the Clan Calatin.(152) Now Calatin was a wizard, and he and his
seven-and-twenty sons formed, as it were, but one being, the sons being
organs of their father, and what any one of them did they all did alike.
They were all poisonous, so that any weapon which one of them used would
kill in nine days the man who was but grazed by it. When this multiform
creature met Cuchulain each hand of it hurled a spear at once, but
Cuchulain caught the twenty-eight spears on his shield and not one of them
drew blood. Then he drew his sword to lop off the spears that bristled
from his shield, but as he did so the Clan Calatin rushed upon him and
flung him down, thrusting his face into the gravel. At this Cuchulain gave
a great cry of distress at the unequal combat, and one of the Ulster
exiles, Fiacha son of Firaba, who was with the host of Maev, and was
looking on at the fight, could not endure to see the plight of the
champion, and he drew his sword and with one stroke he lopped off the
eight-and-twenty hands that were grinding the face of Cuchulain into the
gravel of the Ford. Then Cuchulain arose and hacked the Clan Calatin into
fragments, so that none survived to tell Maev what Fiacha had done, else
had he and his thirty hundred followers of Clan Rury been given by Maev to
the edge of the sword.
*Ferdia to the Fray*
Cuchulain had now overcome all the mightiest of Maev’s men, save only the
mightiest of them all after Fergus, Ferdia son of Daman. And because
Ferdia was the old friend and fellow pupil of Cuchulain he had never gone
out against him; but now Maev begged him to go, and he would not. Then she
offered him her daughter, Findabair of the Fair Eyebrows, to wife, if he
would face Cuchulain at the Ford, but he would not. At last she bade him
go, lest the poets and satirists of Erin should make verses on him and put
him to open shame, and then in wrath and sorrow he consented to go, and
bade his charioteer make ready for to-morrow’s fray. Then was gloom among
all his people when they heard of that, for they knew that if Cuchulain
and their master met, one of them would return alive no more.
Very early in the morning Ferdia drove to the Ford, and lay down there on
the cushions and skins of the chariot and slept till Cuchulain should
come. Not till it was full daylight did Ferdia’s charioteer hear the
thunder of Cuchulain’s war-car approaching, and then he woke his master,
and the two friends faced each other across the Ford. And when they had
greeted each other Cuchulain said: “It is not thou, O Ferdia, who shouldst
have come to do battle with me. When we were with Skatha did we not go
side by side in every battle, through every wood and wilderness? were we
not heart-companions, comrades, in the feast and the assembly? did we not
share one bed and one deep slumber?” But Ferdia replied: “O Cuchulain,
thou of the wondrous feats, though we have studied poetry and science
together, and though I have heard thee recite our deeds of friendship, yet
it is my hand that shall wound thee. I bid thee remember not our
comradeship, O Hound of Ulster; it shall not avail thee, it shall not
avail thee.”
They then debated with what weapons they should begin the fight, and
Ferdia reminded Cuchulain of the art of casting small javelins that they
had learned from Skatha, and they agreed to begin with these. Backwards
and forwards, then, across the Ford, hummed the light javelins like bees
on a summer’s day, but when noonday had come not one weapon had pierced
the defence of either champion. Then they took to the heavy missile
spears, and now at last blood began to flow, for each champion wounded the
other time and again. At last the day came to its close. “Let us cease
now,” said Ferdia, and Cuchulain agreed. Each then threw his arms to his
charioteer, and the friends embraced and kissed each other three times,
and went to their rest. Their horses were in the same paddock, their
drivers warmed themselves over the same fire, and the heroes sent each
other food and drink and healing herbs for their wounds.
Next day they betook themselves again to the Ford, and this time, because
Ferdia had the choice of weapons the day before, he bade Cuchulain take it
now.(153) Cuchulain chose then the heavy, broad-bladed spears for close
fighting, and with them they fought from the chariots till the sun went
down, and drivers and horses were weary, and the body of each hero was
torn with wounds. Then at last they gave over, and threw away their
weapons. And they kissed each other as before, and as before they shared
all things at night, and slept peacefully till the morning.
When the third day of the combat came Ferdia wore an evil and lowering
look, and Cuchulain reproached him for coming out in battle against his
comrade for the bribe of a fair maiden, even Findabair, whom Maev had
offered to every champion and to Cuchulain himself if the Ford might be
won thereby; but Ferdia said: “Noble Hound, had I not faced thee when
summoned, my troth would be broken, and there would be shame on me in
Rathcroghan.” It is now the turn of Ferdia to choose the weapons, and they
betake themselves to their “heavy, hard-smiting swords,” and though they
hew from each other’s thighs and shoulders great cantles of flesh, neither
can prevail over the other, and at last night ends the combat. This time
they parted from each other in heaviness and gloom, and there was no
interchange of friendly acts, and their drivers and horses slept apart.
The passions of the warriors had now risen to a grim sternness.
*Death of Ferdia*
On the fourth day Ferdia knew the contest would be decided, and he armed
himself with especial care. Next his skin was a tunic of striped silk
bordered with golden spangles, and over that hung an apron of brown
leather. Upon his belly he laid a flat stone, large as a millstone, and
over that a strong, deep apron of iron, for he dreaded that Cuchulain
would use the Gae Bolg that day. And he put on his head his crested helmet
studded with carbuncle and inlaid with enamels, and girt on his
golden-hilted sword, and on his left arm hung his broad shield with its
fifty bosses of bronze. Thus he stood by the Ford, and as he waited he
tossed up his weapons and caught them again and did many wonderful feats,
playing with his mighty weapons as a juggler plays with apples; and
Cuchulain, watching him, said to Laeg, his driver: “If I give ground
to-day, do thou reproach and mock me and spur me on to valour, and praise
and hearten me if I do well, for I shall have need of all my courage.”
“O Ferdia,” said Cuchulain when they met, “what shall be our weapons
to-day?” “It is thy choice to-day,” said Ferdia. “Then let it be all or
any,” said Cuchulain, and Ferdia was cast down at hearing this, but he
said, “So be it,” and thereupon the fight began. Till midday they fought
with spears, and none could gain any advantage over the other. Then
Cuchulain drew his sword and sought to smite Ferdia over the rim of his
shield; but the giant Firbolg flung him off. Thrice Cuchulain leaped high
into the air, seeking to strike Ferdia over his shield, but each time as
he descended Ferdia caught him upon the shield and flung him off like a
little child into the Ford. And Laeg mocked him, crying: “He casts thee
off as a river flings its foam, he grinds thee as a millstone grinds a
corn of wheat; thou elf, never call thyself a warrior.”
Then at last Cuchulain’s frenzy came upon him, and he dilated giant-like,
till he overtopped Ferdia, and the hero-light blazed about his head. In
close contact the two were interlocked, whirling and trampling, while the
demons and goblins and unearthly things of the glens screamed from the
edges of their swords, and the waters of the Ford recoiled in terror from
them, so that for a while they fought on dry land in the midst of the
riverbed. And now Ferdia found Cuchulain a moment off his guard, and smote
him with the edge of the sword, and it sank deep into his flesh, and all
the river ran red with his blood. And he pressed Cuchulain sorely after
that, hewing and thrusting so that Cuchulain could endure it no longer,
and he shouted to Laeg to fling him the Gae Bolg. When Ferdia heard that
he lowered his shield to guard himself from below, and Cuchulain drove his
spear over the rim of the shield and through his breastplate into his
chest. And Ferdia raised his shield again, but in that moment Cuchulain
seized the Gae Bolg in his toes and drove it upward against Ferdia, and it
pierced through the iron apron and burst in three the millstone that
guarded him, and deep into his body it passed, so that every crevice and
cranny of him was filled with its barbs. “’Tis enough,” cried Ferdia; “I
have my death of that. It is an ill deed that I fall by thy hand, O
Cuchulain.” Cuchulain seized him as he fell, and carried him northward
across the Ford, that he might die on the further side of it, and not on
the side of the men of Erin. Then he laid him down, and a faintness seized
Cuchulain, and he was falling, when Laeg cried: “Rise up, Cuchulain, for
the host of Erin will be upon us. No single combat will they give after
Ferdia has fallen.” But Cuchulain said: “Why should I rise again, O my
servant, now he that lieth here has fallen by my hand?” and he fell in a
swoon like death. And the host of Maev with tumult and rejoicing, with
tossing of spears and shouting of war-songs, poured across the border into
Ulster.
But before they left the Ford they took the body of Ferdia and laid it in
a grave, and built a mound over him and set up a pillar-stone with his
name and lineage in Ogham. And from Ulster came certain of the friends of
Cuchulain, and they bore him away into Murthemney, where they washed him
and bathed his wounds in the streams, and his kin among the Danaan folk
cast magical herbs into the rivers for his healing. But he lay there in
weakness and in stupor for many days.
*The Rousing of Ulster*
Now Sualtam, the father of Cuchulain, had taken his son’s horse, the Grey
of Macha, and ridden off again to see if by any means he might rouse the
men of Ulster to defend the province. And he went crying abroad: “The men
of Ulster are being slain, the women carried captive, the kine driven!”
Yet they stared on him stupidly, as though they knew not of what he spake.
At last he came to Emania, and there were Cathbad the Druid and Conor the
King, and all their nobles and lords, and Sualtam cried aloud to them:
“The men of Ulster are being slain, the women carried captive, the kine
driven; and Cuchulain alone holds the gap of Ulster against the four
provinces of Erin. Arise and defend yourselves!” But Cathbad only said:
“Death were the due of him who thus disturbs the King”; and Conor said:
“Yet it is true what the man says”; and the lords of Ulster wagged their
heads and murmured: “True indeed it is.”
Then Sualtam wheeled round his horse in anger and was about to depart
when, with a start which the Grey made, his neck fell against the sharp
rim of the shield upon his back, and it shore off his head, and the head
fell on the ground. Yet still it cried its message as it lay, and at last
Conor bade put it on a pillar that it might be at rest. But it still went
on crying and exhorting, and at length into the clouded mind of the king
the truth began to penetrate, and the glazed eyes of the warriors began to
glow, and slowly the spell of Macha’s curse was lifted from their minds
and bodies. Then Conor arose and swore a mighty oath, saying: “The heavens
are above us and the earth beneath us, and the sea is round about us; and
surely, unless the heavens fall on us and the earth gape to swallow us up,
and the sea overwhelm the earth, I will restore every woman to her hearth,
and every cow to its byre.”(154) His Druid proclaimed that the hour was
propitious, and the king bade his messengers go forth on every side and
summon Ulster to arms, and he named to them warriors long dead as well as
the living, for the cloud of the curse still lingered in his brain.
With the curse now departed from them the men of Ulster flocked joyfully
to the summons, and on every hand there was grinding of spears and swords,
and buckling on of armour and harnessing of war-chariots for the
rising-out of the province.(155) One host came under Conor the King and
Keltchar, son of Uthecar Hornskin, from Emania southwards, and another
from the west along the very track of the host of Maev. And Conor’s host
fell upon eight score of the men of Erin in Meath, who were carrying away
a great booty of women-captives, and they slew every man of the eight
score and rescued the women. Maev and her host then fell back toward
Connacht, but when they reached Slemon Midi, the Hill of Slane, in Meath,
the Ulster bands joined each other there and prepared to give battle. Maev
sent her messenger mac Roth to view the Ulster host on the Plain of Garach
and report upon it. Mac Roth came back with an awe-striking description of
what he beheld. When he first looked he saw the plain covered with deer
and other wild beasts. These, explains Fergus, had been driven out of the
forests by the advancing host of the Ulster men. The second time mac Roth
looked he saw a mist that filled the valleys, the hill-tops standing above
it like islands. Out of the mist there came thunder and flashes of light,
and a wind that nearly threw him off his feet. “What is this?” asks Maev,
and Fergus tells her that the mist is the deep breathing of the warriors
as they march, and the light is the flashing of their eyes, and the
thunder is the clangour of their war-cars and the clash of their weapons
as they go to the fight: “They think they will never reach it,” says
Fergus. “We have warriors to meet them,” says Maev. “You will need that,”
says Fergus, “for in all Ireland, nay, in all the Western world, to Greece
and Scythia and the Tower of Bregon(156) and the Island of Gades, there
live not who can face the men of Ulster in their wrath.”
A long passage then follows describing the appearance and equipment of
each of the Ulster chiefs.
*The Battle of Garach*
The battle was joined on the Plain of Garach, in Meath. Fergus, wielding a
two-handed sword, the sword which, it was said, when swung in battle made
circles like the arch of a rainbow, swept down whole ranks of the Ulster
men at each blow,(157) and the fierce Maev charged thrice into the heart
of the enemy.
Fergus met Conor the King, and smote him on his golden-bordered shield,
but Cormac, the king’s son, begged for his father’s life. Fergus then
turned on Conall of the Victories.
“Too hot art thou,” said Conall, “against thy people and thy race for a
wanton.”(158) Fergus then turned from slaying the Ulstermen, but in his
battle-fury he smote among the hills with his rainbow-sword, and struck
off the tops of the three _Maela_ of Meath, so that they are flat-topped
(_mael_) to this day.
Cuchulain in his stupor heard the crash of Fergus’s blows, and coming
slowly to himself he asked of Laeg what it meant. “It is the sword-play of
Fergus,” said Laeg. Then he sprang up, and his body dilated so that the
wrappings and swathings that had been bound on him flew off, and he armed
himself and rushed into the battle. Here he met Fergus. “Turn hither,
Fergus,” he shouted; “I will wash thee as foam in a pool, I will go over
thee as the tail goes over a cat, I will smite thee as a mother smites her
infant.” “Who speaks thus to me?” cried Fergus. “Cuchulain mac Sualtam;
and now do thou avoid me as thou art pledged.”(159)
“I have promised even that,” said Fergus, and then went out of the battle,
and with him the men of Leinster and the men of Munster, leaving Maev with
her seven sons and the hosting of Connacht alone.
It was midday when Cuchulain came into the fight; when the evening sun was
shining through the leaves of the trees his war-chariot was but two wheels
and a handful of shattered ribs, and the host of Connacht was in full
flight towards the border. Cuchulain overtook Maev, who crouched under her
chariot and entreated grace. “I am not wont to slay women,” said
Cuchulain, and he protected her till she had crossed the Shannon at
Athlone.
*The Fight of the Bulls*
But the Brown Bull of Quelgny, that Maev had sent into Connacht by a
circuitous way, met the white-horned Bull of Ailell on the Plain of Aei,
and the two beasts fought; but the Brown Bull quickly slew the other, and
tossed his fragments about the land so that pieces of him were strewn from
Rathcroghan to Tara; and then careered madly about till he fell dead,
bellowing and vomiting black gore, at the Ridge of the Bull, between
Ulster and Iveagh. Ailell and Maev made peace with Ulster for seven years,
and the Ulster men returned home to Emain Macha with great glory.
Thus ends the “Tain Bo Cuailgnè,” or Cattle Raid of Quelgny; and it was
written out in the “Book of Leinster” in the year 1150 by the hand of Finn
mac Gorman, Bishop of Kildare, and at the end is written: “A blessing on
all such as faithfully shall recite the ‘Tain’ as it stands here, and
shall not give it in any other form.”
*Cuchulain in Fairyland*
One of the strangest tales in Celtic legend tells how Cuchulain, as he lay
asleep after hunting, against a pillar-stone, had a vision of two Danaan
women who came to him armed with rods and alternately beat him till he was
all but dead, and he could not lift a hand to defend himself. Next day,
and for a year thereafter, he lay in sore sickness, and none could heal
him.
Then a man whom none knew came and told him to go to the pillar-stone
where he had seen the vision, and he would learn what was to be done for
his recovery. There he found a Danaan woman in a green mantle, one of
those who had chastised him, and she told him that Fand, the Pearl of
Beauty, wife of Mananan the Sea-god, had set her love on him; and she was
at enmity with her husband Mananan; and her realm was besieged by three
demon kings, against whom Cuchulain’s help was sought, and the price of
his help would be the love of Fand. Laeg, the charioteer, was then sent by
Cuchulain to report upon Fand and her message. He entered Fairyland, which
lies beyond a lake across which he passed in a magic boat of bronze, and
came home with a report of Fand’s surpassing beauty and the wonders of the
kingdom; and Cuchulain then betook himself thither. Here he had a battle
in a dense mist with the demons, who are described as resembling
sea-waves—no doubt we are to understand that they are the folk of the
angry husband, Mananan. Then he abode with Fand, enjoying all the delights
of Fairyland for a month, after which he bade her farewell, and appointed
a trysting-place on earth, the Strand of the Yew Tree, where she was to
meet him.
*Fand, Emer, and Cuchulain*
But Emer heard of the tryst; and though not commonly disturbed at
Cuchulain’s numerous infidelities, she came on this occasion with fifty of
her maidens armed with sharp knives to slay Fand. Cuchulain and Fand
perceive their chariots from afar, and the armed angry women with golden
clasps shining on their breasts, and he prepares to protect his mistress.
He addresses Emer in a curious poem, describing the beauty and skill and
magical powers of Fand—“There is nothing the spirit can wish for that she
has not got.” Emer replies: “In good sooth, the lady to whom thou dost
cling seems in no way better than I am, but the new is ever sweet and the
well-known is sour; thou hast all the wisdom of the time, Cuchulain! Once
we dwelled in honour together, and still might dwell if I could find
favour in thy sight.” “By my word thou dost,” said Cuchulain, “and shalt
find it so long as I live.”
“Give me up,” then said Fand. But Emer said: “Nay, it is more fitting that
I be the deserted one.” “Not so,” said Fand; “it is I who must go.” “And
an eagerness for lamentation seized upon Fand, and her soul was great
within her, for it was shame for her to be deserted and straightway to
return to her home; moreover, the mighty love that she bore to Cuchulain
was tumultuous in her.”(160)
But Mananan, the Son of the Sea, knew of her sorrow and her shame, and he
came to her aid, none seeing him but she alone, and she welcomed him in a
mystic song. “Wilt thou return to me?” said Mananan, “or abide with
Cuchulain?” “In truth,” said Fand, “neither of ye is better or nobler than
the other, but I will go with thee, Mananan, for thou hast no other mate
worthy of thee, but that Cuchulain has in Emer.”
So she went to Mananan, and Cuchulain, who did not see the god, asked Laeg
what was happening. “Fand,” he replied, “is going away with the Son of the
Sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight.”
Then Cuchulain bounded into the air and fled from the place, and lay a
long time refusing meat and drink, until at last the Druids gave him a
draught of forgetfulness; and Mananan, it is said, shook his cloak between
Cuchulain and Fand, so that they might meet no more throughout
eternity.(161)
*The Vengeance of Maev*
Though Maev made peace with Ulster after the battle of Garech she vowed
the death of Cuchulain for all the shame and loss he had brought upon her
and on her province, and she sought how she might take her vengeance upon
him.
Now the wife of the wizard Calatin, whom Cuchulain slew at the Ford,
brought forth, after her husband’s death, six children at a birth, namely,
three sons and three daughters. Misshapen, hideous, poisonous, born for
evil were they; and Maev, hearing of these, sent them to learn the arts of
magic, not in Ireland only, but in Alba; and even as far as Babylon they
went to seek for hidden knowledge, and they came back mighty in their
craft, and she loosed them against Cuchulain.
*Cuchulain and Blanid*
Besides the Clan Calatin, Cuchulain had also other foes, namely Ere, the
King of Ireland, son to Cairpre, whom Cuchulain had slain in battle, and
Lewy son of Curoi, King of Munster.(162) For Curoi’s wife, Blanid, had set
her love on Cuchulain, and she bade him come and take her from Curoi’s
dūn, and watch his time to attack the dūn, when he would see the stream
that flowed from it turn white. So Cuchulain and his men waited in a wood
hard by till Blanid judged that the time was fit, and she then poured into
the stream the milk of three cows. Then Cuchulain attacked the dūn, and
took it by surprise, and slew Curoi, and bore away the woman. But
Fercartna, the bard of Curoi, went with them and showed no sign, till,
finding himself near Blanid as she stood near the cliff-edge of Beara, he
flung his arms round her, and leaped with her over the cliff, and so they
perished, and Curoi was avenged upon his wife.
All these now did Maev by secret messages and by taunts and exhortations
arouse against Cuchulain, and they waited till they heard that the curse
of Macha was again heavy on the men of Ulster, and then they assembled a
host and marched to the Plain of Murthemney.
*The Madness of Cuchulain*
And first the Children of Calatin caused a horror and a despondency to
fall upon the mind of Cuchulain, and out of the hooded thistles and
puff-balls and fluttering leaves of the forest they made the semblance of
armed battalions marching against Murthemney, and Cuchulain seemed to see
on every side the smoke of burning dwellings going up. And for two days he
did battle with the phantoms till he was sick and wearied out. Then
Cathbad and the men of Ulster persuaded him to retire to a solitary glen,
where fifty of the princesses of Ulster, and among them Niam, wife of his
faithful friend Conall of the Victories, tended him, and Niam made him vow
that he would not leave the dūn where he was until she gave him leave.
But still the Children of Calatin filled the land with apparitions of war,
and smoke and flames went up, and wild cries and wailings with chattering,
goblin laughter and the braying of trumpets and horns were borne upon the
winds. And Bave, Calatin’s daughter, went into the glen, and, taking the
form of a handmaid of Niam, she beckoned her away and led her to a
distance among the woods and put a spell of straying on her so that she
was lost and could find her way home no more. Bave then went in the form
of Niam to Cuchulain and bade him up and rescue Ulster from the hosts that
were harrying it, and the Morrigan came in the form of a great crow where
Cuchulain sat with the women, and croaked of war and slaughter. Then
Cuchulain sprang up and called Laeg to harness his chariot. But when Laeg
sought for the Grey of Macha to harness him, the horse fled from him, and
resisted, and only with great difficulty could Laeg yoke him in the
chariot, while large tears of dark blood trickled down his face.
Then Cuchulain, having armed himself, drove forth; and on every side
shapes and sounds of dread assailed him and clouded his mind, and then it
appeared to him that he saw a great smoke, lit with bursts of red flame,
over the ramparts of Emain Macha, and he thought he saw the corpse of Emer
tossed out over the ramparts. But when he came to his dūn at Murthemney,
there was Emer living, and she entreated him to leave the phantoms alone,
but he would not listen to her, and he bade her farewell. Then he bade
farewell to his mother Dectera, and she gave him a goblet of wine to
drink, but ere he could drink it the wine turned to blood, and he flung it
away, saying, “My life’s end is near; this time I shall not return alive
from the battle.” And Dectera and Cathbad besought him to await the coming
of Conall of the Victories, who was away on a journey, but he would not.
*The Washer at the Ford*
When he came to the ford upon the plain of Emania he saw there kneeling by
the stream as it were a young maiden, weeping and wailing, and she washed
a heap of bloody raiment and warlike arms in the stream, and when she
raised a dripping vest or corselet from the water Cuchulain saw that they
were his own. And as they crossed the ford she vanished from their
sight.(163)
*Clan Calatin Again*
Then, having taken his leave of Conor and of the womenfolk in Emania, he
turned again towards Murthemney and the foe. But on his way he saw by the
roadside three old crones, each blind of one eye, hideous and wretched,
and they had made a little fire of sticks, and over it they were roasting
a dead dog on spits of rowan wood. As Cuchulain passed they called to him
to alight and stay with them and share their food. “That will I not, in
sooth,” said he. “Had we a great feast,” they said, “thou wouldst soon
have stayed; it doth not become the great to despise the small.” Then
Cuchulain, because he would not be thought discourteous to the wretched,
lighted down, and he took a piece of the roast and ate it, and the hand
with which he took it was stricken up to the shoulder so that its former
strength was gone. For it was _geis_ to Cuchulain to approach a cooking
hearth and take food from it, and it was _geis_ to him to eat of his
namesake.(164)
*Death of Cuchulain*
Near to Slieve Fuad, south of Armagh, Cuchulain found the host of his
enemies, and drove furiously against them, plying the champion’s
“thunder-feat” upon them until the plain was strewn with their dead. Then
a satirist, urged on by Lewy, came near him and demanded his spear.(165)
“Have it, then,” said Cuchulain, and flung it at him with such force that
it went clean through him and killed nine men beyond. “A king will fall by
that spear,” said the Children of Calatin to Lewy, and Lewy seized it and
flung it at Cuchulain, but it smote Laeg, the king of charioteers, so that
his bowels fell out on the cushions of the chariot, and he bade farewell
to his master and he died.
Then another satirist demanded the spear, and Cuchulain said: “I am not
bound to grant more than one request on one day.” But the satirist said:
“Then I will revile Ulster for thy default,” and Cuchulain flung him the
spear as before, and Ere now got it, and this time in flying back it
struck the Grey of Macha with a mortal wound. Cuchulain drew out the spear
from the horse’s side, and they bade each other farewell, and the Grey
galloped away with half the yoke hanging to its neck.
And a third time Cuchulain flung the spear to a satirist, and Lewy took it
again and flung it back, and it struck Cuchulain, and his bowels fell out
in the chariot, and the remaining horse, Black Sainglend, broke away and
left him.
“I would fain go as far as to that loch-side to drink,” said Cuchulain,
knowing the end was come, and they suffered him to go when he had promised
to return to them again. So he gathered up his bowels into his breast and
went to the loch-side, and drank, and bathed himself, and came forth again
to die. Now there was close by a tall pillar-stone that stood westwards of
the loch, and he went up to it and slung his girdle over it and round his
breast, so that he might die in his standing and not in his lying down;
and his blood ran down in a little stream into the loch, and an otter came
out of the loch and lapped it. And the host gathered round, but feared to
approach him while the life was still in him, and the hero-light shone
above his brow. Then came the Grey of Macha to protect him, scattering his
foes with biting and kicking.
And then came a crow and settled on his shoulder.
Lewy, when he saw this, drew near and pulled the hair of Cuchulain to one
side over his shoulder, and with his sword he smote off his head; and the
sword fell from Cuchulain’s hand, and smote off the hand of Lewy as it
fell. They took the hand of Cuchulain in revenge for this, and bore the
head and hand south to Tara, and there buried them, and over them they
raised a mound. But Conall of the Victories, hastening to Cuchulain’s side
on the news of the war, met the Grey of Macha streaming with blood, and
together they went to the loch-side and saw him headless and bound to the
pillar-stone, and the horse came and laid its head on his breast. Conall
drove southwards to avenge Cuchulain, and he came on Lewy by the river
Liffey, and because Lewy had but one hand Conall tied one of his behind
his back, and for half the day they fought, but neither could prevail.
Then came Conall’s horse, the Dewy-Red, and tore a piece out of Lewy’s
side, and Conall slew him, and took his head, and returned to Emain Macha.
But they made no show of triumph in entering the city, for Cuchulain the
Hound of Ulster was no more.
*The Recovery of the Tain*
The history of the “Tain,” or Cattle Raid, of Quelgny was traditionally
supposed to have been written by no other than Fergus mac Roy, but for a
long time the great lay or saga was lost. It was believed to have been
written out in Ogham characters on staves of wood, which a bard who
possessed them had taken with him into Italy, whence they never returned.
The recovery of the “Tain” was the subject of a number of legends which
Sir S. Ferguson, in his “Lays of the Western Gael,” has combined in a poem
of so much power, so much insight into the spirit of Gaelic myth, that I
venture to reproduce much of it here in telling this singular and
beautiful story. It is said that after the loss of the “Tain” Sanchan
Torpest, chief bard of Ireland, was once taunted at a feast by the High
King Guary on his inability to recite the most famous and splendid of
Gaelic poems. This touched the bard to the quick, and he resolved to
recover the lost treasure. Far and wide through Erin and through Alba he
searched for traces of the lay, but could only recover scattered
fragments. He would have conjured up by magic arts the spirit of Fergus to
teach it to him, even at the cost of his own life—for such, it seems,
would have been the price demanded for the intervention and help of the
dead—but the place of Fergus’s grave, where the spells must be said, could
not be discovered. At last Sanchan sent his son Murgen with his younger
brother Eimena to journey to Italy and endeavour to discover there the
fate of the staff-book. The brothers set off on their journey.
“Eastward, breadthwise, over Erin straightway travell’d forth the twain,
Till with many days’ wayfaring Murgen fainted by Loch Ein:
‘Dear my brother, thou art weary: I for present aid am flown:
Thou for my returning tarry here beside this Standing Stone.’
“Shone the sunset red and solemn: Murgen,where he leant,observed
Down the corners of the column letter-strokes of Ogham carved.
‘’Tis, belike, a burial pillar,’ said he, ‘and these shallow lines
Hold some warrior’s name of valour, could I rightly spell the signs.’
“Letter then by letter tracing, soft he breathed the sound of each;
Sound and sound then interlacing, lo, the signs took form of speech;
And with joy and wonder mainly thrilling, part a-thrill with fear,
Murgen read the legend plainly, ‘FERGUS SON OF ROY IS HERE.’ ”
Murgen then, though he knew the penalty, appealed to Fergus to pity a
son’s distress, and vowed, for the sake of the recovery of the “Tain,” to
give his life, and abandon his kin and friends and the maiden he loves, so
that his father might no more be shamed. But Fergus gave no sign, and
Murgen tried another plea:
“Still he stirs not. Love of women thou regard’st not, Fergus, now:
Love of children, instincts human, care for these no more hast thou:
Wider comprehension, deeper insights to the dead belong:—
Since for Love thou wak’st not, Sleeper, yet awake for sake of Song.
“ ‘Thou, the first in rhythmic cadence dressing life’s discordant tale,
Wars of chiefs and loves of maidens, gavest the Poem to the Gael;
Now they’ve lost their noblest measure, and in dark days hard at hand,
Song shall be the only treasure left them in their native land.’
“Fergus rose. A mist ascended with him, and a flash was seen
As of brazen sandals blended with a mantle’s wafture green;
But so thick the cloud closed o’er him, Eimena, return’d at last,
Found not on the field before him but a mist-heap grey and vast.
“Thrice to pierce the hoar recesses faithful Eimena essay’d;
Thrice through foggy wildernesses back to open air he stray’d;
Till a deep voice through the vapours fill’d the twilight far and near
And the Night her starry tapers kindling, stoop’d from heaven to hear.
“Seem’d as though the skiey Shepherd back to earth had cast the fleece
Envying gods of old caught upward from the darkening shrines of Greece;
So the white mists curl’d and glisten’d, to from heaven’s expanses bare,
Stars enlarging lean’d and listen’d down the emptied depths of air.
“All night long by mists surrounded Murgen lay in vapoury bars;
All night long the deep voice sounded ’neath the keen, enlarging stars:
But when, on the orient verges, stars grew dim and mists retired,
Rising by the stone of Fergus, Murgen stood a man inspired.
“ ‘Back to Sanchan!—Father, hasten, ere the hour of power be past,
Ask not how obtain’d but listen to the lost lay found at last!’
‘Yea, these words have tramp of heroes in them; and the marching rhyme
Rolls the voices of the eras down the echoing steeps of Time.’
“Not till all was thrice related, thrice recital full essay’d,
Sad and shamefaced, worn and faded, Murgen sought the faithful maid.
‘Ah, so haggard; ah, so altered; thou in life and love so strong!’
‘Dearly purchased,’ Murgen falter’d, ‘life and love I’ve sold for song!’
“ ‘Woe is me, the losing bargain! what can song the dead avail?’
‘Fame immortal,’ murmur’d Murgen, ‘long as lay delights the Gael.’
‘Fame, alas! the price thou chargest not repays one virgin tear.’
‘Yet the proud revenge I’ve purchased for my sire, I deem not dear.’
“ ‘So,again to Gort the splendid, when the drinking boards were spread,
Sanchan, as of old attended, came and sat at table-head.
‘Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest: twin gold goblets, Bard, are thine,
If with voice and string thou harpest, _Tain-Bo-Cuailgne_, line for
line.’
“ ‘Yea, with voice and string I’ll chant it. Murgen to his father’s knee
Set the harp: no prelude wanted, Sanchan struck the master key,
And, as bursts the brimful river all at once from caves of Cong,
Forth at once, and once for ever, leap’d the torrent of the song.
“Floating on a brimful torrent, men go down and banks go by:
Caught adown the lyric current, Guary, captured, ear and eye,
Heard no more the courtiers jeering, saw no more the walls of Gort,
Creeve Roe’s(166) meads instead appearing, and Emania’s royal fort.
“Vision chasing splendid vision, Sanchan roll’d the rhythmic scene;
They that mock’d in lewd derision now, at gaze, with wondering mien
Sate, and, as the glorying master sway’d the tightening reins of song,
Felt emotion’s pulses faster—fancies faster bound along.
“Pity dawn’d on savage faces, when for love of captive Crunn,
Macha, in the ransom-races, girt her gravid loins, to run
’Gainst the fleet Ultonian horses; and, when Deirdra on the road
Headlong dash’d her ’mid the corses, brimming eyelids overflow’d.
“Light of manhood’s generous ardour, under brows relaxing shone,
When, mid-ford, on Uladh’s border, young Cuchullin stood alone,
Maev and all her hosts withstanding:— ‘Now, for love of knightly play,
Yield the youth his soul’s demanding; let the hosts their marchings stay,
“’Till the death he craves be given; and, upon his burial stone
Champion-praises duly graven, make his name and glory known;
For, in speech-containing token, age to ages never gave
Salutation better spoken, than, “Behold a hero’s grave.”’
“What, another and another, and he still or combat calls?
Ah, the lot on thee, his brother sworn in arms, Ferdia, falls;
And the hall with wild applauses sobb’d like woman ere they wist,
When the champions in the pauses of the deadly combat kiss’d.
“Now, for love of land and cattle, while Cuchullin in the fords
Stays the march of Connaught’s battle, ride and rouse the Northern Lords;
Swift as angry eagles wing them toward the plunder’d eyrie’s call,
Thronging from Dun Dealga bring them, bring them from the Red Branch hall!
“Heard ye not the tramp of armies? Hark! amid the sudden gloom,
’Twas the stroke of Conall’s war-mace sounded through the startled room;
And, while still the hall grew darker, king and courtier chill’d with
dread,
Heard the rattling of the war-car of Cuchullin overhead.
“Half in wonder, half in terror, loth to stay and loth to fly,
Seem’d to each beglamour’d hearer shades of kings went thronging by:
But the troubled joy of wonder merged at last in mastering fear,
As they heard through pealing thunder, ‘FERGUS SON OF ROY IS HERE!’
“Brazen-sandall’d, vapour-shrouded, moving in an icy blast,
Through the doorway terror-crowded, up the tables Fergus pass’d:—
‘Stay thy hand, oh harper, pardon! cease the wild unearthly lay!
Murgen, bear thy sire his guerdon.’ Murgen sat, a shape of clay.
“ ‘Bear him on his bier beside me: never more in halls of Gort
Shall a niggard king deride me: slaves, of Sanchan make their sport!
But because the maiden’s yearnings needs must also be condoled,
Hers shall be the dear-bought earnings, hers the twin-bright cups of
gold.’
“ ‘Cups,’ she cried, ‘of bitter drinking, fling them far as arm can
throw!’
Let them in the ocean sinking, out of sight and memory go!
Let the joinings of the rhythm, let the links of sense and sound
Of the _Tain-Bo_ perish with them, lost as though they’d ne’er been
found!’
“So it comes, the lay, recover’d once at such a deadly cost,
Ere one full recital suffer’d, once again is all but lost:
For, the maiden’s malediction still with many a blemish-stain
Clings in coarser garb of fiction round the fragments that remain.”
*The Phantom Chariot of Cuchulain*
Cuchulain, however, makes an impressive reappearance in a much later
legend of Christian origin, found in the twelfth-century “Book of the Dun
Cow.” He was summoned from Hell, we are told, by St. Patrick to prove the
truths of Christianity and the horrors of damnation to the pagan monarch,
Laery mac Neill, King of Ireland. Laery, with St. Benen, a companion of
Patrick, are standing on the Plain of mac Indoc when a blast of icy wind
nearly takes them off their feet. It is the wind of Hell, Benen explains,
after its opening before Cuchulain. Then a dense mist covers the plain,
and anon a huge phantom chariot with galloping horses, a grey and a black,
loom up through the mist. Within it are the famous two, Cuchulain and his
charioteer, giant figures, armed with all the splendour of the Gaelic
warrior.
Cuchulain then talks to Laery, and urges him to “believe in God and in
holy Patrick, for it is not a demon that has come to thee, but Cuchulain
son of Sualtam.” To prove his identity he recounts his famous deeds of
arms, and ends by a piteous description of his present state:
“What I suffered of trouble,
O Laery, by sea and land—
Yet more severe was a single night
When the demon was wrathful!
Great as was my heroism,
Hard as was my sword,
The devil crushed me with one finger
Into the red charcoal!”
He ends by beseeching Patrick that heaven may be granted to him, and the
legend tells that the prayer was granted and that Laery believed.
*Death of Conor mac Nessa*
Christian ideas have also gathered round the end of Cuchulain’s lord, King
Conor of Ulster. The manner of his death was as follows: An unjust and
cruel attack had been made by him on Mesgedra, King of Leinster, in which
that monarch met his death at the hand of Conall of the Victories.(167)
Conall took out the brains of the dead king and mingled them with lime to
make a sling-stone—such “brain balls,” as they were called, being
accounted the most deadly of missiles. This ball was laid up in the king’s
treasure-house at Emain Macha, where the Connacht champion, Ket son of
Maga, found it one day when prowling in disguise through Ulster. Ket took
it away and kept it always by him. Not long thereafter the Connacht men
took a spoil of cattle from Ulster, and the Ulster men, under Conor,
overtook them at a river-ford still called Athnurchar (The Ford of the
Sling-cast), in Westmeath. A battle was imminent, and many of the ladies
of Connacht came to their side of the river to view the famous Ultonian
warriors, and especially Conor, the stateliest man of his time. Conor was
willing to show himself, and seeing none but women on the other bank he
drew near them; but Ket, who was lurking in ambush, now rose and slung the
brain-ball at Conor, striking him full in the forehead. Conor fell, and
was carried off by his routed followers. When they got him home, still
living, to Emain Macha, his physician, Fingen, pronounced that if the ball
were extracted from his head he must die; it was accordingly sewn up with
golden thread, and the king was bidden to keep himself from horse-riding
and from all vehement passion and exertion, and he would do well.
Seven years afterwards Conor saw the sun darken at noonday, and he
summoned his Druid to tell him the cause of the portent. The Druid, in a
magic trance, tells him of a hill in a distant land on which stand three
crosses with a human form nailed to each of them, and one of them is like
the Immortals. “Is he a malefactor?” then asks Conor. “Nay,” says the
Druid, “but the Son of the living God,” and he relates to the king the
story of the death of Christ. Conor breaks out in fury, and drawing his
sword he hacks at the oak-trees in the sacred grove, crying, “Thus would I
deal with his enemies,” when with the excitement and exertion the
brain-ball bursts from his head, and he falls dead. And thus was the
vengeance of Mesgedra fulfilled. With Conor and with Cuchulain the glory
of the Red Branch and the dominance of Ulster passed away. The next, or
Ossianic, cycle of Irish legend brings upon the scene different
characters, different physical surroundings, and altogether different
ideals of life.
*Ket and the Boar of mac Datho*
The Connacht champion Ket, whose main exploit was the wounding of King
Conor at Ardnurchar, figures also in a very dramatic tale entitled “The
Carving of mac Datho’s Boar.” The story runs as follows:
Once upon a time there dwelt in the province of Leinster a wealthy
hospitable lord named Mesroda, son of Datho. Two possessions had he;
namely, a hound which could outrun every other hound and every wild beast
in Erin, and a boar which was the finest and greatest in size that man had
ever beheld.
Now the fame of this hound was noised all about the land, and many were
the princes and lords who longed to possess it. And it came to pass that
Conor King of Ulster and Maev Queen of Connacht sent messengers to mac
Datho to ask him to sell them the hound for a price, and both the
messengers arrived at the dūn of mac Datho on the same day. Said the
Connacht messenger: “We will give thee in exchange for the hound six
hundred milch cows, and a chariot with two horses, the best that are to be
found in Connacht, and at the end of a year thou shalt have as much
again.” And the messenger of King Conor said: “We will give no less than
Connacht, and the friendship and alliance of Ulster, and that will be
better for thee than the friendship of Connacht.”
Then Mesroda mac Datho fell silent, and for three days he would not eat or
drink, nor could he sleep o’ nights, but tossed restlessly on his bed. His
wife observed his condition, and said to him: “Thy fast hath been long,
Mesroda, though good food is by thee in plenty; and at night thou turnest
thy face to the wall, and well I know thou dost not sleep. What is the
cause of thy trouble?”
“There is a saying,” replied Mac Datho, “’Trust not a thrall with money,
nor a woman with a secret.’”
“When should a man talk to a woman,” said his wife, “but when something
were amiss? What thy mind cannot solve perchance another’s may.”
Then mac Datho told his wife of the request for his hound both from Ulster
and from Connacht at one and the same time. “And whichever of them I
deny,” he said, “they will harry my cattle and slay my people.”
“Then hear my counsel,” said the woman. “Give it to both of them, and bid
them come and fetch it; and if there be any harrying to be done, let them
even harry each other; but in no way mayest thou keep the hound.”
Mac Datho followed this wise counsel, and bade both Ulster and Connacht to
a great feast on the same day, saying to each of them that they could have
the hound afterwards.
So on the appointed day Conor of Ulster, and Maev, and their retinues of
princes and mighty men assembled at the dūn of mac Datho. There they found
a great feast set forth, and to provide the chief dish mac Datho had
killed his famous boar, a beast of enormous size. The question now arose
as to who should have the honourable task of carving it, and Bricriu of
the Poisoned Tongue characteristically, for the sake of the strife which
he loved, suggested that the warriors of Ulster and Connacht should
compare their principal deeds of arms, and give the carving of the boar to
him who seemed to have done best in the border-fighting which was always
going on between the provinces. After much bandying of words and of taunts
Ket son of Maga arises and stands over the boar, knife in hand,
challenging each of the Ulster lords to match his deeds of valour. One
after another they arise, Cuscrid son of Conor, Keltchar, Moonremur, Laery
the Triumphant, and others—Cuchulain is not introduced in this story—and
in each case Ket has some biting tale to tell of an encounter in which he
has come off better than they, and one by one they sit down shamed and
silenced. At last a shout of welcome is heard at the door of the hall and
the Ulstermen grow jubilant: Conall of the Victories has appeared on the
scene. He strides up to the boar, and Ket and he greet each other with
chivalrous courtesy:
“And now welcome to thee, O Conall, thou of the iron heart and fiery
blood; keen as the glitter of ice, ever-victorious chieftain; hail, mighty
son of Finnchoom!” said Ket.
And Conall said: “Hail to thee, Ket, flower of heroes, lord of chariots, a
raging sea in battle; a strong, majestic bull; hail, son of Maga!”
“And now,” went on Conall, “rise up from the boar and give me place.”
“Why so?” replied Ket.
“Dost thou seek a contest from me?” said Conall. “Verily thou shalt have
it. By the gods of my nation I swear that since I first took weapons in my
hand I have never passed one day that I did not slay a Connacht man, nor
one night that I did not make a foray on them, nor have I ever slept but I
had the head of a Connacht man under my knee.”
“I confess,” then said Ket, “that thou art a better man than I, and I
yield thee the boar. But if Anluan my brother were here, he would match
thee deed for deed, and sorrow and shame it is that he is not.”
“Anluan is here,” shouted Conall, and with that he drew from his girdle
the head of Anluan and dashed it in the face of Ket.
Then all sprang to their feet and a wild shouting and tumult arose, and
the swords flew out of themselves, and battle raged in the hall of mac
Datho. Soon the hosts burst out through the doors of the dūn and smote and
slew each other in the open field, until the Connacht host were put to
flight. The hound of mac Datho pursued the chariot of King Ailell of
Connacht till the charioteer smote off its head, and so the cause of
contention was won by neither party, and mac Datho lost his hound, but
saved his lands and life.
*The Death of Ket*
The death of Ket is told in Keating’s “History of Ireland.” Returning from
a foray in Ulster, he was overtaken by Conall at the place called the Ford
of Ket, and they fought long and desperately. At last Ket was slain, but
Conall of the Victories was in little better case, and lay bleeding to
death when another Connacht champion named Beälcu(168) found him. “Kill
me,” said Conall to him, “that it be not said I fell at the hand of _one_
Connacht man.” But Beälcu said: “I will not slay a man at the point of
death, but I will bring thee home and heal thee, and when thy strength is
come again thou shalt fight with me in single combat.” Then Beälcu put
Conall on a litter and brought him home, and had him tended till his
wounds were healed.
The three sons of Beälcu, however, when they saw what the Ulster champion
was like in all his might, resolved to assassinate him before the combat
should take place. By a stratagem Conall contrived that they slew their
own father instead; and then, taking the heads of the three sons, he went
back, victoriously as he was wont, to Ulster.
*The Death of Maev*
The tale of the death of Queen Maev is also preserved by Keating. Fergus
mac Roy having been slain by Ailell with a cast of a spear as he bathed in
a lake with Maev, and Ailell having been slain by Conall, Maev retired to
an island(169) on Loch Ryve, where she was wont to bathe early every
morning in a pool near to the landing-place. Forbay son of Conor mac
Nessa, having discovered this habit of the queen’s, found means one day to
go unperceived to the pool and to measure the distance from it to the
shore of the mainland. Then he went back to Emania, where he measured out
the distance thus obtained, and placing an apple on a pole at one end he
shot at it continually with a sling until he grew so good a marksman at
that distance that he never missed his aim. Then one day, watching his
opportunity by the shores of Loch Ryve, he saw Maev enter the water, and
putting a bullet in his sling he shot at her with so good an aim that he
smote her in the centre of the forehead and she fell dead.
The great warrior-queen had reigned in Connacht, it was said, for
eighty-eight years. She is a signal example of the kind of women whom the
Gaelic bards delighted to portray. Gentleness and modesty were by no means
their usual characteristics, but rather a fierce overflowing life.
Women-warriors like Skatha and Aifa are frequently met with, and one is
reminded of the Gaulish women, with their mighty snow-white arms, so
dangerous to provoke, of whom classical writers tell us. The Gaelic bards,
who in so many ways anticipated the ideas of chivalric romance, did not do
so in setting women in a place apart from men. Women were judged and
treated like men, neither as drudges nor as goddesses, and we know that
well into historic times they went with men into battle, a practice only
ended in the sixth century.
*Fergus mac Leda and the Wee Folk*
Of the stories of the Ultonian Cycle which do not centre on the figure of
Cuchulain, one of the most interesting is that of Fergus mac Leda and the
King of the Wee Folk. In this tale Fergus appears as King of Ulster, but
as he was contemporary with Conor mac Nessa, and in the Cattle Raid of
Quelgny is represented as following him to war, we must conclude that he
was really a sub-king, like Cuchulain or Owen of Ferney.
The tale opens in Faylinn, or the Land of the Wee Folk, a race of elves
presenting an amusing parody of human institutions on a reduced scale, but
endowed (like dwarfish people generally in the literature of primitive
races) with magical powers. Iubdan,(170) the King of Faylinn, when flushed
with wine at a feast, is bragging of the greatness of his power and the
invincibility of his armed forces—have they not the strong man Glower, who
with his axe has been known to hew down a thistle at a stroke? But the
king’s bard, Eisirt, has heard something of a giant race oversea in a land
called Ulster, one man of whom would annihilate a whole battalion of the
Wee Folk, and he incautiously allows himself to hint as much to the
boastful monarch. He is immediately clapped into prison for his audacity,
and only gets free by promising to go immediately to the land of the
mighty men, and bring back evidence of the truth of his incredible story.
So off he goes; and one fine day King Fergus and his lords find at the
gate of their Dūn a tiny little fellow magnificently clad in the robes of
a royal bard, who demands entrance. He is borne in upon the hand of Æda,
the king’s dwarf and bard, and after charming the court by his wise and
witty sayings, and receiving a noble largesse, which he at once
distributes among the poets and other court attendants of Ulster, he goes
off home, taking with him as a guest the dwarf Æda, before whom the Wee
Folk fly as a “Fomorian giant,” although, as Eisirt explains, the average
man of Ulster can carry him like a child. Iubdan is now convinced, but
Eisirt puts him under _geise_, the bond of chivalry which no Irish
chieftain can repudiate without being shamed, to go himself, as Eisirt has
done, to the palace of Fergus and taste the king’s porridge. Iubdan, after
he has seen Æda, is much dismayed, but he prepares to go, and bids Bebo,
his wife, accompany him. “You did an ill deed,” she says, “when you
condemned Eisirt to prison; but surely there is no man under the sun that
can make thee hear reason.”
So off they go, and Iubdan’s fairy steed bears them over the sea till they
reach Ulster, and by midnight they stand before the king’s palace. “Let us
taste the porridge as we were bound,” says Bebo, “and make off before
daybreak.” They steal in and find the porridge-pot, to the rim of which
Iubdan can only reach by standing on his horse’s back. In straining
downwards to get at the porridge he overbalances himself and falls in.
There in the thick porridge he sticks fast, and there Fergus’s scullions
find him at the break of day, with the faithful Bebo lamenting. They bear
him off to Fergus, who is amazed at finding another wee man, with a woman
too, in his palace. He treats them hospitably, but refuses all appeals to
let them go. The story now recounts in a spirit of broad humour several
Rabelaisian adventures in which Bebo is concerned, and gives a charming
poem supposed to have been uttered by Iubdan in the form of advice to
Fergus’s fire-gillie as to the merits for burning of different kinds of
timber. The following are extracts:
“Burn not the sweet apple-tree of drooping branches, of the white
blossoms, to whose gracious head each man puts forth his hand.”
“Burn not the noble willow, the unfailing ornament of poems; bees
drink from its blossoms, all delight in the graceful tent.”
“The delicate, airy tree of the Druids, the rowan with its
berries, this burn; but avoid the weak tree, burn not the slender
hazel.”
“The ash-tree of the black buds burn not—timber that speeds the
wheel, that yields the rider his switch; the ashen spear is the
scale-beam of battle.”
At last the Wee Folk come in a great multitude to beg the release of
Iubdan. On the king’s refusal they visit the country with various plagues,
snipping off the ears of corn, letting the calves suck all the cows dry,
defiling the wells, and so forth; but Fergus is obdurate. In their quality
as earth-gods, _dei terreni_, they promise to make the plains before the
palace of Fergus stand thick with corn every year without ploughing or
sowing, but all is vain. At last, however, Fergus agrees to ransom Iubdan
against the best of his fairy treasures, so Iubdan recounts them—the
cauldron that can never be emptied, the harp that plays of itself; and
finally he mentions a pair of water-shoes, wearing which a man can go over
or under water as freely as on dry land. Fergus accepts the shoes, and
Iubdan is released.
*The Blemish of Fergus*
But it is hard for a mortal to get the better of Fairyland—a touch of
hidden malice lurks in magical gifts, and so it proved now. Fergus was
never tired of exploring the depths of the lakes and rivers of Ireland;
but one day, in Loch Rury, he met with a hideous monster, the _Muirdris_,
or river-horse, which inhabited that lake, and from which he barely saved
himself by flying to the shore. With the terror of this encounter his face
was twisted awry; but since a blemished man could not hold rule in
Ireland, his queen and nobles took pains, on some pretext, to banish all
mirrors from the palace, and kept the knowledge of his condition from him.
One day, however, he smote a bondmaid with a switch, for some negligence,
and the maid, indignant, cried out: “It were better for thee, Fergus, to
avenge thyself on the river-horse that hath twisted thy face than to do
brave deeds on women!” Fergus bade fetch him a mirror, and looked in it.
“It is true,” he said; “the river-horse of Loch Rury has done this thing.”
*Death of Fergus*
The conclusion may be given in the words of Sir Samuel Ferguson’s fine
poem on this theme. Fergus donned the magic shoes, took sword in hand, and
went to Loch Rury:
“For a day and night
Beneath the waves he rested out of sight,
But all the Ultonians on the bank who stood
Saw the loch boil and redden with his blood.
When next at sunrise skies grew also red
He rose—and in his hand the _Muirdris_’ head.
Gone was the blemish! On his goodly face
Each trait symmetric had resumed its place:
And they who saw him marked in all his mien
A king’s composure, ample and serene.
He smiled; he cast his trophy to the bank,
Said, ’I, survivor, Ulstermen!’ and sank."
This fine tale has been published in full from an Egerton MS., by Mr.
Standish Hayes O’Grady, in his “Silva Gadelica.” The humorous treatment of
the fairy element in the story would mark it as belonging to a late period
of Irish legend, but the tragic and noble conclusion unmistakably signs it
as belonging to the Ulster bardic literature, and it falls within the same
order of ideas, if it were not composed within the same period, as the
tales of Cuchulain.
*Significance of Irish Place-Names*
Before leaving this great cycle of legendary literature let us notice what
has already, perhaps, attracted the attention of some readers—the extent
to which its chief characters and episodes have been commemorated in the
still surviving place-names of the country.(171) This is true of Irish
legend in general—it is especially so of the Ultonian Cycle. Faithfully
indeed, through many a century of darkness and forgetting, have these
names pointed to the hidden treasures of heroic romance which the labours
of our own day are now restoring to light. The name of the little town of
Ardee, as we have seen,(172) commemorates the tragic death of Ferdia at
the hand of his “heart companion,” the noblest hero of the Gael. The ruins
of Dūn Baruch, where Fergus was bidden to the treacherous feast, still
look over the waters of Moyle, across which Naisi and Deirdre sailed to
their doom. Ardnurchar, the Hill of the Sling-cast, in Westmeath,(173)
brings to mind the story of the stately monarch, the crowd of gazing
women, and the crouching enemy with the deadly missile which bore the
vengeance of Mesgedra. The name of Armagh, or Ard Macha, the Hill of
Macha, enshrines the memory of the Fairy Bride and her heroic sacrifice,
while the grassy rampart can still be traced where the war-goddess in the
earlier legend drew its outline with the pin of her brooch when she
founded the royal fortress of Ulster. Many pages might be filled with
these instances. Perhaps no modern country has place-names so charged with
legendary associations as are those of Ireland. Poetry and myth are there
still closely wedded to the very soil of the land—a fact in which there
lies ready to hand an agency for education, for inspiration, of the
noblest kind, if we only had the insight to see it and the art to make use
of it.