stones, round which grew rank grass and nettles, and where no human
creature had his habitation, marked the place for which they had
longed with an aching, hungry longing, through all their weary years
of doom. Their cries were piteous as the cries of lost children as
they looked on the desolate ruins, but all night they stayed there,
and their songs were songs that might have made the very stones shed
tears.
Next day they winged their way back to Inis Glora, and there the
sweetness of their singing drew so many birds to listen that the
little lake got the name of the Lake of the Bird-Flocks. Near and far,
for long thereafter, flew the swans, all along the coast of the
Western Sea, and at the island of Iniskea they held converse with the
lonely crane that has lived there since the beginning of the world,
and which will live there until time is no more.
And while the years went by, there came to Erin one who brought glad
tidings, for the holy Patrick came to lead men out of darkness into
light. With him came Kemoc, and Kemoc made his home on Inis Glora.
At dawn one morning, the four swans were roused by the tinkle of a
little bell. It was so far away that it rang faintly, but it was like
no sound they had ever known, and the three brothers were filled with
fear and flew hither and thither, trying to discover from whence the
strange sound came. But when they returned to Finola, they found her
floating at peace on the water.
"Dost not know what sound it is?" she asked, divining their thoughts.
"We heard a faint, fearful voice," they said, "but we know not what it
is."
Then said Finola: "It is the voice of the Christian bell. Soon, now,
shall our suffering be ended, for such is the will of God."
So very happily and peacefully they listened to the ringing of the
bell, until Kemoc had said matins. Then said Finola: "Let us now sing
our music," and they praised the Lord of heaven and earth.
And when the wonderful melody of their song reached the ears of Kemoc,
he knew that none but the children of Lir could make such magic-sweet
melody. So he hastened to where they were, and when he asked them if
they were indeed the children of Lir, for whose sake he had come to
Inis Glora, they told him all their piteous tale.
Then said Kemoc, "Come then to land, and put your trust in me, for on
this island shall your enchantment come to an end." And when most
gladly they came, he caused a cunning workman to fashion two slender
silver chains; one he put between Finola and Aed, and the other
between Ficra and Conn, and so joyous were they to know again human
love, and so happy to join each day with Kemoc in praising God, that
the memory of their suffering and sorrow lost all its bitterness. Thus
in part were the words of Eva fulfilled, but there had yet to take
place the entire fulfilment of her words.
Decca, a princess of Munster, had wed Larguen, king of Connaught, and
when news came to her of the wonderful swans of Kemoc, nothing would
suffice her but that she should have them for her own. By constant
beseeching, she at length prevailed upon Larguen to send messengers to
Kemoc, demanding the swans. When the messengers returned with a stern
refusal from Kemoc, the king was angry indeed. How dared a mere cleric
refuse to gratify the whim of the queen of Larguen of Connaught! To
Inis Glora he went, posthaste, himself.
"Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of your birds to my
queen?" he asked, in wrath.
And Kemoc answered: "It is truth."
Then Larguen, in furious anger, seized hold of the silver chain that
bound Finola and Aed together, and of the chain by which Conn and
Ficra were bound, and dragged them away from the altar by which they
sat, that he might take them to his queen.
But as the king held their chains in his rude grasp, a wondrous thing
took place.
Instead of swans, there followed Larguen a very old woman,
white-haired and feeble, and three very old men, bony and wrinkled
and grey. And when Larguen beheld them, terror came upon him and he
hastened homeward, followed by the bitter denunciations of Kemoc. Then
the children of Lir, in human form at last, turned to Kemoc and
besought him to baptize them, because they knew that death was very
near.
"Thou art not more sorrowful at parting from us than we are to part
with you, dear Kemoc," they said. And Finola said, "Bury us, I pray
you, together."
"As oft in life my brothers dear
Were sooth'd by me to rest--
Ficra and Conn beneath my wings,
And Aed before my breast;
So place the two on either hand--
Close, like the love that bound me;
Place Aed as close before my face,
And twine their arms around me."
Joyce.
So Kemoc signed them in Holy Baptism with the blessed Cross, and even
as the water touched their foreheads, and while his words were in
their ears, death took them. And, as they passed, Kemoc looked up,
and, behold, four beautiful children, their faces radiant with joy,
and with white wings lined with silver, flying upwards to the clouds.
And soon they vanished from his sight and he saw them no more.
He buried them as Finola had wished, and raised a mound over them, and
carved their names on a stone.
And over it he sang a lament and prayed to the God of all love and
purity, a prayer for the pure and loving souls of those who had been
the children of Lir.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] The North Channel.
[12] Erris, in Mayo.
[13] A small island off Benmullet.
DEIRDRE
"Her beauty filled the old world of the Gael with a
sweet, wonderful, and abiding rumour. The name of
Deirdre has been as a harp to a thousand poets. In a
land of heroes and brave and beautiful women, how shall
one name survive? Yet to this day and for ever, men will
remember Deirdre...."
Fiona Macleod.
So long ago, that it was before the birth of our Lord, so says
tradition, there was born that
"Morning star of loveliness,
Unhappy Helen of a Western land,"
who is known to the Celts of Scotland as Darthool, to those of Ireland
as Deirdre. As in the story of Helen, it is not easy, or even possible
in the story of Deirdre, to disentangle the old, old facts of actual
history from the web of romantic fairy tale that time has woven about
them, yet so great is the power of Deirdre, even unto this day, that
it has been the fond task of those men and women to whom the Gael owes
so much, to preserve, and to translate for posterity, the tragic
romance of Deirdre the Beautiful and the Sons of Usna.
In many ancient manuscripts we get the story in more or less complete
form. In the Advocates' Library of Edinburgh, in the Glenmasan MS. we
get the best and the fullest version, while the oldest and the
shortest is to be found in the twelfth-century _Book of Leinster_.
But those who would revel in the old tale and have Deirdre lead them
by the hand into the enchanted realm of the romance of misty, ancient
days of our Western Isles must go for help to Fiona Macleod, to
Alexander Carmichael, to Lady Gregory, to Dr. Douglas Hyde, to W. F.
Skene, to W. B. Yeats, to J. M. Synge, and to those others who, like
true descendants of the Druids, possess the power of unlocking the
entrance gates of the Green Islands of the Blest.
Conchubar, or Conor, ruled the kingdom of the Ultonians, now Ulster,
when Deirdre was born in Erin. All the most famous warriors of his
time, heroes whose mighty deeds live on in legend, and whose title was
"The Champions of the Red Branch," he gathered round him, and all
through Erin and Alba rang the fame of the warlike Ultonians.
There came a day when Conor and his champions, gorgeous in their gala
dress of crimson tunic with brooches of inlaid gold and white-hooded
shirt embroidered in red gold, went to a feast in the house of one
called Felim. Felim was a bard, and because not only was his arm in
war strong and swift to strike, but because, in peace, his fingers
could draw the sweetest of music from his harp, he was dear to the
king. As they feasted, Conor beheld a dark shadow of horror and of
grief fall on the face of Cathbad, a Druid who had come in his train,
and saw that his aged eyes were gazing far into the Unseen. Speedily
he bade him tell him what evil thing it was that he saw, and Cathbad
turned to the childless Felim and told him that to his wife there was
about to be born a daughter, with eyes like stars that are mirrored
by night in the water, with lips red as the rowan berries and teeth
more white than pearls; with a voice more sweet than the music of
fairy harps. "A maiden fair, tall, long haired, for whom champions
will contend ... and mighty kings be envious of her lovely, faultless
form." For her sweet sake, he said, more blood should be spilt in Erin
than for generations and ages past, and many heroes and bright torches
of the Gaels should lose their lives. For love of her, three heroes of
eternal renown must give their lives away, the sea in which her starry
eyes should mirror themselves would be a sea of blood, and woe
unutterable should come on the sons of Erin. Then up spoke the lords
of the Red Branch, and grimly they looked at Felim the Harper:
"If the babe that thy wife is about to bear is to bring such evil upon
our land, better that thou shouldst shed her innocent blood ere she
spills the blood of our nation."
And Felim made answer:
"It is well spoken. Bitter it is for my wife and for me to lose a
child so beautiful, yet shall I slay her that my land may be saved
from such a doom."
But Conor, the king, spoke then, and because the witchery of the
perfect beauty and the magic charm of Deirdre was felt by him even
before she was born, he said: "She shall not die. Upon myself I take
the doom. The child shall be kept apart from all men until she is of
an age to wed. Then shall I take her for my wife, and none shall dare
to contend for her."
His voice had barely ceased, when a messenger came to Felim to tell
him that a daughter was born to him, and on his heels came a
procession of chanting women, bearing the babe on a flower-decked
cushion. And all who saw the tiny thing, with milk-white skin, and
locks "more yellow than the western gold of the summer sun," looked on
her with the fear that even the bravest heart feels on facing the
Unknown. And Cathbad spoke: "Let Deirdre be her name, sweet menace
that she is." And the babe gazed up with starry eyes at the
white-haired Druid as he chanted to her:
"_Many will be jealous of your face, O flame of beauty;
for your sake heroes shall go to exile. For there is
harm in your face; it will bring banishment and death on
the sons of kings. In your fate, O beautiful child, are
wounds and ill-doings, and shedding of blood._
"_You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you
will be a tale of wonder for ever, Deirdre._"
Lady Gregory's Translation.
As Conor commanded, Deirdre, the little "babe of destiny," was left
with her mother for only a month and a day, and then was sent with a
nurse and with Cathbad the Druid to a lonely island, thickly wooded,
and only accessible by a sort of causeway at low tide. Here she grew
into maidenhood, and each day became more fair. She had instruction
from Cathbad in religion and in all manner of wisdom, and it would
seem as though she also learned from him some of that mystical power
that enabled her to see things hidden from human eyes.
"Tell me," one day she asked her teacher, "who made the stars, the
firmament above, the earth, the flowers, both thee and me?"
And Cathbad answered: "God. But who God is, alas! no man can say."
Then Deirdre, an impetuous child, seized the druidical staff from the
hand of Cathbad, broke it in two, and flung the pieces far out on the
water. "Ah, Cathbad!" she cried, "there shall come One in the dim
future for whom all your Druid spells and charms are naught."
Then seeing Cathbad hang his head, and a tear trickle down his face,
for he knew that the child spoke truth, the child, grieved at giving
pain to the friend whom she loved, threw her arms about the old man's
neck, and by her kisses strove to comfort him.
As Deirdre grew older, Conor sent one from his court to educate her in
all that any queen should know. They called her the Lavarcam, which,
in our tongue, really means the Gossip, and she was one of royal blood
who belonged to a class that in those days had been trained to be
chroniclers, or story-tellers. The Lavarcam was a clever woman, and
she marvelled at the wondrous beauty of the child she came to teach,
and at her equally marvellous mind.
One winter day, when the snow lay deep, it came to pass that Deirdre
saw lying on the snow a calf that had been slain for her food. The red
blood that ran from its neck had brought a black raven swooping down
upon the snow. And to Lavarcam Deirdre said: "If there were a man who
had hair of the blackness of that raven, skin of the whiteness of the
snow, and cheeks as red as the blood that stains its whiteness, to him
should I give my heart."
And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:
"One I know whose skin is whiter than the snow, whose cheeks are ruddy
as the blood that stained the snow, and whose hair is black and glossy
as the raven's wing. He has eyes of the darkest blue of the sky, and
head and shoulders is he above all the men of Erin."
"And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?" asked Deirdre. "And
whence is he, and what his degree?"
And Lavarcam made answer that he of whom she spoke was Naoise, one of
the three sons of Usna, a great lord of Alba, and that these three
sons were mighty champions who had been trained at the famed military
school at Sgathaig[14] in the Isle of Skye.
Then said Deirdre: "My love shall be given to none but Naoise, son of
Usna. To him shall it belong forever."
From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over the thoughts and
dreams of Deirdre.
And when Lavarcam saw how deep her careless words had sunk into the
heart of the maiden, she grew afraid, and tried to think of a means by
which to undo the harm which, in her thoughtlessness, she had wrought.
Now Conor had made a law that none but Cathbad, Lavarcam, and the
nurse of Deirdre should pass through the forest that led to her
hiding-place, and that none but they should look upon her until his
own eyes beheld her and he took her for his wife. But as Lavarcam one
day came from seeing Deirdre, and from listening to her many eager
questions about Naoise, she met a swineherd, rough in looks and
speech, and clad in the pelt of a deer, and with him two rough
fellows, bondmen of the Ultonians, and to her quick mind there came a
plan. Thus she bade them follow her into the forbidden forest and
there to remain, by the side of a well, until they should hear the
bark of a fox and the cry of a jay. Then they were to walk slowly on
through the woods, speaking to none whom they might meet, and still
keeping silence when they were again out of the shadow of the trees.
Then Lavarcam sped back to Deirdre and begged her to come with her to
enjoy the beauty of the woods. In a little, Lavarcam strayed away from
her charge, and soon the cry of a jay and the bark of a fox were
heard, and while Deirdre still marvelled at the sounds that came so
close together, Lavarcam returned. Nor had she been back a minute
before three men came through the trees and slowly walked past, close
to where Lavarcam and Deirdre were hidden.
"I have never seen men so near before," said Deirdre. "Only from the
outskirts of the forest have I seen them very far away. Who are these
men, who bring no joy to my eyes?"
And Lavarcam made answer: "These are Naoise, Ardan, and Ainle--the
three sons of Usna."
But Deirdre looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and laughter were in
her merry eyes.
"Then shall I have speech with Naoise, Ardan, and Ainle," she said,
and ere Lavarcam could stop her, she had flitted through the trees by
a path amongst the fern, and stood suddenly before the three men.
And the rough hinds, seeing such perfect loveliness, made very sure
that Deirdre was one of the _sidhe_[15] and stared at her with the
round eyes and gaping mouths of wondering terror.
For a moment Deirdre gazed at them. Then: "Are ye the Sons of Usna?"
she asked.
And when they stood like stocks, frightened and stupid, she lashed
them with her mockery, until the swineherd could no more, and blurted
out the whole truth to this most beautiful of all the world. Then,
very gently, like pearls from a silver string, the words fell from the
rowan-red lips of Deirdre: "I blame thee not, poor swineherd," she
said, "and that thou mayst know that I deem thee a true man, I would
fain ask thee to do one thing for me."
And when the eyes of the herd met the eyes of Deirdre, a soul was born
in him, and he knew things of which he never before had dreamed.
"If I can do one thing to please thee, that will I do," he said. "Aye,
and gladly pay for it with my life. Thenceforth my life is thine."
And Deirdre said: "I would fain see Naoise, one of the Sons of Usna."
And once more the swineherd said: "My life is thine."
Then Deirdre, seeing in his eyes a very beautiful thing, stooped and
kissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten, tanned forehead.
"Go, then," she said, "to Naoise. Tell him that I, Deirdre, dream of
him all the night and think of him all the day, and that I bid him
meet me here to-morrow an hour before the setting of the sun."
The swineherd watched her flit into the shadows of the trees, and then
went on his way, through the snowy woods, that he might pay with his
life for the kiss that Deirdre had given him.
Sorely puzzled was Lavarcam over the doings of Deirdre that day, for
Deirdre told her not a word of what had passed between her and the
swineherd. On the morrow, when she left her to go back to the court of
King Conor, she saw, as she drew near Emain Macha, where he stayed,
black wings that flapped over something that lay on the snow. At her
approach there rose three ravens, three kites, and three hoodie-crows,
and she saw that their prey was the body of the swineherd with gaping
spear-wounds all over him. Yet even then he looked happy. He had died
laughing, and there was still a smile on his lips. Faithfully had he
delivered his message, and when he had spoken of the beauty of
Deirdre, rumour of his speech had reached the king, and the spears of
Conor's men had enabled him to make true the words he had said to
Deirdre: "I will pay for it with my life." In this way was shed the
first blood of that great sea of blood that was spilt for the love of
Deirdre, the Beauty of the World.
From where the swineherd lay, Lavarcam went to the camp of the Sons
of Usna, and to Naoise she told the story of the love that Deirdre
bore him, and counselled him to come to the place where she was
hidden, and behold her beauty. And Naoise, who had seen how even a
rough clod of a hind could achieve the noble chivalry of a race of
kings for her dear sake, felt his heart throb within him. "I will
come," he said to Lavarcam.
Days passed, and Deirdre waited, very sure that Naoise must come to
her at last. And one day she heard a song of magical sweetness coming
through the trees. Three voices sung the song, and it was as though
one of the _sidhe_ played a harp to cast a spell upon men. The voice
of Ainle, youngest of the Sons of Usna, was like the sweet upper
strings of the harp, that of Ardan the strings in the middle, and the
voice of Naoise was like the strings whose deep resonance can play
upon the hearts of warriors and move them to tears. Then Deirdre knew
that she heard the voice of her beloved, and she sped to him as a bird
speeds to her mate. Even as Lavarcam had told her was Naoise, eldest
of the Sons of Usna, but no words had been able to tell Naoise of the
beauty of Deirdre.
"It was as though a sudden flood of sunshine burst forth
in that place. For a woman came from the thicket more
beautiful than any dream he had ever dreamed. She was
clad in a saffron robe over white that was like the
shining of the sun on foam of the sea, and this was
claspt with great bands of yellow gold, and over her
shoulders was the rippling flood of her hair, the sprays
of which lightened into delicate fire, and made a mist
before him, in the which he could see her eyes like two
blue pools wherein purple shadows dreamed."
Fiona Macleod.
From that moment Naoise "gave his love to Deirdre above every other
creature," and their souls rushed together and were one for evermore.
It was for them the beginning of a perfect love, and so sure were they
of that love from the very first moment that it seemed as though they
must have been born loving one another.
Of that love they talked, of the anger of Conor when he knew that his
destined bride was the love of Naoise, and together they planned how
it was best for Deirdre to escape from the furious wrath of the king
who desired her for his own.
Of a sudden, the hands of Naoise gripped the iron-pointed javelin that
hung by his side, and drove it into a place where the snow weighed
down the bracken.
"Is it a wolf?" cried Deirdre.
And Naoise made answer: "Either a dead man, or the mark of where a man
has lain hidden thou wilt find under the bracken."
And when they went to look they found, like the clap of a hare, the
mark of where a man had lain hidden, and close beside the javelin that
was driven in the ground there lay a wooden-hilted knife.
Then said Naoise: "Well I knew that Conor would set a spy on my
tracks. Come with me now, Deirdre, else may I lose thee forever."
And with a glad heart Deirdre went with him who was to be her lord,
and Naoise took her to where his brothers awaited his coming. To
Deirdre, both Ainle and Ardan swiftly gave their lifelong allegiance
and their love, but they were full of forebodings for her and for
Naoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the king.
Then said Naoise: "Although harm should come, for her dear sake I am
willing to live in disgrace for the rest of my days."
And Ardan and Ainle made answer: "Of a certainty, evil will be of it,
yet though there be, thou shalt not be under disgrace as long as we
shall be alive. We will go with her to another country. There is not
in Erin a king who will not bid us welcome."
Then did the Sons of Usna decide to cross the Sea of Moyle, and in
their own land of Alba to find a happy sanctuary. That night they
fled, and with them took three times fifty men, three times fifty
women, three times fifty horses, and three times fifty greyhounds. And
when they looked back to where they had had their dwelling, they saw
red flames against the deep blue sky of the night, and knew that the
vengeance of Conor had already begun. And first they travelled round
Erin from Essa to Beinn Etair,[16] and then in a great black galley
they set sail, and Deirdre had a heart light as the white-winged
sea-birds as the men pulled at the long oars and sang together a
rowing song, and she leaned on the strong arm of Naoise and saw the
blue coast-line of Erin fading into nothingness.
In the bay of Aros, on the eastern shores of the island of Mull, they
found their first resting-place, but there they feared treachery from
a lord of Appin. For the starry eyes of Deirdre were swift to discern
evil that the eyes of the Sons of Usna could not see. Thus they fared
onward until they reached the great sea-loch of Etive, with hills
around it, and Ben Cruachan, its head in mist, towering above it like
a watchman placed there by Time, to wait and to watch over the people
of those silent hills and lonely glens until Time should give place to
his brother, Eternity.
Joy was in the hearts of the three Sons of Usna when they came back to
the home of their fathers. Usna was dead, but beyond the Falls of Lora
was still the great dun--the vitrified fort--which he had built for
himself and for those who should follow him.
For Deirdre then began a time of perfect happiness. Naoise was her
heart, but very dear to her also were the brothers of Naoise, and each
of the three vied with one another in their acts of tender and loving
service. Their thrice fifty vassals had no love for Alba, and rejoiced
when their lord, Naoise, allowed them to return to Erin, but the Sons
of Usna were glad to have none to come between them and their serving
of Deirdre, the queen of their hearts. Soon she came to know well each
little bay, each beach, and each little lonely glen of Loch Etive, for
the Sons of Usna did not always stay at the dun which had been their
father's, but went a-hunting up the loch. At various spots on the
shores of Etive they had camping places, and at Dail-an-eas[17] they
built for Deirdre a sunny bower.