Myths & Legends of the Celtic Race Part 16

*The Madness of Cuchulain*

And first the Children of Calatin caused a horror and a despondency to fall upon the mind of Cuchulain, and out of the hooded thistles and puff-b.a.l.l.s and fluttering leaves of the forest they made the semblance of armed battalions marching against Murthemney, and Cuchulain seemed to see on every side the smoke of burning dwellings going up. And for two days he did battle with the phantoms till he was sick and wearied out. Then Cathbad and the men of Ulster persuaded him to retire to a solitary glen, where fifty of the princesses of Ulster, and among them Niam, wife of his faithful friend Conall of the Victories, tended him, and Niam made him vow that he would not leave the dun where he was until she gave him leave.

But still the Children of Calatin filled the land with apparitions of war, and smoke and flames went up, and wild cries and wailings with chattering, goblin laughter and the braying of trumpets and horns were borne upon the winds. And Bave, Calatins daughter, went into the glen, and, taking the form of a handmaid of Niam, she beckoned her away and led her to a distance among the woods and put a spell of straying on her so that she was lost and could find her way home no more. Bave then went in the form of Niam to Cuchulain and bade him up and rescue Ulster from the hosts that were harrying it, and the Morrigan came in the form of a great crow where Cuchulain sat with the women, and croaked of war and slaughter. Then Cuchulain sprang up and called Laeg to harness his chariot. But when Laeg sought for the Grey of Macha to harness him, the horse fled from him, and resisted, and only with great difficulty could Laeg yoke him in the chariot, while large tears of dark blood trickled down his face.

Then Cuchulain, having armed himself, drove forth; and on every side shapes and sounds of dread a.s.sailed him and clouded his mind, and then it appeared to him that he saw a great smoke, lit with bursts of red flame, over the ramparts of Emain Macha, and he thought he saw the corpse of Emer tossed out over the ramparts. But when he came to his dun at Murthemney, there was Emer living, and she entreated him to leave the phantoms alone, but he would not listen to her, and he bade her farewell. Then he bade farewell to his mother Dectera, and she gave him a goblet of wine to drink, but ere he could drink it the wine turned to blood, and he flung it away, saying, My lifes end is near; this time I shall not return alive from the battle. And Dectera and Cathbad besought him to await the coming of Conall of the Victories, who was away on a journey, but he would not.

*The Washer at the Ford*

When he came to the ford upon the plain of Emania he saw there kneeling by the stream as it were a young maiden, weeping and wailing, and she washed a heap of b.l.o.o.d.y raiment and warlike arms in the stream, and when she raised a dripping vest or corselet from the water Cuchulain saw that they were his own. And as they crossed the ford she vanished from their sight.(163)

*Clan Calatin Again*

Then, having taken his leave of Conor and of the womenfolk in Emania, he turned again towards Murthemney and the foe. But on his way he saw by the roadside three old crones, each blind of one eye, hideous and wretched, and they had made a little fire of sticks, and over it they were roasting a dead dog on spits of rowan wood. As Cuchulain pa.s.sed they called to him to alight and stay with them and share their food. That will I not, in sooth, said he. Had we a great feast, they said, thou wouldst soon have stayed; it doth not become the great to despise the small. Then Cuchulain, because he would not be thought discourteous to the wretched, lighted down, and he took a piece of the roast and ate it, and the hand with which he took it was stricken up to the shoulder so that its former strength was gone. For it was _geis_ to Cuchulain to approach a cooking hearth and take food from it, and it was _geis_ to him to eat of his namesake.(164)

*Death of Cuchulain*

Near to Slieve Fuad, south of Armagh, Cuchulain found the host of his enemies, and drove furiously against them, plying the champions thunder-feat upon them until the plain was strewn with their dead. Then a satirist, urged on by Lewy, came near him and demanded his spear.(165) Have it, then, said Cuchulain, and flung it at him with such force that it went clean through him and killed nine men beyond. A king will fall by that spear, said the Children of Calatin to Lewy, and Lewy seized it and flung it at Cuchulain, but it smote Laeg, the king of charioteers, so that his bowels fell out on the cushions of the chariot, and he bade farewell to his master and he died.

Then another satirist demanded the spear, and Cuchulain said: I am not bound to grant more than one request on one day. But the satirist said: Then I will revile Ulster for thy default, and Cuchulain flung him the spear as before, and Ere now got it, and this time in flying back it struck the Grey of Macha with a mortal wound. Cuchulain drew out the spear from the horses side, and they bade each other farewell, and the Grey galloped away with half the yoke hanging to its neck.

And a third time Cuchulain flung the spear to a satirist, and Lewy took it again and flung it back, and it struck Cuchulain, and his bowels fell out in the chariot, and the remaining horse, Black Sainglend, broke away and left him.

I would fain go as far as to that loch-side to drink, said Cuchulain, knowing the end was come, and they suffered him to go when he had promised to return to them again. So he gathered up his bowels into his breast and went to the loch-side, and drank, and bathed himself, and came forth again to die. Now there was close by a tall pillar-stone that stood westwards of the loch, and he went up to it and slung his girdle over it and round his breast, so that he might die in his standing and not in his lying down; and his blood ran down in a little stream into the loch, and an otter came out of the loch and lapped it. And the host gathered round, but feared to approach him while the life was still in him, and the hero-light shone above his brow. Then came the Grey of Macha to protect him, scattering his foes with biting and kicking.

And then came a crow and settled on his shoulder.

Lewy, when he saw this, drew near and pulled the hair of Cuchulain to one side over his shoulder, and with his sword he smote off his head; and the sword fell from Cuchulains hand, and smote off the hand of Lewy as it fell. They took the hand of Cuchulain in revenge for this, and bore the head and hand south to Tara, and there buried them, and over them they raised a mound. But Conall of the Victories, hastening to Cuchulains side on the news of the war, met the Grey of Macha streaming with blood, and together they went to the loch-side and saw him headless and bound to the pillar-stone, and the horse came and laid its head on his breast. Conall drove southwards to avenge Cuchulain, and he came on Lewy by the river Liffey, and because Lewy had but one hand Conall tied one of his behind his back, and for half the day they fought, but neither could prevail.

Then came Conalls horse, the Dewy-Red, and tore a piece out of Lewys side, and Conall slew him, and took his head, and returned to Emain Macha.

But they made no show of triumph in entering the city, for Cuchulain the Hound of Ulster was no more.

*The Recovery of the Tain*

The history of the Tain, or Cattle Raid, of Quelgny was traditionally supposed to have been written by no other than Fergus mac Roy, but for a long time the great lay or saga was lost. It was believed to have been written out in Ogham characters on staves of wood, which a bard who possessed them had taken with him into Italy, whence they never returned.

The recovery of the Tain was the subject of a number of legends which Sir S. Ferguson, in his Lays of the Western Gael, has combined in a poem of so much power, so much insight into the spirit of Gaelic myth, that I venture to reproduce much of it here in telling this singular and beautiful story. It is said that after the loss of the Tain Sanchan Torpest, chief bard of Ireland, was once taunted at a feast by the High King Guary on his inability to recite the most famous and splendid of Gaelic poems. This touched the bard to the quick, and he resolved to recover the lost treasure. Far and wide through Erin and through Alba he searched for traces of the lay, but could only recover scattered fragments. He would have conjured up by magic arts the spirit of Fergus to teach it to him, even at the cost of his own lifefor such, it seems, would have been the price demanded for the intervention and help of the deadbut the place of Ferguss grave, where the spells must be said, could not be discovered. At last Sanchan sent his son Murgen with his younger brother Eimena to journey to Italy and endeavour to discover there the fate of the staff-book. The brothers set off on their journey.

Eastward, breadthwise, over Erin straightway travelld forth the twain, Till with many days wayfaring Murgen fainted by Loch Ein:

Dear my brother, thou art weary: I for present aid am flown: Thou for my returning tarry here beside this Standing Stone.

Shone the sunset red and solemn: Murgen,where he leant,observed Down the corners of the column letter-strokes of Ogham carved.

Tis, belike, a burial pillar, said he, and these shallow lines Hold some warriors name of valour, could I rightly spell the signs.

Letter then by letter tracing, soft he breathed the sound of each; Sound and sound then interlacing, lo, the signs took form of speech; And with joy and wonder mainly thrilling, part a-thrill with fear, Murgen read the legend plainly, FERGUS SON OF ROY IS HERE.

Murgen then, though he knew the penalty, appealed to Fergus to pity a sons distress, and vowed, for the sake of the recovery of the Tain, to give his life, and abandon his kin and friends and the maiden he loves, so that his father might no more be shamed. But Fergus gave no sign, and Murgen tried another plea:

Still he stirs not. Love of women thou regardst not, Fergus, now: Love of children, instincts human, care for these no more hast thou: Wider comprehension, deeper insights to the dead belong: Since for Love thou wakst not, Sleeper, yet awake for sake of Song.

Thou, the first in rhythmic cadence dressing lifes discordant tale, Wars of chiefs and loves of maidens, gavest the Poem to the Gael; Now theyve lost their n.o.blest measure, and in dark days hard at hand, Song shall be the only treasure left them in their native land.

Fergus rose. A mist ascended with him, and a flash was seen As of brazen sandals blended with a mantles wafture green; But so thick the cloud closed oer him, Eimena, returnd at last, Found not on the field before him but a mist-heap grey and vast.

Thrice to pierce the h.o.a.r recesses faithful Eimena essayd; Thrice through foggy wildernesses back to open air he strayd; Till a deep voice through the vapours filld the twilight far and near And the Night her starry tapers kindling, stoopd from heaven to hear.

Seemd as though the skiey Shepherd back to earth had cast the fleece Envying G.o.ds of old caught upward from the darkening shrines of Greece; So the white mists curld and glistend, to from heavens expanses bare, Stars enlarging leand and listend down the emptied depths of air.

All night long by mists surrounded Murgen lay in vapoury bars; All night long the deep voice sounded neath the keen, enlarging stars: But when, on the orient verges, stars grew dim and mists retired, Rising by the stone of Fergus, Murgen stood a man inspired.

Back to Sanchan!Father, hasten, ere the hour of power be past, Ask not how obtaind but listen to the lost lay found at last!

Yea, these words have tramp of heroes in them; and the marching rhyme Rolls the voices of the eras down the echoing steeps of Time.

Not till all was thrice related, thrice recital full essayd, Sad and shamefaced, worn and faded, Murgen sought the faithful maid.

Ah, so haggard; ah, so altered; thou in life and love so strong!

Dearly purchased, Murgen falterd, life and love Ive sold for song!

Woe is me, the losing bargain! what can song the dead avail?

Fame immortal, murmurd Murgen, long as lay delights the Gael.

Fame, alas! the price thou chargest not repays one virgin tear.

Yet the proud revenge Ive purchased for my sire, I deem not dear.

So,again to Gort the splendid, when the drinking boards were spread, Sanchan, as of old attended, came and sat at table-head.

Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest: twin gold goblets, Bard, are thine, If with voice and string thou harpest, _Tain-Bo-Cuailgne_, line for line.

Yea, with voice and string Ill chant it. Murgen to his fathers knee Set the harp: no prelude wanted, Sanchan struck the master key, And, as bursts the brimful river all at once from caves of Cong, Forth at once, and once for ever, leapd the torrent of the song.

Floating on a brimful torrent, men go down and banks go by: Caught adown the lyric current, Guary, captured, ear and eye, Heard no more the courtiers jeering, saw no more the walls of Gort, Creeve Roes(166) meads instead appearing, and Emanias royal fort.

Vision chasing splendid vision, Sanchan rolld the rhythmic scene; They that mockd in lewd derision now, at gaze, with wondering mien Sate, and, as the glorying master swayd the tightening reins of song, Felt emotions pulses fasterfancies faster bound along.

Pity dawnd on savage faces, when for love of captive Crunn, Macha, in the ransom-races, girt her gravid loins, to run Gainst the fleet Ultonian horses; and, when Deirdra on the road Headlong dashd her mid the corses, br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyelids overflowd.

Light of manhoods generous ardour, under brows relaxing shone, When, mid-ford, on Uladhs border, young Cuchullin stood alone, Maev and all her hosts withstanding: Now, for love of knightly play, Yield the youth his souls demanding; let the hosts their marchings stay,

Till the death he craves be given; and, upon his burial stone Champion-praises duly graven, make his name and glory known; For, in speech-containing token, age to ages never gave Salutation better spoken, than, Behold a heros grave.

What, another and another, and he still or combat calls?

Ah, the lot on thee, his brother sworn in arms, Ferdia, falls; And the hall with wild applauses sobbd like woman ere they wist, When the champions in the pauses of the deadly combat kissd.

Now, for love of land and cattle, while Cuchullin in the fords Stays the march of Connaughts battle, ride and rouse the Northern Lords; Swift as angry eagles wing them toward the plunderd eyries call, Thronging from Dun Dealga bring them, bring them from the Red Branch hall!

Heard ye not the tramp of armies? Hark! amid the sudden gloom, Twas the stroke of Conalls war-mace sounded through the startled room; And, while still the hall grew darker, king and courtier chilld with dread, Heard the rattling of the war-car of Cuchullin overhead.

Half in wonder, half in terror, loth to stay and loth to fly, Seemd to each beglamourd hearer shades of kings went thronging by: But the troubled joy of wonder merged at last in mastering fear, As they heard through pealing thunder, FERGUS SON OF ROY IS HERE!

Brazen-sandalld, vapour-shrouded, moving in an icy blast, Through the doorway terror-crowded, up the tables Fergus pa.s.sd: Stay thy hand, oh harper, pardon! cease the wild unearthly lay!

Murgen, bear thy sire his guerdon. Murgen sat, a shape of clay.