[III]
THE BATTLE AT THE FORD
It is interesting to think, is it not, that if it had not been for those two little Celtic doors of gold over one of which was written Cymric, or Welsh, and over the other, Gaelic, or Irish, our Great Palace of English Literature could not have been the same palace, nor half so beautiful. It is not only that there would not have been so many wonderful golden doors leading into story-land, but the stories themselves would not have been told in the same way. The Scotch, too, who belong to the Celtic family, are almost as great story-tellers as the Welsh and Irish.
When the Roman Tacitus wrote about the Welsh and Irish he said, "Their language differs little." And even their buildings, Cæsar said, were "almost similar." What was true of their speech and their buildings was more true of the gifts they have left in the Great Palace. They have the same delightful way of telling a story; what they have to say naturally falls into conversations, and they are quick as a wink in the wit and fun and beauty and sadness of what they do say.
This little golden door and the wonderful room beyond it were, perhaps, longer in being built than the Welsh. These stories and poems of the Irish were composed at the time of Cæsar and the Christian era. The epic cycle of Conchubar and Cuchulain is the first group of tales in Irish literature. They are made up of prose with occasional verses here and there. The Irish are very clever at invention, and these stories are among the most wonderful ever written or sung. Among the best of these stories is one we shall open a door to listen to—the story of Ferdiad and Cuchulain in "The Battle at the Ford."
The dialogue in "The Battle at the Ford" shows us plainly how great the Irish dramatic gift has always been. They were born makers of plays. Just see how the Irish genius makes Ferdiad and Cuchulain talk, and how lifelike they are! The story is there, not much changed from what it was two thousand years ago, and shows all the Irish sense of form. By sense of form is meant simply the story's way of expressing itself. You see, a story or poem is like a human being. It has not only thoughts, but also a body to hold these thoughts. It is because of these two golden doors, over which are written the words, Welsh, Irish, that English Literature is likely to produce most of the great plays which will be acted, and most of the great novels.
Every Christian and Jewish boy and girl knows the Bible story of David and Jonathan—that Jonathan who loved David as his soul, and David who loved Jonathan more than a brother can love. This friendship of a king's son with the son of a shepherd was very beautiful and tender and pure. "The Battle at the Ford" is not so gentle a story, but it is, nevertheless, and despite the treachery of the Queen and the sad end of Ferdiad, the David and Jonathan story of Irish Literature.
The men of Ireland settled it that Ferdiad and Cuchulain should fight the next day. But when they sent messengers to fetch Ferdiad he would not come, for he learned that they wanted him to fight against his friend Cuchulain.
Then Maeve, the Queen, sent the Druids after him, who by their hurtful poems about Ferdiad should raise three blisters on his face—the blisters of Shame, Blemish, and Reproach.