Irish Folk and Fairy Tales

by Gordon Jarvie

  The people then gathered round the heroes’ bodies and asked Connachar what was to be done with them. The order that he gave was that they should dig a pit and put the three brothers in it side by side.

  Deirdre kept sitting on the brink of the grave, constantly asking the gravediggers to dig the pit wide and free. When the bodies of the brothers were put in the grave, Deirdre said: –

  Come over hither, Naois, my love,

  Let Arden close to Allen lie;

  If the dead had any sense to feel,

  Ye would have made a place for Deirdre.

  The men did as she told them. She jumped into the grave and lay down by Naois, and she was dead by his side.

  The king ordered the body to be raised from out the grave and to be buried on the other side of the loch. It was done as the king bade, and the pit closed. Thereupon a fir shoot grew out of the grave of Deirdre and a fir shoot from the grave of Naois, and the two shoots united in a knot above the loch. The king ordered the shoots to be cut down, and this was done twice, until, at the third time, the wife whom the king had married caused him to stop this work of evil and to cease his vengeance on the remains of the dead.

  ‘The Coming of Finn’ by Standish O’Grady

  It was the Eve of Samhain, which we Christians call All Hallows’ Eve.

  The King of Ireland, Conn, the Hundred-Fighter, sat at supper in his palace at Tara. All his chiefs and mighty men were with him. On his right hand was his only son, Art the Solitary, so called because he had no brothers. The sons of Morna, who kept the boy Finn out of his rights and were at the time trying to kill him if they could, were here too. Chief amongst them was Gaul mac Morna, a huge and strong warrior, and Captain of all the Fians ever since that battle in which Finn’s father had been killed.

  And Gaul’s men were with him. The great long table was spread for supper. A thousand wax candles shed their light through the chamber, and caused the vessels of gold, silver and bronze to shine. Yet, though it was a great feast, none of these warriors seemed to care about eating or drinking; every face was sad, and there was little conversation, and no music. It seemed as if they were expecting some calamity. Conn’s sceptre, which was a plain staff of silver, lay beside him on the table, and there was a canopy of bright bronze over his head. Gaul mac Morna, Captain of the Fians, sat at the other end of the long table. Every warrior wore a bright banqueting mantle of silk or satin, scarlet or crimson, blue, green, or purple, fastened on the breast either with a great brooch or with a pin of gold or silver. Yet, though their raiment was bright and gay, and though all the usual instruments of festivity were there, and a thousand tall candles shed their light over the scene, no one looked happy.

  Then was heard a low sound like thunder, and the earth seemed to tremble, and after that they distinctly heard a footfall like the slow, deliberate tread of a giant. These footfalls sent a chill into every heart, and every face, gloomy before, was now pale.

  The King leaned past his son Art the Solitary, and said to a certain Druid who sat beside Art, ‘Is this the son of Midna come before his time?’ ‘It is not,’ said the Druid, ‘but it is the man who is to conquer Midna. One is coming to Tara this night before whose glory all other glory shall wax dim.’

  Shortly after that they heard the voices of the doorkeepers raised in argument, as if they would repel from the hall someone who wished to enter, then a slight scuffle, and after that a strange figure entered the chamber. He was dressed in the skins of wild beasts, and wore over his shoulders a huge thick cloak of wild boars’ skins, fastened on the breast with a white tusk of the same animal. He wore a shield and two spears. Though of huge stature his face was that of a boy, smooth on the cheeks and lips. It was white and ruddy, and very handsome. His hair was like refined gold. A light seemed to go out from him, before which the candles burned dim. It was Finn.

  He stood in the doorway, and cried out in a strong and sonorous, but musical, voice:

  ‘O Conn the Hundred-Fighter, son of Felimy, the righteous son of Tuthal the legitimate, O King of the Kings of Erin, a wronged and disinherited youth, possessing nowhere one rood of his patrimony, a wanderer and an outlaw, a hunter of the wildernesses and mountains, claims hospitality of you, illustrious prince, on the eve of the great festival of Samhain.’

  ‘You are welcome whoever you are,’ answered the King, ‘and doubly welcome because you are unfortunate. I think, such is your face and form, that you are the son of some mighty king on whom disaster has fallen undeserved. The high gods of Erin grant you speedy restoration and strong vengeance of your many wrongs. Sit here, O noble youth, between me and my only son, Art, heir to my kingdom.’

  An attendant took his weapons from the youth and hung them on the wall with the rest, and Finn sat down between the King of Ireland and his only son. Choice food was set before him, which he ate, and old ale, which he drank. From the moment he entered, no one thought of anything but him. When Finn had made an end of eating and drinking, he said to the King:

  ‘O illustrious prince, though it is not right for a guest to even seem to observe anything amiss, or not as it should be, in the hall of his entertainer, yet the sorrow of a kindly host is a sorrow, too, to his guest, and sometimes unawares the man of the house finds succour and help in the stranger. There is sorrow in this chamber of festivity. If anyone who is dear to you and your people happens to be dead, I can do nothing. But I say it, and it is not a vain boast, that even if a person is at the point of death, I can restore him to life and health, for there are marvellous powers of life-giving in my two hands.’

  Conn the Hundred-Fighter answered, ‘Our grief is not such as you suppose; and why should I not tell a cause of shame, which is known far and wide? This, then, is the reason of our being together, and the gloom which is over us. There is a mighty enchanter whose dwelling is in the haunted mountains of Slieve Gullion in the north. His name is Allen, son of Midna, and his enmity to me is as great as his power. Once every year, at this season, it is his pleasure to burn Tara. Descending out of his wizard haunts, he stands over against the city and shoots balls of fire out of his mouth against it, till it is consumed. Then he goes away mocking and triumphant. This annual building of Tara, only to be annually consumed, is a shame to me, and till this enchanter declared war against me, I have lived without reproach.’

  ‘But,’ said Finn, ‘how is it that your young warriors, valiant and swift, do not repel him, or kill him?’

  ‘Alas!’ said Conn, ‘all our valour is in vain against this man. Our hosts encompass Tara on all sides, keeping watch and ward when the fatal night comes. Then the son of Midna plays on his Druidic instrument of music, on his magic pipe and his magic lyre, and as the fairy music falls on our ears, our eyelids grow heavy, and soon all subside upon the grass in deep slumber. So comes this man against the city and shoots his fire-balls against it, and utterly consumes it. Nine years he has burnt Tara in that manner, and this is the tenth. At midnight tonight he will come and do the same. Last year (though it was a shame to me that I, who am the high King over all Ireland, should not be able myself to defend Tara) I summoned Gaul mac Morna and all the Fians to my assistance. They came, but the pipe and lyre of the son of Midna prevailed over them too, so that Tara was burned as at other times. Nor have we any reason to believe that the son of Midna will not burn the city again tonight, as he did last year. All the women and children have been sent out of Tara this day. We are only men of war here, waiting for the time. That, O noble youth, is why we are sad. The ‘Pillars of Tara’ are broken, and the might of the Fians is as nothing before the power of this man.’

  ‘What shall be my reward if I kill this man and save Tara?’ asked Finn.

  ‘Your just inheritance,’ answered the King, ‘be it great or small, and whether it lies in Ireland or beyond Ireland; and for securities I give you my son Art and Gaul mac Morna and the Chief of the Fians.’

  Gaul and the captains of the Fianna consented to that arrangement, though reluctantly, for they ha
d misgivings about who the great youth might be.

  After that all arose and armed themselves and ringed Tara round with horse and foot, and thrice Conn the Hundred-Fighter raised his awful regal voice, urging great vigilance upon his people, and thrice Gaul mac Morna did the same, addressing the Fians, and after that they all filled their ears with wax and wool, and kept a stern and fierce watch, and many of them thrust the points of their swords into their flesh.

  Now Finn was alone in the banqueting chamber after the rest had gone out, and he washed his face and his hands in pure water, and he took from the bag that was at his belt the instruments of divination and magic, which had been his father’s, and what use he made of them is not known; but ere long a man stood before him, holding a spear in one hand and a blue mantle in the other. There were twenty nails of gold of Arabia in the spear. The nails glittered like stars, and twinkled with live light as stars do in a frosty night, and the blade of it quivered like a tongue of white fire. From haft to blade-point that spear was alive. There were voices in it too, and the war-tunes of the enchanted races of Erin, whom they called the Tuatha De Danann, sounded from it. The mantle, too, was a wonder, for innumerable stars twinkled in the blue, and the likeness of clouds passed through it. The man gave these things to Finn, and when he had instructed him in their use, he disappeared.

  Then Finn arose and armed himself, and took the magic spear and mantle and went out. There was a ring of flame round Tara that night, for the Fians and the warriors of Conn had torches in their hands, and all the royal buildings of Tara showed clear in the light, and also the dark serpentine course of the Boyne river, which flowed past Tara on the north; and there, standing silent and alert, were the innumerable warriors of all Erin, with spear and shield, keeping watch and ward against the son of Midna, also the Four Pillars of Tara in four dense divisions around the high King, even Conn the Hundred-Fighter.

  Finn stood with his back to the palace, which was called the House-of-the-going-round-of-Mead, between the palace and Conn, and he grasped the magic spear strongly with one hand and the mantle with the other.

  As midnight drew nigh, he heard far away in the north, out of the mountains of Slieve Gullion, a fairy tune played, soft, low, and slow, as if on a silver flute; and at the same time the roar of Conn the Hundred-Fighter, and the voice of Gaul like thunder, and the responsive shouts of the captains, and the clamour of the host, for the host shouted all together, and clashed their swords against their shields in fierce defiance, when in spite of all obstructions the fairy music of the enchanter began to steal into their souls. That shout was heard all over Ireland, echoing from sea to sea, and the hollow buildings of Tara reverberated to the uproar. Yet through it all could be heard the low, slow, delicious music that came from Slieve Gullion. Finn put the point of the spear to his forehead. It burned him like fire, yet his stout heart did not fail. Then the roar of the host slowly faded away as in a dream, though the captains were still shouting, and two-thirds of the torches fell to the ground. And now, succeeding the flute music, sounded the music of a stringed instrument exceedingly sweet. Finn pressed the cruel spearhead closer to his forehead, and saw every torch fall, save one which wavered as if held by a drunken man, and beneath it a giant figure that reeled and tottered and strove in vain to keep its feet. It was Conn the Hundred-Fighter. As he fell there was a roar as of many waters; it was the ocean mourning for the high King’s fall. Finn passed through the fallen men and stood alone on the dark hillside. He heard the feet of the enchanter splashing through the Boyne, and saw his huge form ascending the slopes of Tara. When the enchanter saw that all was silent and dark there he laughed and from his mouth blew a red fire-ball, to set the city in flames. Finn caught the fire-ball in the magic mantle. The enchanter blew a second and a third, and Finn caught them both. The man saw that his power over Tara was at an end, and that his magic arts had been defeated. On the third occasion he saw Finn’s face, and recognized his conqueror. He turned to flee, and though slow was his coming, swifter than the wind was his going, that he might recover the protection of his enchanted palace before the ‘fair-faced youth clad in skins’ should overtake him. Finn let fall the mantle as he had been instructed, and pursued him, but in vain. Soon he perceived that he could not possibly overtake the swift enchanter. Then he was aware that the magic spear struggled in his hand like a hound on a leash. ‘Go, then, if you will,’ he said, and, poising, cast the spear from him. It shot through the dark night, hissing and screaming. There was a track of fire behind it. Finn followed, and on the threshold of the enchanted palace, he found the body of the son of Midna. He was quite dead, with the blood pouring through a wound in the middle of his back; but the spear was gone. Finn drew his sword and cut off the enchanter’s head, and returned with it to Tara. When he came to the spot where he had dropped the mantle it was not seen, but smoke and flame issued there from a hole in the ground. That hole was twenty feet deep in the earth, and at the bottom of it there was a fire always from that night, and it was never extinguished. It was called the fire of the son of Midna. It was in a depression on the north side of the hill of Tara, called the Glen of the Mantle, Glen-a-Brat.

  Finn, bearing the head, passed through the sleepers into the palace and spiked the head on his own spear, and drove the spear-end into the ground at Conn’s end of the great hall. Then the sickness and faintness of death came upon Finn, also a great horror and despair overshadowed him, so that he was about to give himself up for utterly lost. Yet he recalled one of his marvellous attributes, and approaching a silver vessel, into which pure water ever flowed and which was always full, he made a cup with his two hands and, lifting it to his mouth, drank, and the blood began to circulate in his veins again, and strength returned to his limbs, and the cheerful hue of rosy health to his cheeks.

  Having rested himself sufficiently he went forth and shouted to the sleeping host, and called the captains by their names, beginning with Conn. They awoke and rose up, though dazed and stupid, for it was difficult for any man, no matter how he had stopped his ears, to avoid hearing Finn when he sent forth his voice of power. They were astonished to find that Tara was still standing, for though the night was dark, the palaces and temples, all of hewn timber, were brilliantly coloured and of many hues, for in those days men delighted in splendid colours.

  When the captains came together, Finn said, ‘I have slain Midna.’ ‘Where is his head?’ they asked, not because they disbelieved him, but because the heads of men slain in battle were always brought away for trophies. ‘Come and see,’ answered Finn. Conn and his only son and Gaul mac Morna followed the young hero into the palace, where the spear-long waxen candles were still burning, and when they saw the head of the son of Midna impaled there at the end of the hall, the head of the man whom they believed to be immortal and not to be wounded or conquered, they were filled with great joy, and praised their deliverer and paid him many compliments.

  ‘Who are you, O brave youth?’ said Conn. ‘Surely you are the son of some great king or champion, for heroic feats like these are not performed by the sons of inconsiderable and unknown men.’

  Then Finn flung back his cloak of wild boars’ skins, and holding his father’s treasure-bag in his hand before them all, cried in a loud voice:

  ‘I am Finn, the son of Cool, the son of Trenmor, the son of Basna; I am he whom the sons of Morna have been seeking to destroy from the time that I was born; and here tonight, O King of the Kings of Erin, I claim the fulfilment of your promise, and the restoration of my inheritance, which is the Fian leadership of Fail. Thereupon Gaul mac Morna put his right hand into Finn’s, and became his man. Then his brothers and his sons, and the sons of his brothers, did so in succession, and after that all the chief men of the Fians did the same, and that night Finn was solemnly and surely installed in the Fian leadership of Erin, and put in possession of all the woods and forests and waste places, and all the hills and mountains and promontories, and all the streams and rivers of Erin, and the harbours a
nd estuaries and the harbour-dues of the merchants, and all ships and boats and galleys with their mariners, and all that pertained of old time to the Fian leadership of Fail.

  ‘How Finn Found Bran’ by Elizabeth Grierson

  In the latter part of his life Finn was always followed by an enormous hound, who answered to the name of Bran. It not only accompanied him when he went a-hunting, but it went with him to battle, and woe betide the man or beast who had to fight against it.

  For not only were its teeth long and sharp, but it had one great claw which was sharper than all the rest, and besides being sharper, it was venomous also; which means that, if it raised its foot and struck anyone with this claw, the wound was poisoned, and would not heal, but festered away until it destroyed the person’s life.

  Bran did not use this claw very often, however, for Finn had no wish to kill more people than he could help, so he had a golden shoe made for it, and the great hound always wore this shoe unless Finn were in danger, when he would call the faithful creature to his side, and take it off. Then, with open mouth and uplifted claw, Bran would fly at his master’s enemies, and speedily overcome them.

  Folk said that Bran came out of Faerie-land, and when you have read this story you will be inclined to say that they spoke true.

  It chanced one day that Finn went out walking with no one to attend him; and as he walked, he met a man whom he had never seen before.

  This was an unusual thing, for the great Chief knew everyone who lived in his dominions, so he stopped and asked the stranger what he was seeking, and where he was going.

  ‘I am a good servant in search of employment,’ answered the man.

  ‘In what way are you a good servant?’ asked Finn, for the fellow spoke as if he knew that what he said was true.