Heavenly Music
In her anthology of folk tales, Jane Yolen retells a story about the youngest son of the King of Ireland, who wins a maiden and half his father’s kingdom. [1] In some ways, it’s like many youngest child tales in that he is victorious where his older brothers are not. Unlike most such stories, however, once he sets off on his quest, everything he needs is handed to him.
It seems that the King of Ireland had three sons, Neart, Ceart, and Art. The youngest, Art, was his favorite. As might be expected, the older boys were jealous.
One day, a strange singing began to be heard throughout the kingdom. So haunting and beautiful was it, that the king longed to find its source.
“Boys,” he said to his sons, “whichever of you discovers where this music is coming will receive half my kingdom.”
Willingly, the boys set off. After a while, they came to a hole in the ground, out of which the beautiful song drifted. Neart and Ceart told Art to go down there.
“Take this rope,” they said, “and when you’ve found out who’s making that music, come back and tug on the rope. Then we’ll pull you up.”
But they had no intention of waiting for him. In fact, they hoped he’d get lost down there and never be seen again. That’s what older siblings are like in fairy tales. Their jealousy gets the best of them, and they turn mean and spiteful.
Art, though, was ignorant of their evil plans. In his innocence, he trusted them and gladly clung to the rope while Neart and Ceart lowered him down the hole.
Through the Tunnel
At the bottom, Art started walking through a tunnel as dark as a womb. Unable to see his hands in front of him, he moved forward by feel. Still, he showed no fear, but continued on contentedly. With each step, the sound of music grew louder, so he knew he was heading in the right direction.
Finally, after he’d nearly walked his feet off, he saw a light, and turned toward it. Arriving at a clearing, he met an old man who lived in a fine, old house.
“Can you tell me where that beautiful music is coming from?” Art asked the man.
The man said he could not, but that maybe his father could. In the meantime, the old man invited Art to stay and have dinner and a good night’s sleep. Then, the lad could set off in the morning.
So that was what Art did.
In the morning, he ventured again into the dark tunnel, wandering until he came to another light, where he met the old man’s father. Again, when Art asked about the music, the man said he didn’t know, but maybe his father would.
“Stay the night and eat with me,” the old, old man said, “and go find my father in the morning.”
So that was what Art did.
Up ahead, he met the old, old man’s father, who fed him and gave him a place to rest. Because this was the third such meeting, and because most things in fairy tales come in threes, this time was different. There was not another father for Art to find. He had reached the end of the tunnel. Now he would have to return to the world of light and face the dangers ahead of him.
Innocence Rewarded
So far, Art had done little in the way of heroes. He hadn’t climbed any mountains, nor fight monsters, and no one had given him impossible tasks to perform. At the same time, he had shown himself to be faithful, persistent, and brave. Never losing sight of his purpose, he asked for nothing but an answer to his question, yet he accepted whatever he received with humble gratitude, even if it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. In his innocence, he trusted everyone and treated them with the eager kindness of a beloved child. He expected good things to happen, and good things did.
In fairy tales, the innocent are rewarded.
Of course, innocence also gets a hero in trouble. For instance, in the story of Snow White, we see how the young woman’s guilelessness almost gets her killed. Three times, a merchant woman comes to the dwarves’ hut where she’s staying to sell her poisoned wares, and three times, Snow White trusts her. Had the dwarves not come home in time, she would have died. As Alonna Liabenow points out in her essay about fairy tales, the tender young woman did not even notice other people’s “acts of disobedience.” [2] Being kind herself, she expected no less else from others.
On the other hand, her innocence was also her salvation. With it, she convinced the hunter to save her life and melted the hearts of the dwarves who chose to protect her. She was beautiful, indeed, but had she not also been pure of spirit, the prince would not have fallen in love with her.
We see this same gentle obliviousness in Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, and in Art. As the youngest brother, he believed the best of everyone, and the best was what we got.
Facing Danger
Back at the home of the old, old, old man, Art still had to find out who was singing. When he asked what his host knew, the man told him about the evil giant who lived in a castle up the road.
“Stay away from him, if you can,” the man said, “but if you must go there, find the little stallion who waits up ahead. Hop onto his back. He’ll take you there.”
Heartily, Art thanked the man and walked on. Soon enough, he came to where the stallion stood. Before he could say a thing, the stallion asked if he wanted a ride.
“That I do,” Art said. He warned the creature that he’d be heading toward the beautiful music, but the stallion said it was all right. He didn’t mind.
Art jumped onto the horse’s back, and off they went, traveling nearly a full day before the stallion came to a halt.
“You’ll have to go the rest of the way alone,” the horse said. “I’ll wait for you here.”
Leaving the horse in a sweet-scented meadow, Art wandered up a hill toward the beautiful music. He came to a great castle. Inside, a lovely maiden was singing that heavenly song. When she saw Art, she fell silent.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said, “for that is the loveliest music I’ve ever heard.”
“I’d just as soon stop,” said the young woman, “for I’ve been singing every day for over a year. The giant captured me from my home in Greece, and I can’t go back until I’m rescued. But you better not try to play the hero, for the giant is terribly fierce.”
Being innocent, though, Art was also fearless. In spite of what she said, he waited for the giant to come home.
Maintaining Innocence
Innocence is easy to maintain when you haven’t faced hardship. Being a favored son, Art’s life had been easy enough. His father gave him whatever he wanted, though being a kind child, he didn’t want much. What mattered most was that he received love. It kept him from becoming rude and coarse like his brothers.
In the world of fairy tale and myth, it’s not unusual for an early life of love and generosity to produce a sweetness in a hero, a sweetness that doesn’t fade even when life turns cold and cruel.
In the story of the Month Brothers, for instance, Marushka lived in a loving home until her mother died. Then her father married an awful woman who had two mean daughters, yet Marushka never lost her kind nature. Not only was she polite and obedient to her horrid stepmother, but she showed gratitude to the Month Brothers who helped after her stepmother shoved her out into the snow until she could find some strawberries. Trudging toward a dim light that burned along the horizon, Marushka stumbled upon the home of the twelve brothers. There, because she was gracious and humble, they gave her berries to take home.
Later, after her stepsisters perished because of the disdain they showed those same men, and her stepmother wandered off looking for them. Marushka was left alone. But, being a gentle and compassionate soul, she soon found a good home with a good husband.
We see this same pattern in other young heroines, ones whose mothers die and whose fathers marry angry, thoughtless, greedy women. Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, and the stepdaughter in Mother Holle are all children who retain their innocence even after evil enters their lives.
And now, evil has entered Art’s life.
An Impossible Task
Before Art could take breath to ask the woman what the giant did to intruders, a huge man stomped into the house.
“What are you doing here?” the giant roared, scooping Art up by his throat.
“I’ve come to see where the beautiful music was coming from,” Art managed to gasp.
“Now you’ve found out, it’ll be your death,” said the giant, and he proceeded to explain would happen next. For three days, the giant would hide. By the end of that time, if Art hadn’t found him, the giant would kill him and skin him and cook him for dinner. If Art did find him, it would be his turn to hide. For three days, the giant would look, and if he found the young man, he would kill him and skin him and cook him for dinner.
Thus, like most fairy tale heroes, Art had been given impossible tasks. How could he prevail against a giant of a man who has clearly done this before and won? Art had no guile. He might be as well be spinning straw into gold or picking strawberries in January.
Not knowing what else to do, Art squeaked out, “Well, can I go and see to my stallion?” Though he didn’t know how to save himself, he did have an idea who might be able to help.
Fortunately for him, the giant agreed, but not without first getting a promise that Art would return to him in the morning.
Perseverance
So far, Art has been blessed by creatures eager to help him.
In the Siberian story of Kotura, the Lord of the Winds, the village chief’s youngest daughter must travels to the home of the great lord to convince him to stop the violent storm that is freezing their land. Her elder sisters have already failed. When she arrives at Kotura’s tent, he hands her a pile of rough hides and informs her that by the end of the next day, she must make for him some pants and a jacket, though she has no tools to work with.
Unlike Art, who simply shows up and asks, the Siberian daughter must prove herself worthy of her request.
So that first night, she cooks a meal for Kotura, then takes the leftover meat to his neighbor. Though she cannot see in the blinding snow, she struggles on until she finds the place where the neighbor lives and gives her the plateful of food. In return, she receives the tools she will need to make the clothes.
Still, it is very hard to sew an entire suit of clothes in one day, and the youngest daughter must get started as soon as it turns light. Thus, she is bent over her work when Kotura’s mother enters the hut. The old woman complains of a speck in her eye that she can’t remove on herself. To attend to this will take precious time from the young woman’s task, but she doesn’t mind. Graciously, she jumps up, finds the speck, and takes it out.
Kotura’s mother instructs her to look in her ear and see what she can see. There, the daughter finds Kotura’s four sisters, who jump out and help her sew. Once more, the daughter is rewarded for her kindness.
Reaching Out for Help
The youngest daughter doesn’t know how she will manage, but she does what she can. She is industrious. When asked, she goes out of her way to help others. She is compassionate and generous. In the world of fairy tale, innocence, generosity, and obedience win for us whatever we need. Others help these heroes, even when they aren’t ask. That’s because these youngest siblings are kind. They prove themselves to be worthy.
Art, too, was kind. And humble. He didn’t feel that he had to fight the giant on his own, and he wasn’t too proud to ask for help. How else could he can prevail? Like youngest siblings before him, he had to graciously accept the assistance that appeared unbidden and, if it doesn’t show up, be brave enough to ask for what he desired.
Not all of us can do that. Fear may get in our way. When we are hurt often enough, we stop trusting. We become suspicious of strangers. Because we can’t see loyalty when it’s right in front of us, we dismiss it.
Art’s older brothers, for instance, did not recognize how much he loved them, so they tried to kill him. The stepsisters in our other stories thought the younger ones had no worth . Thus, they treated them with contempt. Of course, they also treated everyone else that way. No wonder the elder siblings met with hostility. They themselves were hostile toward the world.
But unlike the youngest daughter in the Kotura story, and Marushka of the Month Brothers, and the Little Sister in the Mother Holle tale, who kept the snow falling by faithfully shaking out the old woman’s feather quilts, Art didn’t need to prove his value. Existing was enough for him to receive blessings.
Goodness Wins in the End
As our story continued, the giant let Art down so he might go take care of his stallion friend.
Once there, Art desperately asked the horse what he should do. The stallion promised to help him and, true to his word, in the morning, the he told Art where the giant was hiding.
“He’s in the top of that tree,” the stallion said.
So Art climbed to the top of the tree and found the giant there.
The next day, the stallion told he should kick the football in the giant’s courtyard, and sure enough, Art found the scrunched up giant there. On the third day, the stallion suggested he ask the young woman where the giant hid. In answer, she threw him her ring, and there, Art found the big man.
Three times, because of his friends, Art discovered the giant.
With their help, he also avoided being found. Each day, the stallion instructed him to take something from his body–a hair, a nail from his shoe, and finally a tooth–then hide in the hole left behind. Not once did the giant figure out where he was.
When Art won the contest, the curse on the young woman broke, and she was freed. She told Art that she was the daughter of the King of Greece, and since Art was the son of the King of Ireland, they got married, and since this is a fairy tale, everything turned out for the best. Neart and Ceart were banished, and Art won half of his father’s kingdom.
Where Is Grace?
Obviously, Art did not succeed without help. Heroes never do, but usually they perform feats of courage or cunning, offer gifts or assistance that earns them loyalty. Art, on the other hand, does almost nothing to earn what he’s given. True, he sets out, he stays the course, he is nice enough, and gentle. Yet the stallion carries him for no reason at all, and solves his problems just like that. What does Art do for him? Nothing. The horse offers a bountiful gift of grace.
But that’s the thing about grace. We can’t earn it. Grace is a gift we receive even when we don’t deserve to. Yet eventually, if we don’t appreciate what grace comes our way, it will eventually turn against us. Neart and Ceart, for instance, never knew how much they had. Because of that, they were bitter and angry, so they pushed away their best friend, their own trusting brother. In that way, they lost their family and their home.
The stepsisters in the story of the Month Brothers are thrilled with the strawberries Marushka receives, but they are not content. They want more. So they go out themselves. Disdainful of the grace that has blessed them for so many years, that provided them with a home, clothes, and food, they are dissatisfied. They are miserable. Thus, when they find the Month Brothers, they make demands and get angry. In response, the brothers toss them into the snow, where the cruel sisters perish.
The Moral of the Story
We tell stories because they’re fun. They also pass on our values, encourage empathy, model the virtues that make the world a good place to live.
The story of the King of Ireland’s Son, for instance, teaches us that we do not succeed in life on our own. We need one another. Not even the strongest heroes can complete their quests by themselves. Good things come to those who seek them, and even to those who fight for them, but mostly they come to those who can see the grace they’ve already received, and who feel grateful, and humbled, and eager to share that grace with others.
Though some lives are harsher than others, we all receive blessings one way or another. If we pay attention, we might notice those gifts.
Perhaps the moral of tales like this one, and of the others, is that, although kindness does not always win, if we are kind, we will make more friends than if we are not. Those friends will be there, then, to help us through our tragedies and struggles. With friends, we might prevail, one way or another.
Accepting Grace
Life offers no guarantees, but if we open ourselves to grace, we might find that it touches us day after day without our even asking. Though we wander blindly through dark tunnels, though evil snares us, though sometimes we feel the need to hide, if we pay attention, we will notice a flicker of light appearing in the darkness. If we persevere, someone might set us free. If we are not too proud, we can ask for what we need.
As we journey through life, we must all do our part. If nothing else, we have to see grace and accept. We must make use of it. The stallion might have given Art the answers, but had he not looked where he was told, and had he not made a hole to hide in, he would have died.
Grace might not appear in loud and brilliant flashes. It reveals itself in a dim flame, a few tools, some wisdom. We might not earn grace, but if we don’t pay attention, we won’t notice when it’s there. If we open ourselves to it, however, grace will show itself, through beauty, friendship, and love. Being good doesn’t guarantee us blessings, but when we open ourselves to love, and are humble enough to accept life’s gifts, grace will be there.
Let us tell stories that teach us to reach out, to be kind and gentle, to help one another, and to be grateful for the grace that comes our way. We don’t need strawberries in winter, or even half a kingdom, but we do need purpose, love, friendship. Art’s story teaches us to be generous and kind, because that’s how we build a life worth living.
In faith and fondness,
Barbara
Credits
- Adapted from “The King of Ireland’s Son,” Favorite Folktales from around the World, ed. Jane Yolen, New York: Pantheon, 1986, 248-253.
- Liabenow, Alonna, “The Significance of the Numbers Three, Four, and Seven in Fairy Tales, Folk Lore, and Mythology,” Honors Projects, 418, 2014, https://scholarworks.gvsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1409&context=honorsprojects, accessed 8/17/21.
Photo by Kevin Gent on Unsplash
Copyright © 2021 Barbara E. Stevens. All Rights Reserved.
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