interesting because it lends strength to the assumption that the story
may be a piece of pre-Christian folk-lore, and probably very much older
than any documents. I think it is pretty obvious that St. Ciaran and
his clerics were brought into the written version simply to insure
the tale against any clerical hostility which might be displayed by
well-intentioned friars or others who would say--"those are only
foolish tales, let them be." But the presence of St. Ciaran and his two
clerics would be sure to disarm hostility, if any such were attempted.
The whole of mediaeval Irish literature is full of examples of such
forethought.
This story was told by Joyce or Seoigtheach, of Poll na bracha, in Co.
Galway, some years ago, for the Oireachtas. There are a great number of
stories in Irish with regard to old age. A common saying which I have
often heard, but with variants, is the following, which purports to
tell the life of those things in the universe which will last longest:
Tri cuaille fáil, cú.
Tri cú, each.
Tri eich, duine.
Tri daoine, iolar.
Tri iolair, bradán.
Tri bradáin, iubhair (pronounced "úr.")
Tri iubhair, eitre,
Tri eitreacha o thús an domhain go deireadh an domhain
_i.e._, "Three wattles (such as are placed in a hedge to fill a gap) =
a hound's life, three hounds a steed, three steeds a man, three men an
eagle, three eagles a salmon, three salmon a yew tree, three yew trees
a ridge, three ridges from the beginning to the end of the world."
"Eitre" has been explained to me as the old very wide ridges that used
to be used in ancient times which left an almost indelible track in the
ground. But my friend Mr. Hodgson took down a different explanation
from Mathias O'Conor, and a different version, after "tri ur, eitre,"
came "tri eitre, 'eye-ar'." and 'eitre' he explained as the mark of a
plough on land, and 'aidhear' or "eye-ar" as the mark of a spade.
The Crow of Achill is a bird that every Irish speaker in the West has
heard of, but Raftery curiously made him a "raven." In one of his poems
he says of a place in his beloved Mayo where birds delighted to resort:
Ta an fiach dubh as Acaill ann
Ta an seabhac as Loch Erne ann,
Ta an t-iolrach o'n nGreig ann
Agus an eala on Roimh.
_i.e._, the Raven out of Achill is there, the Hawk from Lough Erne is
there, the Eagle out of Greece and the Swan from Rome!
THE STORY.
In the Island of Achill the Crow lived. He never frequented wood, tree
or bush, but an ancient forge in which he spent his time every evening
throughout the year, and every year of his lifetime, lying on the
anvil. And as it is the custom of birds usually to rub their beaks to
the thing that is nearest to them, the Crow used to give an odd rub,
now and again, to the horn of the anvil. At long last, in the end, the
horn grew to be as thin and worn away as a knitting needle, by the
continuous rubbing.
One night there happened to be a great storm. There came frost, snow
and wind, very violent. The roofing was swept away off the forge, and
along with it went the plumage and feathers of the crow, and the poor
crow was left in the morning after that dreadful night, and he without
a feather or any plumage on his body, but just as much as if he had
been scalded with boiling water.
When the sun rose after that in the morning there came a rest and a
calm, but the poor crow was afraid to go out, and [_i.e._, after] the
flaying that had been done upon him during the night. "Oh," said he,
"it's a long time I'm in this world, and I never felt a single other
night of such bad weather as the night last night. It is my own opinion
that there is not a single living creature in the entire world older
than myself, unless it be the great Eagle of Leac-na-bhfaol,[39] and
I'm in doubt but that the eagle is the older. I'll go to himself now
until I get knowledge from him if he ever felt a night as cold and as
venemous as the night we had last night."
[39] Pronounce L'ock-na-weel.
When the light of day came and the heat of the sun was right, my crow
slipped off with the intention of journeying to the eagle. He was going
and ever-going as well as he was able, seeing he was without feathers,
until he came in the end, at long last, as far as the nest of the Eagle.
"Aroo!" says the Eagle; "O Crow of my heart, what has happened to you,
or where have your plumage and your feathers gone?"
"Oh, don't ask me that," said the Crow, "didn't yourself feel the cold
and ill weather of last night?"
"Well, indeed," said the Eagle, "I didn't notice one jot of the wild
weather that you're talking of."
"Heavy was your slumber then," said the Crow. "I never experienced any
night myself that was one half as venemous as it was--and signs on me!
I am come now to you to find out from you did there ever come any night
in your time that was colder than it; because I was laying out in my
own mind that you are older than I am."
"I have no right-certainty as to my own age," said the Eagle; "but even
if I had, I know that there is another creature who is still alive in
the world and who is very much older than I am."
"Who is that?" said the Crow.
"He is the Blind Trout of Assaroe," said the Eagle. "Go you, now, to
that Trout, and perhaps you might get the solving of your question from
him."
The Crow went off and he never stopped nor stayed until he came as far
as Assaroe, and he found out the Trout. He told his story then to the
Trout, and told him that he came to find out from him if there had ever
come a night in the world that was as cold as last night.
"There did, and a thousand times colder," said the Trout.
"I'd scarcely believe you,"[40] said the Crow.
[40] Literally "it's badly I'd believe you."
"Why, then," said the Trout, "if you don't believe me, you can go to an
older authority than I."
"And who is that authority?" said the Crow.
"The Old Woman of Beare," said the Trout.
"I'll go right away to her this moment,"[41] said the Crow.
[41] Literally "now itself."
"Wait yet," said the Trout, "until I tell you my own story. I was
swimming on the surface of this pool one fine calm evening, as calm and
as fine as any evening that ever I saw. There were thousands of flies
above the pool. I sprang upward to catch the full of my mouth of them,
and before I reached back again into the water there was ice on the
[surface of the] water, and I was jumping and floundering on the flag
of ice until the raven[42] came and picked the eyes out of my head. My
share of blood began running fast[43] out of me, and I was there until
the heat of the blood melted the flag of ice that was on the water,
down through it, and let me down into the water again. That was the
coldest night that I ever felt myself, and that is the way I lost my
sight. I was christened the Blind Trout of Assaroe ever since, but
some of the people call me the Old Trout of Assaroe. Alas, my bitter
misfortune! I am ever since without sight."
[42] Notice the use of the definite article.
[43] Literally "thickly."
The Crow heard him out, but he would not be easy or satisfied in his
own mind until he should go on a visit to the Old Woman of Beare.
"Farewell, Trout," said he, "I must go to the Old Woman now until I
hear her own story."
"May your journey succeed with you Crow, you will have neither loss nor
hurt in the house of the Old Woman," said the Trout.
The Crow went off then, and he never stopped nor stayed until he came
to the Old Woman's house.
"Welcome, O Crow out of Achill," said she. "What is this has happened
to you, or where are your plumage and feathers?"
"They are gone with the big wind," said he; and with that he told his
story to the Old Woman from beginning to end, and he put the same
question to her that he had put before that to the Eagle and to the
Trout--Did she ever feel any night that was as sore and venemous as
last night?
"That's true for you," said she; "I did feel a little stroke of cold at
the beginning of the night, but I drew a wool pack over my head then,
and I never felt anything but moonogues[44] of perspiration running off
me again until morning."
[44] Literally "little bog-berries"
"Are you very old?" said the Crow; "or what age are you?"
"I have no certain date with regard to my age," said the Old
Woman--"only this much. My father used to kill a beef every year, on
the day I was born, in honour of my birthday, as long as he lived, and
I followed the same custom, from that day to this. All the horns [of
the beeves I killed] are on the loft in the barn and do you remain in
my house until to-morrow, and if you like I'll send the servant boy to
count them and you yourself can keep account of them" [as he numbers
them aloud.][45]
[45] See the story of "The Old Woman of Beare."
On the morrow with the rise of day the servant went up to count the
horns, and he spent one full year, and a day over, at that work, and
after all that there was only one corner of the loft emptied.
And during all that time the Crow was taking his ease, and there was
neither thirst nor hunger on him [so well was he treated] and his
plumage and his feathers grew on him again.
But even so, he got tired of keeping count.
"I give you the branch" [palm of victory] said he to the Old Woman;
"you are as old as the old grandmother long ago, who ate the apples,"
and he sped forth from the Old Woman and went home.
THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN
PREFACE.
The following little story, taken down in Irish by my friend Father
Kelleher from the dictation of Mary Sweeney, aged 82, of Coolea,
Ballyvourney, Co. Cork, and sent me by Miss G. Schoepperle, who
published the text in the revue Celtique in 1911, is of great interest,
because it is almost unique as showing a point of contact--one of the
exceedingly few points of contact--between Breton and Irish folk-lore.
"Il n'est, que je sache, d'autre example en Irlande d'un messager
surnaturel, tel que l'enfant mystérieux qui parait dans le conte qui
suit," says Miss Schoepperle, truly, but in Brittany, she goes on to
say, the "buguel (Irish, [uncial: buachaill]) noz," _i.e._, the boy or
herdsman of the night, is well known. It is generally described as a
little child with its head too large for its body, which only seldom
appears, but which is heard to cry and lament in fields or on deserted
roads. Its apparition is a presage of death. Lebraz in his Légende de
la Mort has more than one story of its appearance. The salient points
in the following story which seem to connect it with the Breton legend
are: (1) The gradual growth in size of the being which was at first
small; (2) the lamentations and cries which it utters, and (3)--most
remarkable of all--that it described itself as a herdsman, and was a
presage of death.
The Bearchan of this story must have been the bishop of [uncial:
Cluain-sosta] in [uncial: Ui Failghe] (King's County) about the year
690. He was of the race of the [uncial: Dalriada] or Scoto-Irish, and
was 21st in descent from [uncial: Cairbre Riada] who fought in the
battle of [uncial: Ceann Feadrat] in 186 A.D. I have seen his pedigree
in MS. There are about six other St. Bearchans, but so far as I know
the only one who would have been at all likely to have attracted a
body of legend to himself was this Bearchan of [uncial: Cluain-sosta],
who was esteemed as a prophet and poet. Besides I find this very
curious note in the Martyrology of Donegal compiled by Brother Michael
O'Clery from the old books of Ireland in 1630:
[uncial: Dodhach Bercháin da friot go nuaide in Uíb Fáilgi i bhferonn
ó Ui Berchain, an maidi fós timchiol an uisge. Ann sin atá cluainsosta
agus ann sin atá tempall Bercháin acus do bhi,] i.e., "Berchan's vat
has been found new in Ui Failgi in the territory of the Ui Berchain.
The timber was still round the water [_i.e._, was still good enough
to hold water.] It is there Cluainsosta is, and there Berchan's church
is and was." So, then, there must have been some well-known story
connected with Berchan's vat. The list of the great Earl of Kildare's
library, which was drawn up in 1518, contained a "St. Berchan's Book."
Poems ascribed to him are found in the "Wars of the Gael and Gall."
For other references to him, see my "Literary History of Ireland,"
210-11[46] "Bearachán" is the modern pronunciation of the older Berchán.
[46] See also O'Curry MS. Materials p. 412-418 and 432. Fer-da-lethe,
or the "man of two halves," was another name for him, "because he spent
half of his life in the world and half on pilgrimage ut ferunt periti."
An old rann runs:
[uncial: Cheithri fáidhe Gasdhel n-glan
feirdi an tir a dtanganar,
Colum cille Moling lán
Brenainn Biorra agus Berchan.]
_i.e._, "Four prophets of the clean Gael. The country from which they
sprang was the better for them. Columbcille, full Moling, Brendan of
Birr and Berchan."
THE STORY.
Bearachan of Glen Flesk[47] had a dream or vision that there was no
danger of his ever dying until three kings should come to his house
without asking or invitation. On a certain night they did pay him a
visit. He told them that there would not be a bit of him alive in the
morning. They passed a good part of the night eating and drinking away,
and they making a jest of him [saying] that so long as they themselves
were in the house there would be no danger of [anything happening] him.
[47] Near Killarney in Co. Kerry. But, as I have shown, he was probably
Bearchan of Cluainsosta. There is no Berchan of Glenflesk in any of the
Irish martyrologies.
[Illustration: THE THREE KINGS ADMIT THE "POOR LITTLE CREATURE"]
They got hold of a big dabhach or vat, and [they put] Bearachan in
under the mouth of the vat [to protect him] and they three were round
about it.
He had not been long placed there by them when they heard a very clear
little voice outside, and it crying; and there was snow outside, and
cold.
They asked it, "what was outside and what it wanted."
It said that it was a cow-herd and that it was perished.
They left him outside for a good space of time. At last they let him
in. He came in and sat down beside the fire, a poor little creature,
and he shaking with the cold. They gave him food and drink, but he told
them that he was too much frightened, and that he would not eat it.
They had a fine red-hot fire, and he was warming himself at the fire.
He was a very short time there till he began swelling with the [heat of
the] fire and growing big. He drew a little musical instrument out of
his pocket and started to play on it. And according as the music was
a-playing by him the others were inclining to weaken and fall asleep,
until they [all, at last] fell softly in a dead sleep.
And when they awoke in the morning, they had no music and no
Bearachan--nothing but his bones left bare and naked underneath the
vat.
STORY OF SOLOMON.
PREFACE.
How Solomon comes into Irish folk-lore is hard to say, but I have heard
at least three stories about him, of which the present is the most
interesting. I wrote it down, word for word, from the mouth of Michael
Mac Ruaidhri, in 1896. There is an undoubtedly Eastern flavour about
it, but how it came to the County Mayo I cannot imagine, for I have not
been able to trace it to any known source.
Solomon's name was better known in the middle ages in connection with
the conjuration of spirits. "Für solche halbe Hexenblut 1st Salomonis
Schlüssel gut," says Faust in the study scene, when threatened by the
demon dog. Josephus mentions Solomon's power over ghosts, and a book
of conjurations in Hebrew which was ascribed to Solomon was translated
into Latin, French, Italian, German and Spanish. The best known
German edition according to Zerfi (one of Faust's editors) is called
"clavicula Salomonis et theosophia pneumatica."
THE STORY.
When Solomon's mother was sick, Solomon used to send a man from the
village in which he was, to watch her every night; and every man who
used to be watching her had to come before sunrise next morning with
word to Solomon of how his mother was, and the first man who would say
that his mother was dead, his head was to be whipt off him, and hung
upon a spear that was above the Great Door. And they used to go, man
after man, each night in their turn, and five pounds was the reward for
their work, which they used to get each night. It was well, and it was
not ill, until it came to the turn of a widow's son to go to watch the
mother of Solomon; and the night that he was going to watch her she was
very weak and overcome, and given up for death.
When the account came to the widow's son to go and watch Solomon's
mother, there came the weakness and the sweat of death upon him, and
his mother began to keene for him, because she had no one but him. And
as he was going home from the day's work that he had, that evening, he
was weeping and troubled; and there met him a half-fool, and he asked
the widow's son for what cause was he weeping, and the widow's son told
him as I am telling it to you.
"What is the reward that you will get?" said the half-fool to the
widow's son.
"Five pounds," says he to him.
"My soul to God of the graces," says the half-fool, "but I'll go in
your place to night, if you give me the five pounds."
"I'll give you five pounds, and something over," says the widow's son,
"if you go there."
True was the story. The half-fool went to watch Solomon's mother that
night, and she was in the last agony when he went into the room, and
he was watching her until after the hour of twelve at night; and he
heard a noise at the big door, and he rose upon his feet and walked to
the big door, and there was a man at the big door, and he watching,
looking in on a window that was in the big door. And the man who was in
it was a body-servant of Solomon; and Solomon had a great regard for
this man, and he used to send this man every night to bring him word
privately--to tell him if the man who was taking care of his mother
was doing his business right. Now, there was none of the men who were
watching his mother for a year so keenly-watchful as the half-fool who
was watching her that night. No man of them heard the man who was at
the big door any night except him.
The half-fool opened the big door then, and there was an old sword hung
up over the big door. When the big door was opened the body-servant
thought to come in, but the half-fool drew the sword, and threw the
head off him. He left him there and went to the sleeping-room where
Solomon's mother was, and he was not long in it until Solomon's mother
died.
* * * * *
Solomon was getting very uneasy about his servant as to what was the
reason that he was not coming to him with tidings, as he used to come
every other night. But, howsoever, Solomon did not leave the house till
morning, and he did not go to look for him. [He waited], but he did
not come. And when the day came, the widow's son was not with Solomon
before the rising of the sun, as the other men had been. Solomon did
not go to rest, but he ever looking out through the window, and at long
last he saw the widow's son--for he thought it was he was in it--coming
to the palace. And when he came in to Solomon they saluted one another.
And says the half-fool--it was he was in it--to Solomon, "I am asking
pardon of you, O king and prince."
"Why say you that?" said Solomon.
"I knocked the hat off your body-servant yesterday," said the half-fool.
"You have your pardon got," said Solomon.
"But, O thou best of the kings," said the half-fool, "the head was with
the hat." And as Solomon was after giving him his pardon, he could not
go back of his word.
"Have you any other tidings with you?" said Solomon.
"I have," said he.
"Tell them," said Solomon.
"God's brightness is on the earth," said he.
"The sun is risen," said Solomon.
"It is," said the half-fool.
"The stones that were above yesterday," said he, "they are going below
now."
"The plough is ploughing, then," said Solomon.
"It is," said he, "and the first house in which you were reared, it is
overthrown."
"Then my mother is dead," said Solomon
"She is," said the half-fool.
"I shall have your head on the spear," said Solomon.
"You shall not, O honest noble king," said the half-fool, "you yourself
were the first man who said it."
"By my honour," said Solomon, "it was I."
Ye see now, that, as wise as Solomon was, the half-fool got the victory
over him in wisdom. "There be's luck on a fool."[48]
[48] A common proverb.
CHRISTMAS ALMS.
PREFACE.
There are many rhyming petitions and prayers amongst the "Askers
of Alms" to be recited at the door of those from whom they crave
assistance. One of the virtues most insisted upon in prayers and
didactic poems is almsgiving. The following story was probably invented
with a deliberately didactic purpose. It was told by Mary Gowlan,
Cathair-na-Mart (Westport), some twenty years ago. The Dardeels, or
Dharadeels which came out of the mouth of the dying woman are the most
loathsome insects known to the Irish peasant. They are black beetles
with cocked tails. See the "Legend of the Dardeel, the Keerogue and the
Prumpolaun."
THE STORY.
In the old time there was a married couple living near
Cauher-na-Mart,[49] in the County Mayo. They had seven of a family, but
God sent them worldly means, and they wanted for nothing but the love
of God.
[49] Westport.
The man was a pious and generous person, and was good to the poor, but
the wife was a hard miser without mercy, who would not give alms to
man or stranger, and after refusing the poor man she used not to be
satisfied with that, but she used to give him abuse also. If a person
able to do work were to come looking for alms from her, she would say,
"Unless you were a lazy vagabone you would not be here now looking for
alms and bothering my head with your talk;" but if an old man or an old
woman who could do no work would come to her, it is what she would say
to them that they ought to be dead long before that.
One Christmas night there was frost and snow on the ground. There was
a good fire in Patrick Kerwan's house--that was the man's name--and
the table was laid. Patrick, his wife and his family were sitting down
at the table, and they ready to go in face of a good supper when they
heard a knock at the door. Up rose the wife and opened it. There was a
poor man outside, and she asked him what he was looking for.
"I'm looking for alms in the honour of Jesus Christ, who was born on
this festival night, and who died on the Cross of passion for the human
race."
"Begone, you lazy guzzler," she said, "if you were one half as good at
working as you are at saying your prayers, you would not be looking for
alms to-night, nor troubling honest people," and with that she struck
the door to, in the face of the poor man, and sat down again at the
table.
Patrick heard a bit of the talk she gave the poor man, and he asked who
was at the door.
"A lazy good-for-nothing, that was looking for alms," said she, "and
if it wasn't that it was a lazy vagabone that was in it, he would not
come looking for alms from people who are earning their share of food
hardly, but he would sooner be saying his old prayers than working for
meat."
Patrick rose. "Bad was the thing you did," said he, "to refuse anyone
for a morsel of meat, and especially to refuse him on Christmas night.
Isn't it God that sent us everything that we have; there is more on
this table than will be eaten to-night; how do you know whether we
shall be alive to-morrow?"
"Sit down," says she, "and don't be making a fool of yourself; we want
no sermons."
"May God change your heart," says Patrick, and with that he got the
full of his two hands of bread and food, and out with him, following
the poor man, going on the track of his feet in the snow as quick as he
could, till he came up with him. He handed him the food then, and told
him he was sorry for his wife's refusing him. "But," says he, "I'm sure
there was anger on her."
"Thank you for your food," said the poor man. He handed the food back
again to him, and said "[there], you have your food and your thanks,
[both]. I am an angel from heaven who was sent to your wife in the form
of a poor man, to ask alms of her in the honour of Jesus Christ, who
was born this night, and who suffered the passion of the Cross for the
human race. She was not satisfied with refusing me, but she abused me
also. You shall receive a great reward for your alms, but as for your
wife she shall not be long until she is standing in the presence of
Jesus Christ to give Him an account of the way in which she spent her
life on this world."
The angel departed, and Patrick returned home. He sat down, but he
could neither eat nor drink.
"What's on you?" says the wife, "did that stroller do anything to you?"