“I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone.“

J.R.R. Tolkien

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Cover art by Marcellyne on Deviant Art

Mis had been seven score years, or according to others, three hundred years, as a madwoman on Sliabh Mis in the territory of Clann Muiris, beside Tralee in County Kerry, from the day her father Dáire Mór was killed, who had come to make conquest of Ireland at the Battle of Ventry. For he had brought her with him as she was his only daughter, and after the battle was fought she came with a great crowd following her father’s body through the slaughter; and having found the body with many wounds upon it, she began to suck and drink the blood from the wounds, until at last a wandering frenzy of madness came over her and she fled to Sliabh Mis, where she remained for the aforementioned period, until feathers and hair grew so long upon her that they trailed along the ground behind her. Her fingernails and toenails also grew so extraordinarily long that she would tear apart without hesitation any person or animal that came near her.

The frenzy of her madness put such a swift motion into her that she ran like the wind, so that she could outrun anything she wished, and there was no person or animal she killed that she did not eat and drink as much of their blood and flesh as she desired, so that she made a wilderness of scarcity of people and cattle through fear of her in the region known as the territory of Clann Muiris, for King Feidhlim had put out a general proclamation against killing her in any way. Nevertheless he offered and promised great rewards along with the high rents of that same territory to whoever would find or bring her in alive.

Many set out toward her one after another, but most of them were lost in the encounter with her. However, Dubh Ruis the harper said at last to Feidhlim the king that he himself would go to her with his harp, the king mocked him for it, but Dubh Ruis asked him to give him a handful of gold and a handful of silver which he would need for the venture, and he would go to her. The king gave him the gold and silver, and he made no delay until he reached Sliabh Mis. And having gone beneath the mountain, he sat in the place where he thought he might find her, spread his cloak beneath him, and scattered the gold and silver around the edges of the cloak. He lay down on his back. He placed the harp on his body. He opened his trousers, and bared himself, for he understood that if he could lie with her and sleep with her it would be a good means of bringing her to her senses and to her natural reason.

It was not long before she came to the spot upon hearing the music, and she stood with great wildness listening to it and watching him. “Are you a person?” she said. “I am,” said he. “What is this?” she said, putting her hand on the harp. “A harp,” said he. “Ho, hó!” said she, “I remember the harp. My father had one like it. Play it for me.” “I will,” said he, “but do me no harm or injury.” “I will not,” said she. She then looked at the gold and silver and said “What are these?” “Gold and silver,” said he. “I remember,” said she, “my father had gold. Och ón!”

In a glance she cast, she saw his nakedness and his playful parts and said “What are these?” to his purse or his birds of cause. And he told her. “What is this?” she said, of the other thing she saw. “That is a rod of play,” said he. “I do not remember that,” said she. “My father had nothing like it.” “A rod of play,” she said again; “what is the play?” “Sit beside me,” said he, “and I will show you the trick of that rod.” “I will,” said she, “and stay with me.” “I will stay,” said he, and he lay with her and slept with her, so that she said “Ha, bá, bá, that is a good trick, do it again.” “I will,” said he, “but first I will play the harp for you.” “Never mind the harp,” said she, “but do the trick.” “I wish to have food or sustenance,” said he, “for I am hungry.” “I would get a deer for you,” said she. “Do so,” said he, “and I have bread myself.” “Where is it?” said she. “Here it is,” said he. “Ha, há, I remember bread; my father had it,” said she. “Do not go from me,” said she. “I will not go,” said he.

She was not long from him when she came back with a deer she had caught under her arm, to tell you truly, with the swiftness of her madness she ran like the wind — and she meant to tear the deer apart to eat it as it was, but Dubh Ruis said to her “Gently,” said he, “let me dress the deer and cook the flesh.” With that he cut the deer’s throat and skinned it. Then he made a great fire of the dry timber of the wood, and gathered a pile of stones together, and put them in the fire. He made a pit as wide and as deep as the trunk of a tree in the ground and filled it with water. He cut up the flesh and wrapped it in bundles of sedge, with twisted ropes of straw tightly bound around it, and put it in the pit, continually adding the very hot long-heated stones into the water so that it kept boiling constantly until the flesh was cooked. He lifted it from the pit, and put the deer’s fat into the hot water until it melted on the water. He spread his bread and meat on the deer’s skin and told her to come and take her meal, for she had been watching and observing him throughout all that time with great calm and thoughtfulness. “I remember,” said she, “that meat used to be cooked for my father, and I know now that it is better this way, and not as I used to have it.” With that Dubh Ruis broke the bread and cut the meat for her, until he caused her to take her fill of food with ease and great contentment, so that she told him she would do everything he said if he would stay with her. And he promised her he would stay. Then he brought her clean water in his cloak or helmet and she drank her fill of it.

He then brought her to the pit where the thin broth was lukewarm and the deer’s fat melted on it, and stood her in it, and took the deer’s hide and rubbed and thoroughly kneaded the joints of her body and her bones entirely, and began scraping, scratching and smoothly stroking her with the deer’s fat and the broth until he had cleansed her greatly, and streams of sweat came from her in this way. He gathered tree leaves, moss and green rushes and made a bed for her. He spread the deer’s skin beneath her and his cloak over her. He lay beside her, slept with her, and they slept thus until morning. However, he could not wake her in the morning, so he rose himself and wrapped her up, made a hut or shelter of treetops and branches around her, and she did not wake until evening, and since she did not find him in her company, she began lamenting him while he listened to her without her knowing, and among everything else she said:

“It is not the gold I lament, nor the sweet harp, nor the birds of cause,
but the rod of play that Dubh Ruis mac Rághnaill had.”

He was with her thus on the mountain for two months, and at the end of that time the feathers fell completely from her, from the continual scraping and cleansing as we have said, and also her sense and memory, her mind and natural reason returned to her, and Dubh Ruis put proper clothing on her before he brought her home. And it is further written that she was in her form and appearance, and also at the same age she had been the day she went mad on the mountain. Dubh Ruis married her, and she bore him four children, and she was among the most beautiful and accomplished women of Munster in her time. But finally, when Dubh Ruis went at a certain time to collect the aforementioned high rent, the warband of Clann Muiris seized him by the throat and he died as we have said, and she composed the following laments over his body: “Dubh Ruis of the noble countenance…” etc.

Footnote

*This is an interpretation based on the following two texts coupled with other versions. Her bearing and growing feathers may represent her liminality of walking between worlds. The representation of the transformative power of both grief and love are incredibly immense.*

References

1. Meyer, Kuno. The Cath Finntrága.
2. http://corpas.ria.ie/index.php?fsg_function=4&fsg_id=492

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