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The Floating Press - James Stephens

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139 pages

English

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Take a trip through the rich folklore of Ireland in this enchanting volume from author James Stephens. Fairy kings, femmes fatales, bewitched animals, epic feuds -- these action-packed stories traverse a broad spectrum of themes and settings. Folklore fans and readers interested in Gaelic and Celtic culture will appreciate this collection.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2012
Nombre de lectures	2
EAN13	9781775457046
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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IRISH FAIRY TALES
* * *
JAMES STEPHENS

*
Irish Fairy Tales First published in 1920 ISBN 978-1-77545-704-6 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
The Story of Tuan Mac Cairill The Boyhood of Fionn The Birth of Bran Oisi'n's Mother The Wooing of Becfola The Little Brawl at Allen The Carl of the Drab Coat The Enchanted Cave of Cesh Corran Becuma of the White Skin Mongan's Frenzy
The Story of Tuan Mac Cairill
*
CHAPTER I
Finnian, the Abbott of Moville, went southwards and eastwards in greathaste. News had come to him in Donegal that there were yet people in hisown province who believed in gods that he did not approve of, and thegods that we do not approve of are treated scurvily, even by saintlymen.
He was told of a powerful gentleman who observed neither Saint's day norSunday.
"A powerful person!" said Finnian.
"All that," was the reply.
"We shall try this person's power," said Finnian.
"He is reputed to be a wise and hardy man," said his informant.
"We shall test his wisdom and his hardihood."
"He is," that gossip whispered—"he is a magician."
"I will magician him," cried Finnian angrily. "Where does that manlive?"
He was informed, and he proceeded to that direction without delay.
In no great time he came to the stronghold of the gentleman who followedancient ways, and he demanded admittance in order that he might preachand prove the new God, and exorcise and terrify and banish even thememory of the old one; for to a god grown old Time is as ruthless as toa beggarman grown old.
But the Ulster gentleman refused Finnian admittance. He barricadedhis house, he shuttered his windows, and in a gloom of indignation andprotest he continued the practices of ten thousand years, and wouldnot hearken to Finnian calling at the window or to Time knocking at hisdoor.
But of those adversaries it was the first he redoubted.
Finnian loomed on him as a portent and a terror; but he had no fear ofTime. Indeed he was the foster-brother of Time, and so disdainful of thebitter god that he did not even disdain him; he leaped over the scythe,he dodged under it, and the sole occasions on which Time laughs is whenhe chances on Tuan, the son of Cairill, the son of Muredac Red-neck.
CHAPTER II
Now Finnian could not abide that any person should resist both theGospel and himself, and he proceeded to force the stronghold by peacefulbut powerful methods. He fasted on the gentleman, and he did so to suchpurpose that he was admitted to the house; for to an hospitable heartthe idea that a stranger may expire on your doorstep from sheer faminecannot be tolerated. The gentleman, however, did not give in without astruggle: he thought that when Finnian had grown sufficiently hungry hewould lift the siege and take himself off to some place where he mightget food. But he did not know Finnian. The great abbot sat down on aspot just beyond the door, and composed himself to all that might followfrom his action. He bent his gaze on the ground between his feet,and entered into a meditation from which he would Only be released byadmission or death.
The first day passed quietly.
Often the gentleman would send a servitor to spy if that deserter of thegods was still before his door, and each time the servant replied thathe was still there.
"He will be gone in the morning," said the hopeful master.
On the morrow the state of siege continued, and through that day theservants were sent many times to observe through spy-holes.
"Go," he would say, "and find out if the worshipper of new gods hastaken himself away."
But the servants returned each time with the same information.
"The new druid is still there," they said.
All through that day no one could leave the stronghold. And the enforcedseclusion wrought on the minds of the servants, while the cessationof all work banded them together in small groups that whispered anddiscussed and disputed. Then these groups would disperse to peep throughthe spy-hole at the patient, immobile figure seated before the door,wrapped in a meditation that was timeless and unconcerned. Theytook fright at the spectacle, and once or twice a woman screamedhysterically, and was bundled away with a companion's hand clapped onher mouth, so that the ear of their master should not be affronted.
"He has his own troubles," they said. "It is a combat of the gods thatis taking place."
So much for the women; but the men also were uneasy. They prowled up anddown, tramping from the spy-hole to the kitchen, and from the kitchento the turreted roof. And from the roof they would look down on themotionless figure below, and speculate on many things, includingthe staunchness of man, the qualities of their master, and even thepossibility that the new gods might be as powerful as the old.From these peepings and discussions they would return languid anddiscouraged.
"If," said one irritable guard, "if we buzzed a spear at the persistentstranger, or if one slung at him with a jagged pebble!"
"What!" his master demanded wrathfully, "is a spear to be thrown atan unarmed stranger? And from this house!" And he soundly cuffed thatindelicate servant.
"Be at peace all of you," he said, "for hunger has a whip, and he willdrive the stranger away in the night."
The household retired to wretched beds; but for the master of the housethere was no sleep. He marched his halls all night, going often tothe spy-hole to see if that shadow was still sitting in the shade, andpacing thence, tormented, preoccupied, refusing even the nose of hisfavourite dog as it pressed lovingly into his closed palm.
On the morrow he gave in.
The great door was swung wide, and two of his servants carried Finnianinto the house, for the saint could no longer walk or stand upright byreason of the hunger and exposure to which he had submitted. But hisframe was tough as the unconquerable spirit that dwelt within it, andin no long time he was ready for whatever might come of dispute oranathema.
Being quite re-established he undertook the conversion of the master ofthe house, and the siege he laid against that notable intelligence waslong spoken of among those who are interested in such things.
He had beaten the disease of Mugain; he had beaten his own pupil thegreat Colm Cille; he beat Tuan also, and just as the latter's door hadopened to the persistent stranger, so his heart opened, and Finnianmarched there to do the will of God, and his own will.
CHAPTER III
One day they were talking together about the majesty of God and Hislove, for although Tuan had now received much instruction on thissubject he yet needed more, and he laid as close a siege on Finnianas Finnian had before that laid on him. But man works outwardly andinwardly. After rest he has energy, after energy he needs repose; so,when we have given instruction for a time, we need instruction, and mustreceive it or the spirit faints and wisdom herself grows bitter.
Therefore Finnian said: "Tell me now about yourself, dear heart."
But Tuan was avid of information about the True God. "No, no," hesaid, "the past has nothing more of interest for me, and I do not wishanything to come between my soul and its instruction; continue to teachme, dear friend and saintly father."
"I will do that," Finnian replied, "but I must first meditate deeply onyou, and must know you well. Tell me your past, my beloved, for a man ishis past, and is to be known by it."
But Tuan pleaded: "Let the past be content with itself, for man needsforgetfulness as well as memory."
"My son," said Finnian, "all that has ever been done has been done forthe glory of God, and to confess our good and evil deeds is part ofinstruction; for the soul must recall its acts and abide by them, orrenounce them by confession and penitence. Tell me your genealogy first,and by what descent you occupy these lands and stronghold, and then Iwill examine your acts and your conscience."
Tuan replied obediently: "I am known as Tuan, son of Cairill, son ofMuredac Red-neck, and these are the hereditary lands of my father."
The saint nodded.
"I am not as well acquainted with Ulster genealogies as I should be, yetI know something of them. I am by blood a Leinsterman," he continued.
"Mine is a long pedigree," Tuan murmured.
Finnian received that information with respect and interest.
"I also," he said, "have an honourable record."
His host continued: "I am indeed Tuan, the son of Starn, the son ofSera, who was brother to Partholon."
"But," said Finnian in bewilderment, "there is an error here, for youhave recited two different genealogies."
"Different genealogies, indeed," replied Tuan thoughtfully, "but theyare my genealogies."
"I do not understand this," Finnian declared roundly.
"I am now known as Tuan mac Cairill," the other replied, "but in thedays of old I was known as Tuan mac Starn, mac Sera."
"The brother of Partholon," the saint gasped.
"That is my pedigree," Tuan said.
"But," Finnian objected in bewilderment, "Partholon came to Ireland notlong after the Flood."
"I came with him," said Tuan mildly.
The saint pushed his chair back hastily, and sat staring at his host,and as he stared the blood grew chill in his veins, and his hair creptalong his scalp and stood on end.
CHAPTER IV
But Finnian was not one who remained long in bewilderment. He thought onthe might of God and he became that might, and was tranquil.
He was one who loved God and Ireland, and to the person who coul