"Qaedam autem poetica figmenta, quaedam ad delectationem
stultorum."
Such scorn could not have been felt by one living in an age of bardic
production. That independence and originality of thought, which caused
Milton to despise the poets of the Restoration, are impossible in
the simple stages of civilisation. The scribe who appended this very
interesting comment to the subject of his own handiwork must have been
removed by centuries from the date of its compilation. That the tale
was, in his time, an ancient one, is therefore rendered extremely
probable, the scribe himself indicating how completely out of sympathy
he is with this form of literature, its antiquity and peculiar
archaeological interest being, doubtless, the cause of the
transcription.
Again, a close study of its contents, as of the contents of all the
Irish historic tales, proves that in its present form, whenever
that form was superadded, it is but a representation in prose of a
pre-existing metrical original. Under this head I have already made some
remarks, which, I shall request the reader to re-peruse [Note: Pages 23
to 27]
Once more, it deals with a particular event in Irish history, and with
distinct and definite kings, heroes, and bards, who flourished in
the epoch of which it treats. In the synchronisms of Tiherna, in the
metrical chronology of Flann, in all the various historical compositions
produced in various parts of the country, the main features and leading
characters of the Tan-bo-Cooalney suffer no material change, while the
minor divergencies show that the chronology of the annals and annalistic
poems were not drawn from the tale, but owe their origin to other
sources. Moreover, this epic is but a portion of the great Ultonian or
Red Branch cycle, all the parts of which pre-suppose and support one
another; and that cycle is itself a portion of the history of Ireland,
and pre-supposes other preceding and succeeding cyles, preceding and
succeeding kings. The event of which this epic treats occurred at the
time of the Incarnation, and its characters are the leading Irish kings
and warriors of that date. Such is the Tan-bo-Cooalney.
This being so, how have the English literary classes recognised, or
how treated, our claim to the possession of an antique literature of
peculiar historical interest, and by reason of that antiquity, a matter
of concern to all Aryan nations? The conquest has not more constituted
the English Parliament guardian and trustee of Ireland, for purposes of
legislation and government, than it has vested the welfare and fame
of our literature and antiquities in the hands of English scholarship.
London is the headquarters of the intellectualism and of the literary
and historical culture of the Empire. It is the sole dispenser of fame.
It alone influences the mind of the country and guides thought and
sentiment. It can make and mar reputations. What it scorns or ignores,
the world, too, ignores and scorns. How then has the native literature
of Ireland been treated by the representatives of English scholarship
and literary culture? Mr. Carlyle is the first man of letters of the
day, his the highest name as a critic upon, and historian of, the
past life of Europe. Let us hear him upon this subject, admittedly of
European importance.
Miscellaneous Essays, Vol. III., page 136. "Not only as the oldest
Tradition of Modern Europe does it--the Nibelungen--possess a high
antiquarian interest, but farther, and even in the shape we now see
it under, unless the epics of the son of Fingal had some sort of
authenticity, it is our oldest poem also."
Poor Ireland, with her hundred ancient epics, standing at the door of
the temple of fame, or, indeed, quite behind the vestibule out of the
way! To see the Swabian enter in, crowned, to a flourish of somewhat
barbarous music, was indeed bad enough, but Mr. MacPherson!
They manage these things rather better in France, _vide passim_ "La
Revue Celtique."
Of the literary value of the bardic literature I fear to write at all,
lest I should not know how to make an end. Rude indeed it is, but
great. Like the central chamber of that huge tumulus [Note: New Grange
anciently Cnobgha, and now also Knowth.] on the Boyne, overarched with
massive unhewn rocks, its very ruggedness strikes an awe which the
orderly arrangement of smaller and more reasonable thoughts, cut smooth
by instruments inherited from classic times, fails so often to inspire.
The labour of the Attic chisel may be seen since its invention in every
other literary workshop of Europe, and seen in every other laboratory of
thought the transmitted divine fire of the Hebrew. The bardic literature
of Erin stands alone, as distinctively and genuinely Irish as the race
itself, or the natural aspects of the island. Rude indeed it is, but
like the hills which its authors tenanted with gods, holding dells
[Note: Those sacred hills will generally be found to have this
character.] of the most perfect beauty, springs of the most touching
pathos. On page 33, Vol. I., will be seen a poem [Note: Publications
of Ossianic Society, page 303, Vol. IV.] by Fionn upon the spring-time,
made, as the old unknown historian says, to prove his poetic powers--a
poem whose antique language relegates it to a period long prior to the
tales of the Leabhar na Huidhre, one which, if we were to meet side
by side with the "Ode to Night," by Alcman, in the Greek anthology, we
would not be surprised; or those lines on page 203, Vol. I., the song of
Cuculain, forsaken by his people, watching the frontier of his country--
"Alone in defence of the Ultonians,
Solitary keeping ward over the province"
or the death [Note: Publications of Ossianic Society, Vol. I.] of Oscar,
on pages 34 and 35, Vol. I., an excerpt condensed from the Battle of
Gabra. Innumerable such tender and thrilling passages.
To all great nations their history presents itself under the aspect
of poetry; a drama exciting pity and terror; an epic with unbroken
continuity, and a wide range of thought, when the intellect is satisfied
with coherence and unity, and the imagination by extent and diversity.
Such is the bardic history of Ireland, but with this literary defect. A
perfect epic is only possible when the critical spirit begins to be
in the ascendant, for with the critical spirit comes that distrust and
apathy towards the spontaneous literature of early times, which permit
some great poet so to shape and alter the old materials as to construct
a harmonious and internally consistent tale, observing throughout a
sense of proportion and a due relation of the parts. Such a clipping
and alteration of the authorities would have seemed sacrilege to earlier
bards. In mediaeval Ireland there was, indeed, a subtle spirit of
criticism; but under its influence, being as it was of scholastic
origin, no great singing men appeared, re-fashioning the old rude epics;
and yet, the very shortcomings of the Irish tales, from a literary point
of view, increase their importance from a historical. Of poetry, as
distinguised from metrical composition, these ancient bards knew little.
The bardic literature, profoundly poetic though it be, in the eyes of
our ancestors was history, and never was anything else. As history it
was originally composed, and as history bound in the chains of metre,
that it might not be lost or dissipated passing through the minds
of men, and as history it was translated into prose and committed
to parchment. Accordingly, no tale is without its defects as poetry,
possessing therefore necessarily, a corresponding value as history.
But that there was in the country, in very early times, a high and rare
poetic culture of the lyric kind, native in its character, ethnic in
origin, unaffected by scholastic culture which, as we know, took a
different direction; that one exquisite poem, in which the father
of Ossian praises the beauty of the springtime in anapaestic [Note:
Cettemain | cain ree! | ro sair | an cuct | "He, Fionn MacCool, learned
the three compositions which distinguish the poets, the TEINM LAEGHA,
the IMUS OF OSNA, and the DICEDUE DICCENAIB, and it was then Fionn
composed this poem to prove his poetry." In which of these three forms
of metre the Ode to the spring-time is written I know not. Its form
throughout is distinctly anapaestic.--S. O'G.] verse, would, even though
it stood alone, both by the fact of its composition and the fact of its
preservation, fully prove.
Much and careful study, indeed, it requires, if we would compel these
ancient epics to yield up their greatness or their beauty, or even their
logical coherence and imaginative unity--broken, scattered portions as
they all are of that one enormous epic, the bardic history of Ireland.
At the best we read without the key. The magic of the names is gone,
or can only be partially recovered by the most tender and sympathetic
study. Indeed, without reading all or many, we will not understand
the superficial meaning of even one. For instance, in one of the many
histories of Cuculain's many battles, we read this--
"It was said that Lu Mac AEthleen was assisting him."
This at first seems meaningless, the bard seeing no necessity for
throwing further light on the subject; but, as we wander through the
bardic literature, gradually the conception of this Lu grows upon the
mind--the destroyer of the sons of Turann--the implacably filial--the
expulsor of the Fomoroh--the source of all the sciences--the god of the
Tuatha De Danan--the protector and guardian of Cuculain--Lu Lamfada,
son of Cian, son of Diancect, son of Esric, son of Dela, son of Ned the
war-god, whose tomb or temple, Aula Neid, may still be seen beside the
Foyle. This enormous and seemingly chaotic mass of literature is found
at all times to possess an inner harmony, a consistency and logical
unity, to be apprehended only by careful study.
So read, the sublimity strikes through the rude representation.
Astonished at himself, the student, who at first thinks that he has
chanced upon a crowd of barbarians, ere long finds himself in the august
presence of demi-gods and heroes.
A noble moral tone pervades the whole. Courage, affection, and truth are
native to all who live in this world. Under the dramatic image of
Ossian wrangling with the Talkend, [Note: St. Patrick, on account of
the tonsured crown.] the bards, themselves vainly fighting against the
Christian life, a hundred times repeat through the lips of Ossian like a
refrain--
"We, the Fianna of Erin, never uttered falsehood,
Lying was never attributed to us;
By courage and the strength of our hands
We used to come out of every difficulty."
Again: Fergus, the bard, inciting Oscar to his last battle--in that poem
called the Rosc Catha of Oscar:--
"Place thy hand on thy gentle forehead
Oscar, who never lied."
[Note: Publications of Ossianic Society, p. 159; vol. i.]