[1] Had Lady Wilde known Irish she might have quoted from a popular
ballad composed on Patrick Sarsfield, and not yet forgotten:—
A Pádruig Sáirséul is duine le Dia thu
’S beannuighthe an talamh ar siúdhail tu riamh air,
Go mbeannuigh an ghealach gheal ’s an ghrian duit,
O thug tu an lá as láimh Righ’liaim leat.
Och ochón.
—_i.e._,
Patrick Sarsfield, a man with God you are,
Blessed the country that you walk upon,
Blessing of sun and shining moon on you,
Since from William you took the day with you.
Och, och hone.
This would have made her point just as well. Unfortunately, Lady Wilde is
always equally extraordinary or unhappy in her informants where Irish is
concerned. Thus, she informs us that _bo-banna_ (meant for _bo-bainne_,
a milch cow) is a “white cow”; that tobar-na-bo (the cow’s well) is “the
well of the white cow”; that Banshee comes from _van_ “the woman”—(_bean_
means “a woman”); that Leith Brogan—_i.e._, leprechaun—is “the artificer
of the brogue,” while it really means the half or one-shoe, or, according
to Stokes, is merely a corruption of locharpan; that tobar-na-dara
(probably the “oak-well”) is the “well of tears,” etc. Unfortunately, in
Ireland it is no disgrace, but really seems rather a recommendation, to
be ignorant of Irish, even when writing on Ireland.
[2] Thus he over and over again speaks of a slumber-pin as _bar an
suan_, evidently mistaking the _an_ of _bioran_, “a pin,” for _an_
the definite article. So he has _slat an draoiachta_ for _slaitin_,
or _statán draoigheachta_. He says _innis caol_ (narrow island) means
“light island,” and that _gil an og_ means “water of youth!” &c.; but,
strangest of all, he talks in one of his stories of killing and boiling a
stork, though his social researches on Irish soil might have taught him
that that bird was not a Hibernian fowl. He evidently mistakes the very
common word _sturc_, a bullock, or large animal, or, possibly, _torc_,
“a wild boar,” for the bird stork. His interpreter probably led him
astray in the best good faith, for _sturck_ is just as common a word with
English-speaking people as with Gaelic speakers, though it is not to be
found in our wretched dictionaries.
[3] Thus: “Kill Arthur went and killed Ri Fohin and all his people and
beasts—didn’t leave one alive;” or, “But that instant it disappeared—went
away of itself;” or, “It won all the time—wasn’t playing fair,” etc., etc.
[4] Campbell’s “Popular Tales of the West Highlands.” Vol. iv. p. 327.
[5] Father O’Growney has suggested to me that this may be a diminutive
of the Irish word _fathach_, “a giant.” In Scotch Gaelic a giant is
always called “famhair,” which must be the same word as the _fomhor_ or
sea-pirate of mythical Irish history.
[6] The manuscript in which I first read this story is a typical one
of a class very numerous all over the country, until O’Connell and the
Parliamentarians, with the aid of the Catholic prelates, gained the ear
and the leadership of the nation, and by their more than indifference to
things Gaelic put an end to all that was really Irish, and taught the
people to speak English, to look to London, and to read newspapers. This
particular MS. was written by one Seorsa MacEineircineadh, whoever he
was, and it is black with dirt, reeking with turf smoke, and worn away at
the corners by repeated reading. Besides this story it contains a number
of others, such as “The Rearing of Cuchulain,” “The Death of Conlaoch,”
“The King of Spain’s Son,” etc., with many Ossianic and elegiac poems.
The people used to gather in at night to hear these read, and, I am sure,
nobody who understands the contents of these MSS., and the beautiful
alliterative language of the poems, will be likely to agree with the
opinion freely expressed by most of our representative men, that it is
better for the people to read newspapers than study anything so useless.
[7] Campbell has mistranslated this. I think it means “from the bottom of
the well of the deluge.”
[8] Campbell misunderstood this also, as he sometimes does when the word
is Irish. _Siogiadh_ means “fairy.”
[9] In a third MS., however, which I have, made by a modern Clare
scribe, Domhnall Mac Consaidin, I find “the Emperor Constantine,” not
the “Emperor of Constantinople,” written. O’Curry in his “Manuscript
Materials,” p. 319, ascribes “Conall Gulban,” with some other stories,
to a date prior to the year 1000; but the fighting with the Turks (which
motivates the whole story, and which cannot be the addition of an
ignorant Irish scribe, since it is also found in the Highland traditional
version), shows that its date, in its present form, at least, is much
later. There is no mention of Constantinople in the Scotch Gaelic
version, and hence it is possible—though, I think, hardly probable—that
the story had its origin in the Crusades.
[10] I find the date, 1749, attributed to it in a voluminous MS. of some
600 closely written pages, bound in sheepskin, made by Laurence Foran of
Waterford, in 1812, given me by Mr. W. Doherty, C.E.
[11] An buaċaill do bí a ḃfad air a ṁáṫair.
[12] Prof. Rhys identifies Cuchulain with Hercules; and makes them
both sun-gods. There is nothing in our story however, which points to
Cuchulain, and still less to the Celtic Hercules described by Lucian.
[13] An t-éun ceól-ḃinn.
[14] Wratislaw’s Folk-Tales from Slavonic Sources.
[15] It appears, unfortunately, that all classes of our Irish politicians
alike agree in their treatment of the language in which all the past of
their race—until a hundred years ago—is enshrined. The inaction of the
Parliamentarians, though perhaps dimly intelligible, appears, to me at
least, both short-sighted and contradictory, for they are attempting to
create a nationality with one hand and with the other destroying, or
allowing to be destroyed, the very thing that would best differentiate
and define that nationality. It is a making of bricks without straw. But
the non-Parliamentarian Nationalists, in Ireland at least, appear to be
thoroughly in harmony with them on this point. It is strange to find the
man who most commands the respect and admiration of that party advising
the young men of Gaelic Cork, in a printed and widely-circulated lecture
entitled: “What Irishmen should know,” to this effect:—“I begin by a sort
of negative advice. You all know that much has been written in the Irish
language. This is of great importance, especially in connection with our
early history, hence must ever form an important study for scholars. But
you are, most of you, not destined to be scholars, and so I should simply
advise you—especially such of you as do not already know Irish—to leave
all this alone, or rather to be content with what you can easily find
in a translated shape in the columns of Hardiman, Miss Brooke, Mangan,
and Sigerson.” So that the man whose most earnest aspiration in life is
Ireland a nation, begins by advising the youth of Ireland _not_ to study
the language of their fathers, and to read the gorgeous Gaelic poetry in
such pitiful translations as Hardiman and Miss Brooke have given of a few
pieces. The result of this teaching is as might be expected. A well-known
second-hand book-seller in Dublin assured me recently that as many as
200 Irish MSS. had passed through his hand within the last few years.
Dealers had purchased them throughout the country in Cavan, Monaghan, and
many other counties for a few pence, and sold them to him, and he had
dispersed them again to the four winds of heaven, especially to America,
Australia, and New Zealand. Many of these must have contained matter
not to be found elsewhere. All are now practically lost, and nobody in
Ireland either knows or cares. In America, however, of all countries in
the world, they appreciate the situation better, and the fifth resolution
passed at the last great Chicago Congress was one about the Irish
language.
[16] Flash, in Irish, _lochán_, _i.e._, little lake, or pool of water.
Most story-tellers say, not, “I got the _lochán_,” but the “_clochán_,”
or stepping-stones.
[17] Tint, means a drop, or small portion of liquid, amongst English
speaking persons in Connacht and most other parts of Ireland.
[18] Gual.
[19] This is an idiom in constant use in Gaelic and Irish; but to
translate it every time it occurs would be tedious. In Gaelic we say, my
share of money, land, etc., for my money, my land.
[20] In Irish, _geasa_—mystic obligations.
[21] Geasa, pronounced _gassa_, means “enchantment” in this place.
[22] Or “the King of N’yiv.”
[23] An ordinary Connacht expression, like the Scotch “the noo.”
[24] “Oh, Mary,” or “by Mary,” an expression like the French “dame!”
[25] To “let on” is universally used in Connacht, and most parts of
Ireland for to “pretend.” It is a translation of the Irish idiom.
[26] _i.e._, this quarter of a year.
[27] forenent, or forenenst = over against.
[28] Narrow spade used all over Connacht.
[29] Untranslatable onomatopæic words expressive of noises.
[30] These names are not exactly pronounced as written. To pronounce them
properly say _yart_ first, and then _yart_ with an _n_ and a _c_ before
it, _n’yart_ and _c’yart_.
[31] That means “It was well for yourself it was so.” This old
Elizabethan idiom is of frequent occurrence in Connacht English, having
with many other Elizabethanisms, either filtered its way across the
island from the Pale, or else been picked up by the people from the
English peasantry with whom they have to associate when they go over to
England to reap the harvest.
[32] Rath or fort or circular moat.