
However, great jealousy seized the Adversary at the piety of this man,
and he sent many evil spirits to put temptations on him. But on account
of all his prayers and piety it failed those evil-spirits to get the
victory over him, so that they all returned back to hell with the
report of the steadfastness and loyalty of Mulruana in the service of
God.
Then great anger seized Satan, so that he sent further demons, each
more powerful than the other, to put temptation on Mulruana. Not one
of them succeeded in even coming near the hut of the holy man. Nor did
it fare any better with them whenever he came outside, for he used
always to be attentive to his prayers and ever musing on holy things.
Then every evil-spirit of them used to go back to hell and used to tell
the devil that there was no use contending with Mulruana, for that God
himself and His angels were keeping him and giving him help.
That account made Satan mad entirely, so that he determined at last
to go himself, hoping to destroy Mulruana, and to draw him out of the
proper path. Accordingly he came one evening at nightfall, in the
guise of a young woman, and asked the good man for lodging. Mulruana
rudely refused the pretended woman, and banished her away from his
door, although he felt a compassion for her because the night was wet
and stormy, and he thought that the girl was without house and shelter
from the rain and cold. But what the woman did was to go round to the
back of the house and play music, and it was the sweetest and most
melancholy music that man ever heard.
Because Mulruana had had a pity for the poor girl at the first, he
listened now to her music, and took great delight in it, and had much
joy of it, but he did not allow her into his hut. At the hour of
midnight the devil went back to hell, but he had a shrewd notion that
he had won the game and that he had caught the holy man. Mulruana had
quiet during the remainder of the night, but instead of continuing at
his prayers, as was his custom, he spent the end of the night, almost
till the dawn of day, thinking of the beauty of the girl and of the
sweetness of her music.
The day after that the devil came at the fall of night in the same
likeness, and again asked lodging of Mulruana. Mulruana refused that,
although he did not like to do it, but he remembered the vow he had
made never to let a woman or a girl into his hut. The pretended woman
went round to the back of the house, and she was playing music that was
like fairy music until it was twelve o'clock, when she had to go away
with herself to hell. The man inside was listening to the playing and
taking great delight in it, and when she ceased there came over him
melancholy and trouble of mind. He never slept a wink that night, and
he never said a word of his prayers either, but eagerly thinking[17] of
the young woman, and his heart going astray with the beauty of her form
and the sweetness of her voice.
[17] This idiom, borrowed from the Irish, is very common in
Anglo-Irish. It is not governed by the rules of English grammar.
On the morning of the next day Mulruana rose from his bed, and it
is likely that it was the whisper of an angel he heard, because he
remembered that it was not right for him to pay such heed to a girl and
to forget his prayers. He bowed his knees and began to pray strongly
and earnestly, and made a firm resolve that he would not think more
about the girl, and that he would not listen to her music. But, after
all, he did not succeed in obtaining a complete victory over his
thoughts concerning the young woman, and consequently he was between
two notions until the evening came.
When the night was well dark the Adversary came again in the shape of
the girl, and she even more beautiful and more lovely than she was
before, and asked the man for a night's lodging. He remembered his vow
and the resolve he had made that day in the morning, and he refused
her, and threatened her that she should not come again to trouble
him, and he drove her away with rough sharp words, and with a stern,
churlish countenance, as though there were a great anger on him. He
went into his hut and the girl remained near the hut outside, and she
weeping and lamenting and shedding tears.
When Mulruana saw the girl weeping and keening piteously he conceived
a great pity for her, and compassion for her came to him, and desire,
and he did not free his heart from those evil inclinations, since he
had not made his prayers on that day with a heart as pure as had been
his wont, and he listened willingly and gladly. It was not long until
he came out, himself, in spite of his vow and his good resolutions, and
invited the pretended woman to come into his hut. Small delay she made
in going in!
It was then the King of Grace took pity at this man being lost without
giving him time to amend himself, since he had ever been truly pious,
diligent, humane, well disposed and of good works, until this great
temptation came over him. For that reason God sent an angel to him with
a message to ask him to repent. The angel came to Mulruana's house
and went inside. Then the devil leapt to his feet, uttered a fearful
screech, changed his colour, his shape, and his appearance. His own
devilish form and demoniac appearance came upon him. He turned away
from the angel like a person blinded with a great shining or blaze of
light, and went out of the hut.
His senses nearly departed from Mulruana with the terror that overcame
him. When he came to himself again the angel made clear to him how
great was the sin to which he had given way, and how God had sent
him to him to ask him to repent. But Mulruana never believed a word
he said. He knew that it was the devil who had been in his company
in the guise of a young woman. He remembered the sin to which he had
consented, so that he considered himself to be so guilty that it would
be impossible for him ever to obtain forgiveness from God. He thought
that it was deceiving him the angel was, when he spoke of repentance
and forgiveness. The angel was patient with him and spoke gently.
He told him of the love and friendship of God and how He would never
refuse forgiveness to the truly penitent, no matter how heavy his share
of sins. Mulruana did not listen to him, but a drowning-man's-cry
issued out of his mouth always, that he was lost, and he ever-cursing
God, the devil and himself. The angel never ceased, but entreating and
beseeching him to turn to God and make repentance--but it was no use
for him. Mulruana was as hard and as stubborn as he was before, all the
time taking great oaths and blaspheming God.
All the time the angel was speaking he had the appearance of a burning
candle in his hand. At long last, when the candle was burnt all but
about an inch, a gloom fell over the countenance of the angel and he
stood out from Mulruana, and threatened him, and told him that his term
of grace was almost expired, and, said he, unless you make repentance
before this inch of candle is burnt away, God will grant you no more
respite, and you will be damned for ever.
Then there came silence on Mulruana for a while, as though he were
about to follow the advice of the angel. But then on the spot he
thought of the sin that he had done. On that, despair seized him, and
the answer he gave the angel was, "as I have burned the candle I'll
burn the inch." Then the angel spoke to him with a loud and terrible
voice, announcing to him that he was now indeed accursed of God, and,
said he, "thou shalt die to-morrow of thirst." Mulruana answered him
with no submission, and said, "O lying angel, I know now that you are
deceiving me. It is impossible that I should die of thirst in this
place, and so much water round about me. There is, outside there, a
well of spring water that was never dry, and there is a stream beside
the gable of the house which would turn the wheel of a great mill no
matter how dry the summer day, and down there is Loch Beithe on which
a fleet of ships might float. It is a great folly for you to say that
anybody could die of thirst in this place." But the angel departed from
him without an answer.
Mulruana went to lie down after that, but, if he did, he never slept
a wink through great trouble of spirit. Next morning, on his rising
early, the sharpest thirst that man ever felt came upon him. He leapt
out of his bed and went to the stoap [pail] for water, but there was
not a drop in it. Out with him then to the well, but he did not find a
drop there either. He turned on his foot towards the stream that was
beside the house, but it was dry before him down to the gravel. The
banks and the pebbles in the middle of it were as dry as though they
had never seen a drop of water for a year. Mulruana remembered then the
prophecy of the angel and he started. A quaking of terror came upon
him, and his thirst was growing every moment. He went running at full
speed to Loch Beithe, but when he came to the brink of the lake he
uttered one awful cry and fell in a heap on the ground. Loch Beithe too
was dry before him.
That is how a cowherd found him the next day, lying on the brink of
the lake, his eyes starting out of his head, his tongue stretched out
of his throat, and a lump of white froth round his mouth. His awful
appearance was such that fear would not let the people go near him to
bury him, and his body was left there until birds of prey and wild
dogs took it away with them.
That is how it happened Mulruana as a consequence of his sin, his
impenitence, and his despair, and that is the reason why it is not
right for any one to use the old saying, "As I've burnt the candle I'll
burn the inch," and yonder is "Cnoc Mhaoilruanadha," Mulruana's Hill,
as a witness to the truth of this story.
THE STONE OF TRUTH OR THE MERCHANT OF THE SEVEN BAGS.
PREFACE.
The Stone of Truth is as old as the times of the Druids. The celebrated
Lia Fail was a stone of truth. Certain stones were oracles in old
times. There was a stone in Oriel, and a celebrated stone called Cloeh
Labhrais in the south which were oracular. A man who suspected his
wife made her stand upon the southern stone to swear that she had
not wronged him. She spied a man she knew too well far away upon the
mountain, and swore she had never done anything she ought not to have
done--no more than with that man on the skyline. The heart of the stone
was broken with this equivocation, and it burst asunder exclaiming
[uncial: bionn an firinne fein searbh], "even truth itself is
bitter."
The idea is Pagan, but this story is motivated in a Christian manner,
by alleging that the stone derived its miraculous power from St.
Patrick's having knelt on it in prayer. I got this story from Francis
O'Conor. For the original Irish, see "Religious Songs of Connacht,"
vol. II., p. 230.
THE STORY.
There was a man in it, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, whose name
was Páidin[18] O Ciarbháin [Keerwaun, or Kerwin] and he was living
close to Cong in West Connacht. Páidin was a strange man; he did not
believe in God or in anything about him. It's often the priest thought
to bring him to Mass, but it was no use for him, for Páidin would not
take the advice of priest or bishop. He believed that man was like the
beast, and he believed that when man died there was no more about him.
[18] Pronounced "Paudyeen."
Páidin lived an evil life; he used to be going from house to house by
day, and stealing in the night.
Now, at the time that St. Patrick was in West Connacht seeking to make
Christians of the Pagans, he went down one day upon his knees, on a
great flag stone, to utter prayers, and he left after him a great
virtue in the same stone, for anybody who might speak above that stone,
it was necessary for him to tell the clear truth, he could not tell a
lie, and for that reason the people gave the name to that flag of the
Stone of Truth.
Páidin used always to have a great fear of this stone, and it's often
he intended to steal it. One night when he found an opportunity he
hoisted the stone on his back, took it away with him, and threw it down
into a great valley between two hills, seven miles from the place where
it used to be, and the rogue thought that he was all right; but the
stone was back in its old place that same night without his knowing.
Another night after that he stole the geese of the parish priest, and
as the people doubted him, they said that they would bring him to the
Stone of Truth. Páidin was laughing in his own mind, for he knew that
he had the stone stolen; but great was the surprise that was on him
when he saw the stone before him in its own place. When he was put
above the stone he was obliged to tell that he had stolen the geese,
and he got a great beating from the priest. He made a firm resolution
then that if he got an opportunity at the stone again, he would put it
in a place that it would never come out of.
A couple of nights after that he got his opportunity again, and stole
the stone a second time. He threw it down into a great deep hole, and
he went home rejoicing in himself. But he did not go a quarter of a
mile from the place until he heard a great noise coming after him. He
looked behind him and he saw a lot of little people, and they dressed
in clothes as white as snow. There came such fear over Páidin that he
was not able to walk one step, until the little people came up with
him, and they carrying the Stone of Truth with them. A man of them
spoke to him and said: "O accursed Páidin, carry this stone back to the
place where you got it, or you shall pay dearly for it."
"I will and welcome," said Páidin.
They put the stone upon his back and they returned the road on which
they had come. But as the devil was putting temptation upon Páidin, he
went and threw the stone into a hole that was deeper than the first
hole, a hole which the people made to go hiding in when the war would
be coming. The stone remained in that hole for more than seven years,
and no one knew where it was but Páidin only.
At the end of that time Páidin was going by the side of the churchyard,
when he looked up at a cross that was standing there, and he fell into
a faint. When he came to himself, there was a man before him and he
clothed as white as the snow. He spoke to him and said: "O accursed
Páidin, you are guilty of the seven deadly sins, and unless you do
penance you shall go to hell. I am an angel from God, and I will put a
penance on you. I will put seven bags upon you and you must carry them
for one and twenty years. After that time go before the great cross
that shall be in the town of Cong, and say three times, 'My soul to God
and Mary,' spend a pious life until then, and you will go to heaven.
Go to the priest now, if you are obedient (and ready) to receive my
counsel."
"I am obedient," said Páidin, "but the people will be making a mock of
me."
"Never mind the mock, it won't last long," said the angel.
After this conversation a deep sleep fell upon Páidin, and when he
awoke there were seven bags upon him, and the angel was gone away.
There were two bags on his right side, two bags on his left side, and
three others on his back, and they were stuck so fast upon him that
he thought that it was growing on him they were. They were the colour
of his own skin, and there was skin on them. Next day when Páidin
went among the people he put wonder on them, and they called him the
Merchant of the Seven Bags, and that name stuck to him until he died.
Páidin began a new life now. He went to the priest, and he showed him
the seven bags that were on him, and he told him the reason that they
were put on him. The priest gave him good advice and a great coat to
cover the seven bags with; and after that Páidin used to be going from
house to house and from village to village asking alms, and there used
never be a Sunday or holiday that he would not be at Mass, and there
used to be a welcome before him in every place.
About seven years after that Páidin was going by the side of the hole
into which he had thrown the Stone of Truth. He came to the brink of
the hole, went down on his two knees and asked God to send him up
the stone. When his prayer was ended he saw the stone coming up, and
hundreds of white doves round about it. The stone was rising and ever
rising until it came into Páidin's presence on the ground, and then
the doves went back again. The next day he went to the priest and told
him everything about the Stone of Truth, and the way it came up out
of the hole. "I will go with you," said the priest, "until I see this
great wonder." The priest went with him to the hole and he saw the
Stone of Truth. And he saw another thing which put great wonder on him;
thousands and thousands of doves flying round about the mouth of the
hole, going down into it and coming up again. The priest called the
place Poll na gColum or the Dove's Hole, and that name is on it until
the present day. The blessed stone was brought into Cong, and it was
not long until a grand cross was erected over it, and from that day to
this people come from every place to look at the Dove's Hole, and the
old people believed that they were St. Patrick's angels who were in
those doves.
The Stone of Truth was for years after that in Cong, and it is certain
that it did great good, for it kept many people from committing crimes.
But it was stolen at last, and there is no account of it from that out.
Páidin lived until he was four score years of age, and bore his share
of penance piously. When the one and twenty years that the angel gave
him were finished, and he carrying the seven bags throughout that time,
there came a messenger in a dream to say to him that his life in this
world was finished, and that he must go the next day before the Cross
of Cong and give himself up to God and Mary. Early in the morning he
went to the priest and told him the summons he had got in the night.
People say that the priest did not believe him, but at all events he
told Páidin to do as the messenger had bidden him.
Páidin departed, and left his blessing with his neighbours and
relations, and when the clock was striking twelve, and the people
saying the Angelical Salutation, Páidin came before the cross and said
three times, "My soul to God and to Mary," and on the spot he fell dead.
That cross was in the town of Cong for years. A bishop, one of the
O'Duffy's, went to Rome, and he got a bit of the true Cross and put
it into the Cross of Cong. It was there until the foreigners came and
threw it to the ground. The Cross of Cong is still in Ireland, and the
people have an idea that it will yet be raised up in the town of Cong
with the help of God.
THE ADVENTURES OF LÉITHIN
PREFACE.