Irish Fairy Tales by James Stephens Read Free Book Online Page A

ability.
    â€œWhy do you live on the bank of a river?” was one of these questions.
    â€œBecause a poem is a revelation, and it is by the brink of running water that poetry is revealed to the mind.”
    â€œHow long have you been here?” was the next query.
    â€œSeven years,” the poet answered.
    â€œIt is a long time,” said wondering Fionn.
    â€œI would wait twice as long for a poem,” said the inveterate bard.
    â€œHave you caught good poems?” Fionn asked him.
    â€œThe poems I am fit for,” said the mild master. “No person can get more than that, for a man’s readiness is his limit.”
    â€œWould you have got as good poems by the Shannon or the Suir or by sweet Ana Lifé?”
    â€œThey are good rivers,” was the answer. “They all belong to good gods.”
    â€œBut why did you choose this river out of all the rivers?”
    Finegas beamed on his pupil.
    â€œI would tell you anything,” said he, “and I will tell you that.”
    Fionn sat at the kindly man’s feet, his hands absent among tall grasses, and listening with all his ears.
    â€œA prophecy was made to me,” Finegas began. “A man of knowledge foretold that I should catch the Salmon of Knowledge in the Boyne Water.”
    â€œAnd then?” said Fionn eagerly.
    â€œThen I would have All Knowledge.”
    â€œAnd after that?” the boy insisted.
    â€œWhat should there be after that?” the poet retorted.
    â€œI mean, what would you do with All Knowledge?”
    â€œA weighty question,” said Finegas smilingly. “I could answer it if I had All Knowledge, but not until then. What would you do, my dear?”
    â€œI would make a poem,” Fionn cried.
    â€œI think too,” said the poet, “that that is what would be done.”
    In return for instruction Fionn had taken over the service of his master’s hut, and as he went about the household duties, drawing the water, lighting the fire, and carrying rushes for the floor and the beds, he thought over all the poet had taught him, and his mind dwelt on the rules of metre, the cunningness of words, and the need for a clean, brave mind. But in his thousand thoughts he yet remembered the Salmon of Knowledge as eagerly as his master did. He already venerated Finegas for his great learning, his poetic skill, for an hundred reasons; but, looking on him as the ordained eater of the Salmon of Knowledge, he venerated him to the edge of measure. Indeed, he loved as well as venerated this master because of his unfailing kindness, his patience, his readiness to teach, and his skill in teaching.
    â€œI have learned much from you, dear master,” said Fionn gratefully.
    â€œAll that I have is yours if you can take it,” the poet answered, “for you are entitled to all that you can take, but to no more than that. Take, so, with both hands.”
    â€œYou may catch the salmon while I am with you,” the hopeful boy mused. “Would not that be a great happening!” and he stared in ecstasy across the grass at those visions which a boy’s mind knows.
    â€œLet us pray for that,” said Finegas fervently.
    â€œHere is a question,” Fionn continued. “How does this salmon get wisdom into his flesh?”
    â€œThere is a hazel bush overhanging a secret pool in a secret place. The Nuts of Knowledge drop from the Sacred Bush into the pool, and as they float, a salmon takes them in his mouth and eats them.”
    â€œIt would be almost as easy,” the boy submitted, “if one were to set on the track of the Sacred Hazel and eat the nuts straight from the bush.”
    â€œThat would not be very easy,” said the poet, “and yet it is not as easy as that, for the bush can only be found by its own knowledge, and that knowledge can only be got by eating the nuts, and the nuts can only be got by eating the salmon.”
    â€œWe must wait for