Irish Folk and Fairy Tales

by Gordon Jarvie

  The prince of Emania always kept the shoe; and when the young women saw it, they had great hopes, for it was of proper size, neither large nor small, and it would beat any man to know of what material it was made. One thought it would fit her if she cut a little from her great toe; and another, with too short a foot, put something in the tip of her stocking. But no use; they only spoiled their feet, and were curing them for months afterwards.

  The two sisters, Fair and Brown, heard that the princes of the world were looking all over Erin for the woman that could wear the shoe, and every day they were talking of trying it on; and one day Trembling spoke up and said: ‘Maybe it’s my foot that the shoe will fit.’

  ‘Oh, such moonshine! Why say that when you were at home every Sunday?’

  They were that way waiting, and scolding the younger sister, till the princes were near the place. The day they were to come, the sisters put Trembling in a closet, and locked the door on her. When the company came to the house, the prince of Emania gave the shoe to the sisters. But though they tried and tried, it would fit neither of them.

  ‘Is there any other young woman in the house?’ asked the prince.

  ‘There is,’ said Trembling, speaking up in the closet; ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Oh! ignore that one – we have her for nothing but to put out the ashes,’ said the sisters.

  But the prince and the others wouldn’t leave the house till they had seen her; so the two sisters had to open the door. When Trembling came out, the shoe was given to her, and it fitted exactly.

  The prince of Emania looked at her and said: ‘You are the woman the shoe fits, and you are the woman I took the shoe from.’

  Then Trembling spoke up, and said: ‘Please stay here till I return.’

  Then she went to the henwife’s house. The old woman put on the cloak of darkness, got everything for her she had the first Sunday at church, and put her on the white mare in the same fashion. Then Trembling rode along the highway to the front of the house. All who had seen her the first time said: ‘This is the lady we saw at church.’

  Then she went away a second time, and a second time came back on the black mare in the second dress which the henwife gave her. All who had seen her the second Sunday said: ‘That is the lady we saw at church.’

  A third time she asked for a short absence, and soon came back on the third mare and in the third dress. All who had seen her the third time said: ‘That is the lady we saw at church.’ Every man was now satisfied, and knew that she was the woman.

  Then all the princes and great men spoke up, and said to the son of the king of Emania: ‘You’ll have to fight now for her before we let her go with you.’

  ‘I’m here before you, ready for combat,’ answered the prince.

  Then the son of the king of Lochlin stepped forth. The struggle began, and a terrible struggle it was. They fought for nine hours; and then the son of the king of Lochlin stopped, gave up his claim, and left the field. Next day the son of the king of Spain fought six hours, and yielded his claim. On the third day the son of the king of Nyerfói fought eight hours, and stopped. The fourth day the son of the king of Greece fought six hours, and stopped. On the fifth day no more foreign princes wanted to fight; and all the sons of kings in Erin said they would not fight with a man of their own land, that the strangers had had their chance, and, as no others came to claim the woman, she belonged of right to the son of the king of Emania.

  The marriage-day was fixed, and the invitations were sent out. The wedding lasted for a year and a day. When the wedding was over, the king’s son brought home the bride, and when the time came a son was born. The young woman sent for her eldest sister, Fair, to be with her and care for her. One day, when Trembling was well, and when her husband was away hunting, the two sisters went out to walk; and when they came to the seaside, the eldest pushed the youngest sister in. A great whale came and swallowed her.

  The eldest sister came home alone, and the husband asked, ‘Where is your sister?’

  ‘She has gone home to her father in Ballyshannon; now that I am well, I don’t need her.’

  ‘Well,’ said the husband, looking at her, ‘I’m in dread it’s my wife that has gone.’

  ‘Oh! no,’ said she; ‘I’m well, it’s my sister Fair that’s gone.’

  Since the sisters were very much alike, the prince was in doubt. That night he put his sword between their beds, and said: ‘If you are my wife, this sword will get warm; if not, it will stay cold.’

  In the morning when he rose up, the sword was as cold as when he put it there.

  It happened, when the two sisters were walking by the seashore, that a little cowboy was down by the water minding cattle, and saw Fair push Trembling into the sea; and next day, when the tide came in, he saw the whale swim up and throw her out on the sand. When she was on the sand she said to the cowboy: ‘When you go home in the evening with the cows, tell the master that my sister Fair pushed me into the sea yesterday; that a whale swallowed me, and then threw me out, but will come again and swallow me with the coming of the next tide; then he’ll go out with the tide, and come again with tomorrow’s tide, and throw me again on the strand. The whale will cast me out three times. I’m under the enchantment of this whale, and cannot leave the beach or escape myself. Unless my husband saves me before I’m swallowed the fourth time, I shall be lost. He must come and shoot the whale with a silver bullet when he turns on the broad of his back. Under the breast-fin of the whale is a reddish-brown spot. My husband must hit him in that spot, for it is the only place in which he can be killed.’

  When the cowboy got home with this story, the eldest sister gave him a sleeping potion, and he did not tell the prince.

  Next day the boy went again to the sea. The whale came and cast Trembling on shore again. She asked the boy: ‘Did you tell the master what I told you to tell him?’

  ‘I did not,’ said he; ‘I forgot.’

  ‘How did you forget?’ asked she.

  ‘The woman of the house gave me a drink that made me forget.’

  ‘Well, don’t forget telling the prince this night; and if she gives you a drink, don’t take it from her.’

  As soon as the cowboy came home, the eldest sister offered him a drink. He refused to take it till he had delivered his message and told all to the master. The third day the prince went down to the shore with his gun and a silver bullet in it. He was not long there when the whale came and threw Trembling upon the beach as he had done the two days before. She had no power to speak to her husband till he had killed the whale. Then the whale went out, turned over once on the broad of his back, and showed the spot for a moment only. That moment the prince fired. He had but the one chance, and a short one at that; but he took it, and hit the spot, and the whale, mad with pain, made the sea all around red with blood, and died.

  That minute Trembling was able to speak, and went home with her husband, who sent word to her father what the eldest sister had done. The father came, and told him any death he chose to give her to give it. The prince told the father he would leave her life and death with himself. The father had her put out then on the sea in a barrel, with provisions in it for seven years.

  In time Trembling had a second child, a daughter. The prince and she sent the cowboy to school, and trained him up as one of their own children, and said: ‘If the little girl that is born to us now lives, no other man in the world will get her but him.’

  The cowboy and the prince’s daughter lived on till they were married. The mother said to her husband: ‘You could not have saved me from the whale but for the little cowboy; on that account I don’t grudge him my daughter.’

  The prince of Emania and Trembling had fourteen children, and they lived happily till the two died of old age.

  ‘The Lazy Beauty and Her Aunts’ by Patrick Kennedy

  There was once a poor widow woman, who had a daughter that was as handsome as the day, and as lazy as a pig, saving your presence. The poor mother was the most
industrious person in the townland, and was a particularly good hand at the spinning-wheel. It was the wish of her heart that her daughter should be as handy as herself; but she’d get up late, eat her breakfast before she’d finished her prayers, and then go about dawdling, and anything she handled seemed to be burning her fingers. She drawled her words as if it was a great trouble to her to speak, or as if her tongue was as lazy as her body. Many a heart-scald her poor mother got with her, and still she was only improving like dead fowl in August.

  Well, one morning that things were as bad as they could be, and the poor woman was giving tongue at the rate of a mill-clapper, who should be riding by but the king’s son. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, good woman!’ said he, ‘you must have a very bad child to make you scold so terribly. Sure it can’t be this handsome girl that vexed you!’ ‘Oh, please your Majesty, not at all,’ says the old dissembler. ‘I was only checking her for working herself too much. Would your Majesty believe it? She spins three pounds of flax in a day, weaves it into linen the next, and makes it all into shirts the day after.’ ‘My gracious,’ says the prince, ‘she’s the very lady that will just fill my mother’s eye, and herself’s the greatest spinner in the kingdom. Will you put on your daughter’s bonnet and cloak, if you please, ma’am, and set her behind me? Why, my mother will be so delighted with her, that perhaps she’ll make her her daughter-in-law in a week, that is, if the young woman herself is agreeable.’

  Well, between the confusion, and the joy, and the fear of being found out, the women didn’t know what to do; and before they could make up their minds, young Anty (Anastasia) was set behind the prince, and away he and his attendants went, and a good heavy purse was left behind with the mother. She pullillued a long time after all was gone, in dread of something bad happening to the poor girl.

  The prince couldn’t judge of the girl’s breeding or wit from the few answers he pulled out of her. The queen was struck in a heap when she saw a young country girl sitting behind her son, but when she saw her handsome face, and heard all she could do, she didn’t think she could make too much of her. The prince took an opportunity of whispering to her that if she didn’t object to be his wife she must strive to please his mother. Well, the evening went by, and the prince and Anty were getting fonder and fonder of one another, but the thought of the spinning used to send the cold to her heart every moment. When bed-time came, the old queen went along with her to a beautiful bedroom, and when she was bidding her good-night, she pointed to a heap of fine flax, and said, ‘You may begin as soon as you like tomorrow morning, and I’ll expect to see these three pounds in nice thread the morning after.’ Little did the poor girl sleep that night. She kept crying and lamenting that she didn’t mind her mother’s advice better. When she was left alone next morning, she began with a heavy heart; and though she had a nice mahogany wheel and the finest flax you ever saw, the thread was breaking every moment. One while it was as fine as a cobweb, and the next as coarse as a little boy’s whipcord. At last she pushed her chair back, let her hands fall in her lap, and burst out a-crying.

  A small, old woman with surprising big feet appeared before her at the same moment, and said, ‘What ails you, you handsome colleen?’ ‘An’ haven’t I all that flax to spin before tomorrow morning, and I’ll never be able to have even five yards of fine thread of it put together.’ ‘An’ would you think bad to ask poor Colliach Cushmōr (Old woman Big-foot) to your wedding with the young prince? If you promise me that, all your three pounds will be made into the finest of thread while you’re taking your sleep tonight.’ ‘Indeed, you must be there and welcome, and I’ll honour you all the days of your life.’ ‘Very well; stay in your room till tea-time, and tell the queen she may come in for her thread as early as she likes tomorrow morning.’ It was all as she said; and the thread was finer and evener than the gut you see with fly-fishers. ‘My brave girl you were!’ says the queen. ‘I’ll get my own mahogany loom brought in to you, but you needn’t do anything more today. Work and rest, work and rest, is my motto. Tomorrow you’ll weave all this thread, and who knows what may happen?’

  The poor girl was more frightened this time than the last, and she was so afraid to lose the prince. She didn’t even know how to put the warp in the gears, nor how to use the shuttle, and she was sitting in the greatest grief, when a little woman, who was mighty well-shouldered about the hips, all at once appeared to her, told her her name was Colliach Cromanmōr, and made the same bargain with her as Colliach Cushmōr. Great was the queen’s pleasure when she found early in the morning a web as fine and white as the finest paper you ever saw. ‘The darling you were!’ says she. ‘Take your ease with the ladies and gentlemen today and if you have all this made into nice shirts tomorrow you may present one of them to my son, and be married to him out of hand.’

  Oh, wouldn’t you pity poor Anty the next day, she was now so near the prince, and, maybe, would be soon so far from him. But she waited as patiently as she could with scissors, needle, and thread in hand, till a minute after noon. Then she was rejoiced to see the third woman appear. She had a big red nose, and informed Anty that people called her Shron Mor Rua on that account. She was as good to her as the others, for a dozen fine shirts were lying on the table when the queen paid her an early visit.

  Now there was nothing talked of but the wedding, and I needn’t tell you it was grand. The poor mother was there along with the rest, and at the dinner the old queen could talk of nothing but the lovely shirts, and how happy herself and the bride would be after the honeymoon, spinning, and weaving, and sewing shirts and shirts without end. The bridegroom didn’t like the discourse, and the bride liked it less, and he was going to say something, when the footman came up to the head of the table and said to the bride, ‘Your ladyship’s aunt, Colliach Cushmōr, bade me ask might she come in.’ The bride blushed and wished she was seven miles under the floor, but well became the prince. ‘Tell Mrs Cushmōr,’ said he, ‘that any relation of my bride’s will be always heartily welcome wherever she and I are.’ In came the woman with the big foot, and got a seat near the prince. The old queen didn’t like it much, and after a few words she asked rather spitefully, ‘Dear ma’am, what’s the reason your foot is so big?’ ‘Musha, faith, your majesty, I was standing almost all my life at the spinning-wheel, and that’s the reason.’ ‘I declare to you, my darling,’ said the prince, I’ll never allow you to spend one hour at the same spinning-wheel.’ The same footman said again, ‘Your ladyship’s aunt, Colliach Cromanmōr, wishes to come in, if the genteels and yourself have no objection.’ Very sharoose (displeased) was Princess Anty, but the prince sent her welcome, and she took her seat, and drank healths apiece to the company. ‘May I ask, ma’am?’ says the old queen, ‘why you’re so wide half-way between the head and the feet?’ ‘That, your majesty, is owing to sitting all my life at the loom.’ ‘By my sceptre,’ says the prince, ‘my wife shall never sit there an hour.’ The footman again came up. ‘Your ladyship’s aunt, Colliach Shron Mor Rua, is asking leave to come into the banquet.’ More blushing on the bride’s face, but the bridegroom spoke out cordially, ‘Tell Mrs Shron Mor Rua she’s doing us an honour.’ In came the old woman, and great respect she got near the top of the table, but the people down low put up their tumblers and glasses to their noses to hide the grins. ‘Ma’am,’ says the old queen, ‘will you tell us, if you please, why your nose is so big and red?’ ‘Throth, your majesty, my head was bent down over the stitching all my life, and all the blood in my body ran into my nose.’ ‘My darling,’ said the prince to Anty, ‘if ever I see a needle in your hand, I’ll run a hundred miles from you.’

  ‘And in troth, girls and boys, though it’s a diverting story, I don’t think the moral is good; and if any of you thuckeens go about imitating Anty in her laziness, you’ll find it won’t thrive with you as it did with her. She was beautiful beyond compare, which none of you are, and she had three powerful fairies to help her besides. There’s no fairies now, and no prince or lord to ride by, an
d catch you idling or working; and maybe, after all, the prince and herself were not so very happy when the cares of the world or old age came on them.’

  Thus was the tale ended by poor old Shebale (Sybilla), Father Murphy’s housekeeper, in Coolbawn, Barony of Bantry, about half a century since.

  ‘King O’Toole and His Goose’ by Joseph Jacobs (after Samuel Lover)

  Och, I thought all the world, far and near, had heerd o’ King O’Toole – well, well, but the darkness of mankind is untellible! Well, sir, you must know, as you didn’t hear it afore, that there was a king, called King O’Toole, who was a fine old king in the old ancient times, long ago; and it was he that owned the churches in the early days. The king, you see, was the right sort; he was a great lad, and loved sport as he loved his life, and hunting in particular; and from the rising o’ the sun, up he got, and away he went over the mountains after the deer; and fine times they were.

  Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health; but, you see, in course of time the king grew old, stiff in his limbs, and when he got stricken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost entirely for want o’ diversion, because he couldn’t go a-hunting no longer; and, by dad, the poor king was obliged at last to get a goose to divert him. Oh, you may laugh, if you like, but it’s truth I’m telling you; and the way the goose diverted him was this-a-way: You see, the goose used to swim across the lake, and go diving for trout, and catch fish on a Friday for the king, and flew every other day round about the lake, diverting the poor king. All went on mighty well until, by dad, the goose got stricken in years like her master, and couldn’t divert him no longer, and then it was that the poor king was lost entirely. The king was walkin’ one mornin’ by the edge of the lake, lamentin’ his cruel fate, and thinking of drowning himself, that could get no diversion in life, when all of a sudden, turning round the corner, who should he meet but a mighty decent young man coming up to him.