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[Illustration: ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH]
LEGENDS OF SAINTS & SINNERS
Collected and Translated from the Irish by
DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., D.LITT.
[Illustration: (logo) The Irish Library]
With Illustrations by Noel L. Nisbet
The Gresham Publishing Company Ltd.
London Dublin and Belfast
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH 1
MARY'S WELL 12
HOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH 22
KNOCK MULRUANA 26
THE STONE OF TRUTH 34
THE ADVENTURES OF LEITHIN 40
THE COMPARISON AS TO AGES 56
THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN 63
STORY OF SOLOMON 66
CHRISTMAS ALMS 70
THE BURIAL OF JESUS 76
SAINT PETER 80
LEGENDS OF ST. DEGLAN 87
ST. PAUL'S VISION 95
OSCAR OF THE FLAIL 110
OISIN IN ELPHIN 114
THE PRIEST WHO WENT TO DO PENANCE 116
THE FRIARS OF URLAUR 125
DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD WOMEN 136
THE MINISTER AND THE GOSSOON 142
THE KEENING OF THE THREE MARYS 145
THE FARMER'S SON AND THE BISHOP 148
SHAUN THE TINKER 154
MARY AND ST. JOSEPH AND THE CHERRY TREE 163
THE STUDENT WHO LEFT COLLEGE 166
THE HELP OF GOD IN THE ROAD 173
THE MINISTER'S SON 178
THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE 188
THE OLD HAG OF DINGLE 192
THE POEM OF THE TOR 195
COLUMCILLE AND HIS BROTHER DOBHRAN 198
BRUADAR AND SMITH AND GLINN 206
FRIAR BRIAN 210
HOW THE FIRST CAT WAS CREATED 214
GOD SPARE YOU YOUR HEALTH 217
TEIG O'KANE AND THE CORPSE 219
TOMAUS O'CAHAN AND THE GHOST 238
PRAYER AFTER TOBACCO 243
THE BUIDEACH, THE TINKER, AND THE BLACK DONKEY 247
THE GREAT WORM OF THE SHANNON 258
THE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA OÏ 264
THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH 273
THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN 276
THE LADY OF THE ALMS 280
ST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON 283
HOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME 292
INTRODUCTION.
I have called the present volume "Legends of Saints and Sinners,"
which to a certain extent it is; but I mean it for a book of Irish
Christian folk-lore. My idea in compiling it has been to give for the
first time a collection of genuine Irish folk-lore which might be
called "Christian." By this I mean folk-stories and folk-poems which
are either entirely founded upon Christian conceptions, or else are so
far coloured by them, that they could never have been told--at least
in their present shape--had not Christianity established itself in
Ireland. Every one of these stories conforms fairly to this standard,
except one or two, which I give as necessary corollaries. They are
all translations from the Irish. I have found hardly any such stories
in English. They were mostly collected by myself from the mouths of
native speakers, but three or four of them I have taken from Irish MSS.
in my own possession, and a few more were given me by my friends. Not
one of these stories was ever translated into English before, with the
exception of those which I have taken from my own "Religious Songs of
Connacht."[1] Many of these I decided to republish here, as they were
practically lost amongst the heterogeneous mass of poems, prayers,
charms, etc., in which they were embedded; and, as the Religious Songs
are little known, these stories which I have excerpted from them will
be new to nineteen-twentieths of my readers. Several of these pieces
have never been printed even in Irish, but I hope to shortly publish
the original text of these, especially the Adventures of Léithin, which
seems to belong to a strange and weird cycle of beast and bird-lore,
now lost or almost lost, but of which we find hints here and there
though we know nothing certain.
[1] And "Teig O'Kane," which I translated for Mr. Yeats nearly twenty
years ago.
Most of these pieces may be said to be in a true sense "folk-lore,"
seeing that they have almost all lingered more or less vividly in the
memory of people who for the most part could neither read nor write.
Some of them obviously come from Continental sources, though how they
first found their way into Ireland is obscure, and the derivation of
some of them cannot now be traced; others, however, are of a purely
native invention; while a third class engrafts native traits and ideas
upon foreign subject matter.
The stories in this collection cover a good deal of ground and present
many various aspects of folk tradition and folk belief. Of native
Saints we find legends concerning Patrick, Columcille, Deglan, Moling
and Ciaran; of foreign Saints we find legends of St. Peter, St. Paul
and St. Martin; of unknown or mythical characters we find tales of
Grainne Oïgh, Friar Brian, The Old Woman of Beare, and Mulruana. Of
other well-known names, Oisín and Oscar and Solomon appear. Curiously
enough I have not chanced upon any folk-tale told about Saint Brigit,
the "Mary of the Gael." There is, for some reason or other, a distinct
predominance of Petrine stories among these legends.
* * * * *
When we consider the collection as a whole, we find that its purely
Irish aspect is apparent in many ways, and in none more than in
the very characteristic dovetailing of what is Pagan into what is
Christian. But its omissions are even more distinctly Irish than its
inclusions.
In most countries, for instance, the Devil is the great outstanding
anthropomorphic conception added to the folk-lore of Europe by the
introduction of Christianity; and later the belief in Witches,
who trafficked directly or indirectly with the Evil One, became
extraordinary prevalent and powerful. Now the most striking fact
about our collection is that the Devil personified rarely appears in
it at all, and Witches never. The belief in Witches, and in Witches'
Sabbaths, with which other nations were positively obsessed, and
which gave rise to such hecatombs of unhappy victims in almost all
the Protestant and in some of the Catholic countries in Europe, as
well as in America, never found its way into native Ireland at all, or
disturbed Gaelic sanity, although a few isolated instances occurred
amongst the English settlers. The Highland Gaels, to whom the idea of
witches was more familiar owing to their proximity to the Scottish
Lowlands, which was one of the most witch-ridden Countries in Europe,
simply borrowed the English Word for witch under the form "buitseach,"
and from that they coined the word "buitseachas" for witchcraft.
The Irish, however, did not borrow even the name--they had never heard
of the thing itself, and had naturally no name for a class of creatures
with whom they had no acquaintance.
It is true that the Evil Eye was known in Ireland, and I have found one
or two prayers or charms against it;[2] but so far as I have collected,
I have not been able to find it made the basis of any story.
[2] See "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 52.
In ancient times, however, there were creatures known in Ireland
who appear to have had some of the characteristics of the Christian
witches, but their conception is purely Pagan and owes nothing to
Christianity. Their Irish name was _amait_, and it was applicable to
both sexes. In the old translation of the "Cath catharda" (the Irish
version of Lucan's Pharsalia), Medea is called the chief _amait_ or
witch of the world. In the "Agallamh na Senorach" or Dialogue between
St. Patrick on one side, and Oisín and Caoilte[3] on the other, we read
of nine women _amaits_ who were engaged in "amaidecht," and who used
never allow a man or woman to escape them. "And they were not long
there," says the thirteenth (?) century text, "until they saw the nine
black gloomy witches (_amaits_) coming to meet them; and if the dead
ever arose out of the ground the yells which they used to utter round
them on all sides would have brought them forth [from their tombs].
And Patrick takes the holy water and sprinkles it on the _amaits_,
and they fled away from him until they reached Inis Guil, which is
called the island of the shrine or the White Lake of Ceara.[4] And it
was there they heard the last cry from them. And the people seated
themselves on the sodded sward, and the King of Connacht spake then,
'that is the chasing of a good-cleric that thou hast given to the
demons,' said he.'"
[3] Pronounce Ussheen and Cweeltia. Oisín is better known as Ossian in
Scotland.
[4] Now Loch Carra, in Co. Mayo. The bottom of this lake consists
of white marl, which gives the water an extraordinary light green
appearance; hence it is called in old Irish documents Fionnloch Ceara,
or the "white lake of Carra." The metrical Dinnsenchus, however, calmly
ignoring this obvious physiological reason, evident to anyone who had
ever examined the lake, gives a fantastic account of the white wings of
angels, from which it says the water derived its name.
This word _amait_, though lost in folk-speech, and never now used
in the sense of witch, has nevertheless perpetuated itself in an
extraordinary tradition in parts of Connacht. The appellation for the
Fairy Palace, where the Good People or Tuatha De Danann dwell, is
_bruidhean_ (pronounced Breean with the b broad), and there is a belief
that there is a denizen of the bruidhean called "amadán na bruidhne,"
which seems to mean the "fool of the palace" whose lightest touch
is death. From the other creatures of the bruidhean one may escape
scatheless, but never from the "amadán." This "amadán" I take to be a
folk perversion or a diminutive of _amait_, and to have nothing at all
to say to the word "amadán," "a fool."
The _amait_ owes nothing to Christianity, but her equivalent in modern
folk-lore would rather be found in the Story of "Conn among the goats,"
where the woman whom all thought dead comes back from the grave, and
kills her husband, or in the story of the Priest and Bishop, where the
hanged woman comes back as a malevolent spirit to claim the priest; or
in some of the stories that Curtin collected around Dingle.
It is quite true that there are many current tales or beliefs
concerning more or less malignant old women who steal butter from
their neighbours' churns by charms or exorcisms, who turn themselves
into hares and suck the cows, and who are supposed to possess certain
more or less supernatural powers. These old women, however, seldom or
never figure in regular stories, nor have they given rise to a type or
even to a common appellation. They are just known as "cailleacha" or
hags. There is absolutely nothing in Irish folk-lore, so far as I am
acquainted with it, to suggest the disgusting and obscene orgies of the
witches' sabbaths, as we find them in other countries, or of incubi or
succubi, or of intercourse with the devil, or of riding on broomsticks
to keep appointments with the Evil One, or of conjuring up the dead, or
even of producing wasting diseases in enemies, or making, waxen or clay
images of those whom they wished to injure.[5]
[5] I am not quite so certain about this last having never been
practised in Ireland, but I have certainly never been told any story
about it, nor seen it mentioned in MSS.
The Devil, too, in so far as he comes into Irish folk-lore, is a much
less grotesque figure than the usual mediaeval conception of him,
such as we see with horns and hooves in Albrecht Dürer's pictures.
He is usually designated as the "Old Devil" or the Aidhbherseoir,
often contracted to Airseoir from the Latin Adversarius. He does not
generally appear as roaming through the world seeking whom he may
devour, but mostly keeps to his own abode in the Infernal Regions,
where he must be sought. We meet him in both forms, as a wandering
person and as king of the Lower Regions in my late friend's, Mr.
Larminie's, very curious and interesting story of the woman who went
to hell. He is not the popular or common character in our folk-lore
that he is in Teutonic legend. He does not construct bridges, nor hold
high festival on hill tops, and few or none of the curious freaks of
nature as seen in rocks, chasms, and the like are attributed to him.
The Devil's Bit and the Devil's Punch Bowl, so common in Anglo-Irish
nomenclature, do not always correspond to the original Irish
appellation.
* * * * *
When the survivors of the old Fianna, Oisín (or Ossian), Caoilte and
the rest, were told about Hell and the Devil by St. Patrick and his
clergy, they could not, according to the Ossianic legends, comprehend
it in the least, and the misunderstandings which the doctrine gave
rise to were taken full advantage of by the composers of the Ossianic
ballads. The idea of bringing the last great figure of Paganism, the
warrior and poet Ossian, into contact with the first great Christian
figure in Ireland, St. Patrick, was a brilliant one, and it gave birth
to whole volumes of badinage and semi-comic wrangling in the popular
ballads which told of the warrior and the cleric. These ballads used
to be in great vogue at one time, and any seanchuidhe worthy of the
name used to be able to repeat by heart many hundreds of lines of the
dialogue between Patrick and Oisín. This is now nearly a thing of the
past, but the poems exist in numberless manuscripts, and are not yet
forgotten by the older Irish speakers, though the only specimen I have
given in this volume is the Baptism of Oisín, and it is in prose. St.
Patrick displays in places an excess of priestly rigour, but this is
always done to set off the naïveté of Oisín's answers.
[uncial: I n-ifreann na bpian ar lóiámh
Atá an fear sáimh do Bhronnadh an t-ór,
Imtheóchaidh tusa mar d'imthigh an fhiann,
Agus tráchtamaois ar Dhia go fóil.][6]
[6] I wrote down this from the recitation of an old man near Monivea,
Co. Galway. I have not seen it in MS. Literally, "In hell of the pains
in bondage is the gentle man (Fionn) who used to bestow the gold. You
will go as the Fianna have gone, and let us talk about God yet awhile."
But Oisín could not understand how Patrick's God could get the better
of his Fianna, or why He should try to put them in hell at all.
Were God and my son Oscar seen
On Knocknaveen in combat long,
And I saw my Oscar on the sod,
It's then I'd say that God was strong.
How is your God a better man
(Or all your clan of clerics there)
Than Finn, our Fenian chief, so great,
So straight, so generous, so fair?
The spirit of banter in which St. Patrick and the Church are treated,
and which just stops short of irreverence, is, of course, a mediaeval
and not a primitive trait. My friend, the late Mr. Nutt, thought
that it is a trait more characteristic of the twelfth than of any
succeeding century.
It would be exceedingly easy to fill volumes with stories from the
lives of Saints which exist either in old vellum or in paper MSS., but
this has not been my aim. I have kept to actual folk survivals, and
have drawn upon MSS. of Saints' lives only for the elucidation of the
folk-tale.
* * * * *
Finally, I should say that after having collected Irish folk-lore for
a quarter of a century, the amount of folk-stories which are wholly
conditioned by Christianity or largely based upon Christian conceptions
would be, in my opinion, about one story in four, or one story in
five. There still remains the fascinating problem of their sources. If
foreign, what was their origin and who brought them here; if native,
who invented them, and when, and with what purpose? I have prefixed a
few notes to each of the following stories which possibly may not be
wholly uninteresting to the reader who has an eye for these problems.
LEGENDS OF SAINTS AND SINNERS.
[_FROM THE IRISH._]
ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH.
PREFACE.
This legend, told by Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo, is
evidently a confused reminiscence of Crom Cruach, the great pagan idol
which was overthrown by St. Patrick.[7] Though Crom appears as a man
in this story, yet the remark that the people thought he was the lord
of light and darkness and of the seasons is evidently due to his once
supposed Godhead. The fire, too, which he is said to have kept burning
may be the reminiscence of a sacrificial fire.
[7] See my "Literary History of Ireland," pp. 84-88. Also Stokes
edition of the "Tripartite Life," p. 92.
From a letter written to Sir Samuel Ferguson[8] by the late Brian
O'Looney, concerning Mount Callan in the Co. Clare, we see that this
legend of Crom was widely circulated. "Domnach Lunasa or Lammas
Sunday," says O'Looney, "the first Sunday of the month of August was
the first fruits' day, and a great day on Buaile-na-greine. On Lammas
Sunday, called Domnach Crom Dubh, and anglicised Garland Sunday,
every householder was supposed to feast his family and household on
the first fruits, and the farmer who failed to provide his people
with new potatoes, new bacon and white cabbage on that day was called
a _felemuir gaoithe_, or wind farmer; and if a man dug new potatoes
before Crom Dubh's day he was considered a needy man.... The assemblage
of this day was called _comthineol Chruim Dhuibh_, or the congregation
or gathering of Crom Dubh, and the day is called from him _Domnach
Chrom Dubh_, or Crom Dubh's Sunday, now called Garland Sunday by the
English-speaking portion of the people of the surrounding districts.
This name is supposed to have been derived from the practise of
strewing garlands of flowers on the festive mound [or Mount Callan] on
this day, as homage to Crom Dubh--hence the name Garland Sunday.
[8] See the paper read by Sir Samuel before the Royal Irish Academy,
April 28, 1873.
"Assuredly I saw blossoms and flowers deposited upon it on the first
Sunday of August, 1844, and put some upon it myself, as I saw done by
those who were with me.
* * * * *
"If you ask me who Crom Dubh was, I can only tell you I asked the
question myself on the spot. I was told that Crom was a god and that
Dubh or Dua meant _a sacrifice_, which in combination made Crom Dubh,
or Crom Dua, that is, Crom's Sacrifice; and this Sunday was set apart
for the feast and commemoration of this Crom Dubh, whoever he may have
been."
It is interesting to find O'Looney's old-time experiences in Co. Clare
so far borne out by this legend from North Mayo.
The name Téideach given to Crom's son, is, as Mr. Lloyd acutely points
out, founded upon a misunderstanding of the name of the hole which must
have been "poll an t séidte," the puffing or blowing hole. Downpatrick,
where these events are supposed to have taken place, is at the extreme
northern extremity of Tyrawley, Co. Mayo, and all the other places are
in its neighbourhood.
For the _leannán sidhe_, or fairy sweetheart (often supposed to be the
muse of the poets), see O'Kearney's "Feis tighe Chonáin." Oss. Soc.
Publ. vol. II., pp. 80-103. For the Irish of this story, see "Lúb na
Caillighe." p. 33.
THE STORY
Before St. Patrick came to Ireland there lived a chieftain in the
Lower Country[9] in Co. Mayo, and his name was Crom Dubh. Crom Dubh
lived beside the sea in a place which they now call Dún Patrick, or
Downpatrick, and the name which the site of his house is called by is
Dún Briste, or Broken Fort. My story will tell why it was called Dún
Briste.
[9] Lower means "northern." It means round the Lagan, Creevagh and
Ballycastle.
It was well and it was not ill, brother of my heart! Crom Dubh was one
of the worst men that could be found, but as he was a chieftain over
the people of that country he had everything his own way; and that was
the bad way, for he was an evil-intentioned, virulent, cynical,[10]
obstinate man, with desire to be avenged on every one who did not
please him. He had two sons, Téideach and Clonnach, and there is a big
hollow going in under the road at Gleann Lasaire, and the name of this
hollow in Poll a' Téidigh or Téideach's hole, for it got its name from
Crom Dubh's son, and the name of this hole is on the mouth of [_i.e._,
used by] English-speaking people, though they do not know the meaning
of it. Nobody knows how far this hole is going back under the glen, but
it is said by the old Irish speakers that Téideach used to go every day
in his little floating curragh into this hole under the glen, and that
this is the reason it was called Téideach's Hole.
[10] Literally "doggish." The meaning is rather "snarling" or "fierce"
than cynical.
It was well, my dear. To continue the story, Crom Dubh's two sons
were worse than himself, and that leaves them bad enough! Crom Dubh
had two hounds of dogs and their names were Coinn Iotair and Saidhthe
Suaraighe,[11] and if ever there were [wicked] mastiffs these two dogs
were they. He had them tied to the two jaws of the door, in order to
loose them and set them to attack people according as they might come
that way; and, to go further, he had a big fire kindled on the brink
of the cliff so that any one who might escape from the hounds he might
throw into the fire; and to make a long story short, the fame of Crom
Dubh and his two sons, and his two mastiffs, went far and wide, for
their evil-doing; and the people were so terrified at his name, not to
speak of himself, that they used to hide their faces in their bosoms
when they used to hear it mentioned in their ears, and the people were
so much afraid of him that if they heard the bark of a dog they would
go hiding in the dwellings that they had underground, to take refuge
in, to defend themselves from Crom Dubh and his mastiffs.
[11] Pronounced like "Cunn eetir" and "sy-ha soory"--hound of rage and
bitch of wickedness?
It is said that there was a linnaun shee[12] or fairy sweetheart
walking with Crom Dubh, and giving him knowledge according as he used
to require it. In place of his inclining to what was good as he was
growing in age, the way he went on was to be growing in badness every
day, and the wind was not quicker than he, for he was as nimble as a
March hare. When he used to go out about the country he used to send
his two sons and his two mastiffs before him, and they announcing to
the people according as they proceeded, that Crom Dubh was coming to
collect his standing rent, and bidding them to have it ready for him.
Crom Dubh used to come after them, and his trickster (?) along with
him, and he drawing after him a sort of yoke like a wheelless sliding
car, and according as he used to get his standing rent it used to be
thrown into the car, and every one had to pay according to his ability.
Anyone who would refuse, he used to be brought next day before Crom
Dubh, as he sat beside the fire, and Crom used to pass judgment upon
him, and after the judgment the man used to be thrown into the fire.
Many a plan and scheme were hatched against Crom Dubh to put him out of
the world, but he overcame them all, for he had too much wizardry from
the [fairy] sweetheart.
[12] Linnaun shee, a fairy sweetheart; in Irish spelt "leannán sidhe."
Crom Dubh was continuing his evil deeds for many years, and according
as the story about him remains living and told from person to person,
they say that he was a native of hell in the skin of a biped, and
through the horror that the people of the country had for him they
would have given all that ever they saw if only Crom Dubh and his
company could have been put-an-end-to; but there was no help for them
in that, since he and his company had the power, and they had to endure
bitter persecution for years, and for many years, and every year it
was getting worse; and they without any hope of relief because they
had no knowledge of God or Mary or of anything else which concerned
heaven. For that reason they could not put trust in any person beyond
Crom Dubh, because they thought, bad as he was, that it was he who was
giving them the light of the day, the darkness of the night, and the
change of seasons.
It was well, brother of my heart. During this time St. Patrick was
going throughout Ireland, working diligently and baptizing many people.
On he went until he came to Fo-choill or Foghill; and at that time and
for long afterwards there were nothing but woods that grew in that
place, but there is neither branch nor tree there now. However, to
pursue the story, St. Patrick began explaining to the Pagans about the
light and glory of the heavens. Some of them gave ear to him, but the
most of them paid him no attention. After he had taken all those who
listened to him to the place which was called the Well of the Branch to
baptize them, and when he had them baptized, the people called the well
Tobar Phadraig, or Patrick's Well, and that is there ever since.
When these Pagans got the seal of Christ on their forehead, and
knowledge of the Holy Trinity, they began telling St. Patrick about the
doings of Crom Dubh and his evil ways, and they besought him if he had
any power from the All-mighty Father to chastise Crom Dubh, rightly or
wrongly, or to give him the Christian faith if it were possible.
It was well, brother, St. Patrick passed on over through Tráigh Leacan,
up Béal Trághadh, down Craobhach, and down under the Logán, the name
that was on Crom Dubh's place before St. Patrick came. When St. Patrick
reached the Logán, which is near the present Ballycastle, he was within
a quarter of a mile of Crom Dubh's house, and at the same time Crom
Dubh and Téideach his son were trying a bout of wrestling with one
another, while Saidhthe Suaraighe was stretched out on the ground from
ear to tail. With the squeezing they were giving one another they
never observed St. Patrick making for them until Saidhthe Suaraighe put
a howling bark out of her, and with that the pair looked behind them
and they saw St. Patrick and his defensive company with him, making for
them; and in the twinkling of an eye the two rushed forward, clapping
their hands and setting Saidhthe Suaraighe at them and encouraging her.
With that Téideach put his fore finger into his mouth and let a whistle
calling for Coinn Iotair, for she was at that same time hunting with
Clonnach on the top of Glen Lasaire, and Glen Lasaire is nearly two
miles from Dun Phadraig, but she was not as long as while you'd be
saying De' raisias [Deo Gratias] coming from Glen Lasaire when she
heard the sound of the whistle. They urged the two bitches against St.
Patrick, and at the same time they did not know what sort of man St.
Patrick was or where he came from.
The two bitches made for him and coals of fire out of their mouths, and
a blue venemous light burning in their eyes, with the dint of venom and
wickedness, but just as they were going to seize St. Patrick he cut
[marked] a ring round about him with the crozier which he had in his
hand, and before the dogs reached the verge of the ring St. Patrick
spoke as follows:--
A lock on thy claws, a lock on thy tooth,
A lock on Coinn Iotair of the fury.
A lock on the son and on the daughter of Saidhthe Suaraighe.
A lock quickly, quickly on you.
Before St. Patrick began to utter these words there was a froth of
foam round their mouths, and their hair was standing up as strong as
harrow-pins with their fury, but after this as they came nearer to
St. Patrick they began to lay down their ears and wag their tails. And
when Crom Dubh saw that, he had like to faint, because he knew when
they laid down their ears that they would not do any hurt to him they
were attacking. The moment they reached St. Patrick they began jumping
up upon him and making friendly with him. They licked both his feet
from the top of his great toe[13] to the butt of his ankle, and that
affection [thus manifesting itself] is amongst dogs from that day to
this. St. Patrick began to stroke them with his hand and he went on
making towards Crom Dubh, with the dogs walking at his heels. Crom Dubh
ran until he came to the fire and he stood up beside the fire, so that
he might throw St. Patrick into it when he should come as far as it.
But as St. Patrick knew the strength of the fire beforehand he lifted a
stone in his hand, signed the sign of the cross on the stone, and flung
the stone so as to throw it into the middle of the flames, and on the
moment the fire went down to the lowest depths of the ground, in such a
way that the hole is there yet to be seen, from that day to this, and
it is called Poll na Sean-tuine, the hole of the old fire (?), and when
the tide fills, the water comes in to the bottom of the hole, and it
would draw "deaf cows out of woods"--the noise that comes out of the
hole when the tide is coming in.
[13] Rather "the space between the toes."
It was well, company[14] of the world; when Crom Dubh saw that the fire
had departed out of sight, and that the dogs had failed him and given
him no help (a thing they had never done before), he himself and
Téideach struck out like a blast of March wind until they reached the
house, and St. Patrick came after them. They had not far to go, for
the fire was near the house. When St. Patrick approached it he began
to talk aloud with Crom Dubh, and he did his best to change him to a
good state of grace, but it failed him to put the seal of Christ on his
forehead, for he would not give any ear to St. Patrick's words.
[14] A variant of "it was well, my dear."
Now there was no trick of deviltry, druidism, witchcraft, or black
art in his heart, which he did not work for all he was able, trying
to gain the victory over St. Patrick, but it was all no use for him,
for the words of God were more powerful than the deviltry of the fairy
sweetheart.
With the dint of the fury that was on Crom Dubh and on Téideach his
son, they began snapping and grinding their teeth, and so outrageous
was their fury that St. Patrick gave a blow of his crozier to the cliff
under the base of the gable of the house, and he separated that much of
the cliff from the cliffs on the mainland, and that is to be seen there
to-day just as well as the first day, and that is the cliff that is
called Dún Briste or Broken Fort.
To pursue the story. All that much of the cliff is a good many yards
out in the sea from the cliff on the mainland, so Crom Dubh and his son
had to remain there until the midges and the scaldcrows had eaten the
flesh off their bones. And that is the death that Crom Dubh got, and
that is the second man that midges ate,[15] and our ancient shanachies
say that the first man that midges ate was Judas after he had hanged
himself; and that is the cause why the bite of the midges is so sharp
as it is.
[15] See the story of Mary's Well, p. 17.
To pursue the story still further. When Clonnach saw what had happened
to his father he took fright, and he was terrified of St. Patrick, and
he began burning the mountain until he had all that side of the land
set on fire. So violently did the mountains take fire on each side of
him that himself could not escape, and they say that he himself was
burned to a lump amongst them.
St. Patrick returned back to Fochoill and round through Baile na
Pairce, the Town of the Field, and Bein Buidhe, the Yellow Ben, and
back to Clochar. The people gathered in multitudes from every side
doing honourable homage to St. Patrick, and the pride of the world on
them that an end had been made of Crom Dubh.
There was a well near and handy, and he brought the great multitude
round about the well, and he never left mother's son or man's daughter
without setting on their faces the wave of baptism and the seal of
Christ on their foreheads. They washed and scoured the walls of the
well, and all round about it, and they got forked branches and limbs
of trees and bound white and blue ribbons on them, and set them round
about the well, and every one of them bowed down on his knees saying
their prayers of thankfulness to God, and as an entertainment for St.
Patrick on account of his having put an end to the sway of Crom Dubh.
After making an end of offering up their prayers every man of them
drank three sups of water out of the well, and there is not a year from
that out that the people used not to make a _turus_ or pilgrimage to
the well, on the anniversary of that day; and that day is the last
Sunday of the seventh month, and the name the Irish speakers call the
month by in that place is the month of Lughnas [August] and the name
of the Sunday is Crom Dubh's Sunday, but, the name that the English
speakers call the Sunday by, is Garland Sunday. There is never a year
from that to this that there does not be a meeting in Cill Chuimin, for
that is the place where the well is. They come far and near to make a
pilgrimage to the well; and a number of other people go there too, to
amuse themselves and drink and spend. And I believe that the most of
that rakish lot go there making a mock of the Christian Irish-speakers
who are offering up their prayers to their holy patron Patrick, high
head of their religion.
Cuimin's well is the name of this well, for its name was changed during
the time of Saint Cuimin on account of all the miraculous things he did
there, and he is buried within a perch of the well in Cill Chuimin.
There does be a gathering on the same Sunday at Dún Padraig or
Downpatrick at the well which is called Tobar Brighde or Briget's Well
beside Cill Brighde, and close to Dún Briste; but, love of my heart,
since the English jargon began a short time ago in that place the old
Christian custom of the Christians is almost utterly gone off.
There now ye have it as I got it, and if ye don't like it add to it
your complaints.[16]
[16] Apparently tell it with your complaint added to it.
MARY'S WELL.
PREFACE.
The following story I got from Proinsias O'Conchubhait when he was
in Athlone about fifteen years ago, and he heard it from a woman who
herself came from Ballintubber, Co. Mayo. This Ballintubber is not
to be confounded with the Roscommon place of the same name, which
is called in Irish Baile-an-tobair Ui Chonchubhair, or O'Conor's
Ballintubber. The Mayo Ballintubber is celebrated for its splendid
Abbey, founded by one of the Stauntons, a tribe who took the name of
Mac a mhilidh (Mac-a-Veely or Mac Evilly) in Irish. The prophesy is
current in Mayo that when the abbey is re-roofed Ireland will be free.
My friend, Colonel Maurice Moore, told me that when he was a young boy
he often wondered why the people did not roof the abbey, and so free
Ireland without any more trouble. The tomb of the notorious Shaun na
Sagart, the priest-hunter, which is not far away from it, is still
pointed out by the people. It is probably he who is the "spy" in the
following story, although his name is not mentioned. He belonged to a
class who appear to have made it their business to track down priests
and friars, which is alluded to in the following lines:
It is no use for me to be saying it,
Seeing your kinship with Donough-of-the-priest
And with Owen-of-the-cards his father,
With the people who used to cut off heads
To put them into leather bags,
To bring them down with them to the city,
And to bring home the gold they got for them,
For sustenance for wives and children.
It will be noticed that it was Mary Mother who put the curing of the
Blind into this well, and Owen O Duffy, the poet, says of her that she
is
A woman who put a hedge round every country.
A woman to whom right inclines.
A woman greatest in strength and power,
A woman softest (_i.e._, most generous) about red gold.
A woman by whom is quenched the anger of the king.
A woman who gives sight to the blind.
For the Irish text of this story, see "Religious Songs of Connacht,"
vol. I., p. 111.
The abbey where the holy well broke out was, according to some, founded
by Cathal O Conor in 1216, for the Augustinians, and was dedicated to
the Holy Trinity.
THE STORY.
Long ago there was a blessed well in Ballintubber (_i.e._, town of the
well), in the county Mayo. There was once a monastery in the place
where the well is now, and it was on the spot where stood the altar of
the monastery that the well broke out. The monastery was on the side
of a hill, but when Cromwell and his band of destroyers came to this
country, they overthrew the monastery, and never left stone on top of
stone in the altar that they did not throw down.
A year from the day that they threw down the altar--that was Lady Day
in spring--the well broke out on the site of the altar, and it is a
wonderful thing to say, that there was not one drop of water in the
stream that was at the foot of the hill from the day that the well
broke out.
There was a poor friar going the road the same day, and he went out of
his way to say a prayer upon the site of the blessed altar, and there
was great wonder on him when he saw a fine well in its place. He fell
on his knees and began to say his paternoster, when he heard a voice
saying: "Put off your brogues, you are upon blessed ground, you are on
the brink of Mary's Well, and there is the curing of thousands of blind
in it; there shall be a person cured by the water of that well for
every person who heard mass in front of the altar that was in the place
where the well is now, if they be dipped three times in it, in the name
of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."
When the friar had his prayers said, he looked up and saw a large white
dove upon a fir tree near him. It was the dove who was speaking. The
friar was dressed in false clothes, because there was a price on his
head, as great as would be on the head of a wild-dog [wolf].
At any rate, he proclaimed the story to the people of the little
village, and it was not long till it went out through the country. It
was a poor place, and the people in it had nothing [to live in] but
huts, and these filled with smoke. On that account there were a great
many weak-eyed people amongst them. With the dawn, on the next day,
there were above forty people at Mary's Well, and there was never man
nor woman of them but came back with good sight.
The fame of Mary's Well went through the country, and it was not long
till there were pilgrims from every county coming to it, and nobody
went back without being cured; and at the end of a little time even
people from other countries used to be coming to it.
There was an unbeliever living near Mary's Well. It was a gentleman
he was, and he did not believe in the cure. He said there was nothing
in it but pishtrogues (charms), and to make a mock of the people he
brought a blind ass, that he had, to the well, and he dipped its head
under the water. The ass got its sight, but the scoffer was brought
home as blind as the sole of your shoe.
At the end of a year it so happened that there was a priest working as
a gardener with the gentleman who was blind. The priest was dressed
like a workman, and nobody at all knew that it was a priest who was in
it. One day the gentleman was sickly, and he asked his servant to take
him out into the garden. When he came to the place where the priest was
working he sat down. "Isn't it a great pity," says he, "that I cannot
see my fine garden?"
The gardener took compassion on him, and said, "I know where there is a
man who would cure you, but there is a price on his head on account of
his religion."
"I give my word that I'll do no spying on him, and I'll pay him well
for his trouble," said the gentleman.
"But perhaps you would not like to go through the mode of curing that
he has," says the gardener.
"I don't care what mode he has, if he gives me my sight," said the
gentleman.
Now, the gentleman had an evil character, because he betrayed a number
of priests before that. Bingham was the name that was on him. However,
the priest took courage and said, "Let your coach be ready on to-morrow
morning, and I will drive you to the place of the cure; neither
coachman nor anyone else may be present but myself, and do not tell to
anyone at all where you are going, or give anyone a knowledge of what
is your business."
On the morning of the next day Bingham's coach was ready, and he
himself got into it, with the gardener driving him. "Do you remain
at home this time," says he to the coachman, "and the gardener will
drive me." The coachman was a villain, and there was jealousy on him.
He conceived the idea of watching the coach to see what way they were
to go. His blessed vestments were on the priest, inside of his other
clothes. When they came to Mary's Well the priest said to him, "I am
going to get back your sight for you in the place where you lost it."
Then he dipped him three times in the well, in the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and his sight came to him as well as ever
it was.
"I'll give you a hundred pounds," said Bingham, "as soon as I go home."
The coachman was watching, and as soon as he saw the priest in his
blessed vestments, he went to the people of the law, and betrayed the
priest. He was taken and hanged, without judge, without judgment. The
man who was after getting back his sight could have saved the priest,
but he did not speak a word in his behalf.
* * * * *
About a month after this another priest came to Bingham, and he dressed
like a gardener, and he asked work of Bingham, and got it from him; but
he was not long in his service until an evil thing happened to Bingham.
He went out one day walking through his fields, and there met him a
good-looking girl, the daughter of a poor man, and he assaulted her
and left her half dead. The girl had three brothers, and they took an
oath that they would kill him as soon as they could get hold of him.
They had not long to wait. They caught him in the same place where
he assaulted the girl, and hanged him on a tree, and left him there
hanging.
On the morning of the next day millions of flies were gathered like a
great hill round about the tree, and nobody could go near it on account
of the foul smell that was round the place, and anyone who would go
near it the midges would blind them.
Bingham's wife and son offered a hundred pounds to anyone who would
bring out the body. A good many people made an effort to do that, but
they were not able. They got dust to shake on the flies, and boughs of
trees to beat them with, but they were not able to scatter them, nor
to go as far as the tree. The foul smell was getting worse, and the
neighbours were afraid that the flies and noisome corpse would bring a
plague upon them.
The second priest was at this time a gardener with Bingham, but the
people of the house did not know that it was a priest who was in it,
for if the people of the law or the spies knew, they would take and
hang him. The Catholics went to Bingham's wife and told her that they
knew a man who would banish the flies. "Bring him to me," said she,
"and if he is able to banish the flies, that is not the reward he'll
get, but seven times as much."
"But," said they, "if the people of the law knew, they would take him
and hang him, as they hung the man who got back the sight of his eyes
for him before." "But," said she, "could not he banish the flies
without the knowledge of the people of the law?"
"We don't know," said they, "until we take counsel with him."
That night they took counsel with the priest and told him what
Bingham's wife said.
"I have only an earthly life to lose," said the priest, "and I shall
give it up for the sake of the poor people, for there will be a plague
in the country unless I banish the flies. On to-morrow morning I shall
make an attempt to banish them in the name of God, and I have hope and
confidence in God that he will save me from my enemies. Go to the lady
now, and tell her that I shall be near the tree at sunrise to-morrow
morning, and tell her to have men ready to put the corpse in the grave."
They went to the lady and told her all the priest said.
"If it succeeds with him," said she, "I shall have the reward ready for
him, and I shall order seven men to be present."
The priest spent that night in prayer, and half an hour before sunrise
he went to the place where his blessed vestments were hidden; he put
these on, and with a cross in one hand, and with holy-water in the
other, he went to the place where were the flies. He then began reading
out of his book and scattering holy-water on the flies, in the name of
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The hill of flies rose, and
flew up into the air, and made the heaven as dark as night. The people
did not know where they went, but at the end of half an hour there was
not one of them to be seen.
There was great joy on the people, but it was not long till they saw
the spy coming, and they called to the priest to run away as quick as
it was in him to run. The priest gave to the butts (took to his heels),
and the spy followed him, and a knife in each hand with him. When he
was not able to come up with the priest he flung the knife after him.
As the knife was flying out past the priest's shoulder he put up his
left hand and caught it, and without ever looking behind him he flung
it back. It struck the man and went through his heart, so that he fell
dead and the priest went free.
The people got the body of Bingham and buried it in the grave, but when
they went to bury the body of the spy they found thousands of rats
round about it, and there was not a morsel of flesh on his bones that
they had not eaten. They would not stir from the body, and the people
were not able to rout them away, so that they had to leave the bones
over-ground.
The priest hid away his blessed vestments and was working in the garden
when Bingham's wife sent for him, and told him to take the reward that
was for banishing the flies, and to give it to the man who banished
them, if he knew him.
"I do know him, and he told me to bring him the reward to-night,
because he has the intention of leaving the country before the
law-people hang him."
"Here it is for you," said she, as she handed him a purse of gold.
On the morning of the next day the priest went to the brink of the
sea, and found a ship that was going to France. He went on board, and
as soon as he had left the harbour he put his priest's-clothes on
him, and gave thanks to God for bringing him safe. We do not know what
happened to him from that out.
* * * * *
After that, blind and sore-eyed people used to be coming to Mary's
Well, and not a person of them ever returned without being cured. But
there never yet was anything good in this country that was not spoilt
by somebody, and the well was spoilt in this way.
There was a girl in Ballintubber and she was about to be married, when
there came a half-blind old woman to her asking alms in the honour of
God and Mary.
"I've nothing to give to an old blind-thing of a hag, it's bothered
with them I am," said the girl.
"That the marriage ring may never go on you until you're as blind as
myself," says the old woman.
Next day, in the morning, the young girl's eyes were sore, and the
morning after that she was nearly blind, and the neighbours said to her
that she ought to go to Mary's Well.
In the morning, early, she rose up and went to the well, but what
should she see at it but the old woman who asked the alms of her,
sitting on the brink, combing her head over the blessed well.
"Destruction on you, you nasty hag, is it dirtying Mary's Well you
are?" said the girl. "Get out of that or I'll break your neck."
"You have no honour nor regard for God or Mary, you refused to give
alms in honour of them, and for that reason you shall not dip yourself
in the well."
The girl caught a hold of the hag trying to pull her from the well,
and with the dragging that was between them, the two of them fell into
the well and were drowned.
From that day to this there has been no cure in the well.
HOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH.
PREFACE.
I heard this story from a workman of the late Mr. Redington Roche, of
Rye Hill (in Irish, Druim an tseagail) near Monivea, Co. Galway. It
was in Irish prose, but it reminded me so strongly of those strange
semi-comic mediæval moralities common at an early date to most European
languages--such pieces as Goethe has imitated in his poem of "St. Peter
and the Horse Shoe"--that I could not resist the temptation to turn
it into rhyme. I have heard a story something like this in the County
Tipperary, only that it was told in English. This story is the reason
(I think the narrator added) of the well-known proverbial rann:
Four clerks who are not covetous
Four Frenchmen who are not yellow,
Four shoemakers who are not liars,
Those are a dozen who are not in the country.
More than one piece of both English and French literature founded upon
the same motif as this story will occur to the reader. The original
will be found at p. 161 of "The Religious Songs of Connacht," vol I.
THE STORY
As once our Saviour and St. Peter
Were walking over the hills together,
In a lonesome place that was by the sea,
Beside the border of Galilee,
Just as the sun to set began
Whom should they meet but a poor old man!
His coat was ragged, his hat was torn,
He seemed most wretched and forlorn,
Penury stared in his haggard eye
And he asked an alms as they passed him by.
Peter had only a copper or two,
So he looked to see what the Lord would do.
The man was trembling--it seemed to him--
With hunger and cold in every limb.
But, nevertheless, our Lord looked grave,
He turned away and he nothing gave.
And Peter was vexed awhile at that
And wondered what our Lord was at,
Because he had thought him much too good
To ever refuse a man for food.
But though he wondered he nothing said,
Nor asked the cause, for he was afraid.