Legend Post -- Persephone and the Pomegranate

 At the moment there is no schedule for Legend Day, but I got to thinking this morning about legends related to the Autumn seas, and of course the first one that came to mind was that of Hades and Persephone. Or Demeter and Persephone. However you want to angle it.

After doing some google research, it's clear there are several different versions of the legend. The story as a whole is fairly similar -- Hades kidnaps Persephone, Demeter pursues, and eventually the compromise consists of Persephone spending part of the year with Hades and part of the year with Demter, resulting in the yearly cycle of seasons. But the varying little nuances change the tone of the tale from one version to another.

For example, in some versions Persephone is a little girl, while in others she's a beautiful young woman. In some versions Hades is cold and selfish, while in others he's fallen in love with Persephone. Still further, it's Zeus who helps Hades lure Persephone into Hades' trap, and sometimes Persephone finds out she loves Hades in return, or alternately the six months she is forced to spend in the Underworld are pure misery for her. In one telling Persephone was the Goddess of the Underworld and there was no mention of Hades at all. (Obviously all this makes my writerly self quite intrigued, being the type to like to rewrite legends and fairytales.) All these differences ranged from ancient to more modern, the tale having been told and retold countless times. It is, I read, the oldest Greek myth, as well as one of the most popular.

One of the things that nagged me when I was looking over all the sites that talked about this story is the pomegranate. [i]Why[/i] a pomegranate? This was very poorly explained by most of the sources I found. Not that I claim to be any sort of researcher extraordinary... 

The tale goes that while Persephone is the captive of Hades, she refuses to eat or drink anything, out of defiance towards Hades as well as out of grief for missing her mother, Demeter, so much. Hades of course does his best to convince her otherwise, appearing each day --whether tenderly or harshly depends on the version -- to entice her with delectable morsels. He is a king, afterall. He has much wealth at his disposal. Eventually, right on the eve of being discovered and subsequently rescued, Persephone relents, and eats six seeds from a pomegranate. As a result she is bound to the Hades and the compromise of her spending a third of the month with Hades and two thirds with Demeter is instituted by Zeus.

So of course my reaction was, "wait, what?" How do we get from a light snack to inescapably tied to the Underworld? Obviously there's a bit of ancient culture I was missing. However, looking it up proved somewhat elusive.

At last, in some of the retellings, I found a few lines eluding to just the traditional symbolism I was looking for. Apparently, as decreed by the Fates, anyone who ate or drank in the Underworld was doomed to remain there eternally. Since Persephone only ate six (in some versions, three or four) seeds from the pomegranate, Zeus determined that she would only have to spend that amount of time in the Underworld, before being allowed to come back to the land of the living.

There was only one version of the legend in which Persephone ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately, and that was a more modern one. In all the others, whether Persephone had grown to love Hades or not, she was tricked into eating the little morsels that essentially sealed her marriage to the Ruler of the Underworld.

The most well known theme behind the story is one of the seasons. It's a story that, for the Greeks, explained the cycle of the seasons. When the leaves turn colors and slowly the earth falls asleep, Demeter is saying goodbye to her beloved daughter, and her sorrow turns the world to winter until Persephone, like the blooming flowers of Spring, is returned to her. Along with the cycle of seasons, it is speculated the legend also demonstrates other cycles. The cycle of a girl becoming a woman and leaving her mother to marry, of life and death, of love and loss, of innocence and wisdom.

It's an interesting legend to study, especially in light of all the wonderful retellings one could write using it. But that's the writer in me.

Go ahead. Google it. See what you find.

Dia duit,
~Penny

Legend Post -- Selkie's Tale

I miss posting these. This time, I'm just going to post the story, and let you tell me what you think of it.

Here is a brief introduction. A fisherman by the name of Neil one day came across a group of seals playing along the shoreline. He watched for a while, but then one of them noticed him, signaled the others, and they fled to the ocean just as the tide began to go out.

All made it but one. Unable to reach the waters before the last wave rolled down the beach, her sealskin slipped free and washed away with the curling foam, leaving her alone in the form of a human woman.

Whether out of pity, lonliness, or merely because her strange, seal-like beauty captivated him, Neil took the poor Selkie woman home. He fed her, gave her warmer clothes, a place to stay, and offered her marriage.

She accepted.

The wedding of Neil MacCodrum and the selkie woman was set for the time of the waxing moon and the flowing tide. All the folk of the clachan came, six whole sheep were roasted and the whiskey ran like water. Toasts overflowed from every cup for the new bride and groom, who sat at the head of the table: MacCodrum, beaming and awkward, unused to pleasure, tapped his spoon to the music of fiddle and pipe, but the woman sat quietly beside him at the bride-seat, and seemed to be listening to another music that had in it the sound of the sea.
After a while she bore him two children, a boy and a girl, who had the sandy hair of their father, but the great dark eyes of their mother, and there were little webs between their fingers and toes. Each day, when Neil was out in his boat, she and her children would wander along the machair to gather wild parsnips and berries, or fill their creels with carrageen from the rocks at low tide. She seemed settled enough in the croft on the shore, and in May-time when the air was scented with thyme and roseroot and the children ran towards her, their arms full of wild yellow irises, she was almost happy. But when the west wind brought rain, and strong squalls of wind that whistled through the cracks in the croft walls, she grew restless and moved about the house as if swaying to unseen tides, and when she sat at the spinning-wheel, she would hum a strange song as the fine thread streamed through her fingers. MacCodrum hated these times and would sit in the dark peat-corner glowering at her over his pipe, but unable to say a word.
Thirteen summers had passed since the selkie woman came to live with MacCodrum, and her children were almost grown. As she knelt on the warm earth one afternoon, digging up silverweed roots to roast for supper, the voice of her daughter Morag rang clear and excited through the salt-pure air and soon the girl was beside her holding something in her hands.
"O mother! Is this not the strangest thing I have found in the old barley-kist, softer than the mist to my touch?"
Her mother rose slowly to her feet, and in silence ran her hand along the speckled brown skin. It was smooth like silk. She held it to her breast with one hand, and put her other arm around her daughter, and walked back with her to the croft in silence, heedless of the girl’s puzzled stares. Once inside, she called her son Donald to her, and spoke gently to her children:
"I will soon be leaving you, mo chridhe, and you will not see me again in the shape I am in now. I go not because I do not love you, but because I must become myself again."
That night, as the moon sailed white as a pearl over the western sea, the selkie woman rose, leaving the warm bed and slumbering husband. She walked alone to the silent shore. Then she stepped lightly over the rocks and unrolled the speckled brown parcel she carried with her, and held it up before her. For one moment maybe she hesitated, her head turning back to the dark, sleeping croft on the machair; the next, she wrapped the shining skin about her and dropped into the singing water of the sea.
For a while a sleek brown head could be seen in the dip and crest of the moon-dappled waves, pointing ever towards the far horizon, and then, swiftly leaping and diving towards her, came six other seals. They formed a circle around her and then all were lost to view in the soft indigo of the night.
In the croft on the machair, Neil MacCodrum stirred, and felt for his wife, but his hand encountered a cold and empty hollow. He knew better than to look for her and he also knew she would never come to him again. But when the moon was young and the tide waxing, his children would not sleep at night, but ran down to the sands on silent webbed feet. There, by the rocks on the shoreline, they waited until she came - a speckled brown seal with great dark eyes. Laughing and calling her name, they splashed into the foaming water and swam with her until the break of day.

An interesting tale, don't you think? Now you tell me what it means to you. What is the moral? What is to be learned, if anything? And how do you think a sequel to this story would go? Even if you don't post answers in the comments, it's interesting to think about those kinds of questions.

Dia duit,
~Penny

Legend Post -- The Cooper and the Two Dragons

At long last, another Legend Post. Once again life has kept me away from my poor blog, which by now is certainly gathering dust and cobwebs in the corners. This makes me sad, and a little guilty, but between having guests over (again) and trying to finish two stories (FtGG and my other novel), I end up with very little time and energy for posting anything here worth reading.

I have also randomly created a tumblr account. After chatting with Ani, I'm considering transferring a more doable schedule to tumblr, so that when I don't post things here, I can still post something quick over there. I'll keep you all updated.

"The Cooper and the Two Dragons"
Drawing by Lynnae Direain, specifically for this post.

Now, to the point. The Cooper and the Two Dragons. This is a tale from Switzerland, and for any of you who don't know what a cooper is, it's a person who " makes wooden staved vessels, bound together with hoops and possessing flat ends or heads. Examples of a cooper's work include but are not limited to casks, barrels, buckets, tubs, butter churns, hogsheads, firkins, tierces, rundlets, puncheons, pipes, tuns, butts, pins and breakers." [~ Wikipedia]  For the sake of simplicity, we'll just say coopers are barrel makers. Much less of a mouthful.

The cooper who is the main character of our story today doesn't have a name. I like things to have names, whether people, animals, and even some objects. So give me a moment while I find a good Swiss name for him.

...

Stefan. I'll call him Stefan.

Now for his adventure.

In Switzerland lived a man, a cooper by trade, who one day climbed the soft slope of a nearby mountain to a forest of oaks and birches to find wood. It was autumn and the ground was covered with a thick carpet of dead leaves. The cooper deviated soon from the path, in search of some good low branches to cut and carry home on his mule.
At the falling night, he noted that he had been mislaid. He scanned the darkness in the hope to see the campfire of some hunter or the hut of a coalman. The branches lacerated his face while he advanced in the obscure forest, and sudden it seemed to him that the ground was falling under his steps. He released the leading-rein of his mule, tried to advance, lost foot and fell at the bottom from a ravine, bringing in his fall several roots and stones. At the bottom, the ground was covered with mud and the air impregnated of a strong odor of manure and burned foliage. Exhausted, the cooper shrivelled in a corner and fell asleep.

With the pale gleam of the dawn, he woke up, sored all over, and contemplated the thin band of sky which cut out between the walls of the ravine, so high and abrupt that he could not think of climbing them, and he sank in a deep despair. Then he heard the sigh of a drowsy animal, so near and so powerful that he felt his hair to straigt up on his head. This breath was hot like the breath of a furnace and passably sulfurous. It seemed to emanate on the side opposite of the ravine and the cooper leaned ahead and scanned the darkness. In a jump, he stand erected. Not far from him, their folded up rings and their massive forms cutting out vaguely in the dim light, their heavy half closed eyelids because the winter torpor, two enormous dragons were rested.
Our man fell to knees to beg the sky. At this time there, one of the dragons emerged from its torpor. The wings folded up like a fan, it came out of the cave in a great unfolding of scaly rings, carried by four short clawed legs. It agitated the tail in direction of the cooper and it was rolled up around him. The dragon looked a few moments at the prisoner with glaucous eyes, then released him and re-entered in its den, leaving poor man with his knees trembling of terror, but unharmed.

Knowing his rescue improbable and his escape impossible, the cooper spent the winter in the ravine, accompanied by the drowsy dragons. He nourished from mushrooms growing on the wet walls, heated by the breath of the dragons, and was refreshed by collecting the dew in his hands. As he was left in peace, he lost his fear and, one night when the snowflakes fell thick and where cold bit him, he slipped into the cave and settled himself well at the heat from the hollow of the rings. One of the dragons turned the head but, accepting the intrusion, it took again its position and left him quiet.
The cooper thus spent the night and all those which followed and, with the return of spring, when the melting made waters cascade in the ravine, the dragons saved his life. One morning, he woke up alone and frozen in the smoked den. He heard the sound of the beating of large wings. He went outside and saw one of the dragons spreading its membranous wings and, whipping the air from its tail, rising in the sky. The other dragon was also on the point of flying away in the bright light of the morning and it slowly unfolded its wings. The cooper seized it by the tail and he hung on with all his strength while the animal rose off the ground and into the sky.
Arriving at the edge of the ravine, the man released his grip and fell gently on the ground. He looked for a moment upon the rise of the dragons in the luminous sky. Then, he found the path from which he had deviated the preceding autumn and followed it until he reached his home. There, he told his adventure to his friends and relatives, who were amazed. They thought he was dead since his mule had returned alone, several months before. [Text taken from www.draconika.com]

While that is the end of the tale, I do not think it is the end of the story. I can easily imagine that the two dragons and the cooper, Stefan, remained fast friends. Maybe even protected the city from some disaster or attack at some point. Something fun for the imagination to play with, eh?

Dia duit,
~Penny

Saturday Legend Post -- The Scottish Thistle

Today the family and I visited a living history event called The Gathering, at a place called Macktown. Apart from being immensely enjoyable and fascinating, we also came across a pewter trader who sold all sorts of items, including various Scottish thistle themed necklaces, earrings, and pins. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. I didn't purchase anything right then, but I certainly plan to when we go to a Celtic Fest next week, where the same vendor will be setting up shop again.

Now to my point. Before we left, the pewter trader, noticing my interest in the thistles, handed me a slip of paper about the Legend of the Scottish Thistle. This is how it goes....

When Alexander III (1241-1285) was King of Scotland, King Haakon of Norway landed an army on the shores of that Kingdom and attempted to conquer it. According to tradition, during a sneak attack at night on the Scottish camp at Largs, a barefooted Norseman trod on a thistle and cried out in pain. The Scots were alerted, and the attack failed. King Haakon withdrew his army and the lowly thistle became the Scottish national symbol.

Whether or not things happened just as the legend says is obviously a point for debate, but since the thistle has become such a prominent Scottish symbol, something must have happened. That explanation is good enough for me. Besides, whether the facts are straight or not, it's the sentiment that's been preserved, and that's what really counts.

Dia duit,
~Penny

Legend Post #11 -- Halloween

The black cat, along with dogs, toads, and other small animals
were believed to be Familiars -- demons in animal form
sent by the devil to assist witches and wizards.

October's here, and with that month, comes the anticipation of the widely enjoyed holiday of Halloween. Costumes and candy -- what could be better?

Obviously, Halloween has a rather glaring dark side. Monsters, ghosts, black magic, and undead. While not the main focus, fear and evil are certainly a large part of the Halloween tradition today.

But why? Where did it all come from?

Not surprisingly, this holiday has evolved greatly over time, originating with the Celts.

Around 2,000 years ago, the Celts, who lived in what is now the United Kingdom, Ireland, and northern France, had a festival commemorating the end of the year. Their New Year was November 1, and this festival was called Samhain, pronounced sow-en. The end of their year signaled the end of summer, the end of the harvest season, and the beginning of a long, hard winter that often caused many deaths of animals and people. Weaker livestock were often killed and eaten during this holiday, since most likely, they would not survive the winter anyway. Because of this, and the cruel winter to come, this time of year signified death to the Pagan Celtics. They believed the night before the New Year, that the wall between the living and the dead was open, allowing spirits of the dead, both good and bad, to mingle among the living.

From the beginning, Halloween has been rooted in pagan religion and death. It is interesting to see how the circumstances of life dictated the various traditions and holidays. Much of life revolved around the seasons. It seems like the only thing nowadays that is dictated by the seasons is fashion, but long ago, the seasons were forces had the power to determine one's very destiny.

As time passed and outside influences became stronger, Samhain evolved, growing closer to the form of the holiday we celebrate now.

Samhain was considered a magical holiday, and there are many stories about what the Celtics practiced and believed during this festival. Faeries were believed to roam the land during Samhain, dressed as beggars asking for food door to door. Those that gave food to the faeries were rewarded, while those that did not were punished by the faeries. This is reported to be the first origin of the modern "trick or treat" practice.

In the First century A.D., the Roman Empire had taken over most of the Celtic lands. The Romans had two festivals also celebrated at the same time of year as Samhain. One was Feralia, also in late October, was the Roman day honouring the dead. The second festival was for Pomona, the Roman goddess of trees and fruit. Pomona's symbol was the apple. These two festivals were combined with Samhain in the Celtic lands during the four hundred years the Roman Empire ruled over the Celts. The goddess Pomona's apple might be the root of the Halloween tradition of bobbing for apples.

Over the next several hundred years, Christianity had spread to include the lands inhabited by the Celtics and the Romans, but the festival of Samhain was still celebrated by the people. The Christian church reportedly did not like a festival with Pagan roots practiced by Christians, so a replacement was needed. Pope Boniface IV designated May 13 as All Saints Day to honour dead church saints and martyrs. Samhain continued to be celebrated, so in 835 A.D., Pope Gregory IV moved the holiday to November 1, probably to take attention away from the Pagan Samhain festival and replace it. Since All Saints Day was sanctioned by the church, and related to the dead, the church was happy, but many Pagan traditions of Samhain continued to be practiced, including bonfires, parades, and dressing up in costume. All Saints Day was also known as All Hallows, or All Hallowmas (Hallowmas is Old English for All Saints Day). Since Samhain was celebrated the night before November 1, the celebration was known as All Hallows Eve, and later called Halloween. In the year 1000 A.D., the church designated November 2 as All Souls Day, to honour the dead who were not saints, and they eventually became combined and celebrated as Hallowmas.

As you can see, Halloween has been pulled and tugged from all angles by the powers that happened to be at the time. This is true, I believe, for many holidays celebrated today. Eventually, the Reformation came about. Since Protestants do not have saints, the celebration of All Saint's Day was abandoned.

The majority of settlers that later formed the United States were largely Protestant. As such, Halloween was only practiced in some Southern states, and didn't make a mass appearance in America until the mid 1800s, when Catholic Irish families fleeing the potato famine in their homeland immigrated, bringing their traditions and holidays with them.

By the mid 1800's, immigration increased, and many Irish immigrants, mostly Catholics fleeing the potato famine, brought many Halloween traditions with them. Jack o'lanterns found a new face, the pumpkin, which was very plentiful in the New World. Catholics and Episcopalians sought to preserve their traditions, so started an effort in the late 1800's to popularize and make their holidays known to the general population. By campaigning to put these holidays (Halloween and All Saints Day) on public calendars, magazines and newspapers started to publicize these holidays, and soon became popular in the United States more as a community and family holiday, rather than one of great religious and supernatural importance.

By the mid twentieth century, Halloween turned into a secular holiday, community centered with parties city-wide, parades, and great costumes. Halloween is mostly aimed to children, but young and old enjoy this holiday, with events and parties for both children and adults. Starting in 1950, the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF) started a campaign for children to collect money at Halloween for underprivileged children around the world. Halloween is the United States' second largest commercial holiday, spending approximately $6.9 billion a year.
[exerpts taken from www.halloween-history.org ]

So now you see where Halloween has its roots. Knowing this, it's easy to see why the fascination with darkness comes into the limelight around October.

There are many who care not to look into the origins of this holiday, accepting the modern view of the holiday. There are many who also reject Halloween because of what it is today, and some who can make a good guess at the origins without needing to look it up. In Christian circles, Halloween is one of the more controversial topics, and I have seen many various ways of dealing with it.

Being Christian myself, and devoutly so, I have no great love for the glorification of evil that comes out around this time of year. It gets under my skin. However, I do and always have enjoyed dressing up, and anyone who knows me can tell you without hesitation that I have a major sweet tooth. Costumes and candy; what every kid thinks Halloween is really about. So while I find the ghouls and witches, screams and fear distasteful and even damaging, I don't condemn the other aspect of the holiday. The aspect where imagination comes to life for the entire country once every year, and Mom allows us to buy bag upon bag of candy that is meant to be for trick or treaters but gets eaten more often than not by the kids who take turns manning the bowl.

I think the Catholics had the right idea, in a sense. Practicing a holiday that had great importance to the culture of the time, yet in a Christian manner. In our house, October 31st is called 'Dress-Up Day'. It is the day when everyone dresses up, though not everyone does it in a Godly manner, and gets candy. We participate only to a certain point, condemning the evil but not ignoring the good that can be claimed.

As I said, this is a controversial topic, and I'm sure there are many who would disagree with our way of handling this holiday, or even with our entire perspective on the holiday as a whole. All I can say is that, as Christians, we ought to do what we believe is -- not what we want to be -- acceptable and pleasing to God, based on His Word. We are all unique; we will not come to the same conclusions, but if in our hearts we can say with confidence that we believe we are pleasing God with our choices, then that is acceptable. That is what He commands.

For non-Christians.... Well, there isn't much I can say besides what I've already said, is there?

Dia duit,
~Penny

Legend Post #10 -- Rahab (Guest Post by Wynter Croix)

Since I'm still waiting for an approved picture from Wynter, I'll introduce her in another post. But for now, I'm tired of waiting to post this.

~*~

 

Salmon, the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab.

Boaz, the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth.

Obed, the father of Jesse.

And Jesse, the father of King David.

                                                                                ~Matthew 1:5 The Genealogy of Jesus

                At the beginning of the summer, my mother plopped an

intense, twelve week discipleship course called Godly Character

by Vinnie Carafano in front of me. I’d known it was coming for a

month or two, and had picked out who was to be my mentor –

Lindsey, my voice teacher and brand new mommy to baby Eli-, but

that was in May.

I panicked.

                I love being a Christian. I love Jesus Christ, I love

praising Him, and I love my faith with every fiber of my being.

There’s nothing like popping in my Casting Crowns CD or turning

on K-LOVE and singing along, my way of prayer. Or just talking

to God while I clean my room or walk down the little back roads

around my house.

But I am so not a Bible reader.

                This is… less than desirable. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes

I feel the urge to open that really, REALLY big, INTIMIDATING

book and just read. But I also have the urge for structure.

Chaos is cool, if I have structure to go along with it. I’d had

no idea where to begin reading. To me, that was utter chaos.

                Godly Character begins with the New Testament. (There’s the

structure I was looking for!) I opened my book to Matthew and

started reading, prepared to (I’ll be honest) completely skim

over Jesus’s genealogy.

Until I saw the name Rahab.

                Back in the winter, when I actually had time to read, I

came across a book in a mega-church library called Pearl in the

Sand by Tessa Afshar. It was the love story of Rahab, the

prostitute who had been saved because of her faith, and Salmon,

leader of the tribe of Judah. I loved the book. Girls out there,

if you’re fluffy like myself, and love Biblical love stories, go

for this book.

                At the end of the book (No spoilers! I promise!) they

mention Boaz, Rahab and Salmon’s first son and later, husband of

Ruth. When I first finished that lovely piece of romantic

literature, it didn’t quite register. Until I read the first page of Matthew months and months later.

Jesus’s ancestor was a Canaanite prostitute.

                  Ms. Afshar provides some insight to what might have been

Rahab’s past and historical truth. In Jericho and other

Canaanite cities, many fathers sold their daughters into

prostitution when times were rough. Whatever money the daughter

made, a portion of it was given to the family. Sometimes, this

situation was considered an honor. This easily could have been

our heroine’s story.

                The Bible doesn’t tell us exactly how Rahab’s faith came

about. We just know that this was a faith we all should admire

and strive for. She risked her life for two men, whom she had

just met, hid them in her inn, and asked that they spare her.

How could she have done that without faith? For all she knew,

those men could be lying. They would forget about her. Her faith

kept her strong. God showed himself to a prostitute, a Canaanite

prostitute.

And she was richly rewarded. After Jericho was demolished,

Rahab and her family were accepted by the Israelites, and she

became an ancestor of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

Let’s switch to Salmon, her husband for a sec. This guy was

the leader of the tribe of Judah. Yet, he married Rahab, whom

everyone knew was a famous prostitute in Jericho. This wasn’t a

marriage to gain wealth. This wasn’t arranged. This marriage

wasn’t for political power. This was love. An unconditional

love. Why else would a great leader, a friend of Joshua, a

commander in the Israelite army, marry a former prostitute? 

Salmon was deeply in love with this woman. 

This wasn’t just love, it was grace. God’s grace long

before Jesus came into the world. The Israelites had incredibly

strict rules about who they associated with, what they touched,

and who touched what they touched.

We think of the God of the Old Testament as strict and

angry and jealous, sometimes forgetting He’s more than just

hellfire and instead, filled with fiery love. Rahab was His

child, just like Salmon was, like Joshua was. And He loved her,

as He did His chosen people. This broken woman was indeed a

pearl in the sand, a lost treasure.

We’re all sort of like that, lost treasure. Pearls in the

sand of the world. Like Rahab, the sand around may be deep and

thick, and it takes drastic measure to dig us out. Some are

blessed with wind to carry away the light grains, allowing them

to be revealed in the sunlight.

We’re all pearls. We’re all in different sand. But it takes

a loving God and his gentle touch to show us there is more than

just sand. It won’t always be a Salmon, or spies, or the

freaking tumbling down of Jericho. But He’s there. He’s digging

us out, even if we sink deeper.

We’re not just any pearls, we’re His pearls.

                ~*~

Dia duit,
~Penny



Saturday Legend Post Explanation

Short explanation.

Missed last Saturday's legend post again. Obviously. But! There's good news. I'm having a good friend of mine -- Wynter Croix -- write a guest legend post for me that will be done in time for this week's Saturday Legend Post.

So hang in there! The legend posts are coming.

Dia duit,
~Penny

Saturday Legend Post #9 -- The Six Swans

The fairy tale story of The Six Swans has always been one that I've admired. I'd tell you why, but I'd rather just show you.

It begins like any self respecting fairy tale with "Once upon a time...."

Once upon a time, a certain King was hunting in a great forest, and he chased a wild beast so eagerly that none of his attendants could follow him. When evening drew near he stopped and looked around him, and then he saw that he had lost his way. He sought a way out, but could find none. Then he perceived an aged woman with a head which nodded perpetually, who came towards him, but she was a witch. "Good woman," said he to her, "Can you not show me the way through the forest?" "Oh, yes, Lord King," she answered, "that I certainly can, but on one condition, and if you do not fulfil that, you will never get out of the forest, and will die of hunger in it."
"What kind of condition is it?" asked the King.
"I have a daughter," said the old woman, "who is as beautiful as any one in the world, and well deserves to be your consort, and if you will make her your Queen, I will show you the way out of the forest." In the anguish of his heart the King consented, and the old woman led him to her little hut, where her daughter was sitting by the fire. She received the King as if she had been expecting him, and he saw that she was very beautiful, but still she did not please him, and he could not look at her without secret horror. After he had taken the maiden up on his horse, the old woman showed him the way, and the King reached his royal palace again, where the wedding was celebrated.

Ah, but this new queen was beautiful, but wicked. The King had seven children from a previous marriage -- six sons and a daughter -- and out of fear for their well being, he moved them to a castle hidden deep in a forest. However, the wicked queen -- who, not surprisingly, is also a witch -- eventually discovered the castle. She sewed enchanted silk jackets, and rode to the castle without the king's knowledge. When the six sons rushed out, thinking the rider was their father, she threw the jackets over them, and they turned into swans and flew away.

The Queen went home quite delighted, and thought she had got rid of her step-children, but the girl had not run out with her brothers, and the Queen knew nothing about her. Next day the King went to visit his children, but he found no one but the little girl. "Where are thy brothers?' asked the King. "Alas, dear father," she answered, "they have gone away and left me alone!" and she told him that she had seen from her little window how her brothers had flown away over the forest in the shape of swans, and she showed him the feathers, which they had let fall in the courtyard, and which she had picked up.

 Though deeply distraught, the king did not think to suspect his wife of this evil deed. Afraid he might lose his last remaining child, he wanted to take his daughter back with him to the castle, but she begged him to allow her to stay one last night in the forest castle. The king finally consented, and returned home.

The poor girl thought, "I can no longer stay here. I will go and seek my brothers." And when night came, she ran away, and went straight into the forest. She walked the whole night long, and next day also without stopping, until she could go no farther for weariness. Then she saw a forest-hut, and went into it, and found a room with six little beds, but she did not venture to get into one of them, but crept under one, and lay down on the hard ground, intending to pass the night there. Just before sunset, however, she heard a rustling, and saw six swans come flying in at the window. They alighted on the ground and blew at each other, and blew all the feathers off, and their swan's skins stripped off like a shirt. Then the maiden looked at them and recognized her brothers, was glad and crept forth from beneath the bed. The brothers were not less delighted to see their little sister, but their joy was of short duration. "Here canst thou not abide," they said to her. "This is a shelter for robbers, if they come home and find thee, they will kill thee." "But can you not protect me?" asked the little sister. "No," they replied, "only for one quarter of an hour each evening can we lay aside our swan's skins and have during that time our human form; after that, we are once more turned into swans." The little sister wept and said, "Can you not be set free?" "Alas, no," they answered, "the conditions are too hard! For six years thou mayst neither speak nor laugh, and in that time thou must sew together six little shirts of starwort for us. And if one single word falls from thy lips, all thy work will be lost." And when the brothers had said this, the quarter of an hour was over, and they flew out of the window again as swans.

 Ah, so here we have our dillemma. Is such a feat even possible? Is this a story of triumph, or a cautionary tale?

But look here; this has to be my favorite line, and favorite section, in the entire story.

The maiden, however, firmly resolved to deliver her brothers, even if it should cost her her life. She left the hut, went into the midst of the forest, seated herself on a tree, and there passed the night. Next morning she went out and gathered starwort and began to sew. She could not speak to any one, and she had no inclination to laugh; she sat there and looked at nothing but her work.

That right there is what love looks like. Now, will she be able to fulfill her quest, or no?

When she had already spent a long time there it came to pass that the King of the country was hunting in the forest, and his huntsmen came to the tree on which the maiden was sitting. They called to her and said, "Who art thou?" But she made no answer. "Come down to us," said they. "We will not do thee any harm." She only shook her head. As they pressed her further with questions she threw her golden necklace down to them, and thought to content them thus. They, however, did not cease,

So now our heroine is in a quandry. The huntsman retrieved her down from the tree and presented her to the king, who, like many fairy tale men, fell in love with ber because she was so beautiful.

As she was so beautiful, the King's heart was touched, and he was smitten with a great love for her. He put his mantle on her, took her before him on his horse, and carried her to his castle. Then he caused her to be dressed in rich garments, and she shone in her beauty like bright daylight, but no word could be drawn from her. He placed her by his side at table, and her modest bearing and courtesy pleased him so much that he said, "She is the one whom I wish to marry, and no other woman in the world." And after some days he united himself to her.

Still the young maiden never spoke, and continued steadfastly on her task to save her brothers. It seems she has no luck with mothers, however, for the King's mother did not like her, and spread, lies, and planted evidence to convince the people and the king that the young queen was a witch. It took some time, but at last the wicked mother's scheme succeeded, for her victim refused to speak a word in self defense. Thus she was sentenced to be burned at the stake.

When the day came for the sentence to be executed, it was the last day of the six years during which she was not to speak or laugh, and she had delivered her dear brothers from the power of the enchantment. The six shirts were ready, only the left sleeve of the sixth was wanting. When, therefore, she was led to the stake, she laid the shirts on her arm, and when she stood on high and the fire was just going to be lighted, she looked around and six swans came flying through the air towards her. Then she saw that her deliverance was near, and her heart leapt with joy. The swans swept towards her and sank down so that she could throw the shirts over them, and as they were touched by them, their swan's skins fell off, and her brothers stood in their own bodily form before her, and were vigorous and handsome. The youngest only lacked his left arm, and had in the place of it a swan's wing on his shoulder. They embraced and kissed each other, and the Queen went to the King, who was greatly moved, and she began to speak and said, "Dearest husband, now I may speak and declare to thee that I am innocent, and falsely accused." And she told him of the treachery of the old woman who had taken away her three children and hidden them. Then to the great joy of the King they were brought thither, and as a punishment, the wicked step-mother was bound to the stake, and burnt to ashes. But the King and the Queen with their six brothers lived many years in happiness and peace.

I think the theme of this story is pretty obvious. The young maiden's love for her brothers very nearly cost her her life, but she was more than willing to let that be so rather than abandon them to their fate while there was still even the smallest thing she could do for them. Even if she had been killed, I don't think she would have regretted it so long as her brothers were freed.

Love and loyalty. My favorites.

Dia duit,
~Penny

Saturday Legend Post -- Korean Myths

Man, writing 'Saturday Legend Post' looks so weird.

Anyway, I found a fun site that has a bunch of short blips on Korean Myths. I'm poking through it to find some of the more interesting -- and less strange -- ones to put up here. I personally have always found myths to be interesting. I used to love Greek and Egyption mythology, though now the blatant immorality annoys me enough to make me less of a fan as I might have been. Bible stories are exciting enough, anyways, and also true.

Anyway, I still like looking thorugh myths now and then. Mythology really does give one significant insight to the culture and mindset of the people who created these myths in the first place. I and my family lived in Korea for a couple of years, and I've been doing a lot of British, Scottish, and Irish legends already, so I decided to hop over to the Land of the Morning Sun for a bit.

Dragon Carp
In Korean mythology, a poor fisherman once caught a gigantic carp but he set it free when it begged for mercy. Later it turned out the be the son of the Dragon-King, the ruler of the Ocean, who rewarded the fisherman richly.
Carps are revered in Japan and Korea as the symbol of youth, bravery, perseverance, strength, and self-defense; all qualities much admired, especially in warriors. The Koreans also regard it as a symbol of wealth. The Dragon Carp lived for a thousand years.

Samseong Myth
This myth tells of the first settlement on Cheju Island, located off the southern coast of the Korean Peninsula. In the beginning, before any people roamed the land, three demi-gods (Yangeulla, Koeulla, Pueulla) emerged from the ground. They wandered through the land and hunted, making clothes from the skins and subsisting on the meat. One day they discovered a large wooden chest on the eastern shore of the island. They opened up the chest and a messenger wearing a purple robe and red belt emerged. Also in the chest was a stone box, and inside were three girls wearing blue clothing, a calf, a colt, and the five grains (barley, rice, soybean, foxtail millet, and millet; in Korean folk literature these five grains represent all of agriculture).
The messenger announced that they had been sent from Byeongnang (some sources indicate that the messenger and girls came from Japan, which makes geographical sense). The king of that land had sent the girls to be the brides of the three demi-gods. After delivering his message, the messenger returned to his land on a cloud. The three demi-gods each married and went their separate ways, founding each their own village.

Tangun
The legendary founder of the first Korean kingdom, Old Choseon, in 2333 BCE near modern P'yeongyang. His full name was Tangun Wanggeom, which is actually more of a title than a name; Tangun means "high priest" and Wanggeom means "king," symbolizing the spiritual and political power invested in the ruler. His father was Hwanung, son of Hwanin, emperor of heaven, and his mother was a bear who had been transformed into a woman. It has been speculated that the bear-woman transformation story indicates that the woman was from a bear totem clan. On a more symbolic level, though, the bear's passing of the test shows how highly early Koreans valued perseverance. It was not the strength and impetuosity of the tiger that helped the Korean people resist attacks from both China and Japan, but the determination and perseverance of the bear.

Heo Hwangok
First Queen of Kaya. According to legend, while Hwangok was a princess in Ayuta (in central India) she had a dream of King Suro. In her dream she learned that Suro had not yet found a queen, and both her parents agreed that she should go and become Suro's bride. She arrived in Kaya on a ship with a red sail and red flag, bearing treasure and gifts. When she was presented to the king she told him of her dream and the king knew immediately that this was heaven's chosen bride for him. They were married immediately, and the queen was greatly loved by all the people.

[all exerpts taken from http://www.pantheon.org/areas/mythology/asia/korean/articles.html]

I'd look up something more adventurous and action packed, but I am, in fact, sick. And life doesn't have to be all explosions and swordfights, right?

Dia duit,
~Penny

PS
Here's the music for yesterday.

Swamped

So, yeah. This was expected. I'm way swamped with writing, and the minor stress is eating at my creativity. Yet, I'm too stubborn to let go of all the projects yet. If it comes to that, so be it, but it hasn't yet. I just need to get a schedule figured out.

First change is going to be that I'm going to turn Thursday Legend Post into Saturday Legend Post. Friday Music will either be on Friday or combined with the Legend Post on Saturday.

FtGG will be the once a month sporadic thing. Hopefully y'all can handle major cliffhangers.

Anyway, just figured I'd say that. I don't have hardly any idea who actually reads this blog, but I do still feel kinda responsible for making sure things don't get boring. As soon as I get my notebook back, as well, I'll be posting the dimensions for some of the various new PVC swords Percy has made, including a rapier, and a Land Between Time weapon called a lance-blade, invented by Dana.

Until then, I must write hard.

Dia duit,
~Penny

Friday Music/Thursday Legend Post -- Red Hugh O'Donnell's escape from Dublin Castle

And so I prove once again how terrible I am at keeping any sort of schedule. The downside of innate flexibility. I missed last week's music post, and only just barely cobbled together a Legend Post the day before. In my defense, I was actually busy last week trying to develop a story for a job assignment. So I'm combining Friday Music and Thursday Legend Post in one, on Saturday.

First for the legend. I started a Legend Post last night about the claymore and scian dubh, two Scottish weapons. But that was because I was tired and didn't feel like trying to pull together a post on a legendary person. I ditched that and figured I might as well write about Red Hugh O'Donnell.

Great Scotch, look at those waves...

Percy, Seph, Rosie, Pippin, and I were singing Celtic songs in the kitchen earlier today and we sang two songs about this particular Irish military commander. One was O'Donnell Abu, most commonly known as to have been sung by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.

Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding
Loudly war cries arise on the gale!
Fleetly the steed of lough Swilly is bounding
To join the six squadrons on Saimer's green vale!
On every nmountaineer, strangers to flight or fear,
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh.
Banaught to Gallowglass, throng from each mountainpass,
Onward for Erin, "O'Donnell Abu!"



And then there's the Donegal Song by Phil Coulter and Aoife Ní Fhearraigh (don't ask me to pronounce that):
If these stones could speak, what a tale they'd tell,
Of the heroes and chiefs of Tyrconnell.
Of the battles fought, the wonders wrote,
And the glories of Red Hugh O'Donnell.

So who is this Red Hugh person, anyways? Well, put simply, he was an Irish rebel, quite a thorn in the side of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I of England. He's also the only person, along with two companions, to ever successfully escape English occupied Dublin Castle.

And he did it at age 19.

He's said to have been a proper Irish flame, with hair to match; a valiant spirit and visionary thinking.

"It was to Doe that Inghean Dubh, wife of Hugh Roe O'Donnell, sent her teenage son, Red Hugh, to be trained in the arts: literature, music, swordsmanship, endurance, horsemanship and indeed all such educational pursuits as befitted a young Irish prince. Strangely, the personality of Red Hugh seems to have survived the centuries, bestowing on his memory the near-magical qualities of CuChulain and Fionn MacCumhail. This enchantment is something impossible to define, but perhaps more than anything else, it is the idealism they lived for - and their readiness to fight for - that has captivated the hearts of a nation. To prevent an alliance between the O'Donnell and O'Neill clans, Red Hugh lured, tricked, and captured by British troops at the age of fifteen, and imprisoned in Dublin Castle. There it's said he was sorely mistreated for three years before he managed to escape."
[exerpt taken from http://www.finnvalley.ie/history/odonnells/redhugh.html]

Now, I read something about a betrayal that led to O'Donnell's recapture, but for the life of me I cannot find the reference again. Oh well...

At any rate, it was back to prison with Hugh. However, the very next year, he and two companions -- two brothers, Art and Henry O'Neill -- escaped Dublin Castle for good.

"They descended by a rope through a sewer which opened into the castle ditch; and leaving there the soiled outer garments, they were conducted by a young man, named Turlough Roe O'Hagan, the confidential servant or emissary of the Earl of Tyrone, who was sent to act as their guide. Passing through the gates of the city, which were still open, three of the party reached the same Slieve Rua which Hugh had visited on the former occasion. The fourth, Henry O'Neill, strayed from his companions in some way—probably before they left the city—but eventually he reached Tyrone, where the earl seized and imprisoned him.
  Hugh Roe and Art O'Neill, with their faithful guide, proceeded on their way over the Wicklow mountains toward Glenmalure, to Feagh Mac Hugh O'Byrne, a chief famous for his heroism, and who was then in arms against the government.
  Art O'Neill had grown corpulent in prison, and had beside been hurt in descending from the castle, so that he became quite worn out from fatigue. The party were also exhausted with hunger, and as the snow fell thickly, and their clothing was very scanty, they suffered additionally from intense cold. For awhile Red Hugh and the servant supported Art between them; but this exertion could not long be sustained, and at length Red Hugh and Art lay down exhausted under a lofty rock, and sent the servant to Glenmalure for help.
  With all possible speed Feagh O'Byrne, on receiving the message, dispatched some of his trusty men to carry the necessary succor; but they arrived almost too late at the precipice under which the two youths lay. 'Their bodies,' say the Four Masters, 'were covered with white-bordered shrouds of hailstones freezing around them, and their light clothes adhered to their skin, so that, covered as they were with the snow, it did not appear to the men who had arrived that they were human beings at all, for they found no life in their members, but just as if they were dead.' On being raised up, Art O'Neill fell back and expired, and was buried on the spot; but Red Hugh was revived with some difficulty, and carried to Glenmalure, where he was secreted in a sequestered cabin and attended by a physician."
[exerpt from somewhere I lost the link to. Yes, I be unhappy about that.]

Red Hugh O'Donnell, who later went on to lead much of the Nine Years War against England, is the only person along with his two companions to ever have escaped Dublin Castle. And he did it not once, but twice, and both before he even turned twenty. Kind of an inspiration for us young folk, eh?

Now for the song:

This is the Donegal Song I mentioned above. It's a haunting, reminiscent tune that turns into a rhythmic remembrance of glories past complete with a bagpipe solo.

I get the feeling that this post has been rushed and hashed together, which often happens when I write about historical events. If I've gotten something wrong and you're Irish, I apologize. Feel free to leave me a comment so I can fix it. I like to get things right, but I don't often succeed. For all the rest of you, don't take my word as gospel. If you are interested in really getting to know the history behind all this, then I would suggest doing some research of your own just to be sure you get the facts surely straight.

That said, I hope you liked the post, anyways. This is probably the longest legend post I've written, so if you get all the way down to here, congratulations! You're awesome. ^.^

Dia duit,
~Penny

Legend Post #6 -- The Loch of the Lost Sword

Well, hello, again. I'm back with a 'proper' legend for this week. However, I'm a little under the weather, so my brain is not working on full power. Plus I have a 15-25 installment series to plan out for a job assignment. Due to these two things, I've chosen a smaller legend that will require a little less explaining on my part. I guess it sounds lazy, but I have to work with what I have, and I don't want another Thursday to go by without a legend.

The Loch of the Lost Sword is a minor legend in Scotland. You probably would never hear of it unless you looked up the West Highland Way, which is a 96mi. hiking trail through the Scottish Highlands starting at Milngavie and ending at Fort William. Technically this little spot of water is too small to be called a loch, and is rather referred to as a lochan.


I found it difficult to find a lot of information on the Lochan of the Lost Sword, but with persistance (and no brain power for anything else) I finally found a snippet, and an article. Both have to do with Robert the Bruce, but one says he scored a great victory....

"Legend has it that when Robert the Bruce of Scotland was fleeing the English troops pursuing him, he ordered all his mens heavy weapons be tossed into this small loch to lighten their load. A day later the two armies met in battle only a mile from this spot, and despite being only lightly armed, the Scots routed the English." [source unknown]

.....while the other fills in quite a few missing details that paint a very diferent picture.

"As we already know Bruce had made a few enemies when he stabbed Comyn. By far the biggest of these north of the Border were the MacDougalls a powerful clan who held the lands around Argyll. This clan was descended from Somerled a great Hebridean king and it’s testament to their power that they had inflicted heavy defeats on both the MacDonald and Campbell clans. They had been great Scottish patriots, unfortunately for Bruce though Comyn was related to the MacDougalls and so they had come out in support of Balliol and the English. With Bruce and his surviving army fleeing westward they ran out of the frying pan and smack into the fire where a large force of MacDougalls were sharpening their swords in anticipation.

When Bruce reached Strathfillan, just to the south of Tyndrum around a thousand MacDougalls were there to meet him, led by the son of Alexander the chief John of Lorne (also known as ‘John the Lame). Bruce was trapped! With Valence pursuing him and the MacDougalls blocking his path he was forced to fight. Bruce and his men were not prepared for battle and the result was a foregone conclusion. What few horses Bruce still had were cut down by the MacDougall axemen and many of his most valued allies such as Sir James Douglas and Gilbert Hey were wounded during the engagement. This rather fanciful poem gives account of the battle:

They thereupon withdrew. In this
There was no mark of cowardice.
They kept together; and the king
Was ever busy rescuing
The rearmost of his company.
With skill and valour there wrought he,
And safely all his men withdrew.
He daunted those that would pursue
So none durst leave their cloe array,
For he was never far away.

The fighting was desperate for Bruce, at one point cut off from his allies he was fighting alone against a small lochan. A MacDougall man attempted to pull Bruce from his horse by grabbing his cloak. Bruce killed him but lost his cloak in so doing. The dead MacDougall was found later still grasping the cloak with Bruce’s brooch still attached. This brooch is still in the possession of the clan to his day.

Bruce and a handful of men escaped with their lives. His army was now non-existent and he fled to the caves and into the history books!
He hadn’t finished with the MacDougalls though and in 1308 at the Pass of Brander Bruce took bloody revenge against the MacDougalls. Once again with the Black Douglas by his side he completely destroyed the MacDougall’s and finally put an end to Scottish resistance to his claim to the throne.

 The Lochan of the Lost Sword

The place where Bruce’s darkest moment had come was named ‘Dail Righ’ or ‘The Kings Field’. Bruce had escaped by a hairs breadth (of maybe a brooch pin’s width). As Bruce had escaped he and many of his men threw any unwieldy heavy arms they had into a small lochan. Local legend has it that the king’s sword still lies beneath the surface. Whether its guarded by a ‘lady of the lake’ would be mere speculation." [taken from http://www.bletherskite.net/2012/05/02/the-battle-of-dalrigh-and-the-lost-sword-of-robert-the-bruce/]

Though a small legend, it still has tingles the imagination a little bit, doesn't it? It's hard to think a sword would remain just sitting at the bottom of a lochan for all these years, but perhaps if it was discovered by a peasant long ago, and is sitting in an attic somewhere, a forgotten family heriloom......

Dia duit,
~Penny

Thursday Legend Post #4 -- Rob Roy

First off I'd like to say that I've seen the 1995 movie "Rob Roy" starring Liam Neelson and I hated it. Rephrase: I still hate it. I hate it simply because it was over the top inappropriate. I don't care how heroic the hero is, how adventerous the story, or how amazing the swordfights; that one element, no matter how realistic, I don't care, ruins entire movies and poisons minds.

Just sayin'.

In spite of that, I do actually really like the legend of the Scottish outlaw Raibeart Ruadh MacGregor, also known as Red Robert, also known as Rob Roy. He's the Robin Hood of the Highlands.

Like with Robin Hood, Rob Roy was made into a legend. Since we don't have a time machine it's hard to say what kind of person he was in real life. Unlik Robin Hood, however, there's more historical fact to go on than just a mysterious headstone in an obscure graveyard as with the English outlaw. A book was written by Sir Walter Scott, titled simply "Rob Roy", during Rob's lifetime, and while it was undoubtedly romantisized to some degree, it's still based in more fact than Robin's legend simply because there was more material to go off of.

But who cares? I like legends as legends. I'm not one of those people who tries to pick each of them apart and prove the heroes were really scoundrels and dogs. The heroes in legends -- be they truth or the result of hunger for true heroism -- are valid, in my mind. Of course, one must look out for predjudices, but if nothing else, legends give insight to how the people of the time percieved life and what they desired to see in those they chose to exalt.

But back to Rob Roy, who I'm not going to refer to as Raibeart, because I think it's cool.

Born Glen Gyle, 1671, died Inverlochlarig, 1734

Robert MacGregor was born at Glen Gyle, at the western end of Loch Katrine, in the Trossachs region of Central Scotland. His popular moniker 'Rob Roy' comes from the Celtic for 'Red Robert', a reference to his red hair. His father was Donald MacGregor, and his mother was Margaret Campbell. At that time the MacGregor clan was 'proscribed', which meant that no one was allowed to use the name MacGregor, or wear the clan tartan.

In another article it mentioned that sometimes Raibeart used his mother's maiden name, Campbell, instead of MacGregor. At age 22, Raibeart married his cousin, Mary MacGregor, and they had four sons, James, Renal, Coll, and Robin. If you're like me you'll find it amusing that the Scottish outlaw had a son who shared the name of the famous English outlaw. But maybe I'm just weird.

Rob fought with his father Donald in support of the Catholic James Stewart in his struggle with the Protestant king of England, William of Orange. Donald was captured and imprisoned and Rob's mother died while Donald was captive.

After the cessation of struggles Rob turned his hand to cattle. In a nutshell, he stole cattle and ran a protection racket, offering to protect the herds of others for a fee. This makes him sound like a Chicago gangster, but it is important to remember that the customs of the time were quite different from our own; cattle were considered common property, so taking them was not a crime, and the protection racket, as I called it earlier, was a common and very respectable way of making a living.

It looks like the author of this article may be attempting to reconcile the cattle racket aspect, but in this case I'm not inclined to discredit it. Not just because I like it when heroes live up to their legends to a certain degree, but because I've learned that customs of various timeframes really do play a significant role in a given culture. Things people did back then that we would consider low nowadays were not considered low, and sometimes were even acceptable, by the people of the time. We have to remember to look at things through the context lense and not judge based solely on our perception, which is tainted by the rules of our own modern culture.

But anyway, Raibeart was a bit of a rogue right from the start, as one would expect from a red headed Scotsman. But as the legend goes, there were rogues far worse them him and with much more power...

Things began to unravel however, when Rob Roy borrowed money from the Duke of Montrose to expand his herd. Here is where the story gets murky. One version is that Rob Roy stole the money. Rob Roy's version was that his chief herdsman absconded with the coins. Whatever the truth, the money was gone, there were no cows to show for it, and Rob Roy was unable to repay the loan. As a result of this episode Rob Roy was declared an outlaw. He fled from his home at Inversnaid, leaving his wife, Mary, and their children. Montrose's men descended on Inversnaid, burned Rob Roy's house to the ground and forced his family to leave.

So now Raibeart's an outlaw. If I were to write my own version of this legend, I'd have him steal the money and turn the story into one of redemption. However, I believe the more commonly accepted theory is that Raibeart's chief herdsman betrayed, and that Raibeart was persecuted nonetheless. This would more easily reflect the Scottish ideals of freedom and the tyranny of Brittish rule.

Either way Montrose is a villain in my book because noone is allowed to mess with the family. Ever.

From this point on Rob Roy was a thorn in the side of the Duke of Montrose and the forces of the law sent to find him. He roamed the hills of Loch Lomond and the Trossachs like a sort of Scottish Robin Hood. On one occasion he abducted the Duke's factor and held him on an island in Loch Katrine. Finally, in 1722 he was captured and imprisoned for five years.

Loch Lomond!!

Yes, that's one of the places in Scotland I really want to visit. That short little paragraph there is where the majority of a legend would take place, after setting up the inciting incident of Roy being declared an outlaw. However, it's during Raibeart's imprisonment that the legends begin to grow. Daniel Defoe writes "Highland Rogue" in 1723, and Raibeart's fame grew. (As a side note I'd like to point out that this is a perfect example of how powerful stories are.) This could possibly have led to the issuing of Raibeart's pardon by King George I of England in 1727, just before Raibeart was due to be transported abroad.

He returned to the Trossachs and lived a Inverlochlarig, at the western end of Loch Doine. He died in 1734 and was buried in the churchyard at Balquhidder. Later, Mary and his sons Coll and Robin were laid beside him.

In some ways the story of Rob Roy MacGregor's life has come to represent the struggle of the Highland clans for recognition and fair treatment by a largely English aristocracy.

A very Scottish theme if ever I saw one. Overall, the legend carries traces of themes like justice against injustice, redemption (like I mentioned earlier), freedom, perseverence, loyalty, and even compassion, honor, and patriotic pride. All in all, the fiery red headed outlaw Raibeart Ruadh MacGregor is quickly becoming one of my favorite legendary characters.

Dia duit,

~Penny

Thursday Legend Post #3 -- Snow White and Rose Red

We all think we know the story of Snow White, but who's this Rose Red character? That's what I thought when I was browsing through Pinterest the other day in search of pictures to pin to my Lore board, and I came across the picture you see on the right here.

Curious much? I managed to save the research until I could actually write a blog post about it. But only just.

As it turns out, the story of Snow White and Rose Red is is by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. Odd pair, the Grimm Brothers. This story of theirs is no less odd than some of their other ones. A little difficult to decipher, but it has some interesting elements to it.

First of all, there are the characters. An old widow is introduced first. She has two rose trees planted on either side of the front door to her cottage, one white and one red. It is after these rose trees that she named her two daughters. Enter our main characters!

She had two children who were like the two rose-trees, and one was called Snow White and the other was called Rose Red. They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful, as ever two children in the world were, only Snow White was more quiet and gentle than Rose Red. Rose Red liked better to run about the meadows and fields seeking flowers and catching butterflies; but Snow White sat at home with her mother, and helped her with her house-work, or read to her when there was nothing to do.

The personalities of these two are very interesting opposites. Opposites are always fun in characters. If you use your imagination, you can see the front of the cottage on a sunny day, the roses in full bloom. The widow is tending to the flowers, while Rose Red is chasing a brilliantly colored butterfly all over the lawn, and Snow White is quite happily sitting in the grass intent upon the pages of her book. See? There goes the butterfly, right by Snow White, and... Over both sisters go! Just because the fairy tale says they were good and happy doesn't mean they never had their little disagreements.

There is a long description of how good these sisters are; how they were protected by their guardian angel, how animals loved them and feared them not, and how theirmother never worried about them because they always stayed out of trouble. Particular notice is made of their loyalty to each other, which reminded me of my little sisters because they are exactly the same way towards each other.

...and when Snow-white said, "We will not leave each other." Rose-red answered, "Never so long as we live."

So cute. ^.^ Okay, so now we're introduced to another key character. One winter night, out of nowhere, a bear shows up at their door. But not just any bear..... This one talks.

But the bear began to speak and said, "Do not be afraid, I will do you no harm! I am half-frozen and only want to warm myself a little beside you."
"Poor bear," said the mother. "Lie down by the fire, only take care that you do not burn your coat." Then she cried, "Snow-white, Rose-red, come out,the bear will do you no harm,he means well."

Now the story's started to get a little od, as I'm sure you've noticed. But hey, fairy tales are weird. This bear stays with the threesome for the whole winter, coming every evening and staying overnight, and the two girls grow very fond of him. Unfortunately, that summer, he must leave. He has a treasure, he says, that he is trying to guard from an evil dwarf who wants to steal it from him.

Now for the very last character, the dwarf. If there is a villain in this story, it is this ill tempered, ungrateful, greedy dwarf. He's also incredibly clumsy, which is kind of amusing in a villain. Twice he gets his beard caught, and once he's almost carried off by an eagle. Each time, Snow White and Rose Red happen along and free him, and each time the dwarf hurls insults at them, storming off thanklessly with a sack of gold, pearls, or precious stones on his shoulder.

The girls came just in time; they held him fast and tried to free his beard fromthe line, but all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast together. Nothing was left but to bringout the scissors and cut the beard, whereby a small part of it was lost.
When the dwarf saw that he screamed out, "Is that civil,you toad-stool, to disfigure one's face? Was it not enough to clip off the end ofmy beard? Now you have to cut off the best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people. I wish you had been made to run the soles off your shoes!" Then he took out a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and without saying a word more he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.

Of course, the two sisters do not get angry, but assist the dwarf in spite of his irksome temperament. So far it appears Snow Whiteand Rose Red are good examples of compassion. They learned this from their mother, obviously, who first showed compassion to the freezing cold bear. Now her daughters are showing they learned this virtue well by aiding the annoying dwarf in spite of his insulting manners. As with all fairy tales, the sisters' virtue is rewared. As the girls are returning from running errandsfortheirmother at the market -- having by now saved the dwarf three times -- they come across the dwarf rifling through the sack of precious jewels....

"Why do you stand gaping there?" cried the dwarf, and his ashen-grey face became copper-red with rage. He was going on with his bad words when a loud growling was heard, and a black bear came trotting towards them out of the forest.The dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not get to his cave,for the bear was already close. Then in the dread of his heart he cried, "Dear Mr. Bear, spare me, I will give you all my treasures; look, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant memy life; what do you want with such a slender little fellow as I? You would not feel me between your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they are tender morsels for you, fat as young quails; for mercy's sake eat them!" The bear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature a single blow with his paw, and he did not move again.

Quite a showdown, eh? Not exactly a sword duel, but hey, it worked. Now here's the reward.

The girls had run away, but the bear called to them, "Snow-white and Rose-red, do not be afraid; wait. I will come with you." Then they knew his voice and waited, and when he came up to them suddenly his bearskin fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed all in gold. "I am a King's son," he said. "And I was bewitched by that wicked dwarf,who had stolen my treasure; I have had to run about the forest as a savage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his well-deserved punishment."
Snow-white was married to him, and Rose-red to his brother, and they divided between them the great treasurewhich the dwarf had gathered together in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with her children for many years.She took the two rose-trees with her, and they stood before her window,and ever year they bore the most beautiful roses,white and red.
[All exerpts taken from http://www.bartleby.com/17/2/42.]

Happily ever after! I love how the two girls took care of their mother after they married. It's so sweet.

Now, if you think about it, that prince wouldn't have been so keen to marry Snow White, or let his brother marry Rose Red, if the girls had been as ill tempered as that dwarf. But instead they learned compassion from their mother, applied it in real life, and were rewarded for it even though they did not do it because they were expecting a reward. They were obedient to children, even though the story seems to indicate that Snow White and Rose Red were older, at least old enough to be married.

 As I mentioned before, it's rather an odd story, but cute in its own way. I think it would be a fascinating tale to try and rework in one's own words, for sure. The potential of the characters is definitely there.

Well, this turned out to be much longer than I expected. Hopefully you found the story of Snow White and Rose Red interesting to explore.

Dia duit,
~Penny