Morgan's Frenzy

The  Abbott  of  the  monastery  of  Moveville  sent  word  to  the  storytellers  of  Ireland  that  when  they  were  in  his  neighborhood  they  should  call  at  the  monastery,  for  he  wished  to  collect  and  write  down  the  stories  which  were  in  danger  of  being  forgotten.  These  things  also  must  be  told,  said  he.  In  particular,  he  wished  to  gather  tales  which  hold  of  the  deeds  that  had  been  done  before  the  Gospel  came  to  Ireland.  For,  said  he,  there  are  very  good  tales  among  those  ones,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  if  the  people  who  come  after  us  should  be  ignorant  of  what  happened  long  ago  and  of  the  deeds  of  their  fathers.  So  whenever  a  storyteller  chanced  in  that  neighborhood,  he  was  directed  to  the  monastery,  and  there  he  received  a  welcome  and  his  fill  of  all  that  is  good  for  man.

The  Abbott's  manuscript  boxes  began  to  fill  up,  and  he  used  to  regard  that  growing  store  with  pride  and  joy.  In  the  evenings,  when  the  days  grew  short  and  the  light  went  early,  he  would  call  for  someone  of  these  manuscripts  and  have  it  read  to  him  by  candlelight  in  order  that  he  might  satisfy  himself  that  it  was  as  good  as  he  had  judged  it  to  be  on  the  previous  hearing.  One  day  a  storyteller  came  to  the  monastery,  and  like  all  the  others,  he  was  heartily  welcomed  and  given  a  great  deal  more  than  his  need.  He  said  that  his  name  was  Kairi  Dead  and  that  he  had  a  story  to  tell  which  could  not  be  bettered  among  the  stories  of  Ireland.  The  Abbott's  eyes  glistened  when  he  heard  that.

He  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  smiled  on  his  guest.  What  is  the  name  of  your  story?  He  asked.  It  is  called  Mongan's  frenzy.  I  never  heard  of  it  before,  cried  the  abbot  joyfully.

I  am  the  only  man  that  knows  it,  Kairid  replied.  But  how  does  that  come  about?  The  abbot  inquired.  Because  it  belongs  to  my  family,  the  storyteller  answered.  There  was  a  chirde  of  my  nation  with  Mongon  when  he  went  into  ferry.

This  kyrie  listened  to  the  story  when  it  was  first  told.  Then  he  told  it  to  his  son,  and  his  son  told  it  to  his  son,  and  his  son  told  it  to  his  son,  and  that  son's  great  great  grandstand's  son.  And  he  told  it  to  my  father,  and  my  father  told  it  to  me.  And  you  shall  tell  it  to  me,  cried  the  abbot  triumphantly.  I  will  indeed.

Said  Kairid.  Vellum  was  then  brought  in.  Quills  the  copyists  sat  at  their  tables.  Al  was  placed  beside  the  storyteller,  and  he  told  this  tale  to  the  abbot.