The Sin-Eater, and Other Tales by Fiona Macleod
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<JD CD CD -LO •CD CO !:^i 90 THE SIN - EATER By the Same Author Pharals: A Romance of the Isles. (Frank Murray, Derby.) The Mountain Lovers. [KeytwtesSeries.] (John Lane.) IN PREPARATION The Washer of the Ford: And other Legendary Moralities. Merlin: A Romance. The Sin-Eater And other Tales By FIONA MACLEOD Author of " Pharais " and "The Mountain Lovers" 1 ^ ' PATRICK GEDDES k COLLEAGUES THE LAWNMARKET, EDINBURGH STONE & KIMBALL, CHICAGO Ss Copyrighted in United States. All rights reserved. Oct. jSgj. ZTo GEORGE MEREDITH IN GRATITUDE AND HOMAGE AND BECAUSE HE IS PRINCE OF CELTDOM LYRIC RUNES Rune of the Tide-Faring . {" The Ninth Wave'') Rutie of the Black Seal . {^^ The Judgment o' God") The Rune o/Cormac and Eilidh (" The Harping of Cravetheen ") ") The Burden of the Tide . (" The Dannan-Ron Tilt Rune of Manus MacCodrum {Do.) Wave, Wave, Green Branches (" The Daughter of the Sun ") Aiona (Do,) The Two lans {Do.) Shule Agrah . (Do.) Mo lennav-a-chree (" The Birdeen") Lennavan-nio {Do.) Birdeen, Birdeen . {Do.) The Son? of fsla to Eilidh ("Silko' ihe Kine") CONTENTS PACB Prologue (^From lona) i I The Sin-Eater 17 The Ninth Wave 68 The Judgment o' God 84 II The Harping of Cravetheen . ioj III Tragic Landscapes— I. The Tempest . .129 II. Mist 137 III. Summer-sleep ...... 140 IV The Anointed Man 147 The Dan-nan-Ron 156 Green Branches 207 V The Daughter of the Sun .... 237 The BiRDEEN 267 Silk o' the Kine 284 FROM lONA To George Meredith Here, where the sound of the falling wave is faintly to be heard, and rather as in the spiral chamber of a shell than in the windy open, I write these few dedicatory words. I am alone here, betwixt sea and sky : for there is no other living thing for the seeing, on this bouldered height of Diln-I, except a single blue shadow that dreams slowly athwart the hillside. The bleating of lambs and ewes, the lowing of kine, these come up from the viachar that lies between the west slopes and the shoreless sea to the west, these ascend as the very smoke of sound. All round the island there is a continuous breath- ing — deeper and more prolonged on the west, where the sea-heart is ; but audible everywhere. This moment the seals on Soa are putting their breasts against the running tide ; for I see a flashing of fins here and there in patches at the north end of the Sound ; and already from the ruddy granite A 2 FROM lONA shores of the Ross there is a congregation of sea- fowl, —gannets and guillemots, skuas and herring- gulls, the long-necked northern-diver, the tern, the cormorant. In this sun-flood the waters of the Sound dance their blue bodies and swirl their flashing white hair o' foam ; and, as I look, they seem to me like children of the wind and the sunshine, leaping and running in these sun-gold pastures, with a laughter as sweet against the ears as the voices of children at play. The joy of life vibrates everywhere. Yet the Weaver doth not sleep, but only dreams. He loves the sun-drowned shadows. They are invisible thus, but they are there, in the sunlight itself. Sure, they may be heard ; as, an hour ago, when on my way hither by the Stairway of the Kings—for so sometimes they call here the ancient stones of the mouldered princes of long-ago— I heard a mother moaning because of the son that had had to go over-sea and leave her in her old age ; and heard also a child sobbing because of the sorrow of child- hood, that sorrow so mysterious, so unfathomable, so for ever incommunicable. To the little one I spoke. But all she would say, looking up through dark, tear-wet eyes already filled with the shadow of the burden of woman, was : Ha mee duvdchiis. i — FROM I ON A 3 Tha mi Dubhachas ! ... "I have the gloom." Ah, that saying ! How often I have heard it in the remote Isles! "The Gloom." It is not grief, nor any common sorrow, nor that dee[) despond- ency of weariness that comes of accomplished things, too soon, too literally fulfilled. But it is akin to each of these, and involves each. It is rather the unconscious knowledge of the lamentation of a race, the unknowing surety of an inheritance of woe. On the lips of the children of what people, save in the last despoiled sanctuaries of the Gael, could be heard these all too significant sayings : Tha mi " DtibhachaSy I have the gloom " ; Ma tha sin an " Dan, If that be ordained ; If it be Destiny " ? Never shall I forget the lisping of this phrase common from The Seven Hunters, that are the extreme of the Hebrid Isles, to the Rhinns of Islay, and from the Ord of Sutherland to the Mull of Cantyre — never shall I forget the lisping of this phrase in the mouth of a little birdikin of a lass, not more than three years old,—a phrase caught, no doubt, as the jay catches the storm-note of the missel-thrush, but not the less significant, not the " less piteous ; Ma tha s\n an Dan, If it be Destiny." This is so. And yet, not a stone's-throw from 4 FROM lONA where I lie, half hidden beneath an overhanging rock, is a Pool of Healing. To this small black- brown tarn pilgrims of every generation, for hun- dreds upon hundreds of years, have come. SoHtary, these : not only because the pilgrim to the Fount of Eternal Youth—which, as all Gaeldom knows, is beneath this tarn on D(in-I of lona—must fare hither alone, and at dawn, so as to touch the healing water the moment the first sunray quickens it—but soli- tary, also, because those who go in quest of this Fount of Youth are the dreamers and the Children of Dream, and these are not many, and few come to this lonely place. Yet, an Isle of Dream, lona is, indeed. Here the last sun-worshippers bowed before the Rising of God ; here Columba and his hymning priests laboured and brooded; and here Oran dreamed beneath the monkish cowl that pagan dream of his. Here, too, the eyes of Fionn and Oisin, and of many another of the heroic men and women of the Fianna, lingered often ; here the Pict and the Celt bowed beneath the yoke of the Norse pirate, who, too, left his dreams, or rather his strangely beautiful soul-rainbows, as a heritage to the stricken ; here, for century after century, the Gael has lived, suffered, joyed, dreamed his impos- sible beautiful dream ; as here, now, he still lives, still suffers patiently, still dreams, and, through all A : FROM I ON 5 and over all, broods deep against the mystery of things. He is an elemental, among the elemental forces. They have the voices of wind and sea ; he has these words of the soul of the Celtic race Tha mi Diibluuhixs . J\/a tha s)n an Dan. It is because the Fount of Youth that is upon Diln-I of lona is not the only Wellspring of Peace that the Gael can front "an Diln" as he does, and can endure his " Dubhachas." Who knows where its tributaries are? They may be in your heart, or in mine, and in a myriad others. I would that the birds of Angus Ogue might, for once, be changed, not into the kisses of love, but into doves of peace; that they might fly forth into the green world, and be nested there awhile, crooning their incommunicable song that would yet bring joy and hope. ^Vhy, you may think, do I write these things? It is because I wish to say to you, and to all who may read this book, that in what I have said lies the Secret of the Gael. The Beauty of the World, the Pathos of Life, the gloom, the fatalism, the spiritual glamour : it is out of these, the heritance of the Gael, that I have wrought these tales. Well I know that they do not give "a rounded and complete portrait of the Celt." It is more — 6 FROM lONA than likely that I could not do so if I tried, but I have not tried; not even to give "a rounded and complete portrait " of the Gael, who is to the Celtic race what the Franco-Breton is to the French, a creature not without blitheness and humour, laughter- loving, indolent, steadfast, gentle, fierce, but above all attuned to elemental passions, to the poetry of nature, and wrought in every nerve and fibre by the gloom and mystery of his environment. Elsewhere I may give such delineation as I can, and is within my own knowledge, of the many- sidedness of the Celt, and even of the insular Gael. But in this book, as in "Pharais" and "The Mountain Lovers," I give the life of the Gael in what is, to me, in accord with my own observation and experience, its most poignant characteristics that is, of course, in certain circumstances, in a par- ticular environment. Almost needless to say, I do not present such mere sport of Destiny as Neil Ross, the Sin-Eater, or Neil MacCodrum ("The Dan-nan-Ron"), as typical Gaels, any more than I would have Gloom Achanna, whose sombre person- ality colours the three tales of the fourth section, accepted as typical of the perverted Celt.