Read Irish fairy tales. Irish folk tales and legends

Kong legend

A long time ago, in the distant past, there lived a beautiful girl in a castle above the lake. They said that she was engaged to the king's son. They were about to get married, when suddenly a murder occurred: the groom was killed (Lord, have mercy on us!) and thrown into the lake. And of course, he could no longer keep his promise and marry a beautiful girl. Well, so much the worse...

From ancient Irish sagas

A hero of heroes, a glorious warrior of ancient Ulster, the first among the warriors of the Red Branch of King Conchobar, a fearless Uladian dog - this is how Cuchulain was called by his friends and enemies. And there was only one other warrior in the five kingdoms of ancient Ireland, or, as they said then, in Erin, who could compare with Cuchulainn in courage and martial art. It was Ferdiad, son of Damon.

My story will be about the famous Raftery, one of the renowned traveling entertainers of Connacht, who was rightfully considered the most amazing shanahi in all of Crivin, as I was able to verify for myself.

Just, mind you, I’ll retell this story to you as my heart desires.

So...

Raftery was not only a violinist - he was a person. The greatest man and best violinist that ever walked the earth in leather shoes. The world did not know a heart more generous than his.

“One beautiful summer morning, shortly before sunrise, the young Irishman Dick Fitzgerald stood on the seashore near Smerwick harbor. The sun began to rise from behind the huge rock and with its red rays drove away the gray fog that still lay over the waves. Soon the whole sea shone in the sun, like a huge mirror, into which the surrounding shores calmly looked.

It would be simply a shame, having told you, as I did recently, about the great Gob, not to return to him again to prove to you: no matter how wise he was, he still turned out to be no smarter than his wife. For true wisdom, her memory is honored.

Gob's father, even before he became famous for his wisdom, decided with his mother that the time had come for the young man to get married. And he went with Gob himself around Ireland to find a girl who would not be inferior in intelligence to the representatives of the family into which she was later to enter.

The old man asked each chosen one three questions to test and evaluate her intelligence.

In ancient times in Ireland, among the famous Fitzgeralds there was one great man. His name was simply Gerald. However, the Irish, who treated this family with special respect, called him Herod Jarl, that is, Earl Gerald. He had a large castle near Mallimast itself, or rather, a strong fortress built inside a hill surrounded by an earthen rampart. And whenever the rulers of England attacked his native Ireland, it was he, the Jarl's Hero, who always came to its defense.

In the valley of Aherlow, at the foot of the gloomy Galtic Mountains, lived a crippled poor man with a large hump on his back. He was short, weak, and did not have the strength to work in the field. Therefore, he made a living by weaving willow baskets and selling them to local residents.

Despite his disability, he was a cheerful, cheerful person and loved to sing songs while working.

I have already told you about the law of hospitality in the old days. In a time long past, and it was indeed a long time ago, when the famous joker Raftery held all Connacht in awe, it took the extraordinary mind of a woman to circumvent the inviolable law of hospitality. This woman managed, without a single reproach and with impunity, to expel such an extraordinary musician from her house, who also combined the intelligence and independence of a true poet.

Like many of his poet predecessors, Raftery often abused his privileges, even too much, and especially when he flirted with his second lover - the bottle.

You know that the wren is a vile bird - worse, much worse than even a bat - that he is simply a notorious deceiver, and therefore there is nothing to be surprised that we hunt for him and catch him. Despite being only the size of your finger, the wren is considered the king of birds, a title it acquired through low cunning.

In the days of the great Colm Kill, saint and prophet, birds from all over the world flocked to choose a king for themselves. But since everyone aimed at this high post, the birds could not come to an agreement, and very soon a real war broke out between them - a bloody battle that raged for three years in all the forests of the world.

Once upon a time there lived a poor widow in the world, and she had a daughter - beautiful as a clear day, but lazy as your pig - you will forgive me for such a comparison. In the whole city there was no other hard worker like the poor mother. How skillfully she spun! And her cherished dream was that her daughter would grow up to be just as skilled.

But my daughter got up late, sat down to breakfast without even praying, and then spent the entire day loitering around with nothing to do. Whatever she took on, it seemed to burn her fingers. And she dragged out the words, as if it was more difficult for her to speak, or perhaps her tongue was as lazy as herself. Poor mother suffered a lot of grief with her, but to her it’s like water off a duck’s back - just know she’s getting better.

From the Joseph Jacobs Collection of Celtic Folklore and other publications

Translation and compilation by Natalia Shereshevskaya

Illustrations by Liya Orlova, Alena Anikst, Nadezhda Bronzova

Here's an old story about Gob the Builder. When the great Gob-an-Shore, the most skilful builder that ancient Ireland knew, and also the smartest man in all of Ireland, with the exception, however, of his wife - by the way, don’t forget that I have something to tell you about her - so, when Gob went to France in those distant times to build a palace for the king there, he took his young son with him.

It was a hot summer day, and both were very tired, especially the boy: he was weaker and not used to traveling.

At noon they reached Cruach Gorm, and Gob said to the boy:

My son, carry your old father over the mountains!

The surprised kid was indignant:

Are you out of your mind, father! I can’t do the impossible, you know!

“Well, let’s go home then,” Gob said. And they turned home.

The next morning Gob said to his son:

Today we will move again, God help us!

And off they went.

It was hot, and, as the day before, when they reached the base of Cruach Gorm, they were both terribly tired. And Gob said to his son:

O my son, carry me over the mountains! The boy replied:

Father, but you have truly lost all your mind. I, poor thing, can’t climb this mountain myself, and I can’t even carry you!

“Well, then we’ll go home again,” Gob said.

And they turned home again. That night, when Gob had already gone to bed, the mother asked her son:

For two mornings in a row, you and your father have been going to France, but every evening you come back. What does it mean?

“Mom,” the son answered, “it seems to me that our father has gone completely crazy.” Every time we reach Cruach Gorm and I just collapse from fatigue, this man, just imagine, asks me, weak and small, to carry him over the mountains!

“Oh my boy,” his mother tells him, “before you can go out into the big world, you still have a lot to learn.”

Tomorrow morning your father will set off with you again and the same thing will happen again, as soon as you reach Cruach Gorm. And when he asks you to carry him over the mountains, you begin to tell him “The Wood Cuckoo”, or “The Queen of the Lonely Island”, or “The Princess of the Hill-at-the-Edge of the World” - in a word, any of the wonderful Irish fairy tales that I I told you in the evenings. Tell the story and keep going, you'll see what happens!

The son promised his mother to do everything as she advised. And when the next day they approached Cruach Gorm and Gob again asked: “Oh, my son, carry me over the mountains!” - the boy, as if not hearing his request, asked:

Father, have you ever heard the tale about the three sons of an Irish king who decided to steal the daughter of an Arab sheikh?

“I heard,” answered the old man, “but I could listen many more times.”

And the boy began to tell it from beginning to end, this sweet, sweet tale, with the same rapture with which his mother once told it. And when he uttered the last wonderful words of this long, long story, the old father raised his eyes and looked first forward, then back, then up and down: Cruach Gorm was already behind!

Oh my boy! - Gob exclaimed. - You are your mother's son! Today you carried us both through the mountains so easily.

Well, to tell the truth, our enchanting old tales have transported me more than once over mountains, sometimes so inaccessible!

And you, my readers, who for a good half of your life have to break the wall of everyday difficulties, I will invite you, when the next insomnia comes to you, to a three-week vacation in the enchanted hills and valleys of those very magical mountains that made me a new person - to the country of our fairy tales, a land of kings and queens, poets and prophets, scientists and sorcerers, smart wives and stupid husbands, and maybe even fairies, and ghosts, and talking birds and animals (who speak much smarter than other people). To pass the time, I may or may not sing soul-delighting poems for you and will certainly tell you fifty delightful tales.

You probably don’t even know that among all kinds of spirits there are those whom we call suitors. In the guise of a simple mortal, and a very good-looking one at that, the suitor waits for a pretty girl on a deserted heather moor and begins to court her. And if she, foolish, allows him to kiss her, eternal damnation and death await her, and her soul will fly away with her lover to his magical land.

Moira Manahan, now withered, hunched and gray, but once bearing the beautiful name Flowering Branch of the Valley of Eini, Moira in the days of her blooming youth met such a suitor, but by God's grace she escaped the fatal kiss. And yet, when he was courting her (“Ah, no Irish guy ever whispered such sweet and seductive words in my ear!” she sighed later), he took the ring off his finger and gave her a look through it at the enchanted world.

And she saw dancing and frolicking elves and sixty beautiful youths playing tag in the middle of a marvelous green valley.

"Oh! - Moira exclaimed in delight, telling me her story. - Ah! After what I saw there, not a single sight on earth made me happy!”

Without any evil intention or harmful consequences, I will give you a look through this magic ring, and when you even catch a glimpse of the magical land of folk fantasy, it will captivate you much more than all the pleasures of your social life. And if I am wrong, I will curse the goose with whose pen I wrote this promise here, and roast it at the stake to avenge you.

So listen!

Throughout the entire history of Ireland - long, stormy and amazing - there was, I think, no woman equal in intelligence to the wife of Gob-an-Shor, except, perhaps, one, whose name was Sav, the wife of O'Donnell himself. Yes, it was an extraordinary woman.

I’ll tell you about Gob’s wife later, just so I don’t forget.

O'Donnell himself, Prince of Donegal, was also very smart in his own way. Once during Easter week, he received an eminent Spanish guest at his court, and suddenly there weren't enough apples. He immediately sent a servant to the nearest abbey, but the stingy brethren replied that, alas, there was nothing left from the old stocks and until the new harvest ripened, they would not have any apples.

Then O'Donnell ordered a bunch of candles to be sent to the monks as a gift. And the messenger who carried them returned back with a basket of the most wonderful apples.

O'Donnell immediately composed a witty couplet in Gaelic and sent him expressing his gratitude to the abbey: they say, he was shocked by the discovery that candles help apples ripen ahead of time.

Yes, we just started talking about his wife Sav, even smarter than him. The story of how he found her, the daughter of a poor man of the poor, and was captivated by her wisdom, is already excellent in itself, and perhaps I will tell it to you when my soul is happier. And now I want to tell you how Sav outwitted her beloved husband.

The presence of special fairy tales, myths and legends is inherent in any nation. But Ireland can truly be called a magical land of fairy tales, legends and myths. The fabulous creatures that inhabit the Emerald Isle coexist perfectly not only in fairy tales, but also in the everyday life of the Irish, as elements of superstitious folklore. In the article you will learn about the most famous fairy tales, legends and myths of mysterious Ireland.

Fairytale world of Ireland

It’s not for nothing that Ireland is called the Emerald Isle. The green cover of this country retains its freshness all year round. Incredible rolling plains, bizarre hills and dense forests - all this holds many secrets.

Since ancient times, the people of Ireland have preferred spoken language to written language. Undoubtedly, written documents exist. But the basic knowledge that residents passed on to each other for centuries was oral. Fairy tales, myths, legends - this is the oral folklore that contained all the mystical beliefs of the Irish.

Characters from fairy tales and legends

Despite the fact that there are a lot of characters in ancient fairy tales, there are several main ones that you will find in most texts.

1. Perhaps the most famous Irish character in numerous fairy tales and legends is the leprechaun. It is also called leprihaun in another way. The leprechaun is somewhat similar to the Russian brownie. A middle-aged man, short, with a beard. This character is particularly cunning and ingenious, but at the same time he is a rather greedy creature. The kid is a shoemaker, wears a green suit and hat, and has a penchant for alcohol. You can read about him, for example, in the Irish fairy tale “Field of Daisies.”
2. Cluricons are relatives of leprechauns, love wine and wear red hats. They are frequent characters in Irish mythology.
3. Who else, if not the elves, occupies a central role in almost all the tales of Ireland. Elves, as guardians of the Irish forests, are central characters in the entire mythical epic of Ireland. These people are friendly, they are more noble than leprechauns, and they are smaller in size. Elves can also fly. Read about them in the book "The Elf's Glass Slipper."
4. Mermaids, werefoxes, vampires, banshees, grogohs - there are many fairy-tale heroes of fantastic Ireland.

Folk tales

Irish folk traditions in other countries are that happy endings are quite rare in them. Most often, at the end of each, you will find a moral lesson, a conclusion that everyone who reads should draw. After reading, there is something to think about, there is no description of the end, everything is clear. For children this is of paramount importance, since they themselves come up with the ending, while analyzing the whole story. Basically, these are short Irish fairy tales for children with a cautionary ending. In most of them, the main role is played by demons, witches, sorcerers and mythical creatures - leprechauns, elves and mermaids.

The most famous Irish folk fairy tales are “The White Trout”, “The Enchanted Pudding”, “The Story of the Cap”, “The Little Trickster of the Leprechaun”, “The Piper and the Puck” and others.

Irish epic

The mythology is based on Celtic legends. Knowledge of the Irish epic is revealed from some manuscripts that have survived to this day. One such source is the Book of the Brown Cow, dating back to the 12th century.

Irish sagas are written mainly in prose, but there is also a poetic style. The writing style is crisp and clear. And the main theme is the theme of heroic love. Moreover, everything is described brightly, colorfully, fantastically and very fabulously.

Irish storytellers of ancient legends

Due to the fact that writing was used only for sacred knowledge and rituals, all sagas were passed on by word of mouth. There were people specially trained for this - bards and philids.

Bards worked on poetic depictions of ancient legends. At the same time, they composed music and sang well-known legends. In addition to fairy tales, bards often glorified historical figures and sang about historical events. They were teachers who knew a lot and could teach it to the younger generation.

Philids performed the function of priests. They were some kind of prophets with high knowledge about the genealogy of the main clans. They told a lot of the epic legends of Ireland in the form of narratives in their songs. Later these stories developed into sagas.

After the philids disappeared, Christian monks began recording around the 8th century. Now you can notice the Christian orientation of almost all fairy tales, legends and myths of Ireland.

The most famous and interesting sagas: “The Expulsion of the Sons of Usnekh” (the story is similar to “Tristan and Isolde”), “The Tale of the Boar MacDatho”.

Myths of ancient Ireland

The mythology of Ireland is closely related to the thinking of the ancient Irish. Belief in the afterlife, parallel worlds, rebirth... The center and beginning of the mythology of Ireland is the first man Fintan mac Bora. He is the progenitor of ancient people (like Christian Noah, for example).

And the real ancestors of the Irish people are the sons of Mile of Spain. They were the first to arrive in Ireland and were victorious in a battle with the locals who worshiped the goddess Dan. For their victory, they used magic and the support of the goddesses Eriu, Banba and Fodla. But there is a sacred world of the island with the goddess Danu, which goes underground.

Sid is a magical hill, which is a parallel world in which gods and goddesses live, that underground world in which all magical creatures live. This place is otherwise called Apple Island - this is a magical country that is located in Ireland, but no one has ever found it.

Legends, myths and folk tales for children of Ireland are a real storehouse of knowledge. In addition to instructive motives, you can come into contact with the history of the ancient people, try to understand their structure of mythological thinking - what they believed in, what they thought about, how the ancient Irish lived. Irish fairy tales and legends are something that you can interest not only your child, but also yourself.

Kong legend

A long time ago, in the distant past, there lived a beautiful girl in a castle above the lake. They said that she was engaged to the king's son. They were about to get married, when suddenly a murder occurred: the groom was killed (Lord, have mercy on us!) and thrown into the lake. And of course, he could no longer keep his promise and marry a beautiful girl. Well, so much the worse...
History tells us that the poor girl, having lost the king’s son, lost her mind - her heart was too tender (may God forgive her, as he forgives us) - and began to waste away from longing for him. No one saw her again. It was rumored that fairies had carried her away.

From ancient Irish sagas

A hero of heroes, a glorious warrior of ancient Ulster, the first among the warriors of the Red Branch of King Conchobar, a fearless Uladian dog - this is how Cuchulain was called by his friends and enemies. And there was only one other warrior in the five kingdoms of ancient Ireland, or, as they said then, in Erin, who could compare with Cuchulainn in courage and martial art. It was Ferdiad, son of Damon.
These two glorious heroes - Cuchulainn and Ferdiad - were sworn brothers and friends. They grew up together, learning the techniques of fighting strength and courage together from the formidable warrior Scathach on the Isle of Skye. There they spent their youth, there they knew love and matured, from there, hand in hand, they went to feats of arms in foreign, distant countries.

Once upon a time, there lived in Dunmore, in County Galway, a stupid guy. He loved music so passionately, but he never managed to learn more than one song. This song was called “Black Tramp”. Various gentlemen often invited him for entertainment, and he received considerable money for this.
One day, late in the evening, this piper was returning from the house where the dancing was taking place. He was pretty tipsy. Having reached the bridge, from which it was a stone's throw to his mother's house, he pressed his bagpipes and played "The Black Tramp."

I am fulfilling my long-standing promise - here is the first example of the art of shanakha. My story will be about the famous Raftery, one of the renowned traveling entertainers of Connacht, who was rightfully considered the most amazing shanahi in all of Crivin, as I was able to verify for myself.
Just, mind you, I’ll retell this story to you as my heart desires.
So...
Raftery was not only a violinist - he was a person. The greatest man and best violinist that ever walked the earth in leather shoes. The world did not know a heart more generous than his.

Billy Mac Daniel, probably, was once young and showed promise: he danced dashingly at a holy holiday, could easily drink a pint or two, knew how to deftly work with a baton. He was afraid of only one thing - what if he had nothing to drink? And he cared only about one thing - who will pay for the drink? And I didn’t think about anything but fun.
Whether he was drunk or sober, he always had a strong word and a well-aimed blow - by the way, the best way to start and end an argument.
The only bad thing is that this same Billy Mac Daniel was afraid, cared and thought about only one thing, and therefore found himself in bad company. And rest assured, there is nothing worse than good people who find themselves in bad company!

Once upon a time, two unknown merchants appeared in Ireland. No one had heard of them before, and yet they spoke perfectly in the language of this country. Their black hair was intertwined with a golden ribbon, their clothes were distinguished by rare splendor. Both seemed to be about the same age: they looked about fifty years old, as their foreheads were furrowed with wrinkles, and their beard was already touched with gray.

“One most beautiful summer morning, shortly before sunrise,
young Irishman Dick Fitzgerald stood on the seashore near Smerwick
harbor The sun began to rise from behind a huge rock and red rays
with their own to drive away the gray fog that still lay over the waves. Soon the whole sea
shone in the sun like a huge mirror into which they calmly looked
surrounding shores.

Some people have probably heard about the famous adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but there are few who know that the reason for all his misadventures above land and under water was only one thing: he fell asleep under the walls of the pack tower.
I knew this man well. He lived at the foot of Thin Hill, just on the right hand side of the road as you go to Bantry. He was an old man when he told me his story, yes, already an old man with a gray head and a red nose.
I heard this story from his own lips on June 25, 1813. He sat under an old poplar tree and sipped from his pipe. The evening was extremely good.