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Title: Wurra-Wurra
A legend of Saint Patrick at Tara
Author: Curtis Dunham
Illustrator: John Innes
Release date: March 5, 2025 [eBook #75537]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Desmond Fitzgerald, Inc, 1911
Credits: Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WURRA-WURRA ***
WURRA-WURRA
[Illustration: GROTTO AND IMAGE OF WURRA-WURRA
Drawn by John Innes, from his reconstruction of this very ancient Celtic
Idol, as described in the Legend.]
[Illustration:
WURRA-WURRA
A LEGEND OF SAINT
PATRICK AT TARA
HERE FIRST TRANSCRIBED AND COMPARED
WITH THE TESTIMONY OF ANCIENT RECORDS
AND MODERN HISTORICAL RESEARCH
_By_ CURTIS DUNHAM
AUTHOR OF “THE GOLDEN GOBLIN,” ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, INCLUDING A RECONSTRUCTION
OF THE VERY ANCIENT
CELTIC IDOL CALLED WURRA-WURRA
_By_ JOHN INNES
NEW YORK
DESMOND FITZGERALD, INC.
PUBLISHERS]
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY DESMOND FITZGERALD, INC.
TO THOSE DESCENDANTS
OF THE O’SHAUGHNESSY WHO PRESERVED
THIS LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK AT TARA;
TO THE MEMORY OF FATHER O’SHAUGHNESSY,
FROM WHOM IT WAS RECEIVED ORALLY; AND
TO THE ANTI-WORRY SOCIETIES OF
CHRISTENDOM, THIS TRANSCRIPT
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
Grotto and Image of Wurra-Wurra _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
Patrick casting down Cromm Cruach and the twelve smaller idols 12
Keth, Patrick’s Strong Man, describing to Finola the virtues of
his handstone 20
Keth Mac Maragh in the bog, beset by the wizard spells of Lochru 38
Keth recites the Brehon Law to Dubthach Mac na Lugair and his debtor 44
Dubthach, the Royal Shanachy, driving home the price of his poems 48
Far down Glanngalt Keth sees the torches flaming about the Grotto
of Wurra-Wurra 52
With his mighty handstone, defying Lochru, Keth shatters the idol
Wurra-Wurra 62
Finola runs to Keth and delivers an urgent message from Patrick 64
Keth, in the shattered idol’s place, hears Finola’s great worry 76
Patrick marries and blesses Keth and Finola of the White Shoulder 78
[Illustration]
’Twas in the days whin the good Patrick of Armagh slept with wan eye
open, owin’ to the murderous desire of a bunch of haythin magicians to
hang onto their jobs at the court of King Laeghaire. There was the chief
royal wizard, Lochru by name, an’ two other divil-sint Druid priests,
namely Caplait an’ Lucat-Moel, who hild the graft of makin’ wise
haythins of Ethne the Fair an’ Fedelm the Ruddy, the King’s two daughters
an’ the twin apples of his eye; an’ between the three of thim, with the
King lookin’ their way wan day an’ Patrick’s way the next, the spells of
wind an’ water an’ black magic the good Patrick had to circumvint were
sure a caution.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Now Patrick, bein’ a gintleman and the guest of King Laeghaire at Tara,
could not turn himself loose on mimbers of the King’s own household. All
the same, if he was to clane up Ireland, Druids, snakes an’ all, ’twas
important to begin by convertin’ the King. So he was goin’ easy like, wan
day miltin’ Laeghaire to tears with his iloquence, an’ alas! the nixt day
findin’ the King bowin’ down to the great gold an’ silver idol, Cromm
Cruach, which stood on the plain near Tara surrounded by twilve smaller
idols of brass an’ tin. ’Twas a case of Cromm Cruach against Patrick an’
the Four Gospils with the odds even.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Wan thing was plain, Cromm Cruach the big idol, an’ all the little idols
must go. So wan day, in the prisence of King Laeghaire an’ all his
household an’ a great multitude of the people, Patrick raised his staff
before Cromm Cruach, an’ in the twinklin’ of an eye the big idol an’ all
the little idols sank into the plain up to their necks. ’Twas a miracle
the like of which had niver been seen in Ireland. An’ King Laeghaire,
seein’ that all the spells of his Druid magicians could not raise up
Cromm Cruach again, nor even the smallest of the little idols, became a
Christian on the spot.
Observin’ the same, old Lochru the wizard fell to ragin’ an’ tearin’ out
his long whiskers by handfuls. Caplait an’ Lucat-Moel were frothin’ at
the mouth because of their fat jobs gone a-glimmerin’. ’Twas a great day
for the good Patrick, barrin’ the prisint failure of the multitude to
follow the example of the King.
[Illustration: _Patrick casting down Cromm Cruach and the twelve smaller
idols_]
[Illustration]
Instead of fallin’ on their knees to receive the blissin’ of Patrick as
he stood there with Sechnall his bishop, Erc his judge, an’ Presbiter
Bescna his chaplain, all in their church vestmints, the people turned
their faces to the West as wan man, beat upon their brists an’ cried
out: “O, Wurra-Wurra!” In their mixture of ancient Irish an’ Gaelic
(which was the common speech in those days), three times they cried: “O,
Wurra-Wurra!” before they would let Patrick bliss an’ disperse thim.
Now there was in Patrick’s train Keth Mac Maragh, his strong man, the
same that carried him on his back through the bogs an’ was his champion
whin it came to fightin’ barbarians who would not accept the Gospil with
whole heads. Keth was moreover a bit of a shanachy, or story-teller,
in his way, with a head full of the old tales an’ histories set down
in the Book of the Dun Cow, which made him the frind of ivery small
boy wheriver Patrick carried on the good work. So whin he heard the
multitude cry out: “O, Wurra-Wurra!” at the downfall of Cromm Cruach,
Keth was disturbed in his mind. Niver before had he heard those words
of lamentation uttered by a multitude all in spontaneous accord. Yet in
the mouths of sorrowin’ girls forsaken by their lovers, an’ old women
at a wake or grievin’ over sheep with the foot-rot, they were words as
familiar in Patrick’s time as they are to this day.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
But the thing that most disturbed the mind of Keth Mac Maragh was
the sight of Finola of the White Shoulder, wan of Patrick’s three
embroideresses—which means a Christian mimber of Patrick’s own
household—turnin’ her pretty face to the West with the multitude an’
joinin’ in the cry of “Wurra-Wurra!” ’Twas sure a haythin act, an’ as
Keth had been for a long time swate on this same Finola, findin’ her
white shoulder a plisant place to rist his head on, he wint speedily an’
taxed her with it.
But Finola only hung her pretty head an’ was silent.
[Illustration]
“Finola,” says Keth, “ye ought to be ashamed of yoursilf, you a mimber of
the good Patrick’s household an’ a ’broiderer of the sacred vestmints.”
Niver a word answered Finola, but only hung her head the lower.
Then said Keth Mac Maragh with a keen look at the girl:
“Finola, ’tis yoursilf has told the truth though not a word has passed
your lips. Cromm Cruach, which our good Patrick has overthrown, was not
the only great false god in Ireland.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Now the girl appeared startled, but her head still drooped an’ she
answered neither yes nor no. With a smile half hid by the hair on his
lip, Keth spoke sternly to her:
“Finola, I have it from your own lips that you came to Patrick at Tara
from your people over in the West country. ’Tis over in the West stands
another great idol, an’ the name of it is Wurra-Wurra.”
At these words Finola began trimbling violently, though she spoke no
word, an’ her head still drooped. Keth Mac Maragh showed the girl no
mercy.
“’Tis in my mind, Finola,” he said, “to make a journey over into the West
country, an’ find this heathen god, Wurra-Wurra, an’ cast him down even
as Patrick cast down Cromm Cruach.”
Now the girl lifted her head and spoke up quickly: “But you are not in
orders, Keth, an’ have no Bishop’s staff to raise against this idol—if
so there be one.”
“’Tis true I have no Bishop’s staff,” said he, “nor do I nade wan. I have
me handstone. I have me handstone, the same that did for Macc Cairthinn,
mind ye, Finola. An’ ’tis in me mind that the handstone that spilled the
brains of the King’s strong man is enough to bash the countenance of a
haythin idol.”
And he took the stone out of his shield to gaze on its fine shape and
feel the weight of it. “’Twas a smaller wan,” he said, “a mere stone from
the brook with no virtue whativer, that David sunk into the forehead of
Goliath.”
“Is it the same,” whispered Finola with awe in her eyes, “that gave ye
the triumph over Macc Cairthinn?”
[Illustration: _Keth, Patrick’s Strong Man, describing to Finola the
virtues of his handstone_]
[Illustration]
“’Tis a better wan,” spoke up Keth Mac Maragh proudly. “’Tis of
fresh-slaked lime mixed with those same brains of the King’s strong man
that I spilled with the old wan—mixed with Macc Cairthinn’s own brains
an’ dried in the sun till it has the hardness of flint an’ the toughness
of oak. Besides—mark this, Finola—’tis a true handstone with all the
virtues of me own Red Branch Knighthood. An’ who can throw it fairer or
swifter than Keth Mac Maragh?”
At these words Finola turned strangely pale. Prisently she threw her arms
about the neck of Keth an’ besought him not to journey off into that wild
West country.
[Illustration]
“Keth, darlin’,” said she, “’tis the country of the Badb an’ all the
Dedannan furies, where the terrible Banshees are only the least of
the bad fairies. They will have your body an’ your soul.” An’ then she
whispered:
[Illustration]
“Stay with Finola. She nades ye, an’—an’ soon she’ll nade ye sore!”
Now Keth was touched with the tears of Finola, but he was an obstinate
man an’ his mind was made up to have it for his own great triumph and
credit with Patrick, the castin’ down of Wurra-Wurra. ’Twas true also
that he had become a trifle weary of the white arms of Finola forever
draggin’ about his neck. So he threw them off gintly, lavin’ her there
on the ground half dead with grievin’, an’ wint straight to Patrick for
lave to go on a journey on business of his own.
[Illustration]
The good Patrick, bein’ easy in his mind an’ cheerful now that Cromm
Cruach was done for, gave Keth his lave an’ a blissin’; an’ lest Finola’s
arms should drag at his neck again, he did not delay, but took his shield
an’ his handstone an’ was off on his long legs for the West country.
[Illustration]
Indade, ’twas well he did not loiter, for the old wizard Lochru had
already got wind of his interprise an’ was brewin’ his most divilish
spells against him. Caplait was in the same business. ’Twas a close
call for Keth Mac Maragh, for between thim these two howlin’ old wizards
bossed all the bad fairies an’ demons an’ reptiles in Ireland.
All this, mind ye, was before Patrick had got ready to attind to the
snakes. The land was full of thim. As for fairies, good an’ bad, at the
time whin the good Patrick landed at Wicklow they were thicker than the
people—which is worth raymimberin’, for there were tin times as many
Irishmin in Ireland then than iver has been since. In those days ’twas a
case of Ireland for the Irish, with the rist of the world lookin’ on in
envy an’ covetousness, but takin’ care to kape their hands off to save
their heads.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
There was no nade for Keth to carry meat or drink—which was another
fine thing about Ireland in those days. At ivery crossroads was an inn
maintained at the public expinse, for the intertainmint of travellers
without money an’ without price, an’ the pot always a-bilin’ day an’
night. ’Twas the shanachies an’ poets who travelled about thicker than
thieves, singin’ their songs an’ tellin’ their tales at the courts of
the kings, that were the cause of all this hospitality, for these
gentry put on even more airs in those days than they do now, havin’ free
graft iverywhere, so eager were the people to hear all the news an’ the
romances.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
’Tis already towld how Keth was a bit of a shanachy himsilf, an’ well
versed in all the wizardry of Patrick’s Druid inemies. ’Twas a full grown
man’s job, by this token, that old Lochru took on himsilf in layin’ his
plans to save Wurra-Wurra from the vi’lint hands of Patrick’s strong man.
An’ ’twill iver be to the credit of Lochru’s divilish subtlety that he so
near finished for poor Keth by transformin’ himsilf into a false shanachy
an’ tacklin’ the lad on his soft side.
[Illustration]
Through County Armagh an’ well into Fermanagh Keth Mac Maragh passed
safely, livin’ free on the fat of the land an’ kapin’ an eye opin for
signs of the old idol Wurra-Wurra. ’Tis true that wance Lochru tried to
beguile him with a venomous banshee in the guise of a beautiful maiden
all smiles an improper alluremints; but Finola’s white shoulder was still
so fresh in his mind that he only laughed an’ bid her the time of day an’
passed on his way.
[Illustration]
Wance, too, Lochru sint a swarm of sheevras—which are the most impish of
all the bad fairies—with orders to choke Keth to death on salmon bones
as he ate his avenin’ meal; but ’twas all in vain, for Keth was wise an’
kept his fingers crossed.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Havin’ seen the failure of these poor experimints, Lochru changed his
face out of all raysimblance to himsilf, an’ took a small Irish harp an’
wint an’ sat on a hillside among the shamrocks close beside the broad
road along which he knew Keth was soon to pass. This was his preparation
for the grand schame that was to hocus-pocus the idol-hunting strong man
for good an’ all.
Prisintly, as Keth Mac Maragh hove in sight, all tired and dusty from a
hard day of travel, Lochru, in his guise of an old an’ decrepit shanachy,
twanged the strings of his harp an’ began to sing of past glories whin
he was royal shanachy at Tara with four an’ twinty pupils all sheddin’
lustre on his performance. But whin Keth came abrist of him on the road
he lifted his voice in a sort of refrain, the substince of which caused
Patrick’s strong man to prick up his ears an’ pinch himsilf to be sure he
was indade awake. For this was the unexpicted purport of Lochru’s refrain:
“Hail the dawn of Erin’s Golden Age,
Redeemed from Druids’ evil signs and spells.
Rejoice at ancient idols overthrown
And demons banished to their flames below.
Cromm Cruach’s head doth bow to Patrick’s power;
Great Laeghaire takes the Gospel to his heart;
No more shall idols lure the simple mind—
E’en Wurra-Wurra’s fatal hour has struck.
Hail Erin’s Golden Age,
Hail Patrick and the Blissed Word!”
[Illustration]
An’ no sooner had the schamin’ Lochru in his disguise exprissed these
fine Christian sintimints than Keth fell for him. Yis, Keth Mac Maragh
fell for him complately—swallowin’ bait, hook, line an’ all.
Old Lochru, pretindin’ not to observe the prisince of the lad, was about
to reel off a few more yards of his song, but Keth fell on his neck,
sayin’:
“Hiven’s blessin’s rist on ye, old man; for ’tis indade true, as ye’ve
said, that Wurra-Wurra’s fatal hour has struck. Tell me where to look for
the owld idol that I may bash his face with me handstone.”
“Do me eyes desayve me?” said the false shanachy, returnin’ Keth’s
embrace. “No; sure ’tis the good Patrick’s strong man that stands before
me—Keth Mac Maragh, who, wan day, will be a bishop.”
“’Tis the same,” said Keth, swellin’ with pride at the wizard’s
prophecy—for that was Keth’s great saycrit ambition, to become a bishop.
An’ now Lochru had him hard an’ fast. No suspicion of the false shanachy
could have been beaten into his head with an axe.
“But the time passes,” said Keth; “show me the road to Wurra-Wurra, that
I may speedily earn me bishop’s staff.”
Lochru was playin’ with the lad as a cat plays with a mouse. “Have ye no
fear of the druid wizards?” he said. “Can ye circumvint the spells of
Lochru? Are ye after thinkin’ that Lucat-Moel an’ Caplait will let ye
come at Wurra-Wurra to do the idol harm?”
[Illustration]
“Divil take the wizards an’ all their spells,” answered Keth. “Sure,
’tis Keth Mac Maragh, champion strong man an’ as good a scholar as the
bist of thim, that has all their spells at his finger-ends. So set me on
the road to Wurra-Wurra.”
“Be it so,” said Lochru. “I persayve that ye’re already a bishop, savin’
the ordination. ’Tis well. Give heed to me words, for ’tis growin’ dark
an’ ye must travil the night through to escape the sure destruction which
Lochru has prepared for ye.
[Illustration]
“Priss on your prisint way, lad, till ye’ve rached the top of the third
wooded ridge. There ye’ll see below ye in the moonlight the glimmerin’
surface of a great bog, an’ on the farther side of the same an owld round
tower to the right, an’ Concobar Mac Nessa’s ruined castle to the lift.
Go straight down to the edge of the bog an’ suddenly ye’ll see that a
fine, hard road leads across it. Cross the bog without fear. ’Tis a short
cut to Wurra-Wurra over beyond the round tower, an’ ’twill lave ye safe
from Lochru an’ all his demon immissaries. Have ye me directions fixed
clear in your mind, lad?”
[Illustration]
“Yis,” said Keth. “An’ may the blissin’s of Patrick an’ all the saints
rest on your white head, vinerable owld man, for, thanks to you,
Wurra-Wurra is already as good as done for.”
The nixt minute Keth’s legs were leadin’ him straight into the trap so
cunningly set for him, an’ old Lochru, raysumin’ his own face an’ form,
was chucklin’ into his long whiskers.
* * * * *
Now whin Keth came to the top of the third ridge an’ looked down upon the
great bog, ’twas the darkest hour of the night, whin the bad fairies are
up to their worst divilmint, an’ the dangerous elves an’ demons attind
to the summons of their masters, the Druid wizards. From the top of the
ridge there was no sign of any road across the bog; but Keth, full of
foolish faith in the words of the false shanachy, stopped only to draw a
full breath, an’ was off down the slope at his top speed.
An’ sure enough, as he neared the bog’s edge, he saw before him a
straight, hard road gleamin’ in the moonlight an’ stretchin’ clear an’
fair to the hill-slope on the farther side. With a shout of triumph, Keth
laped forward an’ ran swiftly out upon the road over the bog. An’ thin,
all at wance, there was no more road, an’ he found himsilf flounderin’ up
to his arm-pits in the quaking mud of the stickiest bog in Ireland.
An’ while he floundered he heard a peal of faymiliar, divilish laughter
from the bog’s edge. There stood old Lochru, holdin’ his sides an’
waggin’ his head—an’ thin, in a flash, Keth saw it all, how he had been
hocus-pocussed by a false shanachy who was none other than Lochru himsilf.
’Twas useless to waste breath lamintin’, or hurlin’ hard names at Lochru;
Keth saw that he had nade of it all to extricate himsilf from the
bog—which he would have done right speedily but for the trump card the
old wizard played thin an’ there.
All at wance Keth found himsilf surrounded by a swarm of meisi—which are
the most dreadful phantoms that inhabit the World of Darkness—summoned by
the incantations of Lochru. The sight of thim froze Keth’s blood in his
veins. For a time, so full of terror they filled him, he could nayther
speak nor move. Manewhile, ivery minute the bog sucked him down deeper.
[Illustration: _Keth Mac Maragh in the bog, beset by the wizard spells of
Lochru_]
Sure it would have been all over with Keth Mac Maragh if, suddenly, there
had not appeared before him a vision of Patrick, fearless in his great
faith, casting down Cromm Cruach in the very prisince of King Laeghaire
an’ the most powerful of the Druid wizards. The vision gave him strength
to raise his voice to the glory of God an’ defiance of the divil, so that
he no longer quaked with paralizin’ fear of the phantoms, an’ was near
strugglin’ out of the bog.
Thin it was that Lochru summoned Banba, queen of the Dedannan furies,
an’ with her diabolical aid caused Keth to be set upon by sheevras,
leprechauns an’ all manner of demoniac reptiles. All the bog about him
was covered with thim, an’ all the air murmured and shrieked with the
flapping of demon wings. Pookas came and sat upon his shoulders to priss
him down into the mire, while the dread Badb, in the guise of a loathsome
hag with the wings of a great bat, shut the air from his nostrils and
clawed at his throat.
Yet always, at what seemed the fatal momint, the voice of Keth, raised in
praise of God an’ bowld defiance of the divil, so weakened the demoniac
powers that old Lochru, raging in vain, saw the dawn approaching an’ his
triumph unaccomplished.
Indade, the triumph was Keth’s, for, by the blissin’ of heaven, he hild
out. In fear of the blastin’ rays of the sun, all at wance his demon
inemies disappeared with shrieks of baffled vengeance, an’ old Lochru
with thim. An’ soon Keth, still praisin’ God an’ defyin’ the divil, was
out of the bog an’ dryin’ himsilf in the sun.
* * * * *
Whin he was dry an’ somewhat risted an’ raycuperated after the long
agonies of that night, he retraced his steps to the road where Lochru had
beguiled him. Wan day an’ a night he spint at an inn for food an’ slape,
while the maids claned the bog slime from his raimint, an’ thin proceeded
on his way into the West.
Not until he was out of Fermanagh an’ well into Roscommon did he come
upon any clue to the whereabouts of Wurra-Wurra. ’Twas truly strange
that the right direction should come from another shanachy—but a rale wan
this time, none other than the great Dubthach Mac na Lugair, royal poet
at the court of the King of Connaught.
Keth came upon Dubthach as the renowned shanachy was fastin’ on a false
poet who owed him a debt for makin’ up some rhymes which the false poet
recited about the country as his own divine afflatus. This fakir was a
failure at bog-drainin’ named Fergus, an’ havin’ neglected to pay for the
rhymes he couldn’t make up for himself he was shut up in his house while
Dubthach sat before his door, neither of thim eatin’ nor drinkin’, as the
custom was, till the matter was settled. Dubthach was so pale an’ lean
from four days an’ nights of fastin’ that his tunic was all in wrinkles
about his shoulders. Fergus’ plight was worse yet, for as he sat by his
open window with his head in his hand he seemed only half alive. Still
ivery time Dubthach braced up an’ called on him to pay the debt he came
back with a sharp answer.
[Illustration]
“’Tis four geese an’ a sheep ye owe me,” said Dubthach, as Keth came up.
“Ye’re a liar. ’Tis three geese an’ a pig,” said Fergus.
“The law is with me, I’ll starve the heart out of ye,” said Dubthach.
“Yer rhymes were no good, they stuck in me throat,” said Fergus. “But
I’ll pay ye the three geese an’ the pig—or see yer bones litterin’ me
doorstep.”
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?”
[Illustration]
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?”
[Illustration]
“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”—
[Illustration]
“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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Far down Glanngalt Keth sees the torches flaming about
the Grotto of Wurra-Wurra_]
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
“’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.
[Illustration]
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:
[Illustration]
“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.”
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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!
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.”
[Illustration]
[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?”
[Illustration]
“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?”
[Illustration]
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.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
“’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.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
“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.
[Illustration]
“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]
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
[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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
’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._
ETHNE THE FAIR, AND FEDELM THE RUDDY (p. 9): In the “Tripartite Life
of St. Patrick” and in the “Book of Armagh,” these two daughters
of King Laeghaire are mentioned as being under the instruction
of the Druid priests, Caplait and Lucat-Moel, at the time when
Patrick overthrew Cromm Cruach and the twelve smaller idols and made
Christian converts of the entire royal family.—_Tr._
FINOLA OF THE WHITE SHOULDER (p. 16): A heroine of the “Book of Armagh.”
Evidently the Legend mistakes her for Cruimthiris, mentioned
in the “Tripartite Life” as one of the three embroideresses in
Patrick’s household.
(P. 79): The reference to the four sons of Finola of the White
Shoulder is clearly legendary.—_Tr._
FASTING TO COLLECT A DEBT (p. 42): “The plaintiff, having served due
notice, went to the house of the defendant, and, sitting before the
door, remained there without food; and as long as he remained, the
defendant was also obliged to fast.”—_Joyce._
GEIS (p. 62): “A geis was something forbidden. It was believed to be
very dangerous to disregard these prohibitions.”—_Joyce._
GLANNGALT (p. 48): “There is a valley in Kerry called Glanngalt, the
glen of the galts, or lunatics.”—_Joyce._
Here the Legend, by locating Glanngalt in Roscommon, is
palpably in error.—_Tr._
HANDSTONE (p. 20): “It was the custom at that time, every champion
they killed in single combat, to take the brains out of their heads
and mix lime with them till they were formed into hard balls.”—_Book
of Leinster._
INNS (p. 26): The hospitable custom of maintaining inns for the free
entertainment of travellers is mentioned by nearly all authorities
regarding the social life of the ancient Irish. A most interesting
account is contained in “Joyce’s Social History.”—_Tr._
LAEGHAIRE (p. 9): Modern form, Leary; he was the Irish Over-King when
Patrick landed at Wicklow and began his missionary labors in Ireland,
A.D. 432. All the characters in the Legend are historic, and the
names are spelled as originally derived from the Gaelic.—_Tr._
MAC MARAGH, KETH (p. 14): Evidently confused with Keth Magach, a
famous warrior and champion of that time, whose exploits are narrated
in the “Book of Armagh.”—_Tr._
MACC CAIRTHINN (p. 20): In the “Tripartite Life” Macc Cairthinn is
named as Patrick’s Strong Man. Evidently the Legend confuses him with
Keth Magach.
(P. 21): According to the “Tripartite Life,” it was Patrick’s
Strong Man, Macc Cairthinn, who became a bishop, not Keth
Magach.—_Tr._
METHEGLIN (p. 47): Also called mead, “was made chiefly from honey: it
was a drink in much request, and was considered a delicacy.... It was
slightly intoxicating.”—_Joyce._
POPULATION (p. 25): “For the people were very numerous in Ireland at
that time, and so great were their numbers that the land could afford
but thrice nine ridges to each man in Erin: viz., nine of bog, nine
of field and nine of wood.”—_Book of Hymns (Todd)._
PRESBITER BESCNA (p. 13): Named, with all the members of Patrick’s
household, in the “Tripartite Life.”—_Tr._
RED BRANCH KNIGHTS (p. 20): According to Joyce and other authorities,
this was an order created by Concobar Mac Nessa, a very ancient king
of Ulster, and whose greatest commander was Cuculainn, the mightiest
hero of Irish romance.—_Tr._
SHANACHY (p. 26): “The people ... took delight in listening to
poetry, history and romantic stories, recited by professional poets
and shanachies.”—_Joyce._
STANDARDS OF VALUE (p. 44): As in many other countries in ancient
times, a cow, or an ox, was the standard of value. It seems probable,
therefore, that the Legend is correct in using sheep, pigs and geese
for the “fractional currency” of the period.—_Tr._
STRONG MAN (p. 14): These Strong Men, or champions, like the smiths
and other metal-workers, appear frequently in the old annals as
distinguished also for their knowledge of law and history, and for
their story-telling ability.—_Tr._
TARA (p. 10): Seat of the Irish Over-Kings. Old Erin’s centre of
government, of learning and of chivalry. Then, as now, the most
eloquent of all words descriptive of Ireland’s ancient glory. In
poetry, imperishable in the line: “The harp that once thro’ Tara’s
halls.” The scene of St. Patrick’s first efforts to redeem Ireland
from paganism.—_Tr._
TOBERNAGALT (p. 48): “Drinking of the water of Tobernagalt (the
lunatics’ well), and eating of the cresses that grew along the little
stream, the poor wanderers get restored to sanity.... There is a well
called Stroove Bran, which was thought to possess the same virtue as
Tobernagalt.”—_Joyce._
WURRA-WURRA (p. 18): The authorities do not specifically mention the
existence of an idol having that name; but they agree that idols were
worshipped in all parts of ancient Ireland.—_Tr._
The Irish up to that time (St. Patrick’s) “had worshipped only idols
and abominations.”—_St. Patrick’s Confession._
“The destruction of idols in various parts of the country was an
important part of St. Patrick’s lifework.”—_Joyce._
(P. 80): Some Gaelic scholars hold that the familiar exclamation,
“Wurra-wurra!” is the nearest approach in that tongue to the
conventional invocation of the Blessed Virgin. The Legend, however,
makes it, in that sense, an adaptation—evidently intending a tribute
to St. Patrick’s well-known policy of harmonizing his teachings, as
far as possible at the start, with ancient customs and beliefs.—_Tr._
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