Irish Fairy Tales E-Book

Edmund Leamy

• Herausgeber: Mercier Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

In writing these fascinating stories, Edmund Leamy turned to the Gaelic past to give the Irish people something which would implant in them a love for the beauty and dignity of their country's traditions. The charming and poetic tales in this book include 'Princess Finola and the Dwarf', 'The Fairy Tree of Dooros ', 'The House in the Lake', 'The Little White Cat', 'The Golden Spears' and 'The Enchanted Cave'.

Leseprobe

IRISH FAIRY TALES

EDMUND LEAMY

MERCIER PRESS

3B Oak House, Bessboro Rd

Blackrock, Cork, Ireland

www.mercierpress.ie

http://twitter.com/IrishPublisher

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© Mercier Press, 1978

ISBN: 978 0 85342 917 3

Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 104 2

Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 105 9

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

CONTENTS

Princess Finola and the Dwarf

5

The House in the Lake

19

The Little White Cat

37

The Golden Spears

55

The Fairy Tree of Dooros

70

The Enchanted Cave

85

The Huntsman’s Son

104

Notes

121

PRINCESS FINOLA AND THE DWARF

A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut in the midst of a bare, brown, lonely moor an old woman and a young girl. The old woman was withered, sour-tempered, and dumb. The young girl was as sweet and as fresh as an opening rosebud, and her voice was as musical as the whisper of a stream in the woods in the hot days of summer. The little hut, made of branches woven closely together, was shaped like a beehive. In the centre of the hut a fire burned night and day from year’s end to year’s end, though it was never touched or tended by human hand. In the cold days and nights of winter it gave out light and heat that made the hut cosy and warm, but in the summer nights and days it gave out light only. With their heads to the wall of the hut and their feet towards the fire were two sleeping-couches—one of plain woodwork, in which slept the old woman; the other was Finola’s. It was of bog-oak, polished as a looking-glass, and on it were carved flowers and birds of all kinds, that gleamed and shone in the light of the fire. This couch was fit for a princess, and a princess Finola was, though she did not know it herself.

Outside the hut the bare, brown, lonely moor stretched for miles on every side, but towards the east it was bounded by a range of mountains that looked to Finola blue in the daytime, but which put on a hundred changing colours as the sun went down. Nowhere was a house to be seen, nor a tree, nor a flower, nor sign of any living thing. From morning till night, nor hum of bee, nor song of bird, nor voice of man, nor any sound fell on Finola’s ears. When the storm was in the air the great waves thundered on the shore beyond the mountains, and the wind shouted in the glens; but when it sped across the moor it lost its voice, and passed as silently as the dead. At first the silence frightened Finola, but she got used to it after a time, and often broke it by talking to herself and singing.

The only other person beside the old woman Finola ever saw was a dumb dwarf who, mounted on a broken-down horse, came once a month to the hut, bringing with him a sack of corn for the old woman and Finola. Although he couldn’t speak to her, Finola was always glad to see the dwarf and his old horse, and she used to give them cake made with her own white hands. As for the dwarf he would have died for the little princess, he was so much in love with her, and often and often his heart was heavy and sad as he thought of her pining away in the lonely moor.

It chanced that he came one day, and she did not, as usual, come out to greet him. He made signs to the old woman, but she took up a stick and struck him, and beat his horse and drove him away; but as he was leaving he caught a glimpse of Finola at the door of the hut, and saw that she was crying. This sight made him so very miserable that he could think of nothing else but her sad face that he had always seen so bright, and he allowed the old horse to go on without minding where he was going. Suddenly he heard a voice saying: ‘It is time for you to come.’

The dwarf looked, and right before him, at the foot of a green hill, was a little man not half as big as himself, dressed in a green jacket with brass bottons, and a red cap and tassel.

‘It is time for you to come,’ he said the second time; ‘but you are welcome, anyhow. Get off your horse and come in with me, that I may touch your lips with the want of speech, that we may have a talk together.

The dwarf got off his horse and followed the little man through a hole in the side of a green hill. The hole was so small that he had to go on his hands and knees to pass through it, and when he was able to stand he was only the same height as the little fairy man. After walking three or four steps they were in a splendid room, as bright as day. Diamonds sparkled in the roof as stars sparkle in the sky when the night is without a cloud. The roof rested on golden pillars, and between the pillars were silver lamps, but their light was dimmed by that of the diamonds. In the middle of the room was a table, on which were two golden plates and two silver knives and forks, and a brass bell as big as a hazelnut, and beside the table were two little chairs covered with blue silk and satin.

‘Take a chair,’ said the fairy, ‘and I will ring for the wand of speech.’

The dwarf sat down, and the fairy man rang the little brass bell, and in came a little weeny dwarf no bigger than your hand.

‘Bring me the wand of speech,’ said the fairy, and the weeny dwarf bowed three times and walked out backwards, and in a minute he returned, carrying a little black wand with a red berry at the top of it, and, giving it to the fairy, he bowed three times and walked out backwards as he had done before.

The little man waved the rod three times over the dwarf, and struck him once on the right shoulder and once on the left shoulder, and then touched his lips with the red berry, and said: ‘Speak!’

The dwarf spoke, and he was so rejoiced at hearing the sound of his own voice that he danced about the room.

‘Who are you at all, at all?’ said he to the fairy.

‘Who is yourself?’ said the fairy. ‘But come before we have any talk let us have something to eat, for I am sure you are hungry.’

Then they sat down to table, and the fairy rang the little brass bell twice, and the weeny dwarf brought in two boiled snails in their shells, and when they had eaten the snails he brought in a dormouse, and when they had eaten the dormouse he brought in two wrens, and when they had eaten the wrens he brought in two nuts full of wine, and they became very merry, and the fairyman sang Cooleen dhas, and the dwarf sang The little blackbird of the glen.

‘Did you ever hear the Foggy Dew?’ said the fairy.

‘No,’ said the dwarf.

‘Well, then, I’ll give it to you; but we must have some more wine.’

And the wine was brought, and he sang the Foggy Dew, and the dwarf said it was the sweetest song he had ever heard, and that the fairyman’s voice would coax the birds off the bushes.

‘You asked me who I am?’ said the fairy.

‘I did,’ said the dwarf.

‘And I asked you who is yourself?’

‘You did,’ said the dwarf.

‘And who are you, then?’

‘Well, to tell the truth, I don’t know,’ said the dwarf, and he blushed like a rose.

‘Well, tell me what you know about yourself.’

‘I remember nothing at all,’ said the dwarf, ‘before the day I found myself going along with a crowd of all sorts of people to the great fair of the Liffey. We had to pass by the king’s palace on our way, and as we were passing the king sent for a band of jugglers to come and show their tricks before him. I followed the jugglers to look on, and when the play was over the king called me to him, and asked me who I was and where I came from. I was dumb then, and couldn’t answer; but even if I could speak I could not tell him what he wanted to know, for I remember nothing of myself before that day. Then the king asked the jugglers, but they knew nothing about me, and no one knew anything, and then the king said he would take me into his service; and the only work I have to do is to go once a month with a bag of corn to the hut on the lonely moor.’

‘And there you fell in love with the little princess,’ said the fairy, winking at the dwarf.

The poor dwarf blushed twice as much as he had done before.

‘You need not blush,’ said the fairy; ‘it is a good man’s case. And now tell me, truly, do you love the princess, and what would you give to free her from the spell of the enchantment that is over her?’

‘I would give my life,’ said the dwarf.

‘Well, then, listen to me,’ said the fairy. ‘The Princess Finola was banished to the lonely moor by the king, your master. He killed her father, who was the rightful king, and would have killed Finola, only he was told by an old sorceress that if he killed her he would die himself on the same day, and she advised him to banish her to the lonely moor, and she said she would fling a spell of enchantment over it, and that until the spell was broken Finola could not leave the moor. And the sorceress also promised that she would send an old woman to watch over the princess by night and by day, so that no harm should come to her; but she told the king that he himself should select a messenger to take food to the hut, and that he should look out for some one who had never seen or heard of the princess, and whom he could trust never to tell anyone anything about her; and that is the reason he selected you.’

‘Since you know so much,’ said the dwarf, ‘can you tell me who I am, and where I came from?’

‘You will know that time enough,’ said the fairy. ‘I have given you back your speech. It will depend solely on yourself whether you will get back your memory of who and what you were before the day you entered the king’s service. But are you really willing to try and break the spell of enchantment and free the princess?’

‘I am,’ said the dwarf.

‘Whatever it will cost you?’

‘Yes, if it cost me my life,’ said the dwarf; ‘but tell me, how can the spell be broken?’

‘Oh, it is easy enough to break the spell if you have the weapons,’ said the fairy.

‘And what are they, and where are they?’ said the dwarf.

‘The spear of the shining haft and the dark blue blade and the silver shield,’ said the fairy. ‘They are on the farther bank of the Mystic Lake in the Island of the Western Seas. They are there for the man who is bold enough to seek them. If you are the man who will bring them back to the lonely moor you will only have to strike the shield three times with the haft, and three times with the blade of the spear, and the silence of the moor will be broken for ever, the spell of enchantment will be removed, and the princess will be free.’

‘I will set out at once,’ said the dwarf jumping from his chair.

‘And whatever it cost you,’ said the fairy, ‘will you pay the price?’

‘I will,’ said the dwarf.

‘Well, then, mount your horse, give him his head, and he will take you to the shore opposite the Island of the Mystic Lake. You must cross to the island on his back, and make your way through the water-steeds that swim around the island night and day to guard it; but woe betide you if you attempt to cross without paying the price, for if you do the angry water-steeds will rend you and your horse to pieces. And when you come to the Mystic Lake you must wait until the waters are as red as wine, and then swim your horse across it, and on the farther side you will find the spear and shield; but woe betide you if you attempt to cross the lake before you pay the price, for if you do, the black Cormorants of the Western Seas will pick the flesh from your bones.’

‘What is the price?’ said the dwarf.

‘You will know that time enough,’ said the fairy; ‘but now go, and good luck go with you.’

The dwarf thanked the fairy, and said good-bye! He then threw the reins on his horse’s neck, and started up the hill, that seemed to grow bigger and bigger as he ascended, and the dwarf soon found that what he took for a hill was a great mountain. After travelling all the day, toiling up by steep crags and heathery passes, he reached the top as the sun was setting in the ocean, and he saw far below him out in the waters the Island of the Mystic Lake.

He began his descent to the shore, but long before he reached it the sun had set, and darkness, unpierced by a single star, dropped upon the sea. The old horse, worn out by his long and painful journey, sank beneath him, and the dwarf was so tired that he rolled off his back and fell asleep by his side.

He awoke at the breaking of the morning, and saw that he was almost at the water’s edge. He looked out to sea, and saw the island, but nowhere could he see the water-steeds, and he began to fear he must have taken a wrong course in the night, and that the island before him was not the one he was in search of. But even while he was so thinking he heard fierce and angry snortings, and, coming swiftly from the island to the shore, he saw the swimming and prancing steeds. Sometimes their heads and manes only were visible, and sometimes, rearing, they rose half out of the water, and, striking it with their hoofs, churned it into foam, and tossed the white spray to the skies. As they approached nearer and nearer their snortings became more terrible, and their nostrils shot forth clouds of vapour. The dwarf trembled at the sight and sound, and his old horse, quivering in every limb, moaned piteously, as if in pain. On came the steeds, until they almost touched the shore, then rearing, they seemed about to spring on to it. The frightened dwarf turned his head to fly, and as he did so he heard the twang of a golden harp, and right before him who should he see but the little man of the hills, holding a harp in one hand and striking the strings with the other.

‘Are you ready to pay the price?’ said he, nodding gaily to the dwarf.

As he asked the question, the listening water-steeds snorted more furiously than ever.

‘Are you ready to pay the price?’ said the little man a second time.

A shower of spray, tossed on shore by the angry steeds, drenched the dwarf to the skin, and sent a cold shiver to his bones, and he was so terrified that he could not answer.

‘For the third and last time, are you ready to pay the price?’ asked the fairy, as he flung the harp behind him and turned to depart.

When the dwarf saw him going he thought of the little princess in the lonely moor, and his courage came back, and he answered bravely:

‘Yes, I am ready.’

The water-steeds, hearing his answer, and snorting with rage, struck the shore with their pounding hoofs.

‘Back to your waves!’ cried the little harper; and as he ran his fingers across his lyre, the frightened steeds drew back into the waters.

‘What is the price?’ asked the dwarf.

‘Your right eye,’ said the fairy; and before the dwarf could say a word, the fairy scooped out the eye with his finger, and put it into his pocket.

The dwarf suffered most terrible agony; but he resolved to bear it for the sake of the little princess. Then the fairy sat down on a rock at the edge of the sea, and, after striking a few notes, he began to play the Strains of Slumber.

The sound crept along the waters, and the steeds, so ferocious a moment before, became perfectly still. They had no longer any motion of their own, and they floated on the top of the tide like foam before a breeze.

‘Now,’ said the fairy, as he led the dwarf’s horse to the edge of the tide.

The dwarf urged the horse into the water, and once out of his depth, the old horse struck out boldly for the island. The sleeping water-steeds drifted helplessly against him, and in a short time he reached the island safely, and he neighed joyously as his hoofs touched solid ground.

The dwarf rode on and on, until he came to a bridle-path, and following this, it led him up through winding lanes, bordered with golden furze that filled the air with fragrance, and brought him to the summit of the green hills that girdled and looked down on the Mystic Lake. Here the horse stopped of his own accord, and the dwarf’s heart beat quickly as his eye rested on the lake, that, clipped round by the ring of hills, seemed in the breezeless and sunlit air—

As still as death,

And as bright as life can be.

After gazing at it for a long time, he dismounted, and lay at his ease in the pleasant grass. Hour after hour passed, but no change came over the face of the waters, and when the night fell sleep closed the eyelids of the dwarf.