Read Great Irish Short Stories Online
Authors: Unknown
Great Irish Short Stories (12 page)
A Word for Those Who Suffer
My dear Van L———, you have suffered from an affection similar to that which I have just described. You twice complained of a return of it.
Who, under God, cured you? Your humble servant, Martin Hesselius. Let me rather adopt the more emphasised piety of a certain good old French surgeon of three hundred years ago: “I treated, and God cured you.”
Come, my friend, you are not to be hippish. Let me tell you a fact.
I have met with, and treated, as my book shows, fifty-seven cases of this kind of vision, which I term indifferently “sublimated,” “precocious,” and “interior.”
There is another class of affections which are truly termed—though commonly confounded with those which I describe—spectral illusions. These latter I look upon as being no less simply curable than a cold in the head or a trifling dyspepsia.
It is those which rank in the first category that test our promptitude of thought. Fifty-seven such cases have I encountered, neither more nor less. And in how many of these have I failed? In no one single instance.
There is no one affliction of mortality more easily and certainly reducible, with a little patience, and a rational confidence in the physician. With these simple conditions, I look upon the cure as absolutely certain.
You are to remember that I had not even commenced to treat Mr. Jennings’ case. I have not any doubt that I should have cured him perfectly in eighteen months, or possibly it might have extended to two years. Some cases are very rapidly curable, others extremely tedious. Every intelligent physician who will give thought and diligence to the task, will effect a cure.
You know my tract on “The Cardinal Functions of the Brain.” I there, by the evidence of innumerable facts, prove, as I think, the high probability of a circulation arterial and venous in its mechanism, through the nerves. Of this system, thus considered, the brain is the heart. The fluid, which is propagated hence through one class of nerves, returns in an altered state through another, and the nature of that fluid is spiritual, though not immaterial, any more than, as I before remarked, light or electricity are so.
By various abuses, among which the habitual use of such agents as green tea is one, this fluid may be affected as to its quality, but it is more frequently disturbed as to equilibrium. This fluid being that which we have in common with spirits, a congestion found upon the masses of brain or nerve, connected with the interior sense, forms a surface unduly exposed, on which disembodied spirits may operate: communication is thus more or less effectually established. Between this brain circulation and the heart circulation there is an intimate sympathy. The seat, or rather the instrument of exterior vision, is the eye. The seat of interior vision is the nervous tissue and brain, immediately about and above the eyebrow. You remember how effectually I dissipated your pictures by the simple application of iced eau-de-cologne. Few cases, however, can be treated exactly alike with anything like rapid success. Cold acts powerfully as a repellant of the nervous fluid. Long enough continued it will even produce that permanent insensibility which we call numbness, and a little longer, muscular as well as sensational paralysis.
I have not, I repeat, the slightest doubt that I should have first dimmed and ultimately sealed that inner eye which Mr. Jennings had inadvertently opened. The same senses are opened in delirium tremens, and entirely shut up again when the overaction of the cerebral heart, and the prodigious nervous congestions that attend it, are terminated by a decided change in the state of the body. It is by acting steadily upon the body, by a simple process, that this result is produced—and inevitably produced—I have never yet failed.
Poor Mr. Jennings made away with himself. But that catastrophe was the result of a totally different malady, which, as it were, projected itself upon the disease which was established. His case was in the distinctive manner a complication, and the complaint under which he really succumbed, was hereditary suicidal mania. Poor Mr. Jennings I cannot call a patient of mine, for I had not even begun to treat his case, and he had not yet given me, I am convinced, his full and unreserved confidence. If the patient do not array himself on the side of the disease, his cure is certain.
Standish H. O’Grady
The king of the Lepracanes’ journey to Emania, and how the death of Fergus mac Léide king of Ulidia was brought about.
A RIGHTEOUS king, a maintainer of truth and a giver of just judgments, that had dominion over the happy
clanna Rudhraidhe
or “children of Rury”: Fergus son of
Léide
son of Rury; and these are they that were his heroes and men of war: Eirgenn, Amergen
iurthunnach
or “the ravager,” Conna Buie son of Iliach, and Dubthach son of Lughaid.
By that king a great feast was made in Emania, and it was ready, fit to be consumed, all set in order and well furnished forth; that very season and hour being the same also at which the king of the
Lupra
and
Lupracán
held a banquet: whose name was
Iubhdán
son of
Abhdaein.
These are the names of the men of war that were Iubhdan’s: Conan son of Ruiched, Gerrchu son of Gairid, and Righbeg son of Robeg; Luigin son of Luiged, Glunan son of Gabarn, Febal son of Feornin, and Cinnbeg son of Gnuman; together with Buan’s son Brigbeg, Liran son of Luan, and Mether son of Mintan. To them was brought the strong man of the region of the Lupra and Lupracan, whose prize feat that he used to perform was the hewing down of a thistle at a single stroke; whereas it was a twelve men’s effort of the rest of them to give him singly a wrestling-fall. To them was brought the king’s presumptive successor: Beg that was son of Beg; the king’s poet and man of art likewise: Esirt son of Beg son of Buaidghen, with the other notables of the land of the Lupra and Lupracan.
By these now that banquet-house was ordered according to qualities and to precedence: at one side Iubhdan was placed, having next to him on either hand
Bébhó
his wife, and his chief poet; at the other side of the hall and facing Iubhdan sat Beg son of Beg, with the notables and chiefs; the king’s strong man too: Glomhar son of Glomradh’s son Glas, stood beside the doorpost of the house. Now were the spigots drawn from the vats, the colour of those vats being a dusky red after the tint of red yew. Their carvers stood up to carve for them and their cupbearers to pour; and old ale, sleep-compelling, delicious, was served out to the throng so that on one side as on the other of the hall they were elevated and made huge noise of mirth.
At last Iubhdan, that was their king and the head of all their counsel, having in his hand the
corn breac
or “variegated horn” stood up; on the other hand, over against Iubhdan and to do him honour, stood up Beg son of Beg. Then the king, by this time affably inclining to converse, enquired of them saying: “have ye ever seen a king that was better than myself?” and they answered: “we have not.” “Have ye ever seen a strong man better than my strong man?” “We have not.” “Horses or men of battle have ye ever seen better than they which to-night are in this house?” “By our words,” they made answer, “we never have.” “I too,” Iubhdan went on, “wage my word that it were a hard task forcibly to take out of this house to-night either captives or hostages: so surpassing are its heroes and men of battle, so many its lusty companions and men of might, so great the number of its fierce and haughty ones that are stuff out of which kings might fittingly be made.”
All which when he had heard, the king’s chief poet Esirt burst out a-laughing; whereupon Iubhdan asked: “Esirt, what moved thee to that laugh?” Said the poet: “I wot of a province that is in Ireland, and one man of them would lift hostages and captives from all four battalions that here ye muster of the Luchra.” “Lay the poet by the heels,” cried the king, “that vengeance be taken of him for his bragging speech!” So it was done; but Esirt said: “Iubhdan, this thy seizure of me will bear thee evil fruit; for in requital of the arrest thou shalt thyself be for five years captive in Emania, whence thou shalt not escape without leaving behind thee the rarest thing of all thy wealth and treasures. By reason of this seizure Cobthach Cas also, son of Munster’s king, shall fall, and the king of Leinster’s son Eochaid; whilst I myself must go to the house of Fergus son of Leide and in his goblet be set a-floating till I be all but drowned.” Which said he indited:—
“A great feast there is to-night in Emania, but a feast evil to women, and to men an evil one: jovial as be the crowds that now enjoy it, the end will be melancholy dismal gloom . . .
“An evil arrest is this thou hast made of me, O king,” Esirt went on: “but grant me now a three-days’ and three-nights’ respite that I may travel to Emania and to the house of Leide’s son Fergus, to the end that if there I find some evident token by which thou shalt recognise truth to be in me I may bring the same hither; or if not, then do to me that thou wilt.”
Then Esirt, his bonds being loosed, rose and next to his white skin put on a smooth and glossy shirt of delicate silk. Over that he donned his gold-broidered tunic and his scarlet cloak, all fringed and beautiful, in soft folds flowing: the scarlet being of the land of the Finn, and the fringe of pale gold in varied pattern. Betwixt his feet and the earth he set his two dainty shoes of the white bronze, overlaid with ornament of gold. After assumption of his white bronze poet’s wand and his silken hood he set out, choosing the shortest way and the straightest course, nor are we told how he fared until he came to Emania and at the gate of the place shook his poet’s rod.
The gate-keeper when at the sound he was come forth beheld there a tiny man, extraordinary comely and of a most gallant carriage, in respect of whom the close-cropped grass of the green was so long that it reached to his knee, aye, and to the thick of his thigh. At sight of him wonder fell upon the gate-keeper; and he entered into the house, where to Fergus and to the company he declared the matter. All enquired whether he [Esirt] were less than Aedh: this Aedh being Ulster’s poet, and a dwarf that could stand on full-sized men’s hands; but the gate-keeper said: “upon Aedh’s palm he, by my word, would have room enough.” Hereupon the guests with pealing laughter desired to see him: each one deeming the time to be all too long till he should view Esirt and, after seeing him, speak with him. Then upon all sides both men and women had free access to him, but Esirt cried: “huge men that ye are, let not your infected breaths so closely play upon me! but suffer yon small man that is the least of you to approach me; who, little though he be among you, would yet in the land where I dwell be accounted of great stature.” Into the great house therefore, and he standing upon his palm, the poet Aedh bore him off.
Fergus, when he had sought of him tidings who he might be, was answered: “I am Esirt son of Beg son of Buaidghen: chief poet, bard and rhymer, of the Luchra and Lupracan.” The assembly were just then in actual enjoyment of the feast, and a cup-bearer came to Fergus: “give to the little man that is come to me,” said the king. Esirt replied: “neither of your meat will I eat, nor of your liquor will I drink.” “By our word,” quoth Fergus, “seeing thou art a flippant and a mocking fellow, it were but right to drop thee into the beaker, where at all points round about thou shouldst impartially quaff the liquor.” At which hearing the cupbearer closed his hand on Esirt and popped him into the goblet, in which upon the surface of the liquor that it contained he floated round, and: “ye poets of Ulster,” he vociferated, “much desirable knowledge and instruction there is which, upon my conscience, ye sorely need to have of me, yet ye suffer me to be drowned!”
With fair satin napkins of great virtue and with special silken fabrics he being now plucked out was cleaned spick and span, and Fergus enquired: “of what impediment spakest thou a while since as hindering thee that thou shouldst not share our meat?” “That will I e’en tell thee,” the little man replied: “but let me not incur thy displeasure.” “Thou shalt not,” promised the king: “only resolve me the whole impediment.” Then Esirt said [and Fergus answered him]:—
E.
“With poet’s sharp-set words never be angered, Fergus; thy stern hard utterance restrain, nor against me take unjustifiable action”
F.
“O wee man of the seizure . . .”
E.
“Judgments lucid and truthful, if they be those to which thou dost provoke me: then I pronounce that thou triflest with thy steward’s wife, while thine own foster-son ogles thy queen. Women fair-haired and accomplished, rough kings of the ordinary kind [i.e. mere chieftains]: how excellent soever be the form of these, ’tis not on them the former let their humour dwell [i.e. when a genuine king comes in their way]”
F.
“Esirt, thou art in truth no child, but an approved man of veracity; O gentle one, devoid of reproach, no wrath of Fergus shalt thou know!”
The king went on: “my share of the matter, by my word, is true; for the steward’s wife is indeed my pastime, and all the rest as well therefore I the more readily take to be a verity.” Then said Esirt: “now will I partake of thy meat, for thou hast confessed the evil; do it then no more.” Here the poet waxing cheerful and of good courage went on: “upon my own lord I have made a poem which, were it your pleasure, I would declaim to you.” Fergus answered: “we would esteem it sweet to hear it,” and Esirt began:—
“A king victorious, and renowned and pleasant, is Iubhdan son of Abhdaein: king of
magh Life,
king of
magh faithlenn.
His is a voice clear and sweet as copper’s resonance, like the blood-coloured rowan-berry is his cheek; his eye is bland as it were a stream of mead, his colour that of the swan or of the river’s foam. Strong he is in his yellow-haired host, in beauty and in cattle he is rich; and to brave men he brings death when he sets himself in motion. A man that loves the chase, active, a generous feast-giver; he is head of a bridle-wearing army, he is tall, proud and imperious. His is a solid squadron of grand headlong horses, of bridled horses rushing torrent-like; heads with smooth adornment of golden locks are on the warriors of the Luchra. All the men are comely, the women all light-haired; over that land’s noble multitude Iubhdan of truthful utterance presides. There the fingers grasp silver horns, deep notes of the timpan are heard; and how great soever be the love that women are reputed to bear thee [Fergus], ’tis surpassed by the desire that they feel for Iubhdan.”
The lay ended Ulster equipped him with abundance of good things, till each heap of these as they lay there equalled their tall men’s stature. “This on my conscience,” quoth Esirt, “is indeed a response that is worthy of right men; nevertheless take away those treasures: of which I conceive that I have no need, seeing that in my lord’s following is no man but possesses substance sufficient.” Ulster said however: “we pledge our words that, as we never would have taken back aught though we had given thee our very wives and our kine, even so neither will we take again that we now have given thee.” “Then divide ye the gifts, bards and professors of Ulster!” Esirt cried: “two thirds take for yourselves, and the other bestow on Ulster’s horseboys and jesters.”
So to the end of three days and three nights Esirt was in Emania, and he took his leave of Fergus and of Ulster’s nobles. “I will e’en go with thee,” said Ulster’s poet and man of science, Aedh: that used to lie in their good warriors’ bosoms, yet by Esirt’s side was a giant; for this latter could stand upon Aedh’s palm. Esirt said: “’tis not I that will bid thee come: for were I to invite thee, and kindness to be shewn thee in the sequel, thou wouldst say ’twas but what [by implication] had been promised thee; whereas if such be not held out to thee and thou yet receive the same thou wilt by grateful.”
Out of Emania the pair of poets now went their way and, Aedh’s step being the longer, he said: “Esirt thou art a poor walker.” This one then took such a fit of running that he was an arrow’s flight in front of Aedh, who said again: “between those two extremes lies the golden mean.” “On my word,” retorted Esirt, “that is the one category in which since I am among you I have heard mention made of the golden mean!” On they went then till they gained
tráigh na dtréinfhear
or “strand of the strong men” in Ulster: “and what must we do now?” Aedh asked here. “Travel the sea over her depths,” said the other. To Aedh objecting: “never shall I come safe out of that [trial],” Esirt made answer: “seeing that I compassed the task ’twere strange that thou shouldst fail.” Then Aedh vented a strain and Esirt answered him:—
A.
“In the vast sea how shall I contrive? O generous Esirt, the wind will bear me down to the merciless wave [on which] though I mount upwards yet [none the less] shall I perish in the end”
E
. “To fetch thee fair Iubhdan’s horse will come, get thee upon him and cross the stammering sea: an excellent horse truly and of surpassing colour, a king’s valued treasure, good on sea as upon land. A beautiful horse that will carry thee away: sit on him nor be troubled; go, trust thyself to him.”
They had been no long time there when something they marked which, swiftly careering, came towards them over the billows’ crests. “Upon itself be the evil that it brings,” Aedh cried, and to Esirt asking: “what seest thou?” answered: “a russet-clad hare I see.” But Esirt said: “not so—rather is it Iubhdan’s horse that comes to fetch thee.” Of which horse the fashion was this: two fierce flashing eyes he had, an exquisite pure crimson mane, with four green legs and a long tail that floated in wavy curls. His [general] colour was that of prime artificers’ gold-work, and a gold-encrusted bridle he bore withal. Esirt bestriding him said: “come up beside me, Aedh;” but again the latter objected: “nay, poet, to do thee alone a skiff’s office his capacity is all too scant.” “Aedh, cease from fault-finding: for ponderous as may be the wisdom that is in thee, yet will he carry us both.”
They both being now mounted on the horse traversed the combing seas, the mighty main’s expanse and Ocean’s great profound, until in the end they, undrowned and without mishap, reached
magh faithlenn,
and there the Luchra people were before them in assembly. “Esirt approaches,” they cried, “and a giant bears him company!” Then Iubhdan went to meet Esirt, and gave him a kiss: “but poet,” said he, “wherefore bringest thou this giant to destroy us?” “No giant is he, but Ulster’s poet and man of science, and the king’s dwarf. In the land whence he comes he is the least, so that in their great men’s bosoms he lies down and, as it were an infant, stands on the flat of their hands. For all which he is yet such that before him ye would do well to be careful of yourselves.” They further asking: “what is his name?” were told that he was called ‘poet Aedh.’ “Alack man,” they cried to Esirt,” thy giant is huge indeed!”
