THE COW AND THE CALF
WE have already spoken of the pilgrimage to Rome of St. Finnian of
Moville, and of the treasure that he had brought back with him from
over the sea--a copy of the Scriptures translated and corrected by the
hand of the great St. Jerome himself. Columba, when at Moville, must
often have seen and perhaps even have handled the precious volume. In
later days, so great was his desire that each of his monasteries should
have its copy of the Word of God, that he would seek out and transcribe
with his own hand all the most carefully written and most authentic
manuscripts to be found in Ireland.
The love of these old books, regarded by the Saints of Ireland as their
most precious treasure, amounted almost to a passion with Columba, so
that we are hardly surprised to find him journeying to Moville to ask
permission from his old master to make a copy of his rare and valuable
manuscript. But he was met by an unexpected rebuff; St. Finnian guarded
his treasure with a jealous eye, and feared to trust it in any hands
but his own. He firmly refused the request of his old pupil, and no
entreaties of Columba could move him from his decision. But the
determination of Columbcille was equal to his own, and he resolved to
obtain the object of his desire in spite of St. Finnian's prohibition.
He waited until all had gone to rest, and then, armed with parchment
and pigments, went softly to the church, where the precious book was
kept. Night after night, in spite of weary hand and eye, he laboured at
his self-imposed task until the day broke, and men began to stir. To
undertake the transcription of the whole book would have been an
impossibility, working thus secretly in the night; he therefore
confined himself to copying the Psalter. To Columba, poet as he was by
nature, the psalms of the "sweet singer of Israel" were particularly
clear, and the wording of the new version gave the force and the melody
of the original more perfectly than any rendering up till then in use.
The lonely vigils in the church passed quickly, in spite of the
weariness that assailed but could not daunt the enthusiastic scribe.
One night, one of the scholars of Moville, happening to pass the door
of the church, was astonished to see a bright light shining through the
crevices of the door. He stooped and looked through the keyhole.
Keyholes as well as keys were on a large scale in the sixth century,
and he obtained a good view of the interior, and of Columba bending
over the reading desk with a pile of parchment before him, copying with
skilful hand the treasure of Moville. The whole chancel was shining
with a brilliant light which fell directly across the page on which the
writer was at work.
The young man, awestruck at the sight, crept softly away, and warned
his master of what was taking place. St. Finnian knew Columba's skill
in transcription. He made no move until the Psalter was completed, and
his old pupil was preparing to depart. Then he accused his guest of
having taken a copy of his book without his permission and against his
will, and claimed the work as his rightful property.
This was to touch Columba in a tender spot. His nocturnal labours had
cost him many weary vigils, but he had borne the weariness gladly for
the sake of the prize--to give up the fruit of so much toil was more
than could be expected of him. He flatly refused to yield to Finnian's
claim. The old man was determined; Columba was firm; neither would give
way. It was agreed in the end to appeal to the King at Tara, and to
hold his judgment as final. Diarmaid might be considered as a fit judge
in such a matter. The friend and patron of the great monastery of
Clonmacnoise, founded by Ciaran in his presence and with his help, the
King was looked upon by all the Saints of Ireland as their friend.
Moreover, he was Columba's own cousin, and had treated him on a former
occasion with reverence and consideration. Columba himself had no doubt
that the judgment would be in his favour, and went readily at Finnian's
suggestion to lay the matter before him.
But Diarmaid's position on the throne was more secure than it had been
in former days. He may have thought that he had less reason to fear the
enmity of the Hy-Nialls of Tir-Connell. He had heard much of the
sanctity of Columba, and may have supposed that in spite of his high
lineage he would be ready to bear with patience an adverse judgment. He
may have been actuated by the old enmity between the two branches of
the family; or he may have decided according to his own conscience as
he thought right and just. Be that as it may, the judgment came as a
thunderclap to Columbcille.
"To every cow," said the King, "belongs its own calf." Since the copy
of Columba was the "son-book" of the manuscript of Moville, it belonged
by rights to its mother, and therefore to Finnian.
Columba's indignation knew no bounds. The judgment was unfair and
unjust, he declared; Diarmaid should bear the penalty. With dashing
eyes and burning heart he turned his back on King and courtiers, and
strode from the royal presence.
He was now a man with a grievance, who considered that he had been most
unjustly treated, but the resentment which was as yet but smouldering
in his heart was soon to be fanned into a flame.
It came to pass that Diarmaid made a great feast at Court and invited
all the princes and nobles of Erin to attend. Games were held for
several days in the green meadows of Tara, that the young athletes
might show their skill in wrestling. Now brawling and quarrelling at
these royal games had been strictly forbidden by the King on account of
the serious accidents that had happened on former occasions. But the
blood of young Ireland was hot and undisciplined, and in a moment of
anger, Curnan, the heir of the Prince of Connaught, struck the son of
the King's steward and felled him to the ground. The act was altogether
unpremeditated, but the blow had struck the lad in a vital spot; when
they tried to raise him, they found that he was dead. Young Curnan
dared not face the wrath of Diarmaid, and fled for protection to
Columba, who was his kinsman.
It was an acknowledged thing that an abbot or the founder of a
religious house had the right to give sanctuary even to great
criminals, and the claim was universally respected. But Diarmaid was
very angry and sent messengers who dragged the boy from the very
presence of Columba and`put him to death on the spot.
This fresh insult was more than Columbcille could bear. The rights of
the Church had been violated in his person. His own people, the
Hy-Nialls of the north, should judge between him and Diarmaid, he
declared, and set forth on his journey northwards, breathing vengeance
as he went. The King himself was not a little apprehensive as to what
might be the results of his arbitrary action; he stationed guards on
all the roads that led northwards, and even tried to detain the
fugitive in prison. But Columbcille successfully evaded the traps
that had been set to catch him, and by a lonely path across the
mountains went his way to Tir-Connell. As he journeyed he sang a song
of confidence in the God in whom he trusted to protect the right.
I am alone upon the mountain
Do Thou, O God, protect my path.
Then shall I have no fear,
Though six thousand men were against me.
What protection shall guard thee from death?
The Son of Mary shall cause thee to prosper.
The King who has made our bodies
He it is in whom I believe.
My Lord is Christ the Son of God,
Christ, the Son of Mary, the great abbot,
Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
So singing he went speedily and in safety to his own country, where he
recounted his wrongs to the men of his own race.
Aedh, Prince of Connaught, the father of the lad who had been so
cruelly put to death, was already preparing for vengeance. The chiefs
of Tir-Connell joined him, hot in Columba's cause. The men who gathered
to avenge the insult made a formidable army, and Diarmaid on his side
lost no time in gathering his forces for battle.
The encounter took place at Cuil-dreimhne, between Balbulbin Mountain
and the sea, and the fight was long and bloody. Columba, say some of
the old writers, was himself present, and prayed with outstretched arms
for the victory of his people.
Three thousand of Diarmaid's men fell on the field of battle, while the
losses of the Hy-Nialls of the north, such was the efficacy of the
prayers of Columbcille, were comparatively slight. The victory was
complete, but Diarmaid was not the man to take his defeat meekly.
He appealed to the Church to judge the conduct of Columba. Did it seem
right and good, he asked, that a priest and an abbot, the founder of
religious houses, and one who had dedicated his life to the service of
Christ, should have provoked a bloody war which had been the death of
thousands of innocent men? The churchmen looked grave. The case thus
stated did not promise well for Columba.
He was the friend of all: the zeal and fervour of his life, the charity
and generosity of his heart were known throughout the length and
breadth of Erin. There was but one weak point in that noble nature--the
haughty spirit that had come to him with the hot blood of the
Hy-Nialls; and certainly he had been sorely tried by circumstances.
Yet--the fact was incontestable--his conduct as an abbot and as a
priest was open to the gravest censure. He was ordered to appear before
an ecclesiastical council which was summoned to meet at Teilte in the
heart of the King's domains to hear the judgment that should be
pronounced upon him by the Saints of Erin.