HAGIOLOGICAL AND MYTHO-HISTORICAL LEGENDS.
The following legends are of entirely different character and origin
from the early myths. Those relating to the “Conversion of St.
Maughold”, “St. Maughold and Gilcolm”, “The Legend of Myrescogh Lake”,
and “The Stone Cross of Ballafletcher” are pious stories invented by
monks and priests for the edification of simple-minded laymen; while
the legends entitled “Goddard Crovan’s Stone”, “Olave Goddardson and
the Sword Macabuin”, “Ivar and Matilda”, and “Alswith the Swift” are
tales which, fostered by the love of the marvellous, have sprung up
about personages, some of whom are historical, centuries after the
events related are supposed to have taken place. The account of the
conversion of the Manx which follows is probably semi-historical, but
will serve as an introduction to the legends.
THE CONVERSION OF THE MANX.
The _Tripartite Life of St. Patrick_ contains the following interesting
account of the conversion of Manxmen to Christianity:—St. Patrick
having by means of a miracle converted a wicked man of Ulster, called
Macc Cuill, and his men, the following incident is related:—“Then they
were silent, and said, ‘Truly this man Patrick is a man of God.’ They
all forthwith believed, and Macc Cuill believed, and at Patrick’s
behest he went into the sea in a coracle of (only) one hide.... Now
Macc Cuill went on that day to sea, with his right hand towards
Maginis, till he reached Mann, and found two wonderful men in the
island before him. And it is they that preached God’s Word in Mann,
and through their preaching the men of that island were baptized.
Conindri and Romuil were their names. Now, when these men saw Macc
Cuill in his coracle, they took him from the sea, and received him with
a welcome; and he learnt the divine rule with them, until he took the
bishopric after them. This is Macc Cuill from the sea”, the illustrious
bishop and prelate of Arduimen.[35] It has been conjectured with
reasonable probability, for reasons that need not be given here, that
Macc Cuill is identical with Maughold. In this story of the conversion
of the Manx there is probably a substratum of fact mingled with
fiction. The “Traditionary Ballad” gives the following account of it:—
Then came Patrick into the midst of them;
He was a saint, and full of virtue;
He banished Mannanan on the wave,
And his evil servants all dispersed.
And of all those that were evil,
He showed no favour nor kindness,
That were of the seed of the conjurors,
But what he destroyed or put to death.
He blessed the country from end to end,
And never left a beggar in it;
And also cleared off all those
That refused or denied to become Christians.
Thus it was that Christianity first came to Man,
By St. Patrick planted in,
And to establish Christ in us,
And also in our children.
He then blessed Saint German,
And left him a bishop in it,
To strengthen the faith more and more,
And faithfully built chapels in it.
For each four quarterlands he made a chapel
For people of them to meet in prayer;
He also built German Church in Peel Castle,
Which remaineth there until this day.
Before German had finished his work,
God sent for him, and he died;
As ye yourselves know that this messenger
Cannot be put off by using means.
He died and his corpse was laid
Where a great bank had been, but soon was levelled;
A cross of stone is set at his feet
In his own church in Peel Castle.
Then came Maughold, we are told,
And came on shore at the Head,
And built a church and yard around,
At the place he thought to have his dwelling.
The chapels which Saint German ordered
For the people to come to prayers in them,
Maughold put a parcel of them into one,
And thus make regular parishes.
Maughold died, and he is laid
In his own church at Maughold Head.
And the next Bishop that came after
To the best of my knowledge was Lonnan.
Connaghan then came next,
And then Marown the third;
There all three lie in Marown,
And there for ever lie unmolested.
Now we will pass by these holy men,
And commit their souls to the Son of God.
It profiteth them not to praise them more
Until they appear before the King of Kings.[36]
The St. Maughold referred to above is said to have been one of St.
Patrick’s earliest disciples. The “Book of Armagh” gives the marvellous
story of his conversion by St. Patrick, and in the other accounts of
St. Patrick’s life are equally marvellous tales about his episcopate.
These are all, perhaps, surpassed by the circumstantial statements in
the _Chronicon Manniæ_ (see below), concerning his reappearance in the
twelfth century to strike dead with his staff a daring pirate who had
profaned his sanctuary.
THE CONVERSION OF THE ROBBER CHIEF MACALDUS, OTHERWISE ST. MAUGHOLD.
A district adjoining the Boyne was invested by a band of robbers under
the command of a chief named Macaldus. Some of these had been converted
from the error of their ways by the Missionaries, and their chief was
very wroth in consequence against St. Patrick. Hearing that he was to
pass along a road in their neighbourhood on a certain day, he and some
of his band took up a position by its side, intending to murder him;
but as they caught sight of him slowly approaching, and apparently
sunk in profound contemplation, they found themselves deprived of all
desire to injure him. Still they would not let the opportunity pass
without endeavouring to bring ridicule on him by some stratagem. So
one of them lay down by the side of the woodland path as if dead, and
Macaldus, as the Saint passed by, besought him to restore his dead
comrade to life. “I dare not intercede for him”, said the Saint, and
passed on. Though very well inclined to offer him some insult, they
could not muster resolution for the purpose, and when he had gone on
a little way, Macaldus ordered the man to rise. But while this poor
wretch had been feigning death, life had really deserted his body,
and consternation and remorse now seized on his comrades. Macaldus,
foremost in wickedness, was the first to feel repentance. Following St.
Patrick, and throwing himself on his knees before him, he besought him
to return and intercede for his comrade’s restoration, acknowledging
the deception they had attempted, and his own readiness to undergo the
severest penance the Saint might impose.
The Apostle, retracing his steps, knelt by the dead body, and did not
cease to pray till the breath of life entered it again. All the band
present vowed on the spot to embrace the faith preached by Patrick, and
Macaldus besought the imposition of some most rigorous penance upon
himself. Patrick conducted him to the Boyne, and taking a chain from a
boat he flung it round him, secured the ends by a padlock, and threw
the key into the river. He then made him get into the boat, and trust
his course to Providence. “Loose not your chain”, said he, “till the
key which now lies at the bottom of this river is found and delivered
to you. Strive to maintain (with God’s help) a spirit of true sorrow;
pray without ceasing.” He then unmoored the hide covered canoe; it
drifted down the river, out by the old seaport of Colpa, and so into
the sea.
In twenty hours it was lying by a little harbour in Man, and those
who assembled wondered much at the robust form of the navigator, his
dejected appearance, and the chain that bound his body. On making
enquiry for the abode of a Christian Priest, he found that the Bishop
of the Island lived near. He went to his house, told him his former
life and present condition, and besought instruction. This was freely
given, and the man’s conversion found to be sincere. Feeling a strong
vocation for the clerical office, he studied unremittingly, and at last
came to the eve of the day on which he was to receive holy orders. On
that evening the cook, suddenly entering the room in which the Bishop
and postulant were conferring, cried out, “Behold, O my master, what
I have taken from the belly of a fish just brought in.” Macaldus,
catching sight of the key in the cook’s hand, at once recognised it as
the one with which St. Patrick had secured his chain. It was at once
applied to its proper use, and he had the happiness of being ordained
next day, unencumbered by spiritual or material bonds. At the death of
his kind patron and instructor, he was raised to the dignity of the
Bishop of Man.[37]
ST. MAUGHOLD’S FISH.
The following story about St. Maughold, when residing in the Isle of
Man, is from the _Triadis Thaumaturgæ_ of Colgan:—And when he had
for some time abided there, a fish was one day taken in the sea, and
brought into their dwelling, and when the fish was opened before
them, a key was found in his belly, and Machaldus being released from
his chains, gave thanks unto God, and went henceforth free; and he
increased in holiness, and after the decease of these holy Bishops,[38]
attained to the episcopal degree, and being eminent in his miracles
and in his virtues, there did he rest. In that Island there was a city
called after him, of no small extent, the remains of whose walls may
yet be seen, and in the cemetery of its church is a sarcophagus of
hollow stone, out of which a spring continually exudes, nay, freely
floweth, which is sweet to the palate, wholesome to the taste, and
healeth divers infirmities, and the deadliness of poison; for whoso
drinketh thereof, either receiveth instant health or instantly dieth.
In that stone the bones of St. Machaldus are said to rest, yet nothing
is found therein save the clear water only; and though many have
oftentimes endeavoured to remove the stone, and especially the king of
the Norice (of Norway?), who subdued the Island, that he might at all
times have sweet water, yet they have all failed in their attempts; for
the deeper they dug to raise the stone, so much the more deeply and
firmly did they find it fixed in the heart of the earth.
This well is still celebrated for its sanative properties (see ch. vi.,
“August 12th.”)
The next story about him relates to a much later period.
ST. MAUGHOLD AND GILCOLUM.
“Thenne, of Maughold, the Saynte, thys storye is,
Of wycked Gil Colum by Kewyse;
A wonderous tale, yett so trewe ytt is,
That noe bodye ytt denyes.”
While Somerlid was at Ramsey, in Man, in 1158, he was informed that
his troops intended to plunder the Church of St. Maughold, where a
great deal of money had been deposited, in hopes that the veneration
due to St. Maughold, added to the sanctity of the place, would secure
everything within its precincts. One GilColum, a very powerful
chieftain, in particular, drew the attention of Somerlid to these
treasures; and, besides, observed that he did not see how it was
any breach of the peace against St. Maughold, if, for the sustenance
of the army, they drove off the cattle which were feeding round
the Churchyard. Somerlid objected to the proposal, and said that
he would allow no violence to be offered to St. Maughold. On this,
GilColum earnestly petitioned that he and his followers might be
allowed to examine the place, and engaged to take the guilt upon his
own head. Somerlid, at last, though with some reluctance, consented,
and pronounced these words: “Let the affair rest between thee and St.
Maughold—let me and my troops be innocent—we claim no share of thy
sacrilegious booty.” GilColum, exceedingly happy at this declaration,
ran back and ordered his vassals to assemble. He then desired that his
three sons should be ready at day-break, to surprise the church of St.
Maughold, about two miles distant. Meanwhile, news was brought to those
in the church that the enemy were advancing, which terrified them to
such a degree that they all left the sanctuary, and sought shelter in
caves and subterraneous dens. The other inhabitants of the district,
with loud shrieks, spent the whole night in imploring the forgiveness
of God, through the merits of Maughold. The weaker sex, also, with
dishevelled locks, ran frantic about the walls of the church, yelling
and crying with a loud voice, “Where art thou departed, Holy Maughold?
Where are the wonders that, in the old time before us, thou wroughtest
in this spot—hast thou abandoned us for our transgressions—wilt thou
forsake thy people in such an extremity? If not in compassion towards
us, yet for thine own honour, once more send us deliverance.”
Maughold mollified, as we suppose, by these and the like supplications,
pitied the distress of his votaries. He snatched them from their
imminent danger, and consigned their adversary to instantaneous death.
GilColum had no sooner fallen asleep in his tent than St. Maughold,
arrayed in a white garment, and holding a pastoral staff in his hand,
appeared to the robber. He placed himself opposite to the couch, and
thus addressed him:—“What hast thou against me, GilColum? Wherein have
I, or any of my servants, offended thee, that thou shouldest thus covet
what is deposited within my sanctuary?” GilColum answered, “And who
art thou?” He replied, “I am the servant of Christ; my name, Maughold,
whose church thou purposest to violate; but vain are thy endeavours!”
On this, raising the staff which he held, he struck him to the heart.
The impious man was confounded, and awakened his soldiers, who were
sleeping in their tents. The Saint struck him again, which made the
ruffian utter a shriek, so hideous, that his son, and followers,
ran in the greatest consternation to see what was the matter. The
wretch’s tongue clove to his mouth in such a manner that it was with
much difficulty he could utter the following sentence:—“Maughold”,
said he with a groan, “was here, and thrice he struck me with his rod.
Go, therefore, to the church, bring his staff, and also priests and
clerks, that they may make intercession for me, if, peradventure, St.
Maughold will forgive what I devised against him.” In obedience his
attendants straightway implored the priests to bring the staff, and
to visit their master apparently in the agonies of death, relating at
the same time what had happened. The priests and clerks and people,
on hearing of the miracle, were exceedingly rejoiced indeed, and
despatched some clergymen with the crosier. Coming into the presence of
the afflicted wretch they found him almost breathless, wherefore one
of the clerks pronounced the following imprecation:—“May St. Maughold,
who first laid his vengeful hand upon thee, never remove thy plagues
till he has bruised thee to pieces. Thus shall others by seeing and
hearing thy punishment learn to pay due respect to hallowed ground.”
The clergy then retired, and immediately such a swarm of monstrous,
filthy flies come buzzing about the ruffian’s face and mouth, that
neither he himself nor his attendants could drive them away. At last,
about the sixth hour of the day, he expired in great misery and dismal
torture. The exit of this man struck Somerlid and his whole host with
such dismay that, as soon as the tide floated their ships, they weighed
anchor, and with precipitancy returned home.
A LEGEND OF MYRESCOGH LAKE.
There was a certain person called Donald, a veteran Chieftan, and
a particular favourite of Harald Olaveson. This man, flying the
persecution raised by Harald Godredson, took sanctuary with his infant
child in St. Mary’s Monastery, at Rushen. Thither Harald Godredson
followed, and as he could not offer violence in this privileged place,
he, in flattering and deceitful language, addressed the aged man to
this purpose:—“Why dost thou thus resolve to fly from me? I mean to
do thee no harm.” He then assured him of protection, adding that he
might depart in peace to any part of the country he had a mind. The
veteran, relying on the solemn promise and veracity of the King,
followed him out of the Monastery. Within a short space, however, his
Majesty manifested his sinister intentions, and demonstrated that he
paid no regard to truth, or even his oath. He ordered the old man to
be apprehended, bound, and carried to an Isle in the Lake at Myrescogh
where he was consigned over to the charge of a strong guard. In this
distress, Donald still had confidence towards God. As often as he
could bend his knees, he prayed the Lord to deliver him from his
chains, through the intercession of the blessed Virgin, from whose
Monastery he had been so insidiously betrayed. The Divine interposition
was not withheld. One day as he was sitting in his chamber, and guarded
only by two sentinels, for the others were absent, suddenly the fetters
dropped from his ankles, and left him at full liberty to escape. He
reflected, notwithstanding, that he could elope more successfully
during the night while the sentinels were asleep, and from this
consideration attempted to replace his feet in the fetters, but to his
astonishment found it impossible. Concluding, therefore, that this was
wrought by the might of Heaven, he wrapped himself in his mantle, and
taking to his heels, made the best of his way. One of the sentinels,
a baker by trade, observing him, immediately started up and pursued.
Having run a good way, eager to overtake the fugitive, he hit his shin
a severe blow against a log; and thus while posting full speed he was
so arrested by the power of the Lord that he could not stand. Hence the
good man, by the help of Heaven, got clear, and on the third day he
reached St. Mary’s Abbey at Rushen, where he put up thanksgivings to
God and the most merciful Mother for the deliverance. This declaration,
adds the chronicler, we have recorded from the man’s own mouth. This
took place in 1249.[39]
THE STONE CROSS OF BALLAFLETCHER.
In a wild and barren field near Ballafletcher there was formerly a
large Stone Cross, but in the many changes and revolutions which have
happened in this Island has been broken down, and part of it lost;
but there still remains the cross part. This has several times been
attempted to be removed by persons who pretended a claim to whatever
was on that ground, and wanted this piece of stone; but all their
endeavours have been unsuccessful. Nor could the strongest team of
horses be able to remove it, though irons were placed about it for that
purpose. One day a great number of people being gathered about it,
contriving new methods for the taking of it away, a very venerable old
man appeared among the crowd, and, seeing a boy of about six or seven
years of age, he bade him to put his hand to the stone, which the child
doing, it immediately turned under his touch, and under it was found
a piece of paper, on which were written these words: “Fear God, obey
the priesthood, and do to your neighbour as you would have him do to
you.” Everybody present was in the utmost surprise, especially when
looking for the old man in order to ask him some questions concerning
the miraculous removal of the stone, he was not to be found, though it
was not a minute that they had taken their eyes off him, and there was
neither house nor hut in a great distance where he could possibly have
concealed himself. The paper was, however, carefully preserved, and
carried to the vicar, who wrote copies of it, and dispersed them over
the Island. They tell you that they are of such wonderful virtue to
whoever wears them that on whatever business they go they are certain
of success. They also defend from witchcraft, evil tongues, and all
efforts of the devil or his agents.—_Waldron._
GODDARD CROVAN’S STONE.
Down in the valley of St. Mark’s, near a little purling brook, lies
the famous granite boulder, weighing between twenty and thirty tons,
known by the name of Goddard Crovan’s stone. It was cast into this
situation one day by Goddard Crovan, son of Harold the Black, of
Iceland, who lived with his termagant wife in a great castle on the
top of Barrule. Unable to endure the violence of her tongue, he turned
her unceremoniously out of doors. After descending the mountain some
distance, imagining herself out of reach, she turned round and began
again to rate him so soundly at the full pitch of her voice that, in
a rage, he seized on this huge granite boulder, and hurling it with
all his might killed her on the spot. This took place about the year
1060.—_Cumming._
This stone was broken up and used in building the parsonage house at
St. Mark’s, and has been considered effectual as a specific for the
cure of a termagant by every occupier.
OLAVE GODDARDSON AND THE SWORD MACABUIN.
According to tradition, there resided in Man, in the days of Olave
Goddardson, a great Norman baron, named Kitter, who was so fond of the
chase that he extirpated all the bisons and elks with which the Island
abounded at the time of his arrival, to the utter dismay of the people,
who, dreading that he might likewise deprive them of the cattle, and
even of their purrs in the mountains, had recourse to witchcraft to
prevent such a disaster. When this Nimrod of the north had destroyed
all the wild animals of the chase in Man, he one day extended his
havoc to the red deer of the Calf, leaving at his castle, on the brow
of Barrule, only the cook, whose name was Eaoch (which signifies a
person who can cry aloud), to dress the provisions intended for his
dinner. Eaoch happened to fall asleep at his work in the kitchen. The
famous witch-wife Ada caused the fat accumulated at the lee side of
the boiling pot to bubble over into the fire, which set the house in
a blaze. The astonished cook immediately exerted his characteristic
powers to such an extent that he alarmed the hunters in the Calf, a
distance of nearly ten miles.
Kitter, hearing the cries of his cook, and seeing his castle in
flames, made to the beach with all possible speed, and embarked in a
small currach for Man, accompanied by nearly all his attendants. When
about half way, the frail bark struck on a rock (which, from that
circumstance, has since been called Kitterland), and all on board
perished.
The fate of the great baron, and the destruction of his boat, caused
the surviving Norwegians to believe that Eaoch the cook was in league
with the witches of the Island, to extirpate the Norwegians then in
Man; and on this charge he was brought to trial, and sentenced to
suffer death. The unfortunate cook heard his doom pronounced with great
composure; but claimed the privilege, at that time allowed to criminals
in Norway, of choosing the place and manner of passing from time to
eternity. This was readily granted by the king. “Then”, said the cook,
with a loud voice, “I wish my head to be laid across one of your
majesty’s legs, and there cut off by your majesty’s sword, Macabuin,
which was made by Loan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim.”
It being generally known that the king’s scimitar could sever even a
mountain of granite, if brought into immediate contact with its edge,
it was the wish of everyone present that he would not comply with the
subtle artifice of such a low varlet as Eaoch the cook; but his majesty
would not retract the permission so recently given, and, therefore,
gave orders that the execution should take place in the manner desired.
Although the unflinching integrity of Olave was admired by his
subjects, they sympathised deeply for the personal injury to which he
exposed himself, rather than deviate from the path of rectitude. But
Ada, the witch, was at hand: she ordered toads skins, twigs of the
rowan tree, and adders eggs, each to the number of nine times nine,
to be placed between the king’s leg and the cook’s head, to which he
assented.
All these things being properly adjusted, the great sword, Macabuin,
made by Loan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim, was lifted with
the greatest caution by one of the king’s most trusty servants, and
laid gently on the neck of the cook; but ere its downward course could
be stayed, it severed the head from the body of Eaoch, and cut all the
preventives asunder, except the last, thereby saving the king’s leg
from harm.
When the Dark Smith of Drontheim heard of the stratagem submitted
to by Olave to thwart the efficacy of the sword Macabuin, he was so
highly offended that he despatched his hammerman, Hiallus-nan-urd,
who had only one leg, having lost the other when assisting in making
that great sword, to the Castle of Peel to challenge King Olave or
any of his people to walk with him to Drontheim. It was accounted
very dishonourable in those days to refuse a challenge, particularly
if connected with a point of honour. Olave, in mere compliance with
this rule, accepted the challenge, and set out to walk against the
one-legged traveller from the Isle of Man to the smithy of Loan
Maclibhuin, in Drontheim.
They walked o’er the land and they sail’d o’er the sea.
And so equal was the match that, when within sight of the smithy,
Hiallus-nan-urd, who was first, called at Loan Maclibhuin to open the
door, and Olave called out to shut it. At that instant, pushing past
he of the one leg, the King entered the smithy first, to the evident
discomfiture of the swarthy smith and his assistant. To show that he
was not in the least fatigued, Olave lifted a large forehammer, and
under pretence of assisting the smith, struck the anvil with such force
that he clove it not only from top to bottom, but also the block upon
which it rested.
Emergaid, the daughter of Loan, seeing Olave perform such manly
prowess, fell so deeply in love with him that during the time her
father was replacing the block and the anvil, she found an opportunity
of informing him that her father was only replacing the studdy to
finish a sword he was making, and that he had decoyed him to that place
for the purpose of destruction, as it had been prophesied that the
sword would be tempered in Royal blood, and in revenge for the affront
of the cook’s death by the sword Macabuin. “Is not your father the
seventh son of old _windy cap_, King of Norway?” said Olave. “He is”,
replied Emergaid, as her father entered the smithy. “Then”, cried the
King of Man, as he drew the red steel from the fire, “the prophecy must
be fulfilled.” Emergaid was unable to stay his uplifted hand till he
quenched the sword in the blood of her father, and afterwards pierced
the heart of the one-legged hammerman, who he knew was in the plot of
taking his life.
This tragical event was followed by one of a more agreeable nature.
Olave, conscious that had it not been for the timely intervention of
Emergaid, the sword of her father would indeed have been tempered in
his blood, and knowing the irreparable loss which she had sustained
at his hands, made her his queen, and from her were descended all
succeeding Kings of Man down to Magnus, the last of the race of Goddard
Crovan, the Conqueror.—_Train._
ALSWITH THE SWIFT.
Alswith, a son of Hiallus-nan-ard, the dark smith of Drontheim, whom
Olave Goddardson slew in the smithy of Loan Maclibuin, undertook to
walk round all the churches in the Isle of Man in one day. Now, in
these days there were a great number of churches and chapels which St.
Germanus had caused to be built, and the roads were then very rough and
steep over the mountains, so that it was no easy task to accomplish
this. However, Alswith started off very early one fine summer’s
morning, and he walked and walked till he had almost accomplished his
task. As the evening was drawing on he approached the Tynwald Chapel at
St. John’s, and from thence pursued his way along the old road leading
to the Staarvey, the road up Craig Willey’s hill not having been made
till long after this. It was now getting very late, and he had still
to visit Kirk Michael before his task would be completed; so he pushed
on faster than ever, so that when going up the hill leading over “The
Driney” he fell down quite exhausted with fatigue and feeling utterly
miserable at not having accomplished his undertaking. Since then that
hill has been called _Ughtagh breesh my chree_, “Break my heart hill.”
IVAR AND MATILDA.
“The course of true love never did run smooth.”—_Shakspeare._
“In the year 1249 Reginald began to reign on the 6th May, and on
the 30th May of the same month was slain by the Knight Ivar and his
accomplices.”—_Chronicon Manniæ._
There was a young and gallant knight, named Ivar, who was enamoured of
a very beautiful maiden, named Matilda. He loved her ardently, and she
reciprocated his affection. From childhood they had been companions,
and as they grew up in years, the firmer became they attached to each
other. Never, indeed, were two beings more indissolubly bound by the
fetters of love than Ivar and Matilda. But storms will overcast the
serenest sky. At this period Reginald was King of the Isle of Man; and,
according to ancient custom, it was incumbent upon Ivar to present
his betrothed at the Court of the Monarch, and obtain his consent,
prior to becoming linked in more indissoluble fetters with her. The
nuptial day had already been fixed, the feast had been prepared, and
it was noised abroad that the great and noble of the Island were to
be present at the celebration of the marriage. King Reginald resided
in Rushen Castle, in all the barbaric pomp which was predominant in
those olden times; and thither Ivar, accompanied by Matilda, proceeded
to wait upon him. Dismounting from their horses at the entrance of
the keep, they were conducted to the presence of the King. Ivar doffed
his jewelled cap, and made obeisance; then, leading forward Matilda,
he presented her to him. Reginald was greatly enraptured with the
maiden’s beauty from the first moment she had met his gaze, and swore
inwardly that he would possess her for himself, and spoil the knight
of his affianced bride. To carry into effect his wicked purpose, he
accused Ivar of pretended crimes; and, ordering in his guards, banished
him from his presence; detaining, however, the maiden. Vain would it
be to depict Matilda’s anguish at this barbarous treatment. Reginald
endeavoured to sooth her agitation, but it was to no purpose. He talked
to her of his devoted love, but the maiden spurned his impious offers
with contempt. Exasperated at her resistance, he had her confined in
one of the most solitary apartments in the Castle. In the meantime,
Ivar exerted himself to avenge the deep injury which he had received;
but Reginald had such despotic sway, that all his endeavours proved
abortive. At length he resolved to retire from the world, to assume the
monastic habit, and to join the pious brotherhood of the Monastery of
St. Mary’s of Rushen. The brethren received him with joy, commiserating
the bereavement which he had sustained. Ivar was now devoted to acts
of piety; but still he did not forget his Matilda. Sometimes he would
ascend the Hill, and gaze towards the Castle, wondering if Matilda
were yet alive. One day, matin prayers having been offered up, Ivar
wandered as usual through the woods, thinking of his betrothed, and
bowed down with sorrow. At last he reclined on the grass to rest;
when, looking around, he beheld a fissure in a rock which abutted from
an eminence immediately opposite. Curiosity induced him to go near;
and he discovered that it was the entrance to a subterranean passage.
Venturing in, he proceeded for some distance. Onward he went, till a
great door arrested his progress. After some difficulty it yielded to
his endeavours, and he passed through. Suddenly a piercing shriek,
which reverberated along the echoing vaults, fixed him horror-struck
for a moment to the place. It was repeated faintly several times. A
faint glimmer of light now broke in upon his path, and he found himself
in a vaulted chamber. Passing through it, another cry met his ear; and
rushing impetuously forward, he heard a voice in a state of exhaustion
exclaim, “Mother of God, save Matilda!” Whilst, through a chink in
the barrier, he beheld his long-lost love, with dishevelled hair and
throbbing bosom, in the arms of the tyrant Reginald. Ivar instantly
sprang through the barrier, rushed upon the wretch, and, seizing his
sword, which lay carelessly on the table, plunged it into Reginald’s
bosom. Ivar, carrying Matilda in his arms, continued on through the
subterranean passage, which brought them to the sea side where they met
with a boat, which conveyed them to Ireland. There they were united in
holy matrimony, and passed the remainder of their days in the raptures
of a generous love, heightened by mutual admiration and gratitude.
[Footnote 35: Stoke’s Translation, p. 223.]
[Footnote 36: Manx Society, vol. xxi., pp. 29‒33; or Train’s History of
Isle of Man, p. 52.]
[Footnote 37: From Kenned’s _Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts_,
London, 1866; original authority _The Book of Armagh_, probably written
in the eighth century.]
[Footnote 38: Conindrius and Romuilus, supposed to have been the two
first Bishops of the Island.]
[Footnote 39: Founded on the account given in the _Chronicon Manniæ_.]
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