The Story of Deirdre

There was once a man in Ireland called Malcolm Harper, a thoroughly good man with a fair share of this world’s goods. He had a wife but no children. When Malcolm heard that a soothsayer had come home to the district, he wished the soothsayer would visit them, and whether he was invited or came of his own accord, the soothsayer came to Malcolm’s house.

“Do you do any soothsaying?” asked Malcolm.

“A little. Do you want some?”

“I wouldn’t mind, if you have any for me. I would like you to tell me my fortune, what is going to happen to me, if you can.”

“I’ll go outside, and when I come back I’ll tell you.” He was not gone long. “In my second sight,” he said, “I saw that because of a daughter of yours, more blood will be shed than has ever been shed in Ireland since time and the human race began. And the three most famous heroes who ever lived will lose their heads because of her.”

Some time later a daughter was born to Malcolm, and he let no living soul into the house except himself and the nurse. He asked the nurse whether she would bring up the child in hiding, far away, where no eye would see her and no ear hear a word about her, and the woman said she would. So Malcolm took three men, without anyone knowing, to a great mountain far out of reach, and had them dig out the middle of a round green hillock and cover the hollow carefully so that a small household could live inside. There Deirdre and her foster-mother lived in their hut among the hills, without anyone knowing or suspecting, and nothing happened until Deirdre was sixteen.

Deirdre grew up as straight and slender as a white sapling, as trim as a rush on the moor. She was the fairest, loveliest and gentlest creature between earth and heaven in all Ireland, and whatever her colour, she blushed fiery red whenever anyone looked into her face. Her foster-mother taught her everything she knew herself. There was not a blade of grass, a bird singing in the wood or a star shining in the sky that Deirdre could not name. But there was one thing the woman did not want: that Deirdre should have anything to do with any living man of the world outside.

But one gloomy winter night, under black, scowling clouds, a hunter was trudging wearily over the hills. He had lost the trail of the hunt and his companions, and faint with hunger and numb with cold, he lay down beside the green knoll where Deirdre lived and fell into a deep sleep. He had a troubled dream in which he felt the warmth of a fairy dwelling with the fairies inside making music, and in his dream he shouted that if anyone was inside, they should let him in, for the sake of the Holy One.

Deirdre heard him. “Foster-mother, what was that cry?”

“Nothing at all, Deirdre, only the birds of the air lost and calling to each other. Let them go by to the woods. There is no shelter for them here.”

“Oh, foster-mother, the bird asked to come in for the sake of the God of the Elements, and you yourself taught me that whatever is asked in His name we ought to do. If you won’t let in a bird that is numb with cold and dying of hunger, I don’t think much of your words or your faith. But since I believe the words and the faith you taught me, I will let the bird in myself.”

She drew back the bolt and let the hunter in. She set a seat for him to sit on, food for him to eat and drink for him to drink.

“For your life’s sake, man, keep a hold on your tongue!” said the old woman. “It isn’t much to ask, to keep your mouth shut when you’ve been given a home and a fireside on a gloomy winter night.”

“Well,” said the hunter, “I may do that, since I came to your house and you took me in. But I swear by your father’s hand and your grandfather’s, and by your own two hands, if certain other people of the world saw this lovely creature you have hidden away here, they would not leave her with you for long.”

“Who are these men you mean?” asked Deirdre.

“I’ll tell you, young woman. They are Naois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden, his two brothers. Their hair is black as the raven, their skin as white as a swan on the wave, their cheeks as red as the blood of the brindled red calf, and their speed and leaping are those of the salmon of the torrent and the deer of the grey mountainside. And Naois stands head and shoulders above all the people of Ireland.”

“However they look,” said the nurse, “be off with you and go another way. And by the King of Light and Sun, little thanks I have for you or for her who let you in!”

The hunter went straight to the palace of King Connachar and sent word that he wished to speak to him. The king came out. “What brings you?”

“Only this, O king: I have seen the fairest creature ever born in Ireland, and I came to tell you.”

“Who is this beauty, and where can she be seen, when nobody saw her until you did, if you did?”

“I did see her. But nobody else can see her unless I show him where she lives.”

“Will you show me? Your reward for that will be as good as your reward for the news.”

“I will show you, O king, though it is likely they will not want it.”

Connachar, King of Ulster, sent for his nearest kinsmen and told them what he meant to do. Early as the birds began singing in the rocky caves and the woods, Connachar rose earlier still, with a little band of his dearest friends, in the soft twilight of fresh May, with the dew heavy on every bush and flower, and they set out to bring Deirdre from the green knoll. Many a young man who set off with a light, springing step was stumbling and faltering by the time they reached the hut, the way was so long and so rough.

“Down there at the bottom of the glen is the hut where the woman lives,” said the hunter, “but I won’t go any nearer the old woman than this.”

Connachar and his kinsmen went down to the green knoll and knocked at the door. “Nothing less than a king’s command and a king’s army would get me out of my hut tonight,” called the nurse, “and I’d be glad to know who wants me to open my door.”

“It is I, Connachar, King of Ulster.”

When the poor woman heard who it was, she jumped up and let in the king and as many of his followers as could fit. When the king saw the girl he had come for, he thought he had never seen, by day or in a dream of the night, anyone so fair, and he gave her his whole heart’s love. Deirdre was raised up on the shoulders of the heroes, and she and her foster-mother were taken to King Connachar’s court.

Connachar loved her so much that he wanted to marry her there and then, whether she would or not. But she said, “I would be grateful if you would give me the delay of a year and a day.”

“I’ll grant it, hard as it is, if you give me your solemn promise to marry me at the end of it.” And she promised.

Connachar found her a woman teacher and merry, modest, pretty girls to keep her company night and day, to play and talk with her. Deirdre was skilled in everything a young woman should know, and Connachar thought he had never seen anyone who pleased him more.

One day Deirdre and her companions were out on the hillock behind the house, enjoying the view and the warmth of the sun, when they saw three men travelling towards them. As they came near, Deirdre remembered the hunter’s words and told herself that these were the three sons of Uisnech, and that the one who stood head and shoulders above the rest was Naois. The three brothers walked past without a glance at the girls on the hillock. But love for Naois struck Deirdre’s heart so that she could not help following him. She gathered up her skirts and ran after the men, leaving her companions behind.

Allen and Arden had heard about the woman Connachar was keeping, and they thought that if their brother saw her, he would want her for himself, especially since she was not yet married to the king. When they saw her coming, they urged each other to walk faster, saying they had a long way to go and night was coming on.

“Naois, son of Uisnech, will you leave me?” she cried.

“What is that piercing cry,” said Naois, “the sweetest my ear ever heard, and the sharpest that ever struck my heart?”

“It is only the wail of Connachar’s swans on the water,” said his brothers.

“No, that is a woman in distress,” said Naois, and he swore he would go no farther until he saw who was crying, and he turned back.

Naois and Deirdre met, and Deirdre kissed Naois three times and each of his brothers once. In her confusion she blazed crimson, and her colour came and went as quickly as the aspen leaves flutter by a stream. Naois thought he had never seen anything so lovely, and he gave Deirdre a love he never gave to any other thing or creature. He lifted her high onto his shoulder and told his brothers to keep up the pace, and they did.

Naois knew it would not be safe to stay in Ireland, now that Connachar, King of Ulster, his uncle’s son, had turned against him over the woman, though he had not married her. So he went to Alba, which is Scotland, and made his home by the side of Loch Ness, where he could kill the salmon of the torrent from his own door and the deer of the grey glen from his window. Naois, Deirdre, Allen and Arden lived in a tower there, and they were happy for as long as they stayed.

By now the time had come when Deirdre was to have married Connachar, and he made up his mind to take her by the sword, whether she was married to Naois or not. So he prepared a great and merry feast and sent word all over Ireland for his kinsfolk to come. He thought Naois would not come even if he were invited, so he hit on a plan. He sent for his father’s brother, Ferchar Mac Ro, and gave him a message for Naois.

“Tell Naois, son of Uisnech, that I am giving a great and merry feast for my friends and kinsfolk all over Ireland, and that I shall have no rest by day or sleep by night unless he and Allen and Arden come to it.”

Ferchar Mac Ro and his three sons travelled to the tower where Naois lived by Loch Etive, and the sons of Uisnech gave them a warm welcome and asked for the news of Ireland.

“The best news I have,” said the hardy hero, “is that Connachar, King of Ulster, is giving a great feast for his friends and kinsfolk throughout Ireland, and he has sworn by the earth beneath him, by the high heaven above him and by the sun that travels west, that he will have no rest by day or sleep by night unless the sons of Uisnech, the sons of his own father’s brother, come home to the land of their birth and to the feast as well. He has sent us to invite you.”

“We will go with you,” said Naois, and his brothers agreed.

But Deirdre did not want to go, and she tried every way to change Naois’s mind. She told him a dream she had had and asked him to explain it. In her dream three white doves came flying over the sea from the south with drops of honey in their mouths, and then three grey hawks came flying from the south carrying red, red drops that were dearer to her than life.

“It is only the fear of a woman’s heart, Deirdre, and a dream of the night,” said Naois. “If we refuse Connachar’s invitation, it will be an unlucky day for us.”

“You will go,” said Ferchar Mac Ro, “and if Connachar is kind to you, be kind to him, and if he is angry with you, be angry with him, and I and my three sons will be with you.”

“We will,” said Daring Drop. “We will,” said Hardy Holly. “We will,” said Fiallan the Fair.

Ferchar Mac Ro swore before his weapons that if any harm or danger came to the sons of Uisnech, he and his three sons would not leave a head on a living body in Ireland, whatever swords or helmets, spears or shields stood against them.

Deirdre did not want to leave Alba, but she went with Naois, weeping showers of tears and singing that the land across the sea was dear to her, Alba of the woods and lakes, and that it was bitter to her heart to leave it, but she was going away with Naois. Ferchar Mac Ro did not rest until he had the sons of Uisnech away with him, in spite of Deirdre’s fears. The boat was put to sea, the sail was hoisted, and on the second morning they came to the white shores of Ireland.

As soon as they landed, Ferchar Mac Ro sent word to Connachar that the men he wanted had come, and that he should now show them kindness.

“Well,” said Connachar, “I didn’t expect them to come, though I sent for them, and I’m not quite ready for them. But there is a house down there where I keep strangers. Let them go there today, and my house will be ready for them tomorrow.”

But up in the palace the king grew impatient for news of what was happening in the strangers’ house. He sent Gelban Grednach, son of the King of Lochlann. “Go down and find out whether Deirdre still has her old beauty. If she has, I will take her by the edge of the blade and the point of the sword, and if not, Naois, son of Uisnech, may keep her.”

Gelban, the cheerful and charming son of the King of Lochlann, went down to the strangers’ house and peeped in through the spy-hole in the door. Now Deirdre always blushed crimson when anyone looked at her, and when Naois saw her blush, he knew someone was looking at her from behind the door. He snatched up one of the dice from the table and flung it through the spy-hole, and it put out Gelban’s eye.

Gelban went back to the palace. “You went off cheerful and charming, but you come back cheerless and charmless,” said Connachar. “What happened to you, Gelban? Did you see her, and is her beauty as it was?”

“I saw Deirdre, and truly, and while I was looking at her through the hole in the door, Naois, son of Uisnech, put out my eye with a die. But in truth, even though he blinded one eye, I would have stayed looking at her with the other if you had not told me to hurry.”

“Then let three hundred bold warriors go down to the strangers’ house,” said Connachar, “and bring Deirdre up to me, and kill the rest.”

“The pursuit is coming,” said Deirdre.

“Yes, but I will go out and stop it myself,” said Naois.

“Not you, but we will go,” said Daring Drop and Hardy Holly and Fiallan the Fair. “Our father trusted us to keep you from harm when he went home.”

Out went the gallant young men, noble and manly and handsome, with lovely brown hair, armed for fierce fighting and dressed in gleaming battle gear painted with lions and tigers, eagles, hawks and adders, and they struck down three-thirds of the troop.

Connachar came out in a fury. “Who is that on the battlefield killing my men?”

“We, the three sons of Ferchar Mac Ro.”

“I will give your grandfather, your father and each of you three brothers a free bridge, if you come over to my side tonight.”

“We will not take that offer from you, Connachar, nor thank you for it. We would far rather go home to our father and tell him the brave deeds we have done than take anything from you on those terms. Naois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden are as closely related to you as to us, yet you are eager to shed their blood, and ours too.”

The noble young men went inside. “Now,” they said, “we are going home to tell our father that you are safe from the king.” And off they went, fresh and tall and handsome, to tell their father the sons of Uisnech were safe.

This was at the parting of night and day, in the morning twilight, and Naois said they must leave that house and go back to Alba. So Naois and Deirdre, Allen and Arden set off. When word came to the king that they were gone, he sent for Duanan Gacha Druid, the best magician he had.

“I have wasted a fortune on you, Duanan Gacha Druid, on your schooling and learning and magic arts, if these people escape me today without care or regard for me, and without my having any means to overtake or stop them.”

“I will stop them,” said the magician, “until the men you send after them catch up.” He put a wood in front of them that no man could pass through, but the sons of Uisnech marched straight through it without stopping, with Deirdre holding Naois’s hand.

“What good is that?” said Connachar. “They are getting away without a pause in their step and without any regard for me.”

“I’ll try another plan,” said the druid, and he put a grey sea in front of them instead of a green plain. The three heroes stripped and tied their clothes behind their heads, Naois lifted Deirdre onto his shoulder, and they swam out into the waves as if the rough grey ocean were a green meadow.

“That is good, Duanan, but it won’t make the heroes turn back,” said Connachar.

“Then we will try something else,” said the druid, and he froze the grey, ridged sea into hard, rocky lumps, sharp as swords on one edge and poisonous as adders on the other.

Then Arden cried out that he was tiring and nearly giving up. “Come, Arden, sit on my right shoulder,” said Naois. Arden did, and he had not been there long when he died, but even so Naois would not let him go. Then Allen cried that he was fainting and nearly done, and Naois gave a deep sigh and told him to hold on to him and he would bring him to land. But before long the weakness of death came over Allen, and his grip failed. Naois looked round, and when he saw both his beloved brothers dead, he no longer cared whether he lived or died. He gave the bitter sigh of death, and his heart broke.

“They are gone,” said the druid to the king. “I have done what you wanted. The sons of Uisnech are dead and will trouble you no more, and you have your wife safe and sound.”

“Blessings on you for that, Duanan. I don’t count the cost of your schooling a loss. Now dry up the flood, and let me see if I can see Deirdre.”

The druid dried the flood from the plain, and there lay the three sons of Uisnech, dead side by side on the green meadow, with Deirdre bending over them weeping. Then Deirdre made her lament. She called Naois her fair one, her loved one, flower of beauty, upright and strong, a noble and modest warrior, blue-eyed and beloved of his wife, whose clear voice had come to her through the woods of Ireland. She said she could not eat or smile from then on, and begged her heart not to break that day, since she would lie in her grave soon enough. Strong are the waves of sorrow, she said, but sorrow itself is stronger, Connachar.

The people gathered round and asked Connachar what should be done with the bodies, and he ordered a pit to be dug and the three brothers laid in it side by side. Deirdre sat on the edge of the grave, telling the gravediggers over and over to dig it wide and roomy. When the brothers were laid in it, she called to Naois to make room, and asked them to lay Arden close beside Allen, saying that if the dead had any feeling, they would have made a place for Deirdre. The men did as she asked. She jumped into the grave, lay down beside Naois and died at his side.

The king ordered her body to be taken out of the grave and buried on the far side of the loch, and so it was done and the pit closed. Then a young fir tree grew out of Deirdre’s grave and another out of Naois’s, and the two shoots grew together in a knot above the loch. The king ordered them cut down. Twice that was done, and the third time the woman the king had married made him stop his cruel work and his revenge on the dead.

Where this tale comes from

Joseph Jacobs took “The Story of Deirdre” for Celtic Fairy Tales from the Celtic Magazine; the original Gaelic, he says, was printed by Mr. Carmichael in the Transactions of the Inverness Gaelic Society for 1887. Jacobs shortened it, made all three sons of Ferchar faithful (in the original two of them are traitors), and added Deirdre’s lament from the twelfth-century Book of Leinster. Here her dream, her farewell song to Scotland and her lament are told in prose.

Jacobs calls this one of the three most sorrowful tales of Ireland, with “The Children of Lir” and “The Children of Tureen.” He notes how long it lasted in memory: there are five or six versions ranging from the twelfth century to the nineteenth, including a version in the twelfth-century Book of Leinster. Jacobs gives a date of about 1140 for the manuscript; the holding library at Trinity College Dublin identifies it more broadly as twelfth-century. A surviving manuscript date does not establish when the tale first arose. The trees growing together from the lovers’ graves, he adds, also appear in the English ballad of “Lord Lovel.”

This tragedy retains the blinding, battlefield deaths, the brothers’ deaths during the magical pursuit and Deirdre’s death beside Naois. Jacobs’s Scottish setting names Loch Ness first and Loch Etive later; this retelling preserves that shift rather than claiming a single documented route.

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #7885, The Story of Deirdre)

For older readers: includes a girl confined from childhood, forced-marriage pressure, blinding, many deaths and a lover dying in a grave.

Prophecy does not make the choices

The opening predicts bloodshed “because of” a daughter who has not yet been born. The later action shows people making decisions: the hunter reveals her hiding place, Connachar demands marriage, and the druid turns a landscape into a weapon. Reading these choices closely prevents the prophecy from shifting blame onto Deirdre’s existence or beauty.

Deirdre’s warning about the return to Ireland is dismissed as a woman’s fear. The dream gives it symbolic form, but the king’s earlier coercion already supplies a practical reason for distrust. Ferchar’s sons defend the guests, yet leave before they are safely away; the gap between a promise of protection and lasting safety becomes fatal.

Trace the promises of safety

List the hunter’s response to the request for secrecy, the king’s invitation and Ferchar’s pledge. For each, record what Deirdre knows, who decides and what follows. The intertwined trees finally oppose the king’s attempt to separate the lovers, but the deaths should not be treated as proof that love requires dying or that grief has only one possible ending.

Questions to ask

• Why did Malcolm Harper hide his daughter away from the world?
• Why did Deirdre not want to go back to Ireland, and why did Naois go anyway?
• How did the sons of Ferchar Mac Ro keep their father’s promise?

Related stories

• The Children of Lir — another of the three sorrowful tales of Ireland
• The Shepherd of Myddvai — another Celtic tale with a sad ending from Jacobs
• The Wooing of Olwen — another old Celtic love story from Celtic Fairy Tales