"Indeed, I don't know," said she, "I was half mad at seeing them
fasting, but if God has a place for myself along with my family I am
obedient and ready to go."
Then Grania Oï laid down the dish upon the table and said to the Widow,
"Eat that, yourself and your family, and when it's eaten I'll come
again." Then they went out and it was not long till the Widow and her
family began eating, and when they were satisfied, still the food on
the dish was no less than when they began to take from it.
They were eating at that dish and it never emptied until the evening
before Good Friday. That evening the Widow and her family were without
bite or sup and they were hoping for Grania Oï and the two young women.
But when the darkness of the night was falling a tall thin man walked
in. He was dressed in a gentleman's garb. The Widow gave him a chair,
and asked him to sit down and take a rest.
"I have no time to sit down," said he, "I have lots of business to do.
You yourself and your family are without bite or sup."
"We are," said she, "but I hope for succour soon."
"Have no hope in the promise of a woman of beauty or you will be
deceived. The woman who gave you the dish is participator with the
fairies, she is trying to get your family from you; but pay her no
attention."
There was great fear on the poor Widow, and she said, "It was a
messenger from God who brought us the dish."
"Believe me they were fairies who brought you the dish and that it
was fairy food that was in it," said the thin man, "and if you accept
another dish from her, yourself and your family will be in Knock Ma[89]
amongst the fairies; have you ever heard of that place?"
[89] Cnoc Meadha, generally called in English "Castlehacket," a hill
to the west of Tuam, Co. Galway, reputed to be the headquarters of all
the Tuatha de Danann and shee-folk of Connacht. There dwell Finvara and
Nuala, king and queen of the fairies of that province. Many stories are
told about it.
"Indeed I have," said she; "but we shall have no more to do with the
fairies. I and my family would sooner die of the hunger than accept a
bite or sup from her again."
"But don't you know that she has power over you on account of all the
fairy food you yourself and your family have eaten this four months,
and now unless ye take my advice ye shall be lost."
"Thank you," said the Widow, "it is a friend who would give me good
advice."
Now it was the Devil who was talking to the Widow; He had come to put
temptation on her. "Well," said he, "you have holy water in the house."
"I have," said she.
"I can tell you that it is fairy water, and that there is no virtue in
it. Go now and throw it in the fire." The woman did so. But no sooner
did she do so than there arose a blue flame, and the house was filled
with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said,
"Well, one part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw
it in the fire, and they will have no power over you at all. And then
as soon as you are free from them I will give yourself and your family
a means of livelihood, and, better than that, yourself and your family
shall have great riches if you do as I shall tell you."
"I don't like to burn my cross, it was my mother who gave it to me,"
said the Widow.
Then he pulled out a purse filled with gold and silver, and said, "I
had this purse to give you if you had accepted my advice, and not that
alone, but yourself and your family would have had a long life."
Great greed for riches came upon the poor Widow, and she said. "I ask
your pardon, noble sir, I am submissive to you in every thing. I myself
and my family are under your control."
At that he handed her the purse and said: "Throw the cross into the
fire." She did so, but instead of its burning there began a stream of
blood to come from it. "Ha! ha!" said he, "look at the fairy blood.
Here! put your name to this paper. I must give my master an account
that I have given you the purse and that you are freed from the
Shee-folk, and under my control."
The poor woman put her hand to the pen and made her mark, because she
did not know how to write or read, and she did not know what was in the
paper. He held the paper on the moment to the fire till it was dry, and
he went out leaving the cross in the fire and blood running from it. As
soon as he was gone the Widow took up the cross. The blood ceased and
there was no sign of burning upon it. She was greatly astonished and
did not know what she would do.
While she was thinking of the wonderful things that had happened she
heard a voice calling her. When she went to the door she saw Grania Oï
and two maidens carrying a great dish filled with food.
"We don't want any fairy food," said the Widow. "We have plenty of gold
and silver. Go to Knock Ma, and don't come near us any more."
Grania Oï thought that the Widow had lost her senses, and she said: "In
God's name have sense, and in Christ's name come here till I talk with
you." She did not wish to come, but some power drew her forward until
she stood in front of Grania Oï, and she shaking from head to foot.
"What happened to you since I was here before, and where did you get
the gold and the silver?"
"A princely [a generous] man came to me this evening, and said that you
were a fairy woman, and that you were giving myself and my family fairy
food in order to get us into your power. He told me to throw the holy
water into the fire, and when I did that there rose a blue flame out of
it, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the
smoke cleared away he said, 'One part of the fairies' power is gone.
You have a cross, throw it into the fire and they won't have any power
at all over you; and when you're freed from them I'll give yourself and
your family a means of livelihood, and better than that, you and your
family will have great riches.' I told him that I did not like to burn
my cross, that it was my mother who gave it to me, but he said, 'I had
this purse for you if you had taken my advice, and not only that, but
that I and my family would have a long life.' Greed for riches came
over me, and I begged his pardon, saying that I would be submissive to
him in everything, and that I and my family were under his control.
With that he handed me the purse and said, 'Throw the cross into the
fire.' I did so, but in place of burning, a stream of blood began to
flow out of it. He laughed and said that it was fairy blood that was
in it. Then he gave me a paper to put my name to, because he had an
account to give his master that he had given me the purse--and that I
was free from the Shee.[90] I cannot write or read, but I made a mark
with the pen. When he went away I took up the cross and it was not
burnt."
[90] This is the Irish word translated by "fairy," in Irish "_sidhe_":
a common diminutive is _sidheóg_ "shee-ogue."
"I put the cross of Christ between myself and you, accursed woman. You
have sold your soul and the souls of your family to the devil for the
sake of gold and silver, and now you are lost for ever, and you have
shed the blood of Christ before the day of His crucifixion. Go to your
parish priest as soon as you can and tell him everything, and how it
happened, and tell him that it was Grania Oï who sent you to him. If
you yourself are lost your family is not lost for there is no deadly
sin upon them."
The Widow went into the house and took out the purse, and asked, "What
shall I do with this gold and silver?"
"Throw it into the fire and say at the same time, 'I renounce the devil
and all his works.'"
As soon as she threw the purse into the fire and said the words, the
Devil came into her presence and said, "You cannot renounce me. You are
mine in spite of priest, bishop, or pope. I have the bargain under your
[own] hand."
"In the name of Jesus go away from me," said the Widow; and when he
heard that name he was obliged to go.
* * * * *
The Widow went to the priest and told him the story. "I am afraid,"
said he, "that you are lost; but at all events I'll write to the bishop
about you. Go home now and begin doing penance. I'll send for you when
I get an answer from the bishop."
When she came home she found the family eating out of a great dish
which Grania Oï had left with them; but the eldest of them said to her
not to put her hand in the dish, that this was the lady's order, but
that when she should be in want of food they would give it to her.
At the end of a week the priest sent for her, and said that he had got
an answer from the bishop to say that he would not be able to have any
hand in the case until he would get an order from the Pope; but he bade
her to make repentance day and night.
At the end of a month after this the priest sent for her again, and
said, "I have a letter from the Pope to say that there is only one way
to save you. Put off your shoes and go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg.
Don't sleep the second night in any house, and only eat one meal in the
twenty-four hours, make the journey of the cross seven times in the day
and seven times in the night for seven days. Take no bread with you,
and neither gold nor silver, but ask alms in the name of God, and when
you come back again I shall tell you what it is proper for you to do.
Here is a piece of the true cross to keep the Devil from you. Go now in
the name of God."
When the widow came home Grania Oï was before her at the door, and
asked what the priest had said to her. She told her everything that she
had to do. "Go without delay," said Grania Oi, "and I'll take care of
your family until you come back."
The Widow went away. She endured thirst and hunger, cold and bitter
hardship. But she did everything as the Pope had ordered. At the end
of three months she came back and it was scarcely her own family
recognised her, she was so withered and thin.
It was not long until the priest came and said, "You have a pilgrimage
to make to Croagh Patrick, and you must walk on your knees from the
foot to the top of the Reek,[91] and no doubt you will see a messenger
from God on the top of the Reek, and you will obtain knowledge from
him. Go, now, or perhaps you would be late." The Widow departed,
although her feet were cut and the blood coming from them. She went on
her knees at the foot of the Reek, and she was two days and two nights
going to the top of it. When she sat down a faintness came over her and
she fell into a sleep.
[91] Croagh Patrick or Reek Patrick is one of the highest mountains in
Connacht. It is 2,510 feet high and difficult to climb. St Patrick is
reputed to have driven all the serpents in Ireland into the sea down
its slopes. It has always been a noted pilgrimage.
When she awoke Grania Oï was by her side. She handed her a paper and
said, "Look! is that the paper you put your hand to when you sold
yourself and your family?"
"I see that it is," said the poor Widow. "I give a thousand thanks and
laudations to God that I am saved."
When she came home the priest came and said Mass in the house. The
Widow went to confession. She herself and her seven children received
the body of Christ from the priest, and at the end of half an hour she
herself and her family were dead, and there is no doubt but that they
all went to heaven, and that we may go to the same place!
THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH.
PREFACE.
This is a story which used to be common in West Roscommon and East
Mayo. I often heard it when I was young. The following version was
written down and given me by my friend Mr. John Rogers [Seághan O
Ruaidhri] about five miles away from the place where I used to be told
the same story. He published it in 1900 in "Irishleabhar na Gaedhilge."
There is another story also about a gambler who played cards with the
devil.
THE STORY.
Long ago there used to be a king over every kind of trade and special
society and it was the "Gambler of the Branch"[92] who was king over
all the gamblers and players, and he was so skilful that nobody on the
face of the earth could win a match against him in playing cards or any
other game.
[92] "To bear alway the branch," is the Irish expression for having
first place, or in English, carrying off the palm.
At last, and on account of this, he grew lonesome and dissatisfied,
and he said that since he was not able to get a game with a man of
this world that he would go to try it in the other world. He went off,
walking away, and he never stopped of that journey until he came to
the great doors of hell, and knocked stoutly at them. "Who is there?"
said the porter.
"I am; I the Gambler of the Branch from the upper world," said he, "and
I am seeking to play a game of cards with the Arch-demon."
The Arch-demon came, and he said, "What stake have you to play for with
me, for I only play for people's souls?"
"I'll play my own soul against one of these that you have in bondage in
this place."
"I'll bet it," says the Demon.
The Gambler won the first game, and so he did most of the others, until
he had gained every soul in the place but one, and the Devil would not
stake that one no matter how hard the Gambler urged him. He gathered
them together then, but when the poor soul that was left behind saw
them departing it let a screech out of it that would split a stone, but
there was no help for it.
He drove them before him then, like a flock of sheep, and said, "What
will be done with ye[93] now?"
[93] Anglo-Irish very sensibly uses "ye" for the plural of thou in all
cases, "you" having become ambiguous.
"O friend, take us to heaven, take us to heaven," said they.
"It's as good for me, since ye are here," says he, and he drove them
away with him until he came to the great white gates of heaven.
The gates opened and they were welcomed, and the souls went in. And the
porter-saint said to the Gambler, "Won't yourself come in?"
"If I get leave to bring in the cards, I'll go," said the Gambler; "but
if I don't, I won't."
"You won't get that permission," said the saint, "but leave them on the
wall here outside the gate, and go in, till you see those souls counted
in their place. And you can come out after a while for the cards if you
wish."
The Gambler did that. He went in, and has forgotten ever since to come
out for them.
That is the way the Gambler of the Branch went to heaven, and that
is the reason that when a slow messenger delays in the house he has
been sent to with a message, people say, "You forgot to return as the
Gambler of the Branch did."
THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN.
PREFACE.
I have often heard versions of the following story. This particular
one was written down in Irish by my friend Domhnall O Fotharta of
Connemara, who printed it in his "Siamsa an gheimhridh" in 1892.
My friend the O'Cathain tells me that the reason the dardaol
(pronounced in Mid-Connacht dhardheel) is burnt, is because if you
stamp on it with your foot, or kill it with a stone or a stick, then
the next time your foot or the stick or the stone strikes a person or
an animal it will give rise to a mortal injury. That is the reason the
dardaol is taken up on a shovel and put in the fire, or else destroyed
by a hot coal.
The scientific name of the dardaol is "ocypus olens," in English he
is sometimes called the "devil's coach-horse." He is really a useful
creature and very voracious. He preys on most insects injurious to
farm crops. He is very fearless and assumes an attitude of attack when
interfered with, opening his jaws and turning his long tail over his
back as if to sting. This looks very formidable and intimidating, but
the fact is that, in common with the rest of the beetle tribe, he has
no sting.
I had the good fortune to twice see a dardaol kill a worm. On each
occasion the creature sprang into the air in a manner I could not have
conceived possible, and came down on the uphappy worm. It never loosed
its hold, but held on for nearly ten minutes, the worm struggling and
swelling all the time, until it finally appeared to be dead. One of
these dardaols was quite small, not much over three-quarters of an
inch, but the other one was very large, an inch and a half or so, and
the worm it killed might have been 3¼ or 4 inches long.
The ciaróg or keerogue is one of the common species of ground beetles
or "carabus," probably "violaceus." He is a large active insect,
usually called a "clock" in Anglo-Irish. "One keerogue knows another,"
is a common Irish proverb. He is about an inch in length.
The Prumpolaun [priompollán] is the large common dung beetle,
"geotrupes stercorarius." It is the heavy, slow-flying beetle, which at
dusk flies about searching for dirty places to deposit its eggs, and as
its weight and short body render it difficult for it to steer, it is
apt to strike the wayfarer in the face. It is the "shard-born beetle"
of the poet.
In the south of Ireland the dardaol is generally known as dearg-a-daol,
and in the Anglo-Irish of Connacht he is called a "crocodile." There
are other allusions to this intimidating insect in this book. Its dull
black colour and threatening movements have made the little creature
an object of unmerited hatred and superstition in many other countries
besides Ireland.
THE STORY.
At the time that Jesus was flying from those who were betraying Him it
chanced that He passed through a field in which was a sower who was
sowing wheat-seed. His disciples said to the sower that if any man were
to ask him "if Jesus out of Nazareth had passed that way," he was to
give them this answer: "He passed through this field the time we were
sowing the seed in it [but not since.]"
The next day the farmer went out to look at his field for fear the
birds of the air might be doing any damage [to the grain he had sowed
the day before]. But astonishment seized him when he beheld the wheat
[he had sowed the day before] ripe and yellow and of the colour of
gold, and fit to be reaped.
The farmer called on his mêhill [troop of workmen] to bring sickles
with them and cut the wheat. And while they were cutting it it chanced
that the spies came through it. They asked the man whose the field was,
whether he had seen Jesus out of Nazareth going that way. The farmer
answered them and told them what he had been bidden to tell: "He went
through this field when we were sowing the wheat that we are reaping
to-day."
The keerogue put his head out of a hole and said "iné, iné,[94]
yesterday! yesterday!" to let them know that Jesus had gone past the
day before.
[94] Pronounce in-yaé.
As they were talking with the keerogue, the dhardheel put his head out
of another hole and said, "gér! gér! gér!" "sharp! sharp, sharp," three
times over, to make them feel that if they followed Jesus sharply they
would lay hold of Him.
"O vo, vo! boiling and burning and fire on you," said the prumpolaun,
for he was afraid that the spies might understand the words that were
said to them, and that they might follow Jesus sharply to lay hold of
Him.
It is a fashion still amongst the people of West Connacht when a
dhardheel comes into any house to run for the tongs, take a red coal
and blow it, and lay it on the dhardheel to burn it, saying at the same
time, "the sins of the day, of my life, and of my seven ancestors on
you."
When they get hold of a keerogue the head is cut off it and they say
the same words that it said itself, "iné! iné"! while cutting the head
off it. But nothing bad is done to the prumpolaun on account of the
pity it had for our Saviour when He was flying from the Jews.
THE LADY OF THE ALMS.
PREFACE.
This was a story told by Michael S. Seoidhigh or Joyce from Turlogh
More, Co. Galway, for the Oireachtas many years ago.
The form of the story is obviously corrupt and confused. Why should the
woman tell her experiences to the voice above her head. There can be
little doubt that it was the voice who directed her and that when she
had come home, chastened and enlightened, she then told the story as it
is here. Either that, or it is the fragment of a longer story in which
both a strange man and the supernatural voice each played a part.
THE STORY.
There was once a lady, and there never was such an almsgiver as she
was. When her master used to be at home she would go upstairs, and when
she had no other way of giving she would take the inside garment off
her own body and hand it out to the poor people.
She had three sons and one of them died. He was one and twenty years
old when he died. After that she was greatly angered with the Son of
God.
It was not long after that until another son went, who was twenty-two
years old. And a great trouble fell upon her after their both dying.
Two years after that the third son died on her.
She went away then [half crazed]. She got a bag and began asking alms
[like any beggar]. She spent the day going [on her quest] until night
came on, and she never found house or wattled-shelter, under which she
might put her head. She heard a voice above her, and she wondered.
"What has sent you here?" said the voice, "methinks you had no cause to
take up with misery were it not your own senselessness."
"I had not," said she, "but I think I never did anything against the
Son of God, and He has taken from me a son who was twenty-one years
old, a son as nice as there was in the parish. Well I did not half mind
that--the Son of God's taking him from me--until a year from that day
He took the second son from me. Two years from that day the third son
was taken from me, and then I went and took a bag with me and said that
I would never again do another day's service to God. I was [always] so
good to the Son of God and the glorious Virgin that I never thought
that He would put such punishment upon me. But He put such punishment
on me that I went looking for alms. Away [from my home] I went and
proceeded to look for alms, and I never met house or wattled-shelter. A
man came to me before you [came] and he said to-me, 'What has brought
you here?' I told him that the Son of God had taken my three children
from me. 'Go in,' said he, 'into yonder house in which you see the
light?' I went in, and what should I see there but a corpse and three
lighted candles. I remained there watching the body and plenty of grief
and fear on me. At the hour of midnight a slumber of sleeping fell upon
me, for I was hungry and troubled. When I awoke out of the sleep I
found food and drink and everything I desired laid out before me. I ate
and drank my enough. After that I fell asleep, and when I awoke there
was nothing there but a bare field, and my bag laid under my head. I
arose and stood up and threw the bag over my shoulders and turned back
again, and the same man met me a second time. 'Where did you spend the
night?' said he. 'I spent it watching a corpse,' said I. 'Did you get
your enough to eat and drink?' 'I did,' said I. 'Why did you take up
with misery?' 'Well I did take up with misery,' said I, 'I had a son
who was twenty-one years old and he was taken from me. A year from that
day the second son was taken from me, and two years from that day the
third son was taken. I went off then and I said that I would not do one
morsel of God's rules any more.'
'Go home, now,' said the man, 'God was so good to you that He did not
desire you to find shame or scandal. That first son that you had--he
was to have been hanged [if he had lived] for slaying a man. And the
second son, he was to have been banished far away to an island in the
sea for stealing cattle [had he lived]. And the third son--a woman was
to have sworn against him that he was the father of her child, although
he never had anything, good or bad, to do with her. Go home now and
mind your own business. God had so much consideration for you that He
did not wish such pain to come down on you or your children, since you
were yourself so good to the poor. Those [three sons] shall be three
candles before you, and the three don't know which of them will arrange
your bed under you in the Heaven of God.'"
According to what authors say, there are no other four who [now] enjoy
greater pleasure and happiness than they!
ST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON.
PREFACE.
This story of St. Patrick I got from Pronisias O'Conor. It seems to
have a certain affinity with the story of Crom Dubh (which see). St.
Patrick does not play a very desirable part in this tale. He uses his
private knowledge of his garron's capacity as a weight-bearer to the
detriment of his neighbour, the story-teller drawing no distinction
between what was legal and what was morally equitable!
The story of the serpent's candle must be old and well-known, for it
is alluded to in the widely-circulated poem the "Dirge of Ireland,"
by O'Connell, said to have been a Bishop of Kerry. Talking of St.
Patrick's exploits he says it was he who "[uncial: mhúch coinneal na
carraige le na rmérdeadh,]" "who quenched the candle of the Rock by his
nod."
THE STORY.