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The Story-Teller at Fault

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The Story-Teller at Fault

the time when the Tuatha De Dannan held the sovereignty of Ireland,
there reigned in Leinster a king, who was remarkably fond of hearing
stories. Like the other princes and chieftains of the island, he had a
favourite story-teller, who held a large estate from his Majesty, on
condition of telling him a new story every night of his life, before he
went to sleep. Many indeed were the stories he knew, so that he had
already reached a good old age without failing even for a single night
in his task; and such was the skill he displayed that whatever cares of
state or other annoyances might prey upon the monarch's mind, his
story-teller was sure to send him to sleep.
One morning the story-teller arose early, and as his custom was,
strolled out into his garden turning over in his mind incidents which he
might weave into a story for the king at night. But this morning he
found himself quite at fault; after pacing his whole demesne, he
returned to his house without being able to think of anything new or
strange. He found no difficulty in "there was once a king who had three sons" or "one day the king of all Ireland," but further
than that he could not get. At length he went in to breakfast, and
found his wife much perplexed at his delay.

"Why don't you come to breakfast, my dear?" said she.

"I have no mind to eat anything," replied the story teller; "long as I
have been in the service of the king of Leinster, I never sat down to
breakfast without having a new story ready for the evening, but this
morning my mind is quite shut up, and I don't know what to do. I might
as well lie down and die at once. I'll be disgraced for ever this
evening, when the king calls for his story-teller."

Just at this moment the lady looked out of the window.

"Do you see that black thing at the end of the field?" said she.

"I do," replied her husband.

They drew nigh, and saw a miserable looking old man lying on the ground with a wooden leg placed beside him.

"Who are you, my good man?" asked the story-teller. Oh, then, 'tis
little matter who I am. I'm a poor, old, lame, decrepit, miserable
creature, sitting down here to rest awhile."

"An' what are you doing with that box and dice I see in your hand?"

"I am waiting here to see if any one will play a game with me," replied the beggar man.

"Play with you! Why what has a poor old man like you to play for?"

"I have one hundred pieces of gold in this leathern purse," replied the old man.

"You may as well play with him," said the story-teller's wife; "and perhaps you'll have something to tell the king in the evening."

A smooth stone was placed between them, and upon it they cast their throws.

It was but a little while and the story-teller lost every penny of his money.

"Much good may it do you, friend," said he. "What better hap could I look for, fool that I am!"

"Will you play again?" asked the old man.

"Don't be talking, man: you have all my money."

"Haven't you chariot and horses and hounds?"

"Well, what of them!"

"I'll stake all the money I have against thine."

"Nonsense, man! Do you think for all the money in Ireland, I'd run the risk of seeing my lady tramp home on foot?"

"Maybe you'd win," said the bocough.

"Maybe I wouldn't," said the story-teller.

"Play with him, husband," said his wife. "I don't mind walking, if you do, love."

"I never refused you before," said the story-teller, "and I won't do so now.

Down he sat again, and in one throw lost houses, hounds, and chariot.

"Will you play again?" asked the beggar.

"Are you making game of me, man; what else have I to stake?"

"I'll stake all my winnings against your wife,' said the old man.

The story-teller turned away in silence, but his wife stopped him.
"Accept his offer," said she. "This is the third time, and who knows what luck you may have? You'll surely win now."

They played again, and the story-teller lost. No sooner had he done
so, than to his sorrow and surprise, his wife went and sat down near the
ugly old beggar.

"Is that the way you're leaving me?" said the story-teller.

"Sure I was won," said she. "You would not cheat the poor man, would you?"

"Have you any more to stake?" asked the old man.

"You know very well I have not," replied the storyteller.

"I'll stake the whole now, wife and all, against your own self," said the old man.

Again they played, and again the story-teller lost.

"Well! here I am, and what do you want with me?"

"I'll soon let you know," said the old man, and he took from his pocket a long cord and a wand.

"Now," said he to the story-teller, "what kind of animal would you
rather be, a deer, a fox, or a hare? You have your choice now, but you
may not have it later."

To make a long story short, the story-teller made his choice of a
hare; the old man threw the cord round him, struck him with the wand,
and lo! a long-eared, frisking hare was skipping and jumping on the

But it wasn't for long; who but his wife called the hounds, and set
them on him. The hare fled, the dogs followed. Round the field ran a
high wall, so that run as he might, he couldn't get out, and mightily
diverted were beggar and lady to see him twist and double.
In vain did he take refuge with his wife, she kicked him back again
to the hounds, until at length the beggar stopped the hounds, and with a
stroke of the wand, panting and breathless, the story-teller stood
before them again.

"And how did you like the sport?" said the beggar.

"It might be sport to others," replied the story-teller looking at
his wife, "for my part I could well put up with the loss of it."

"Would it be asking too much," he went on to the beggar, "to know who
you are at all, or where you come from, or why you take a pleasure in
plaguing a poor old man like me?"

"Oh!" replied the stranger, " I'm an odd kind of good-for-little
fellow, one day poor, another day rich, but if you wish to know more
about me or my habits, come with me and perhaps I may show you more than
you would make out if you went alone."

"I'm not my own master to go or stay," said the story-teller, with a sigh.

The stranger put one hand into his wallet and drew out of it before
their eyes a well looking middle-aged man, to whom he spoke as follows:

"By all you heard and saw since I put you into my wallet, take charge
of this lady and of the carriage and horses, and have them ready for me
whenever I want them."

Scarcely had he said these words when all vanished, and the
story-teller found himself at the Foxes' Ford, near the castle of Red
Hugh O'Donnell. He could see all but none could see him.

O'Donnell was in his hall, and heaviness of flesh and weariness of spirit were upon him.
"Go out," said he to his doorkeeper, " and see who or what may be coming."

The doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank, grey beggarman; half his sword bared behind his haunch, his two

shoes full of cold road-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of
his two ears out through his old hat, his two shoulders out through his
scant tattered cloak, and in his hand a green wand of holly.

"Save you, O Donnell," said the lank grey beggarman.
"And you likewise," said O'Donnell. "Whence come you, and what is your craft?"

"I come from the outmost stream of earth,
From the glens where the white swans glide,
A night in Islay, a night in Man,
A night on the cold hillside."

"It's the great traveller you are," said O'Donnell. "Maybe you've learnt something on the road."

"I am a juggler," said the lank grey beggarman, "and for five pieces of silver you shall see a trick of mine."

"You shall have them," said O'Donnell; and the lank grey beggarman took three small straws and placed them in his hand.

"The middle one," said he, "I'll blow away; the other two I'll leave."

"Thou canst not do it," said one and all.

But the lank grey beggarman put a finger on either outside straw and, whiff, away he blew the middle one.

"’Tis a good trick," said O'Donnell; and he paid him his five pieces of silver.

"For half the money," said one of the chief's lads, "I'll do the same trick.

"Take him at his word, O'Donnell."

The lad put the three straws on his hand, and a finger on either
outside straw and he blew; and what happened but that the fist was blown
away with the straw.

"Thou art sore, and thou wilt be sorer," said O'Donnell.

"Six more pieces, O'Donnell, and I'll do another trick for thee," said the lank grey beggarman.

"Six shalt thou have."
"Seest thou my two ears! One I'll move but not t'other."

"’Tis easy to see them, they're big enough, but thou canst never move one ear and not the two together."

The lank grey beggarman put his hand to his ear, and he gave it a pull.

O'Donnell laughed and paid him the six pieces.

"Call that a trick," said the fistless lad, " any one can do that,"
and so saying, he put up his hand, pulled his ear, and what happened was
that he pulled away ear and head.

"Sore thou art, and sorer thou'lt be," said O'Donnell. "Well,
O'Donnell," said the lank grey beggarman, strange are the tricks I've
shown thee, but I'll show thee a stranger one yet for the same money."

"Thou hast my word for it," said O'Donnell.

With that the lank grey beggarman took a bag from under his armpit,
and from out the bag a ball of silk, and he unwound the ball and he
flung it slantwise up into the clear blue heavens, and it became a
ladder; then he took a hare and placed it upon the thread, and up it
ran; again he took out a red-eared hound, and it swiftly ran up after
the hare.

"Now," said the lank grey beggarman; "has any one a mind to run after the dog and on the course?"

"I will," said a lad of O'Donnell's.

"Up with you then," said the juggler; "but I warn you if you let my hare be killed I'll cut off your head when you come down."

The lad ran up the thread and all three soon disappeared. After
looking up for a long time, the lank grey beggarman said: "I'm afraid
the hound is eating the hare, and that our friend has fallen asleep."
Saying this he began to wind the thread, and down came the lad fast
asleep; and down came the red-eared hound and in his mouth the last
morsel of the hare.

He struck the lad a stroke with the edge of his sword, and so cast
his head off. As for the hound, if he used it no worse, he used it no

"It's little I'm pleased, and sore I'm angered," said O'Donnell, "that a hound and a lad should be killed at my court."

"Five pieces of silver twice over for each of them," said the juggler, "and their heads shall be on them as before."

Thou shalt get that," said O'Donnell.

Five pieces, and again five were paid him, and lo! the lad had his
head and the hound his. And though they lived to the uttermost end of
time, the hound would never touch a hare again, and the lad took good
care to keep his eyes open.

Scarcely had the lank grey beggarman done this when he vanished from
out their sight, and no one present could say if he had flown through
the air or if the earth had swallowed him up.
Heavy was the flesh and weary the spirit of Leinster's king. 'Twas the hour he was wont to hear a story, but send he might
right and left, not a jot of tidings about the story-teller could he

"Go to the door," said he to his doorkeeper, "and see if a soul is in sight who may tell me something about my story-teller."

The doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank grey beggarman, half
his sword bared behind his haunch, his two old shoes full of cold
road-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of his two ears out
through his old hat, his two shoulders out through his scant tattered
cloak, and in his hand a three-stringed harp.

"What canst thou do?" said the doorkeeper.

"I can play," said the lank grey beggarman.

"Never fear," added he to the story-teller, "thou shalt see all, and not a man shall see thee."
When the king heard a harper was outside, he bade him in.

"It is I that have the best harpers in the five-fifths of Ireland,"
said he, and he signed them to play. They did so, and if they played,
the lank grey beggarman listened.

Heardst thou ever the like?" said the king.

"Did you ever, O king, hear a cat purring over a bowl of broth, or
the buzzing of beetles in the twilight, or a shrill tongued old woman
scolding your head off?"

"That I have often," said the king.

"More melodious to me," said the lank grey beggarman, "were the worst of these sounds than the sweetest harping of thy harpers."
When the harpers heard this, they drew their swords and rushed at
him, but instead of striking him, their blows fell on each other, and
soon not a man but was cracking his neighbour's skull and getting his
own cracked in turn.

When the king saw this, he thought it hard the harpers weren't
content with murdering their music, but must needs murder each other.

"Hang the fellow who began it all," said he; "and if I can't have a story, let me have peace."

Up came the guards, seized the lank grey beggarman, marched him to
the gallows and hanged him high and dry. Back they marched to the hall,
and who should they see but the lank grey beggarman seated on a bench
with his mouth to a flagon of ale.

Never welcome you in," cried the captain of the guard, "didn't we hang you this minute, and what brings you here?"

"Is it me myself, you mean?

"Who else?" said the captain.

"May your hand turn into a pig's foot with you when you think of tying the rope; why should you speak of hanging me?"

Back they scurried to the gallows, and there hung the king's favourite brother.

Back they hurried to the king who had fallen fast asleep.

"Please your Majesty," said the captain, "we hanged that strolling vagabond, but here he is back again as well as ever."

"Hang him again," said the king, and off he went to sleep once more.

They did as they were told, but what happened was that they found the king's chief harper hanging where the lank grey beggarman should have been.

The captain of the guard was sorely puzzled.

"Are you wishful to hang me a third time?" said the lank grey beggarman.

"Go where you will;" said the captain, "and as fast as you please if
you'll only go far enough. It's trouble enough you've given us already."

"Now you're reasonable," said the beggarman; "and since you've given
up trying to hang a stranger because he finds fault with your music, I
don't mind telling you that if you go back to the gallows you'll find
your friends sitting on the sward none the worse for what has happened."

As he said these words he vanished; and the story-teller found
himself on the spot where they first met, and where his wife still was
with the carriage and horses.

"Now," said the lank grey beggarman, "I'll torment you no longer.
There's your carriage and your horses, and your money and your wife; do
what you please with them."

"For my carriage and my horses and my hounds," said the story-teller, "I thank you; but my wife and my money you may keep."

"No," said the other. "I want neither, and as for your wife, don't think ill of her for what she did, she couldn't help it."

Not help it! Not help kicking me into the mouth of my own hounds! Not help casting me off for the sake of a beggarly old ——-"

"I'm not as beggarly or as old as ye think. I am Angus of the Bruff; many a good turn you've done me with the King of Leinster. This morning my magic told me the difficulty you
were in, and I made up my mind to get you out of it. As for your wife
there, the power that changed your body changed her mind. Forget and
forgive as man and wife should do, and now you have a story for the King
of Leinster when he calls for one;" and with that he disappeared.

It's true enough he now had a story fit for a king. From first to
last he told all that had befallen him; so long and loud laughed the
king that he couldn't go to sleep at all. And he told the story-teller
never to trouble for fresh stories, but every night as long as he lived
he listened again and he laughed afresh at the tale of the lank grey

Hey, this is capeng. I hope you enjoyed the story. This is not going to be the usual fare of this blog. We might have some stories/poems down the line, but the topics will be varied, but hopefully always interesting. Thanks for reading!

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The Story-Teller at Fault :: Comments


Post on 6th March 2013, 12:23 pm by underseasie

Whoa..did you write this? Cause it's awesome! Very Happy I enjoyed every minute of it.

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Post on 6th March 2013, 1:57 pm by Arkán Dreamwalker

Kind of confusing, constructed a bit roughly, a bit pointless. Where is this from?

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Post on 6th March 2013, 4:00 pm by Thor's Hammer

It is confusing but funny. I like it.

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Post on 6th March 2013, 4:32 pm by capeng

@underseasie Much as I would like to say I did...No. I got it from here:
It is a Celtic fairy tale. I love pretty much all things Celtic, and their music and lore are pretty much unparallelled.

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Post on 6th March 2013, 5:06 pm by underseasie

Oh, I love reading through books of old fairy tales..they're amazing.

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Post on 6th March 2013, 5:21 pm by capeng

I love all old books, and especially old kid's books.
I have a cookbook from WWII, as well as one from the Middle Ages.
I also have a mixed bag sort of book from about 1910.
I love old books! Smile

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Post on 6th March 2013, 5:23 pm by Thor's Hammer

I read a few some of them are boring some are fine.

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Post on 6th March 2013, 7:29 pm by underseasie

A cookbook from the Middle Ages?!? That is awesome!! I want one! Wink

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Post on 9th March 2013, 9:57 am by capeng

Yea. In the Middle Ages, they used to eat a LOT of pies. But the pie crust was made hard and uneatable. You scooped the contents out of the crust and threw the crust away. Only later did we make crusts eatable.

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