“Saint Bridget and the King's Wolf” by Abbie Farwell Brown (1900)

“Saint Bridget and the King's Wolf”

by Abbie Farwell Brown

EVERY one has heard of Bridget, the little girl saint of Ireland. Her name is almost as well known as that of Saint Patrick, who drove all the snakes from the Island. Saint Bridget had long golden hair; and she was very beautiful. Many wonderful things happened to her that are written in famous books. But I suspect that you never heard what she did about the King's Wolf. It is a queer story.

This is how it happened. The King of Ireland had a tame wolf which some hunters had caught for him when it was a wee baby. And this wolf ran around as it pleased in the King's park near the palace, and had a very good time. But one morning he got over the high wall which surrounded the park, and strayed a long distance from home, which was a foolish thing to do. For in those days wild wolves were hated and feared by the people, whose cattle they often stole; and if a man could kill a wicked wolf he thought himself a very smart fellow indeed. Moreover, the King himself had offered a prize to any man who should bring him a dead wolf. For he wanted his kingdom to be a peaceful, happy one, where the children could play in the woods all day without fear of big eyes or big teeth.

Of course you can guess what happened to the King's wolf? A big, silly country fellow was going along with his bow and arrows, when he saw a great brown beast leap over a hedge and dash into the meadow beyond. It was only the King's wolf running away from home and feeling very frisky because it was the first time that he had done such a thing. But the country fellow did not know all that.

"Aha!" he said to himself. "I'll soon have you, my fine wolf, and the King will give me a gold piece that will buy me a hat and a new suit of clothes for the holidays." And without stopping to think about it or to look closely at the wolf, who had the King's mark upon his ear, the fellow shot his arrow straight as a string. The King's wolf gave one great leap into the air and then fell dead on the grass, poor fellow.

The countryman was much pleased. He dragged his prize straight up to the King's palace and thumped on the gate.

"Open!" he cried. "Open to the valiant hunter who has shot a wolf for the King. Open, that I may go in to receive the reward."

So, very respectfully, they bade him enter; and the Lord Chamberlain escorted him before the King himself, who sat on a great red velvet throne in the Hall. In came the fellow, dragging after him by the tail the limp body of the King's wolf.

"What have we here?" growled the King, as the Lord Chamberlain made a low bow and pointed with his staff to the stranger. The King had a bad temper and did not like to receive callers in the morning. But the silly countryman was too vain of his great deed to notice the King's disagreeable frown.

"You have here a wolf, Sire," he said proudly. "I have shot for you a wolf, and I come to claim the promised reward."

But at this unlucky moment the King started up with an angry cry. He had noticed his mark on the wolf's right ear.

"Ho! Seize the villain!" he shouted to his soldiers. "He has slain my tame wolf; he has shot my pet! Away with him to prison; and to-morrow he dies."

It was useless for the poor man to scream and cry and try to explain that it was all a mistake. The King was furious. His wolf was killed, and the murderer must die.

In those days this was the way kings punished men who displeased them in any way. There were no delays; things happened very quickly. So they dragged the poor fellow off to a dark, damp dungeon and left him there howling and tearing his hair, wishing that wolves had never been saved from the flood by Noah and his Ark.

Now not far from this place little Saint Bridget lived. When she chose the beautiful spot for her home there were no houses near, only a great oak-tree, under which she built her little hut. It had but one room and the roof was covered with grass and straw. It seemed almost like a doll's playhouse, it was so small; and Bridget herself was like a big, golden-haired wax doll,—the prettiest doll you ever saw.

She was so beautiful and so good that people wanted to live near her, where they could see her sweet face often and hear her voice. When they found where she had built her cell, men came flocking from all the country round about with their wives and children and their household goods, their cows and pigs and chickens; and camping on the green grass under the great oak-tree they said, "We will live here, too, where Saint Bridget is."

So house after house was built, and a village grew up about her little cell; and for a name it had Kildare, which in Irish means "Cell of the Oak." Soon Kildare became so fashionable that even the King must have a palace and a park there. And it was in this park that the King's wolf had been killed.

Now Bridget knew the man who had shot the wolf, and when she heard into what terrible trouble he had fallen she was very sorry, for she was a kind-hearted little girl. She knew he was a silly fellow to shoot the tame wolf; but still it was all a mistake, and she thought he ought not to be punished so severely. She wished that she could do some- [6] thing to help him, to save him if possible. But this seemed difficult, for she knew what a bad temper the King had; and she also knew how proud he had been of that wolf. who was the only tame one in all the land.

Bridget called for her coachman with her chariot and pair of white horses, and started for the King's palace, wondering what she should do to satisfy the King and make him release the man who had meant to do no harm,

But lo and behold! as the horses galloped along over the Irish bogs of peat, Saint Bridget saw a great white shape racing towards her. At first she thought it was a dog. But no: no dog was as large as that. She soon saw that it was a wolf, with big eyes and with a red tongue lolling out of his mouth. At last he overtook the frightened horses, and with a flying leap came plump into the chariot where Bridget sat, and crouched at her feet, quietly as a dog would. He was no tame wolf, but a wild one, who had never before felt a human being's hand upon him. Yet he let Bridget pat and stroke him, and say nice things into his great ear. And he kept perfectly still by her side until the chariot rumbled up to the gate of the palace.

Then Bridget held out her hand and called to him; and the great white beast followed her quietly through the gate and up the stair and down the long hall until they stood before the red-velvet throne, where the King sat looking stern and sulky.

They must have been a strange-looking pair, the little maiden in her green gown with her golden hair falling like a shower down to her knees; and the huge white wolf standing up almost as tall as she, his yellow eyes glaring fiercely about, and his red tongue panting. Bridget laid her hand gently on the beast's head which was close to her shoulder, and bowed to the King. The King only sat and stared, he was so surprised at the sight; but Bridget took that as a permission to speak.

"You have lost your tame wolf, O King," she said. "But I have brought you a better. There is no other tame wolf in all the land, now yours is dead. But look at this one! There is no white wolf to be found anywhere, and he is both tame and white. I have tamed him, my King. I, a little maiden, have tamed him so that he is gentle as you see. Look, I can pull his big ears and he will not snarl. Look, I can put my little hand into his great red mouth, and he will not bite. Sire, I give him to you. Spare me then the life of the poor, silly man who unwittingly killed your beast. Give his stupid life to me in exchange for this dear, amiable wolf," and she smiled pleadingly.

The King sat staring first at the great white beast, wonderfully pleased with the look of him, then at the beautiful maiden whose blue eyes looked so wistfully at him. And he was wonderfully pleased with the look of them, too. Then he bade her tell him the whole story, how she had come by the creature, and when, and where. Now when she had finished he first whistled in surprise, then he laughed. That was a good sign,—he was wonderfully pleased with Saint Bridget's story, also. It was so strange a thing for the King to laugh in the morning that the Chamberlain nearly fainted from surprise; and Bridget felt sure that she had won her prayer. Never had the King been seen in such a good humor. For he was a vain man, and it pleased him mightily to think of owning all for himself this huge beast, whose like was not in all the land, and whose story was so marvelous.

And when Bridget looked at him so beseechingly, he could not refuse those sweet blue eyes the request which they made, for fear of seeing them fill with tears. So, as Bridget begged, he pardoned the countryman, and gave his life to Bridget, ordering his soldiers to set him free from prison. Then when she had thanked the King very sweetly, she bade the wolf lie down beside the red velvet throne, and thenceforth be faithful and kind to his new master. And with one last pat upon his shaggy head, she left the wolf and hurried out to take away the silly countryman in her chariot, before the King should have time to change his mind.

The man was very happy and grateful. But she gave him a stern lecture on the way home, advising him not to be so hasty and so wasty next time.

"Sirrah Stupid," she said as she set him down by his cottage gate, "better not kill at all than take the lives of poor tame creatures.  I have saved your life this once, but next time you will have to suffer. Remember, it is better that two wicked wolves escape than that one kind beast be killed. We cannot afford to lose our friendly beasts, Master Stupid. We can better afford to lose a blundering fellow like you." And she drove away to her cell under the oak, leaving the silly man to think over what she had said, and to feel much ashamed.

But the King's new wolf lived happily ever after in the palace park; and Bridget came often to see him, so that he had no time to grow homesick or lonesome.

Source: The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts by Abbie Farwell Brown (1900).  Chapter One.

Image: Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory

Found on The Baldwin Project site. This work is in the public domain.

"The Brídeog" by Casey Wolf

If you peer up at the top of this page you will see, next to the Home button, a link to a second page where you can read the short story "The Brídeog"  by Casey June Wolf. It tells the tale of an Imbolc visitation to a house with one believing, and one very disbelieving, woman.

This story was first published in  Escape Clause: A Speculative Fiction Anthology, edited by Clelie Rich (2009) and is reprinted by permission. To make it simpler to find I will add the link here.

The drawing used with the story is by E.E. Evans, and appeared on the cover of his book Irish Folk Ways (1957).

"The Brídeog": a Short Story

I am preparing to review a number of Brigit books and it suddenly occurred to me that this past summer a short story concerning Brigit appeared in Escape Clause: A Speculative Fiction Annual, edited by Clélie Rich.

In the story, "The Brídeog" by Casey Wolf*, a young woman disenchanted with country life interferes with her mother's heartfelt traditional welcoming of Brigit--to the distress of the mother and the great irritation of the Brídeog herself.

* Author of Finding Creatures & Other Stories (as C. June Wolf). Wattle and Daub Books (2008).

Brigit's Gift of Plenty

This story appears on the internet in several places. It is taken from the book Tell Me A Story: Timeless Folktales from Around the World, adapted by Amy Friedman and illustrated by Jillian Gilliland.


Brigit's Gift of Plenty (an Irish tale)


March 16, 2003

Now Brigit -- the woman who was to become St. Brigit of Ireland -- was born at sunrise on the first day of spring, and what a lovely day it was, and what a special and generous child she was. The angels, they say, baptized her, giving her the name Brigit because it means "fiery arrow," and oh, she was a quite a girl, with spirit and a determination to do good. Whenever she saw something she could make better, she set her mind to it, and in that determination, there was a kind of wondrous power.

Brigit's mother was no princess. No, she was a servant girl, and that is what Brigit grew up to be, too, but the angels and the Druids knew she was a special child. As a child, she owned a white cow with red ears. That set her apart from the rest from the very beginning. Like Brigit, her cow was pure and good, and the milk she gave tasted sweeter than any other milk in Ireland. But it was not only Brigit's cow that was special; she had a special way with all animals. Also, everything she touched seemed to grow and increase, and in this way Brigit helped many people in Ireland.

Brigit used her power for good to help others, and many tell the tale of the ways she worked. Brigit is said to have woven the first piece of cloth in Ireland, and her cloth had the power to heal. She helped to increase farmers' crops and flocks, and nurtured the birds and beasts, and helped the poor.

Once, when she had grown to young womanhood, Brigit went to her father's house to stay awhile. She did not often spend her time with him, for he had become annoyed with her years earlier when she tried to give away all his possessions to the poor. But her father was a decent man, and Brigit looked after him well on her visit, as she had looked after so many others.

One evening her father came to her with a sackful of wheat and a basket of bacon. "Take care to cook this well," her father said. "We have an important guest coming to supper tonight, and I want him to share a special meal."

"Of course, father," Brigit said, and peering into the basket, she saw five thick slices of bacon -- quite a treat. "Don't worry, father; I shall fry this bacon till it is sizzling and crisp, and I will serve your friend a meal such as he has never known."

Her father had come to have great faith in his daughter, and leaving her to her work, he set off for an afternoon walk through the woods.

While Brigit was preparing the supper, she heard a sound at the back door. There was scratching, followed by the most pitiful whimpering. She rushed to the door, and there she saw the skinniest, sorriest hound she had ever seen. His coat was rough, and his ribs showed through, and Brigit's heart broke at the sight of him.

"Come in, come in," she said to the poor creature, who, sniffing the air and smelling the aroma of cooking bacon, limped inside.

"Here then," Brigit said, and she handed the hound a thick piece of bacon.

Oh, you can imagine his joy at the taste of such a treat. He swallowed it in a gulp, and Brigit was certain she could see him smile. She patted his back, and feeling the ribs, she cringed. "You must have more," she said, and she handed him another slice, which he gobbled down.

The poor old hound sighed and licked his lips. Brigit could not stop herself and reached into the pan and handed the dog a third slice of bacon. He swallowed this one, too.

Naturally, she fed every piece of that bacon to the starving creature, and fed him other food as well, and when he was full, he licked her hand, slipped outside and fell into a peaceful sleep at the back door. Brigit returned to her tasks.

Just then her father returned from his walk in the woods. "Daughter," he said, "how is the meal?" And he looked into the pan, and sure enough there were five sizzling slices of bacon, as if Brigit had never taken any away. This was her special gift, to create abundance.

"Now we shall sit down to eat," her father said, and went to summon his guest. When they were gathered at the table, the guest turned to Brigit and said, "You did not see me in the yard earlier?"

"No sir," she said.

"Ah, well, I watched you as you fed that poor, starving hound, and I see that you are a special woman. You taught me about generosity as you worked," He looked at his friend, Brigit's father, and lifted the plate of bacon as a salute to Brigit.

"This will be for the hound," he said, and her father agreed, for they could see the miraculous power of a generous heart.

Tell Me A Story was awarded both the 2006 Parents' Choice Honors Award for story telling and the 2008 National Association of Parenting Publications Gold Medal. To search inside the book click here. To purchase the CD. For more on the author and illustrator, click here.

Eurotales: Traditional Stories and Festivals Illustrated by Kids

Eurotales produces pages for children that tell traditional European stories and other pages that describe festivals. The festivals included range from the Finnish carnival of Vappu, Greek Christmas, English Weddings, and St. Brigit's Feast Day.

The lively art, done by children, and photos of kids celebrating the Day, or of various components of the particular festival, make the site well worth visiting.

(For a lovely Irish story, try "The King Who Hated To Have His Hair Cut".)