Page 104. When I first heard this story I thought that the name of the
hero was Goillís, the pronunciation of which in English letters would be
Gul-yeesh; but I have since heard the name pronounced more distinctly,
and am sure that it is Giollaois, g’yulleesh, which is a corruption
of the name Giolla-íosa, a not uncommon Christian name amongst the
seventeenth century Gaels. I was, however, almost certain that the man
(now dead) from whom I first got this story, pronounced the word as
Gulyeesh, anent which my friend Mr. Thomas Flannery furnished me at the
time with the following interesting note:—Ní cosṁúil gur Giolla-íosa atá
’san ainm Goillís, nír ḃ’ ḟeidir “Giolla-íosa” do ḋul i n “Goillis.”
Saoilim gur b’ionann Goillís agus Goill-ġéis no Gaill-ġéis, agus is
ionann “géis” agus “eala.” Is cuiṁne liom “Muirġéis” ’sna h-“Annalalaiḃ,”
agus is iomḋa ainm duine ṫigeas o anmannaiḃ eun ċoṁ maiṫ le ó anmannaiḃ
beaṫaċ, mar ata bran, fiaċ, lon, loinin, seaḃac, ⁊c. ’Sé Goillís na g-cor
duḃ fós. Naċ aiṫne ḋuit gur leas-ainm an eala “cos-duḃ” i mórán d’áitiḃ
i n-Eirinn. Tá neiṫe eile ’san sceul sin do ḃeir orm a ṁeas gur de na
sgeultaiḃ a ḃaineas le h-ealaiḃ no géisiḃ é. Naċ aisteaċ an ni go dtug
bainṗrionnsa taiṫneaṁ do ḃuaċaill cos-duḃ cos-salaċ leisceaṁuil mar é?
Naċ ait an niḋ fós naċ dtugṫar an leas-ainm dó arís, tar éis beagáin
focal air dtús ó sin amaċ go deireaḋ. Dearmadṫar an leas-ainm agus an
fáṫ fá ḃfuair sé é. _i.e._, “It is not likely that the name Goillis is
Giolla-iosa; the one could not be changed into the other. I think that
Goillis is the same as Goill-ghéis, or Gaill-ghéis (_i.e._, foreign
swan). Géis means swan. I remember a name Muirgheis (sea swan) in the
Annals; and there is many a man’s name that comes from the names of birds
as well as from the names of animals, such as Bran (raven), Fiach (scald
crow), Lon and Loinin (blackbird), Seabhac (falcon), etc. Moreover, he
is Goillis _of the black feet_. Do you not know that the black-foot is
a name for the swan in many parts of Ireland. There are other things in
this story which make me believe that it is of those tales which treat of
swans or géises. Is it not a strange thing that the princess should take
a liking to a dirty-footed, black-footed, lazy boy like him? Is it not
curious also that the nickname of black-foot is not given to him, after
a few words at the beginning, from that out to the end? The nickname is
forgotten, and the cause for which he got it.”
This is certainly curious, as Mr. Flannery observes, and is probably due
to the story being imperfectly remembered by the shanachie. In order to
motivate the black feet at all, Guleesh should be made to say that he
would never wash his feet till he made a princess fall in love with him,
or something of that nature. This was probably the case originally, but
these stories must be all greatly impaired during the last half century,
since people ceased to take an interest in things Irish.
There are two stories in Lady Wilde’s book that somewhat resemble this.
“The Midnight Ride,” a short story of four pages, in which the hero
frightens the Pope by pretending to set his palace on fire; but the
story ends thus, as do many of Crofton Croker’s—“And from that hour to
this his wife believed that he dreamt the whole story as he lay under
the hayrick on his way home from a carouse with the boys.” I take this,
however, to be the sarcastic nineteenth century touch of an over-refined
collector, for in all my experience I never knew a shanachie attribute
the adventures of his hero to a dream. The other tale is called the
“Stolen Bride,” and is a story about the “kern of Querin,” who saves a
bride from the fairies on November Eve, but she will neither speak nor
taste food. That day year he hears the fairies say that the way to cure
her is to make her eat food off her father’s table-cloth. She does this,
and is cured. The trick which Gulleesh plays upon the Pope reminds us
of the fifteenth century story of Dr. Faustus and his dealings with his
Holiness.
[Cf. also the story of Michael Scott’s journey to Rome, “Waifs and Strays
of Celtic Tradition,” Vol. I., p. 46. The disrespectful way in which the
Pope is spoken of in these tales does not seem due to Protestantism, as
is the case with the Faustus story, although, as I have pointed out,
there are some curious points of contact between Michael Scott and
Faustus. Guleesh seems to be an early Nationalist who thought more of his
village and friend than of the head of his religion.—A.N.]
The description of the wedding is something like that in Crofton Croker’s
“Master and Man,” only the scene in that story is laid at home.
The story of Gulleesh appears to be a very rare one. I have never been
able to find a trace of it outside the locality (near where the counties
of Sligo, Mayo, and Roscommon meet) in which I first heard it.
[It thus seems to be a very late working-up of certain old incidents with
additions of new and incongruous ones.—A.N.]
Page 112. “The rose and the lily were fighting together in her face.”
This is a very common expression of the Irish bards. In one of Carolan’s
unpublished poems he says of Bridget Cruise, with whom he was in love in
his youth:—“In her countenance there is the lily, the whitest and the
brightest—a combat of the world—madly wrestling with the rose. Behold the
conflict of the pair; the goal—the rose will not lose it of her will;
victory—the lily cannot gain it; oh, God! is it not a hard struggle!” etc.
Page 115. “I call and cross (or consecrate) you to myself,” says
Gulleesh. This is a phrase in constant use with Irish speakers, and
proceeds from an underlying idea that certain phenomena are caused by
fairy agency. If a child falls, if a cow kicks when being milked, if an
animal is restless, I have often heard a woman cry, goirim a’s castraicim
ṫu, “I call and cross you,” often abbreviated into goirim, goirim,
merely, _i.e._, “I call, I call.”