He brought the King’s son home, and said to him, “Go to sleep in the place where you were last night.”
When the old King went to sleep the young daughter came and brought him into the fine chamber, and kept him there till the old King was about to rise in the morning. Then she put him out again in the fork of the tree.
At sunrise the old King came and said, “It’s time for you to get to work.”
“There’s no hurry on me at all,” says the King’s son, “because I know I can readily do my day’s work.”
He then went to the brink of the lake, but he was not able to see a stone, the water was that black. He sat down on a rock, and it was not long until Finnuala—that was the name of the old King’s daughter—came to him and said, “What have you to do to-day?” He told her, and she said, “Let there be no grief on you. I can do that work for you.” Then she gave him bread, beef, mutton, and wine. After that she drew out the little enchanted rod, smote the water of the lake with it, and in a moment the old castle was set up as it had been the day before. Then she said to him, “On your life, don’t tell my father that I did this work for you, or that you have any knowledge of me at all.”
On the evening of that day the old King came and said, “I see that you have the day’s work done.”
“I have,” said the King’s son; “that was an easy-done job.”
Then the old King thought that the King’s son had more power of enchantment than he had himself, and he said,“You have only one other thing to do.” He brought him home then, and put him to sleep in the fork of the tree, butFinnualacame and put him into the fine chamber, and in the morning she sent him out again into the tree. At sunrise the old King came to him, and said, “Come with me till I show you your day’s work.”
He brought the King’s son to a great glen, and showed him a well, and said, “My grandmother lost a ring in that well, and do you get it for me before the sun goes under this morning.”
Now, this well was one hundred feet deep and twenty feet round about, and it was filled with water, and there was an army out of hell watching the ring.
When the old King went away Finnuala came and asked, “What have you to do to-day?” He told her, and she said, “That is a difficult task, but I shall do my best to save your life.” Then she gave him beef, bread, and wine. Then she made a diver of herself, and went down into the well. It was not long till he saw smoke and lightning coming up out of the well, and he heard a sound like thunder, and anyone who would be listening to that noise, he would think that the army of hell was fighting.
At the end of a while the smoke went away, the lightning and thunder ceased, and Finnuala came up with the ring. She handed the ring to the King’s son, and said, “I won the battle, and your life is saved. But, look, the little finger of my right hand is broken. But perhaps it’s a lucky thing that it was broken. When my father comes do notgive him the ring, but threaten him stoutly. He will bring you, then, to choose your wife, and this is how you shall make your choice. I and my sisters will be in a room; there will be a hole in the door, and we shall all put our hands out in a cluster. You will put your hand through the hole, and the hand that you will keep hold of when my father will open the door, that is the hand of her you shall have for wife. You can know me by my broken little finger.”
“I can; and the love of my heart you are, Finnuala,” says the King’s son.
On the evening of that day the old King came and asked, “Did you get my grandmother’s ring?”
“I did, indeed,” says the King’s son. “There was an army out of hell guarding it, but I beat them; and I would beat seven times as many. Don’t you know I’m a Connachtman?”
Give me the ring,” says the old King.
“Indeed, I won’t give it,” says he. “I fought hard for it. But do you give me my wife; I want to be going.”
The old King brought him in, and said, “My three daughters are in that room before you. The hand of each of them is stretched out, and she on whom you will keep your hold until I open the door, that one is your wife.”
The King’s son thrust his hand through the hole that was in the door, and caught hold of the hand with the broken little finger, and kept a tight hold of it until the old King opened the door of the room.
“This is my wife,” said the King’s son. “Give me now your daughter’s fortune.”
“She has no fortune to get, but the brown slender steed to bring you home, and that ye may never come back, alive or dead!”
The King’s son and Finnuala went riding on the brown slender steed, and it was not long till they came to the wood where the King’s son left his hound and his hawk. They were there before him, together with his fine black horse. He sent the brown slender steed back then. He set Finnuala riding on his horse, and leaped up himself—
His hound at his heel,His hawk on his hand—
and he never stopped till he came to Rathcroghan.
There was great welcome before him there, and it was not long till himself and Finnuala were married. They spent a long, prosperous life. But it is scarcely that even the track of this old castle is to be found to-day in Rathcroghan of Connacht.
Douglas Hyde.
Never mind whether you do or you don’t,” said the Púca. “Play up, and I’ll make you know.”
The Piper put wind in his bag, and he played such music as made himself wonder.
“Upon my word, you’re a fine music-master,” says the Piper, then; “but tell me where you’re for bringing me.”
“There’s a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Croagh Patric, to-night,” says the Púca, “and I’m for bringing you there to play music, and, take my word, you’ll get the price of your trouble.”
“By my word, you’ll save me a journey, then,” says the Piper, “for Father William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me because I stole the white gander from him last Martinmas.”
The Púca rushed him across hills and bogs and rough places, till he brought him to the top of Croagh Patric.
Then the Púca struck three blows with his foot, and a great door opened and they passed in together into a fine room.
The Piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room, and hundreds of old women sitting round about it.
The old women rose up, and said, “A hundred thousand welcomes to you, you Púca of November. Who is this you have with you?”
“The best Piper in Ireland,” says the Púca.
One of the old women struck a blow on the ground, and a door opened in the side of the wall, and what should the Piper see coming out but the white gander which he had stolen from Father William.
By my conscience, then,” says the Piper, “myself and my mother ate every taste of that gander, only one wing, and I gave that to Red Mary, and it’s she told the priest I stole his gander.”
The gander cleaned the table, and carried it away, and the Púca said, “Play up music for these ladies.”
The Piper played up, and the old women began dancing, and they were dancing till they were tired. Then the Púca said to pay the Piper, and every old woman drew out a gold piece and gave it to him.
“By the tooth of Patric,” says he, “I’m as rich as the son of a lord.”
“Come with me,” says the Púca, “and I’ll bring you home.”
They went out then, and just as he was going to ride on the Púca, the gander came up to him and gave him a new set of pipes.
The Púca was not long until he brought him to Dunmore, and he threw the Piper off at the little bridge, and then hetold him to go home, and says to him, “You have two things now that you never had before—you have sense and music.” The Piper went home, and he knocked at his mother’s door, saying, “Let me in, I’m as rich as a lord, and I’m the best Piper in Ireland.”
“You’re drunk,” says the mother.
“No, indeed,” says the Piper, “I haven’t drunk a drop.”
The mother let him in, and he gave her the gold pieces, and, “Wait now,” says he, “till you hear the music I’ll play.”
He buckled on the pipes, but instead of music there came a sound as if all the geese and ganders in Ireland were screeching together. He wakened the neighbours, and they were all mocking him, until he put on the old pipes, and then he played melodious music for them; and after that he told them all he had gone through that night.
The next morning, when his mother went to look at the gold pieces, there was nothing there but the leaves of a plant.
The piper went to the priest and told him his story, but the priest would not believe a word from him, until he put the pipes on him, and then the screeching of the ganders and the geese began.
“Leave my sight, you thief,” says the priest.
But nothing would do the Piper till he put the old pipes on him to show the priest that his story was true.
He buckled on the old pipes, and he played melodious music, and from that day till the day of his death there was never a Piper in the county Galway was as good as he was.
Douglas Hyde.
The Fairy Changeling
Dermod O’Byrne of Omah townIn his garden strode up and down;He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;And this is his trouble and woe confessed:“The good-folk came in the night, and theyHave stolen my bonny wean away;Have put in his place a changeling,A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!“From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;But never a word the stranger spoke.“A bar of metal I heated redTo frighten the fairy from its bed,To put in the place of this fretting weanMy own bright beautiful boy again.“But my wife had hidden it in her arms,And cried, ‘For shame!’ on my fairy charms;She sobs, with the strange child on her breast,‘I love the weak, wee babe the best!’”To Dermod O’Byrne’s, the tale to hear,The neighbours came from far and near;Outside his gate, in the long boreen,They crossed themselves, and said betweenTheir muttered prayers, “He has no luck!For sure the woman is fairy-struck,To leave her child a fairy guest,And love the weak, wee wean the best!”Dora Sigerson.
Dermod O’Byrne of Omah townIn his garden strode up and down;He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;And this is his trouble and woe confessed:“The good-folk came in the night, and theyHave stolen my bonny wean away;Have put in his place a changeling,A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!“From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;But never a word the stranger spoke.“A bar of metal I heated redTo frighten the fairy from its bed,To put in the place of this fretting weanMy own bright beautiful boy again.“But my wife had hidden it in her arms,And cried, ‘For shame!’ on my fairy charms;She sobs, with the strange child on her breast,‘I love the weak, wee babe the best!’”To Dermod O’Byrne’s, the tale to hear,The neighbours came from far and near;Outside his gate, in the long boreen,They crossed themselves, and said betweenTheir muttered prayers, “He has no luck!For sure the woman is fairy-struck,To leave her child a fairy guest,And love the weak, wee wean the best!”
Dora Sigerson.
The Talking Head of Donn-bo
There is an old tale told in Erin of a lovable and bright and handsome youth named Donn-bo, who was the best singer of “Songs of Idleness” and the best teller of “King Stories” in the world. He could tell a tale of each king who reigned in Erin, from the “Tale of the Destruction of Dind Righ,” when Cova Coelbre was killed, down to the kings who reigned in his own time.
On a night before a battle, the warriors said, “Make minstrelsy to-night for us, Donn-bo.” But Donn-bo answered, “No word at all will come on my lips to-night; therefore, for this night let the King-buffoon of Ireland amuse you. But to-morrow, at this hour, in whatsoever place they and I shall be, I will make minstrelsy for the fighting men.” For the warriors had said that unless Donn-bo would go with them on that hosting, not one of them would go.
The battle was past, and on the evening of the morrowat that same hour Donn-bo lay dead, his fair young body stretched across the body of the King of Ireland, for he had died in defending his chief. But his head had rolled away among a wisp of growing rushes by the waterside.
At the feasting of the army on that night a warrior said, “Where is Donn-bo, that he may make minstrelsy for us, as he promised us at this hour yesternight, and that he may tell us the ‘King Stories of Erin’?”
A valiant champion of the men of Munster answered, “I will go over the battle-field and seek for him.” He enquired among the living for Donn-bo, but he found him not, and then he searched hither and thither among the dead.
At last he came where the body of the King of Erin lay, and a young, fair corpse beside it. In all the air about there was the sound of minstrelsy, low and very sweet; dead bards and poets reciting in faint whispers old tales and poems to dead chiefs.
The wild, clear note of the battle-march, thedord fiansa, played by the drooping hands of slain warriors upon the points of broken spears, low like the echo of an echo, sounded in the clump of rushes hard by; and, above them all, a voice, faint and very still, that sang a song that was sweeter than the tunes of the whole world beside.
The voice that sang was the voice of the head of Donn-bo. The warrior stooped to pick up the head.
“Do not touch me,” said the head, “for we are commanded by the King of the Plains of Heaven to make music to-night for our lord, the King of Erin, the shining one who lies dead beside us; and though all of us are lying deadlikewise, no faintness or feebleness shall prevent us from obeying that command. Disturb me not.”
“The hosts of Leinster are asking thee to make minstrelsy for them, as thou didst promise yesternight,” said the messenger.
“When my minstrelsy here is done, I will go with thee,” saith the head; “but only if Christ, the Son of God, in whose presence I now am, go with me, and if thou takest me to my body again.” “That shall be done, indeed,” saith the messenger, and when it had ceased chanting for the King of Erin he carried away the head.
When the messenger came again amongst the warriors they stopped their feasting and gathered round him. “Hast thou brought anything from the battle-field?” they cried.
“I have brought the head of Donn-bo,” said the man.
“Set it upon a pillar that we may see and hear it,” cried they all; and they said, “It is no luck for thee to be like that, Donn-bo, and thou the most beautiful minstrel and the best in Erin. Make music, for the love of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Amuse the Leinster men to-night as thou didst amuse thy lord a while ago.”
Then Donn-bo turned his face to the wall, that the darkness might be around him, and he raised his melody in the quiet night; and the sound of that minstrelsy was so piteous and sad that the hosts sat weeping at the sound of it. Then was the head taken to his body, and the neck joined itself to the shoulders again, and Donn-bo was at rest.
This is the story of the “Talking Head of Donn-bo.”
Eleanor Hull.
There was a man in it long ago, and long ago it was, and if he was in it then he would not be in it now. He was married, and his wife was lost (i.e., died), and he had only one son by the first wife. Then he married the second wife. This second wife had not much regard for the son, and he was obliged to go out on the mountain, far from the house, to take care of the cattle.
There was a bracket (speckled) bull amongst the cows out on the mountain, and of a day that there was great hunger on the lad, the bracket bull heard him complaining and wringing his two hands, and he moved over to him andsaid to him, “You are hungry, but take the horn off me and lay it on the ground; put your hand into the place where the horn was and you will find food.”
When he heard that he went over to the bull, took hold of the horn, twisted it, and it came away with him in his hand. He laid it on the ground, put in his hand, and drew out food and drink and a table-cloth. He spread the table-cloth on the ground, set the food and drink on it, and then he ate and drank his enough. When he had his enough eaten and drunk, he put the table-cloth back again, and left the horn back in the place where it was before.
When he came home that evening hedidnot eat a bit of his supper, and his stepmother said to herself that he (must have) got something to eat out on the mountain since he was not eating any of his supper.
When he went out with his cattle the next day his stepmother sent her own daughter out after him, and told her to be watching him till she should see where he was getting the food. The daughter went and put herself in hiding, and she was watching him until the heat of the day came: but when the middle of the day was come she heard every music more excellent than another, and she was put to sleep by that truly melodious music. The bull came then, and the lad twisted the horn off him and drew out the table-cloth, the food, and the drink, and ate and drunk his enough. He put back the horn again then. The music was stopped and the daughter woke up, and was watching him until the evening came, and he drove the cows home then. The mother asked her did she see anything in thefield, and she said that she did not. The lad did not eat two bites of his supper, and there was wonder on the stepmother.
The next day when he drove out the cows the stepmother told the second daughter to follow him, and to be watching him till she would see where he was getting things to eat. The daughter followed him and put herself in hiding, but when the heat of the day came the music began and she fell asleep. The lad took the horn off the bull, drew out the table-cloth, the food, and drink, ate and drank his enough, and put back the horn again. The girl woke then, and was watching him until the evening. When the evening came he drove the cows home, and he was not able to eat his supper any more than the two evenings before. The stepmother asked the daughter did she see anything, and she said she did not. There was wonder on the stepmother.
The next day, when the lad went out herding the cows, the stepmother sent the third daughter out after him, and threatened her not to fall asleep, but to have a good watch. The daughter followed the lad, and went into hiding. This daughter had three eyes, for she had an eye in the back of her head. When the bracket bull began playing every music more excellent than another, he put the other eyes to sleep, but he was not able to put the third eye to sleep. When the heat of the day came she saw the bracket bull coming to the boy, and the boy taking the horn off him and eating.
She ran home then, and said to her mother that there wasn’t such a dinner in the world as was being set before the boy out of the horn of the bracket bull.
Then the mother let on that she was sick, and she killed a cock, and she let down its blood into her bed, and she putup a sup of the blood into her mouth, and she sent for her husband, saying that she was finding death (dying). Her husband came in, and he saw the blood, and he said, “Anything that is in the world that would save her that she must get it.” She said that there wasn’t a thing in the world that would save her but a piece of the bracket bull that was on the mountain.
“You must get that,” said he.
The bracket bull used to be the first one of the cattle that used to come in every night, and the stepmother sent for two butchers, and she set them on each side of the gate to kill the bracket bull when he would come.
The bracket bull said to the boy, “I’ll be swept (done for) to-night, unless another cow goes before me.” He put another cow out before him, and the two butchers were standing on each side of the gate to kill the first one that would come in. The bull sent the cow out before him, going through the gate, and they killed her: and then the stepmother got a piece of her to eat, and she thought that it was the bracket bull that she was eating, and she got better then.
The next night, when the lad came home with the cattle, he ate no more of his supper than any other night, and there was wonder on the stepmother. She heard after this that the bracket bull was in it (i.e., alive) all through, and that he was not killed at that time.
When she heard that she killed a cock, and she let down some of its blood into her bed, and she put a sup of the blood into her mouth, and she played the same trick over again,and said that there was nothing at all to cure her but a piece of the bracket bull.
The butchers were sent for, and they were ready to kill the bracket bull as soon as he came in. The bracket bull sent another one of the cattle in before himself, and the butchers killed it. The woman got part of its flesh, and she thought it was part of the bracket bull she was eating, and she got better.
She found out afterwards that it was not the bracket bull that was dead, and she said, “Never mind; I’ll kill the bracket bull yet!”
The next day, when the lad was herding the cows on the mountain, the bracket bull came and said to him, “Take the horn off me and eat your enough now. That’s the last time for you. They are waiting to kill me to-night, but don’t you be afraid. It is not they who shall kill me, but another bull shall kill me. Get up on my back now.”
The lad got up on his back then and they went home. The two butchers were on each side of the gate waiting for him. The bracket bull struck a horn on each side of him, and he killed the two butchers. Out with him then, and the lad on his back.
He went into a wild wood, and he himself and the lad spent the night in that wood. He was to fight with the other bull on the next day.
When the day came, the bracket bull said, “Take the horn off me and eat your enough—that’s the last luck you have. I am to fight with the other bull immediately, and I shallescape from him to-day, but he will have me dead to-morrow by twelve o’clock.”
Himself and the other bull fought that day, and the bracket bull came back in the evening, and he himself and the lad passed that night in the wood.
When the next day came, the bracket bull said to him, “Twist the horn off me and eat your enough—that’s the last luck you’ll have. Listen now to the thing that I’m telling you. When you’ll see me dead, go and cut a strip of skin of the back and a strip of the stomach off me, and make a belt of it, and at any time at all there will be any hard pinch on you, you shall have my power.”
The bracket bull went then to fight with the other bull, and the other bull killed him. The other bull went away then. The lad came to the bracket bull where he was lying on the ground, and he was not dead, out-and-out. When he saw the boy coming he said, “Oh,” said he, “make haste as well as you can in the world, and take out your knife and cut that strip off me, or you will be killed as well as myself.”
There was a trembling in the poor creature’s hand, and he was not able to cut a piece at all off the bull, after his feeding him for so long, and after the kindness he had got from him.
The bracket bull spoke again, and told him to cut the strip off him on the instant, and that it would assist him as long as he would be alive. He cut a strip off the back then, and another strip off the belly, and he went away.
There was plenty of trouble and of grief on him, goingof him, and he ought to have that on him too, and he departing without any knowledge of where he was making for, or where he would go.
A gentleman met him on the road, and asked him where he was going. The lad said that he did not himself know where he was going, but that he was going looking for work.
“What are you able to do?” says the gentleman.
“I’m as good a herd as ever you saw, but I’ll not tell you a lie—I can do nothing but herding; but, indeed, I’ll do that as well as any man that ever you saw.”
It’s you I want,” says the gentleman. “There are three giants up by my land, on the one mearing with me, and anything that will go in on their land they will keep it, and I cannot take it off them again. That’s all they’re asking—my cattle to go in across the mearing to them.”
“Never mind them. I’ll go bail that I’ll take good heed of them, and that I’ll not let anything in to them.”
The gentleman brought him home then, and he went herding for him. When the grass was getting scarce, he was driving the cows further out. There was a big stone wall between the land of the giants and his master’s land. There was fine grass on the other side of the wall. When he saw that, he threw down a gap in the wall and let in the pigs and the cows. He went up into a tree then, and was throwing down apples and all sorts (of fruit) to the pigs.
A giant came out, and when he saw the lad up on the tree throwing down the apples to the pigs, the head rose on him (i.e., he got furious). He came to the tree. “Get downout of that,” says he. “I think you big for one bite and small for two bites; come down till I draw you under my long cold teeth.”
“Arrah, take yourself easy,” says the boy; “perhaps it’s too quick I’d come down to you.”
“I won’t be talking to you any longer,” says the giant. He got a leverage on the tree and drew it up out of the roots.
To down, black thong, and squeeze that fellow,” says the lad, for he remembered the advice of the bracket bull. On the instant the black thong leaped out of his hand, and squeezed the giant so hard that the two eyes were going out on his head, for stronger was the power of the bull than the power of the giant. The giant was not able to put a stir out of himself, and he promised anything at all—only to save his life for him. “Anything at all you want,” says he to the lad, “you must get it from me.”
“I’m not asking anything at all except the loan of the sword that’s under your bed,” says he.
“I give it to you, and welcome,” says the giant. He went in, and brought out the sword with him.
“Try it on the three biggest trees that are in the wood, and you won’t feel it in your hand going through them,” says the giant.
“I don’t see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself,” says he, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it seven furrows and seven ridges with that stroke.
“If I were to get on the body again,” said the head, andit talking, “and the men of the world wouldn’t get me off the trunk again.”
“I’ll take good care myself of that,” says the lad.
When he drove the cows home in the evening, they had that much milk that they had not half enough of vessels, and two coopers were obliged to make new vessels to hold the quantity of milk they had.
“You’re the best lad that ever I met,” says the gentleman, and he was thankful to him.
The giants used to put—each man of them—a shout of him every evening. The people only heard two shouts that evening. “There’s some change in the caher[2]to-night,” said the gentleman, when he heard the two shouts.
Oh,” says the lad, “I saw one of them going away by himself to-day, and he did not come home yet.”
On the next day the lad drove out his cattle until he came to the big stone wall, and he threw a gap in it, and let the cattle into the same place. He went up into a tree and began throwing down the apples. The second giant came running, and said, “What’s the meaning of throwing my wall and letting in your cattle on my estate? Get down out of that at once. You killed my brother yesterday.”
“Go down, black thong, and bind that one,” says the lad. The thong squeezed him so that he was not able to put a stir out of himself, and he promised the lad anything at all—only to spare his life.
“I am asking nothing of you but the loan of the old sword that is under your bed.”
“I’ll give you that, and welcome.” He went in, and brought out the sword with him. Each man of them had a sword, and every sword better than another.
“Try that sword on the six biggest trees that are in the wood, and it will go through them without turning the edge.”
“I don’t see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself,” says he, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it seven furrows and seven ridges from the body.
“Oh,” said the head, “if I were to get going on the body again, and the men of the world wouldn’t get me off it again.”
Oh, I’ll take care of that myself,” says the boy.
When he drove the cows home that night there was wonder on the people when they saw the quantity of milk they had. The gentleman said that there was another change in the caher that day again, as he did not hear but only one shout, but the lad said that he saw another one going away that day, and that it was likely that he did not come back yet.
On the next day he went out, and drove the pigs and the cows up to the hall door, and was throwing down the apples to them. The third giant came out—the eldest man of them—and he was full mad after his two brothers being dead, and the teeth that were in his head were making a hand-stick for him. He told the boy to come down; that he didnot know what he would do to him after his having killed his two brothers. “Come down,” says he, “till I draw you under my long, cold teeth”; and it was on him the long, cold teeth were, and no lie.
“Go down, black thong, and bind that one till the eyes will be going out on his head with the power of the squeezing that you’ll give him.”
The black thong leaped from him, and it bound the giant until the two eyes were going out on his head with the squeezing and with the tightening it gave him, and the giant promised to give him anything at all; “but spare my life,” says he.
“I’m only asking the loan of the old sword that’s under your bed,” said the lad.
Have it, and welcome,” says the giant. He went in, and brought out the sword with him. “Now,” says the giant, “strike the two ugliest stumps in the wood, and the sword will cut them without getting abent edge.”
“Musha, then, by Mary,” says the boy, “I don’t see any stump in the wood uglier than yourself,” and he struck him so that he sent his head seven furrows and seven ridges from the body.
“Ochone for ever!” says the head. “If I were to get going on the body again, the men of the world—they wouldn’t get me off the body again.”
“I’ll take care of that myself,” says the boy.
When he came home that night the coopers were not able to make enough of vessels for them to hold the quantity of milk that the cows had, and the pigs were not able to eatwith the quantity of apples that they had eaten before that.
He was a while in that way herding the cows and everything that was in the castle, he had it. There was no one at all going near the castle, for there was fear on them.
There was a fiery dragon in that country, and he used to come every seven years, and unless there would be a young woman ready bound before him he would drive the sea through the land, and he would destroy the people. The day came when the dragon was to come, and the lad asked his master to let him go to the place where the dragon was coming. “What’s the business you have there?” says the master. “There will be horsemen and coaches and great people there, and the crowds will be gathered together in it out of every place. The horses would rise up on top of you, and you would be crushed under their feet; and it’s better for you to stop at home.”
I’ll stop,” said the lad. But when he got them all gone he went to the castle of the three giants, and he put a saddle on the best steed they had, and a fine suit on himself, and he took the first giant’s sword in his hand, and he went to where the dragon was.
It was like a fair there, with the number of riders and coaches and horses and people that were gathered in it. There was a young lady bound to a post on the brink of the sea, and she waiting for the dragon to come to swallow her. It was the King’s daughter that was in it, for the dragon would not take any other woman. When the dragon came out of the sea the lad went against him, and they fought with one another, and were fighting till the evening, untilthe dragon was frothing at the mouth, and till the sea was red with its blood. He turned the dragon out into the sea at last. He went away then, and said that he would return the next day. He left the steed again in the place where he found it, and he took the fine suit off him, and when the other people returned he was before them. When the people came home that night they were all talking and saying that some champion came to fight with the dragon and turned him out into the sea again. That was the story that every person had, but they did not know who was the champion who did it.
The next day, when his master and the other people were gone, he went to the castle of the three giants again, and he took out another steed and another suit of valour (i.e., armour), and he brought with him the second giant’s sword, and he went to the place where the dragon was to come.
The King’s daughter was bound to a post on the shore, waiting for him, and the eyes going out on her head looking would she see the champion coming who fought the dragon the day before. There were twice as many people in it as there were on the first day, and they were all waiting till they would see the champion coming. When the dragon came the lad went in face of him, and the dragon was half confused and sickened after the fight that he had made the day before. They were beating one another till the evening, and then he drove away the dragon. The people tried to keep him, but they were not able. He went from them.
When his master came home that evening the lad was inthe house before him. The master told him that another champion came that day, and that he had turned the dragon into the sea. But no doubt the lad knew the story better himself than he did.
On the next day, when the gentleman was gone, he went to the caher of the giants, and he took with him another steed and another suit and the sword of the third giant, and when he came to fight with the dragon the people thought it was another champion who was in it.
He himself and the dragon were beating each other, then, and the sorra such a fight you ever saw. There were wings on the dragon, and when he was getting it tight he rose up in the air, and he was thrusting and beating the boy in his skull till he was nearly destroyed. He remembered the black thong then, and said, “Black thong, bind that one so hard that they’ll be listening to his screeching in the two divisions of the world with the squeezing that you’ll give him.” The black thong leapt away, and she bound him, and then the lad took the head off him, and the sea was red with his blood, and the waves of blood were going on the top of the water.
The lad came to the land, then, and they tried to keep him; but he went from them, and as he was riding by the lady snatched the shoe off him.
He went away, then, and he left the horse and the sword and the suit of armour in the place where he found them, and when the gentleman and the other people came home he was sitting before them at the fire. He asked them how the fight went, and they told him that the champion killed the fiery dragon, but that he was gone away, and that no one at all knew who he was.
When the King’s daughter came home she said that she would never marry a man but the man whom that shoe would fit.
There were sons of kings, and great people among them, and they saying that it was themselves who killed the dragon; but she said it was not they, unless the shoe would fit them. Some of them were cutting the toes off their feet, and some of them taking off a piece of the heel, and more of them cutting the big toe off themselves, trying would the shoe fit them. There was no good for them in it. The King’s daughter said that she would not marry one man of them.
She sent out soldiers, then, and the shoe with them, to try would it fit anyone at all. Every person, poor and rich, no matter where he was from, must try the shoe on him.
The lad was stretched out lying on the grass when the soldiers came, and when they saw him they said to him, “Show your foot.”
“Oh, don’t be humbugging me,” says he.
“We have orders,” said they, “and we cannot return without trying the shoe on everyone, poor and rich, so stretch out your foot.” He did that, and the shoe went in on his foot on the moment.
They said to him that he must come with them.
“Oh, listen to me” (i.e., give me time), said he, “till I dress myself.”
He went to the caher of the giants, and he got a fine new suit on him, and he went with them then.
That’s where the welcome was for him, and he as dressedup as e’er a man of them. They had a wedding for three days and three nights.
They got the pond and I the lakelet. They were drowned, and I came through. And as I have it (i.e., the story) to-night, that ye may not have it to-morrow night, or if ye have it itself, that ye may only lose the back teeth by it!
Douglas Hyde.