Part 2

Right here Keth stepped in, havin’ great wisdom in such matters. After hearin’ both sides he recited to ’em the Brehon law, an’ then he said:

“The both of ye are in the wrong. Fergus, what ye owe to Dubthach is not four geese an’ a sheep, but four geese an’ a pig.”

Hearin’ this wise judgmint, Dubthach an’ Fergus scowled fiercely at each other; but ’twas plain their jaws were achin’ to come together on a flitch o’ bacon, an’ so Dubthach spoke up:

“Niver shall it be told of me,” he said, “that I refused to mate an inemy half way. Fergus, ye omadhune, open the door of your hovel an’ let out the four geese an’ the pig.”

[Illustration: _Keth recites the Brehon Law to Dubthach Mac na Lugair and his debtor_]

Which the same Fergus did, with a string tied to the leg of each of ’em for Dubthach to drive ’em home with. An’ Dubthach, with the pig an’ the four geese safe in hand, turned an’ howled back at Fergus:

“As I’m lavin’ your dirty doorstep, ye double-faced falsifier, wan word of advice: Lave off graftin’ on your betters an’ get back to your bog-drainin’.” To Keth Mac Maragh who walked beside him he said:

“Niver mintion it to Fergus, but ye’ve done me a service this day. Faith, I was that far gone with the fast I could feel me backbone through me stomach! An’ now me good frind tell me how I can square the account between the two of us. Will ye take two geese, or the pig?”

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Now, bein’ well on into the West country, with maybe the great god Wurra-Wurra just around the turn of the nixt peat bog, Keth felt it was a time to exercise discretion, for the lad was as wise an’ cunning as he was strong an’ mighty at heavin’ the handstone. So he reflected and made this answer to Dubthach:

“Dubthach Mac na Lugair,” he said, “the service ye say I’ve the honor of renderin’ ye was no more than would be the duty of any man who knew the law. Ye owe me nothin’. But ’tis in me mind that ye could give me a bit of advice on a private matter, an’ let it go no further?”

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“On me honor as a royal shanachy,” said Dubthach. “Good frind, name your trouble.”

“Dubthach,” said Keth, with his hand beside his mouth an’ his mouth to the poet’s ear, “Dubthach, I’ve a great weight on me mind an’ me heart. The heft of it is draggin’ me down in the dirt. Night an’ day I’m sorrowin’ an’ grievin’ the heart out of me. ’Tis turnin’ me hair an’ loosenin’ me teeth. It turns me food bitter in me mouth an’ the best metheglin sour in me throat. I can nayther slape nor stay awake. Unless I find relafe, in another day the wits will be clane gone out of me.

“Iverything I’ve tried, an’ no use at all at all. Sure I’ve been atin’ the cresses an’ drinkin’ the crazy people’s water of Tobernagalt an’ Stroove Bran, but divil the bit of forgetfulness of me trouble did it bring me. Wan more day, good Dubthach, an’ I’ll be a foolish, ravin’ loon with all this sore grafe an’ worry”—

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“Hold, me frind, ’tis enough,” broke in Dubthach. “An’ ye’ve struck the right road at last. By nightfall ye’ll rache the nixt valley. ’Tis called Glanngalt, mind ye (manin’ in the Gaelic the glen of the galts, or loonatics), an’ at the bottom of the same ye’ll come to the grotto of Wurra-Wurra, our blissed God of Peaceful Souls. Ye’ve only to make the three prostrations an’ whisper your troubles into the blissed ear of Wurra-Wurra an’ they’ll all fall from ye, lavin’ ye clane an’ paceful an’ in your right mind.”

At these words Keth fell on his knees an’ kissed the hand of Dubthach that was not busy with the geese an’ the pig, showin’ the joy an’ gratitude he sacretly felt for bein’ put on the right track to come up with an’ bash the face of this haythin idol Wurra-Wurra. Then he rose an’ said:

“Wan thing more, good Dubthach. Will ye find me a guide down Glanngalt to the grotto of Wurra-Wurra?”

“Ye’ll find a hundred of your own choice,” said Dubthach. “Ye’ve only to enter the valley an’ goin’ down on wan side ye’ll see a string of wild-eyed, sorrowin’ loonatics like yersilf—which ye’ve but to join—an’ comin’ up on the other side ye’ll see another string dancin’ an’ singin’ with joy because of the worries they lift in the grotto behind thim. Stick to the loonatics goin’ down, an’ on the word of Dubthach ye’ll come back dancin’ an’ singin’ with the happy wans.”

[Illustration: _Dubthach, the Royal Shanachy, driving home the price of his poems_]

So now Keth Mac Maragh fell on the neck of Dubthach Mac na Lugair an’ embraced him, an’ thin wint on his way at so swift a gait that the early avenin’ brought him safe into Glanngalt. ’Twas as Dubthach had said: there was the string of sorrowin’ min and women goin’ down on the wan side an’ the happy dancin’ people comin’ up on the other. An’ Keth wint with the loonatics, an’ by dark they came to the grotto of Wurra-Wurra that was to be seen from afar by the light of torches that flamed all about it.

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Sure it was a grand sight—barrin’ the haythin purpose of it all. The poor loonatics stopped their screechin’ from the moment the torches revealed to thim the smilin’ face of the idol, which shone from out the arch of the grotto entrance like the moon whin ’tis full at harvest time. An’ prisintly the first of the loonatics to prostrate thimsilves at the feet of Wurra-Wurra were passin’ over to the other side, singin’ an’ dancin’, with niver a fear nor a care to worry thim.

Before dawn ’twas the same with the whole bunch. With the cobwebs brushed clane out of the brains of thim, they were on their way rejoicin’, lavin’ Keth Mac Maragh alone before the idol, fingerin’ his handstone an’ wonderin’ what manner of spell was on him.

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[Illustration: _Far down Glanngalt Keth sees the torches flaming about the Grotto of Wurra-Wurra_]

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For three times Keth had raised his hand to hurl the stone, and could not. The spirit was with him, but the flesh was not. The strength had gone out of his arm intirely, an’ the fingers that held the handstone had no more grip in thim than the little white wans of Finola.

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“’Tis Lucat-Moel, or old Lochru, divil take him!” said Keth to himself.

He gazed about in ivery direction, but niver a wizard nor any of their bad fairy hilpers was about the premises. Yet the arm that hild the handstone still hung limp at his side, an’ his trimblin’ fingers could scarce bear the weight of it.

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Now it began to pinetrate the mind of Keth Mac Maragh that while his arm was as heavy as lead, the soul within him was lighter than for many a day. A horrible fear rose within him that the Four Gospils had lost their grip on him, an’ it was the same with him as with the rist of the loonatics! With the sweat standin’ on his brow, he said a Latin prayer, an’ thin muttered to himsilf:

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“I will put a curse on the haythin idol. I will curse this Wurra-Wurra as niver haythin idol was cursed before, so that his face will grow dull with fear an’ the strength return to me arm.”

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An’ he turned to curse Wurra-Wurra. ’Twas now, for the first time, he saw the opin ears of the idol that listened day an’ night for the gintlist whisper of troubles of man or woman, to take the same on himsilf—an’ thin Keth filt the full power of him. The curse died on his lips, all desire of curses wint out of his heart. Keth Mac Maragh, Strong Man to the good Patrick that was to become a blissed saint, leaned upon his shield an’ gazed long on the image that filled the grotto. An’ while he gazed the soul of him drank its fill of peace and forgetfulness of care.

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For it was true of the ancient Irish God of Peaceful Souls, named Wurra-Wurra, that no creature of woman born could stand before him an’ know more of trouble in this world. From ivery shoulder he took off the trouble to place it upon its own, and bear it thinceforth in token of his great love and compassion for all with minds distrissed. There was no nade for Keth to read the inscription on the stone which was the idol’s seat—which, indade, he could not, for it was in the most ancient Irish characters. ’Twas Bishop Erc, the same who was Judge in Patrick’s household and a very learned man, who afterward put it into Gaelic, which, being translated into English, is the best of all mottoes in the category, namely:

LET WURRA WORRY

There was no nade for Keth Mac Maragh to read this inscription, for the face and figure of the idol, an’ his wide opin ears foriver listenin’, thimselves told the whole story—not only that it was his business to bear all the worries and troubles of the world, but that he liked the job!

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Indade, yis. Though the weight of the world’s worries through a hundred cinturies had glued the stomach of him to his thighs, an’ his broad chist risted on his stomach so that the massy shoulders were prissed nearly down to the region of his navel, while the heft of the troubles showered on his head had crunched it down into his bristbone—in spite of all the crushing weight of worries upon him the smile he wore was like the noon sun bursting through after a tin days’ rain in April. ’Twas that same smile of Wurra-Wurra that chased away all the curses out of the heart of Keth Mac Maragh an’ brought the great peace to his soul.

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Alas! as Keth looked upon the idol, Patrick an’ all his glorious works became no more than a faded memory. He filt himself ready to prostrate himsilf before Wurra-Wurra an’ whisper into the ear of him his last small worry about Finola of the White Shoulder—upon which he had risted his head more ardently than was good for his ease of mind—whin a well-raymimbered an’ hated voice brought him suddenly to himsilf.

“Back, thou sacriligious monster!” said the voice, an’ Keth knew it for the voice of Lochru, the wizard.

Indade, the wizard, prancin’ down the hillside into the valley, frothin’ at the mouth an’ all his whiskers flyin’ in the mornin’ breeze, was only a lape or two from the mouth of the grotto.

“Back!” he shrieked. “Back! or I’ll blast ye with the spell of Banba!”

’Twas nothing against Keth Mac Maragh that in his surprise he should stand back a few paces and raise his shield, for old Lochru in a rage was a sight to sind children into spasms. ’Twas a good thing, too, for the hated sight of Lochru brought back the grateful mimory of Patrick, an’ the strength to his arm, so that he faced the wizard boldly, saying:

“Get thee gone thou Geis of demon’s spawn, ere I spill thy rotten brains to gain a new handstone wherewith to destroy thy demon masters! Irk me not, as I have better work at hand than to bandy words with such as thou!”

[Illustration: _With his mighty handstone, defying Lochru, Keth shatters the idol Wurra-Wurra_]

[Illustration]

An’ raisin’ his handstone while the strength was fresh again in his arm, Keth Mac Maragh hurled it so swift and so straight that the idol’s face—barrin’ only wan fine ear—was shattered into a thousand pieces. An’ Lochru, seeing that Wurra-Wurra was no more—a headless god havin’ no further virtue in the Druid philosophy—Lochru ran shriekin’ up the valley, to remain until his death the craziest loonatic in Ireland.

* * * * *

“’Tis a fine job well done,” raymarked Keth to himsilf as he wint and raycovered his handstone in the grotto from among the fragmints that were wance the head of Wurra-Wurra. “An’ now for a bit of sup an’ drink, an’ a fine long slape.”

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But ’twas nayther food nor drink nor slape Keth Mac Maragh was to get that day. For he had returned on his way up Glanngalt no more than the distance of nine ridges whin he was stopped by a runner comin’ down the valley with the speed of the wind. The boy bein’ breathless, Keth was the first to spake:

“If ’tis to the King of Connaught ye bear your message,” he said, “sure ye’re off your road.”

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[Illustration: _Finola runs to Keth and delivers an urgent message from Patrick_]

“Keth Mac Maragh,” panted the runner—who was lithe an’ slender, with round cheeks an’ a white chin—“has the day come so soon whin ye forgit the face of your own Finola?”

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“What!” said Keth in astonishment, “will ye tell me that your haythin heresies have so strong a howld on ye that ye’ve lift the household an’ spiritual guidance of the good Patrick of Armagh?”

“Nay,” said Finola. “’Tis for Patrick sure I’m runnin’, an’ the message is to yoursilf.”

“So! ’Twas the likes of Finola that gave me away!” And Keth glowered darkly at the maid.

“Tell me, Keth,” she said in anxious tones, “ye’ve not done it? Ye’ve not bashed the great idol, Wurra-Wurra?”

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Somethin’ towld Keth that ’twould be as well for him to dissimble. So he answered cunningly:

“Sure the pot-bellied stone haythin sits as firm on his sate as iver he did.”

“O Wurra-Wurra!” said Finola, with hands clasped in gratitude.

“Lave off your heretical supplications,” said Keth harshly, “an’ hand over me missage from Patrick.”

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“’Tis this,” said Finola, givin’ him a tinder look from her eyes. “Another bunch of poor loonatics have started down Glanngalt to lave their troubles with Wurra-Wurra. Patrick follows with his household, but too late to heal thim with the spirit of the Four Gospils before they feel the spell of the sacred grotto. So ye’re to let thim, for this wance, resayve their easemint from Wurra-Wurra, as of old—for sure, Patrick says, the great idol is an instrumint of God, not yet to be destroyed.”

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“So be it,” said Keth, dissimbling again. “Go you back to Patrick an’ I will wait for ye beside the grotto.”

Finola flung hersilf upon his neck. “’Tis like the owld swate Keth,” she said. “Ah, Keth, why are ye not always true to the gintleness an’ hilpfulness that shines in your face so like Wurra-Wurra’s own?”

* * * * *

Thin she kissed him and lift him, an’ Keth wint slowly back to the grotto, with his chin on his brist, wonderin’ how he was to restore the idol’s broken head on his shoulders. He gathered up the pieces an’ mixed some clay an’ tried to patch thim together, but ’twas no use—too well had the handstone done its work!

An’ now Keth could hear the fresh bunch of loonatics comin’ shriekin’ an’ moanin’ down the valley. ’Twas even a worse predicamint he was in, for, crowdin’ the loonatics on all sides were scores an’ hundreds of maids weepin’ for their gallivantin’ swatehearts, an’ old dames lamintin’ sheep with the foot rot, cows with calves miscast an’ such like troubles which ’twas in the minds of thim to shoulder off on Wurra-Wurra.

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“Sure, ’tis a tight place I’m in,” thought Keth Mac Maragh. “The loonatics, an’ the maids, an’ the old women will be after bashin’ the head of me as I bashed their haythin idol. True, I have me handstone, but what is wan handstone for all that crazy bunch?”

[Illustration]

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An’ then suddenly it flashed across his mind about what Finola had said of his face raysimblin’ that of Wurra-Wurra. “Sure, ’tis only the fondness of her foolish little haythin heart,” thought Keth. But as ’twas the only chance, an’ the first of the loonatics bein’ now close to the grotto, Keth Mac Maragh wint behind the headless idol an’ leaned over with his neck in the hollow between the shoulders which the handstone had cut as though through a bog-cured cheese. He brought his chin down near to the idol’s navel, prissed the cheek of him against the opin ear that remained so providentially, hid his arms an’ body behind the great bulk of the image—an’ thin upon the face of him he spread the gintlest and tinderest smile that was in him.

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Sure it was all the same to the loonatics. Indade, it seemed an improvement. For, no sooner did a daft wan catch the twinkle in Keth’s eye than the twisted brains of him were all straightened out an’ he passed on rejoicin’. As the last of the crazy wans were droppin’ their troubles on Wurra-Wurra, Keth saw that Patrick an’ his followers had rached the bottom of the valley, where the blissed saint that was to be, surrounded by his bishops and his priests and his psalmists, all in their vestmints, was prachin’ the Gospil an’ making converts of iverybody.

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All the while Keth grew bolder with his smile an’ the twinkle in his eye. Whin it came to the turn of the old dames with their cow-yard troubles, siveral times he forgot himsilf so far as to smile aloud. Indade, more than wan full-stomached guffaw did he give in the face of thim, an’ got away with it, so rayjoiced they were with the lightness of heart that Wurra-Wurra gave thim.

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Whin it came to the sorrowin’ maids with their sad tales on their swatehearts, beyond a wink or two at the prettiest Keth was moved to restrain himsilf. For sure, many were the pitiful tales of loving maids’ troubles they poured in his ear! Tales they were that made his heart sore, an’ disturbed his mind with recollictions of strange words lately dropped by Finola of the White Shoulder. ’Twas this new light on those same words that now caused Keth Mac Maragh to forget for a momint the smile of Wurra-Wurra, an’ to close his eyes with the pain of the thought that came to him.

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[Illustration: _Keth, in the shattered idol’s place, hears Finola’s great worry_]

* * * * *

An’ whin Keth opened his eyes the last of the maids was prostrated before him—an’ she was Finola! Quickly—though his soul quaked—he raycalled the smile of Wurra-Wurra to his face. ’Twas none too soon, for Finola, risen to her feet an’ leanin’ over, was pourin’ into the idol’s ear all the grafe an’ dread that clutched her heart. From Finola’s lips the tale was like a white-hot iron in Keth’s vitals. Yet it made his heart swell an’ rache out to her so that he could not restrain himsilf, but turned his head an’ put his lips to hers in a kiss that dropped her like wan dead at the idol’s feet.

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Now Keth Mac Maragh knew what it was for him to do, an’ he rayjoiced to do it quickly. He came out from behind the shattered idol, an’ lifted the limp form of Finola in his arms, an’ bore her swiftly through the press of people up to Patrick himsilf, an’ said:

“Good Patrick of Armagh, this maid gave her swate silf to me more suns gone by than it pleases me to raymimber. As thy faithful follower, an’ for the honor of thy household, I pray you now give her to me in the name of our Holy Church an’ in the sight of all min.”

[Illustration: _Patrick marries and blesses Keth and Finola of the White Shoulder_]

An’ Patrick, seein’ how the matter lay—Finola bein’ raycovered from her swoon an’ clingin’ tight to Keth—thin an’ there married an’ blissed thim.

* * * * *

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’Tis towld in the books how Keth became a bishop, though niver would he altogether lay aside the handstone which had lain low the last idol in Ireland, an’ how all the four fine sons that Finola bore him were sure death to snakes an’ Druid wizards till not wan of ayther was lift in the land.

Concernin’ the grotto, an’ the headless idol in it, all there prisint bein’ now convertid Christians, by their own free will they prisintly destroyed ivery vistige of both. Yet to this day there remains on the lips of all the Irish race in time of trouble or worry that same ancient invocation: “O Wurra-Wurra!”

An’ the ixplanation is Patrick’s own desire that it should be so. For, as he raymarked upon that occasion, Wurra-Wurra, as spoken in the Gaelic, is the same as wan calling upon the blissid Virgin, “O Mary!” in that tongue.

FINIS.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: WURRA-WURRA

From a Photograph of the original wax model of the reconstructed Idol.

“Ye’ve only to whisper your worries into the blissed ear of Wurra-Wurra an’ they’ll all fall from ye, lavin’ ye clane an’ paceful an’ in your right mind.”—_Legend of Wurra-Wurra._]

HISTORICAL NOTES

HISTORICAL NOTES ON THE LEGEND

BANBA (p. 39): “Banba, the queen of one of the three Dedannan princes, who ruled the land, sent a swarm of meisa, or phantoms, which froze the blood of the invaders (the Milesians) with terror.”—_Joyce’s Social History of Ancient Ireland._

BOG-CURED CHEESE (p. 72): “Masses of cheese have been found in bogs, of which some specimens may be seen in the National Museum.”—_Joyce’s Social History._

BOOK OF THE DUN COW (p. 14): “One of the most ancient collections of Irish historical and legendary material, curiously named for the color of the cow in whose tanned skin it was bound.”—_Joyce._

BREHON LAW (p. 44): “A judge was called a Brehon.... The Brehons had absolutely in their hands the interpretation of the laws and the application of them to individual cases.”—_Joyce._

CROMM CRUACH (p. 11): “Cromm Cruach, covered with gold and silver, and twelve other idols covered with brass about him.”—_Tripartite Life of St. Patrick._

“And the earth swallowed up the twelve other images as far as their heads, and they stand thus in token of the miracle.”—_Book of Armagh._

DEDANNAN FURIES (p. 22): “A mythical race of powerful, demoniac and dangerous elves.”—_Joyce._

DEMONS, WIZARDS, DRUIDS (p. 24): All the ancient accounts agree that while the Druids were the only educators in the Ireland of their time, they were also magicians and wizards, and could command the services of demons and fairies, good and bad.—_Tr._

“The demons used to show themselves unto their worshippers in visible forms: they often attacked the people, and they were seen flying in the air and walking on the earth, loathsome and horrible to behold.”—_Joyce._

“God protect me from the spells of women (Druidesses) and Smiths, and Druids.”—_St. Patrick’s Hymn._

DUBTHACH MAC NA LUGAIR (p. 42): Here the Legend does not quite agree with the authorities. Instead of being attached to the court of the King of Connaught, he was royal poet and shanachy at Tara during the greater part of Laeghaire’s reign as Over-King of Ireland.—_Tr._