island, many troubles were coming upon him. The island was filled with
snakes, north, south, east and west, but it was God's will that Patrick
should put them under foot.
When he came to West Connacht he had a servant whose name was Fintan, a
pious and faithful man. One lay when he was drawing towards the Reek,
and the demons running away before him in fear, it chanced that Fintan
was travelling in front of the saint, and the serpents came round him
and killed him. When the saint came he found Fintan dead on the road.
He was grieved, but he went on his knees and prayed to God to bring
his servant to life again. No sooner had he his prayers finished than
Fintan rose up as well as ever he was. Patrick gave thanks to God, and
said, "In God's name we will set up a church here as a sign of the
great power of God, and we will call it Achaidh Cobhair."[95]
[95] _i.e._, Field of Help. This is folk etymology. Now Aughagower, in
Mayo.
The saint bought a garron or nag for carrying stones, and he blessed
it; for no burden had ever been laid upon it that it was not able to
carry. Then he got workmen, masons and carpenters, and began to found
the church. After a while the men began clamouring that they had
nothing to eat. There was great famine and scarcity in the country that
year. Meal was so scarce that few people had any to spare, or to sell,
either for gold or silver.
There was a man named Black Cormac living near the place. He had the
full of a barn of bags of meal. The saint took the men and the garron
with him one morning to the house of Black Cormac, and he inquired
how much would he be asking for as much meal as the garron would be
able to carry on his back. Cormac looked at the garron and said "so
much"--naming his price. "It's a bargain," said the saint, handing him
money down. The men went into the barn and brought out a great bag
and set it on the garron's back. Cormac said that it would break the
creature's back. "Never mind," said the saint, "keep packing bags on
him until I tell you to stop." They put bag after bag on him until they
had a pile as big as a small house. "Drive on now," says the saint.
The garron went off as readily and quickly as though it had only one
bag. There was great anger on Black Cormac, and he said, "My share of
trouble on ye, ye have me destroyed out and out." There was amazement
upon every person who saw the garron and the load that was on him.
A short time after this the workmen asked the saint for meat, for they
were working very hard. Some of them said that they heard that Black
Cormac had a bull to sell cheap. The saint sent for Cormac, and asked
him how much would he be wanting for the bull. Now it was a savage bull
who had killed many people, and since Connac hated the saint with a
great hatred he hoped the bull would kill him, and he told him, "You
can have the bull for nothing if you go yourself for him." "I'm very
thankful to you," said the saint, "I'll go for him in the evening when
I'll have my work done."
That evening the saint went to Black Cormac's house and asked him to
show him the field where the black bull was. He was greatly delighted
and said, "Follow me; the walk is not a long one." He brought the saint
down to a boreen, and showed him the bull in the field and said to him,
"Take him with you now if you can." The saint went into the field, and
when the bull saw him it raised its head and tail in the air and came
towards him in anger. He raised his crozier and made the sign of Christ
between himself and the bull. The beast lowered his head and his tail
and followed the saint as quietly as a lamb.
When the saint came home he killed the bull and told the men, "Take the
flesh with ye, but leave the skin and the bones." They took the flesh
with them and ate it.
A week after that Black Cormac came to the saint and said, "I hear
people saying that you are an honest man, but I know that you have done
me a great wrong." "How so?" said the saint. "About my meal and my
bull," said he. "I gave you your own bargain for the meal, and as for
your bull, you can have it back if you wish it."
"How could I get it back, and it eaten by you and your workmen?" said
Black Cormac.
The saint called for Fintan and told him, "Bring me the skin and bones
of the bull." He brought them to him and he prayed over them, and in a
moment the bull leapt up as well as ever he was. "Now," said the saint,
"take your bull home with you."
Black Cormac was greatly surprised, and when he went home he told the
neighbours that it was an enchanter the saint was, and that his own
bull was a blessed bull, and that it was proper that the people should
worship it. They believed that, and they said that they would come on
Sunday morning.
[Illustration: ST. PATRICK PRAYS OVER THE SKIN OF THE BULL]
The saint heard what Cormac had done, and he threatened him saying
not to lead the people astray from the true faith that he himself was
teaching them; but Black Cormac would not listen to him. On Sunday
morning some of the people gathered along with him to worship the bull,
and Black Cormac was the first to go into the field to set an example,
and he went to prostrate himself in presence of the bull, but the
beast came and put his two horns under him behind, and tossed him up in
the air so high that when he came to the ground he was dead. The people
remember that, still, in West Connacht, as Cormac Dubh's Sunday.
When Saint Patrick finished his church he said Mass in it, and after
that he faced for the Reek, for many of the serpents had gone up that
hill out of fear of the saint. For that reason he followed them and
found that they were up on the top of the Reek.
When he came to the bottom he dug a great hole, and he went up on the
Reek and drove the serpents down. They fell into the hole and were all
drowned but two. Those two escaped from him. One of them went into a
hole in a great rock near the Mouth of the Ford[96] in Tirawley, and
wrought great havoc amongst the people.
[96] Ballina, Co. Mayo.
Every night when the sun would be going down this serpent used to light
a candle, and anybody who would see the light used to fall dead. The
people called this serpent Sercín, and the rock is to be seen to this
day, and it is called Carrig-Sercín. The saint followed this serpent.
He and his servant, Fintan, came to a little village near
Carrig-Sercín, and the saint asked a widow for lodgings for himself and
his servant. "I'll give you that," said she, "but I must close my door
before set of sun." "Why so?" said the saint. "There is a serpent in a
hole of a rock out in the sea; he lights a candle every evening before
sunset, and anybody who sees that light falls dead. He has great
destruction made amongst the people."
"Have you a candle in the house?" said the saint. "Indeed I have not,"
said she. "Have you the makings of a candle," said the saint. "No,"
said she; "but I have dry rushes."
Then the saint drew out a knife and opened Fintan's stomach and took
a bit of lard out of it, and gave it to the woman of the house, and
told her to make a candle. She did as he had directed, and when the
candle was made the saint lit it and stood in the mouth of the door.
It was not long until the serpent lit his candle, but no sooner was it
lit than it fell dead. The people thanked the saint greatly, and he
explained to them the mighty power and the love of God, and baptized
them all.
When the other serpent escaped St. Patrick, it never stopped until it
went in on a little island that was in the north of the country. The
name of this serpent was Bolán Mór, or Big Bolaun. He was as big as
a round tower. St. Patrick pursued Bolán; but when he came as far as
the lake he had no boat to take him to the island. He stripped off his
clothes, and with his crozier in his hand he leapt into the water and
began swimming to the island.
When the serpent saw the saint coming to him he took to the water,
and when he came as far as the saint he opened his mouth, and, as
sure as I'm telling it, he swallowed the saint. Bolán Mór had a great
wide stomach, and when the saint found himself shut up there he began
striking on every side with his crozier, and Bolán Mór began to throw
a flood of blood out of his mouth, until the water of the lake was
red (dearg), and there is no name on the lake from that day to this
but Loch Dearg. The saint was beating Bolán Mór with the crozier until
he killed him. Then he made a hole in his side and came out, and drew
Bolán Mór's body to land after him.
There was wonder and great joy on the people of the villages round
about, because neither man, beast, nor bird had come to the lake since
Bolán came there but he had swallowed down into his big stomach, and it
was great good for them he to be dead.
The next day the saint got a boat, and he and Fintan and a number of
the people from the villages went to the island. St. Patrick blessed
the little island, and it was not long until a number of pious men came
and cut out [the site of] a monastery on the island, and from that
time to the present, good people go on a pilgrimage to that blessed
island.[97]
[97] _i.e._, Lough Derg.
St. Patrick remained for a time amongst the people near Loch Derg
teaching and baptising them. And as soon as some of them were able to
teach the others he returned to Aughagower. While the saint had been
away from them some of them had fallen into unbelief, but so soon as he
came back they returned to the true faith of St. Patrick and never lost
it more. Many people also came to the saint seeking to buy the little
garron from him; but he would not sell it.
One day the king who was over Connacht at that time came and said, "I
hear you have a wonderful garron, and that he is able to carry a heavy
load."
"He is a good garron," said the saint, "no load has failed him since I
bought him, and I wouldn't like to part with him."
"I'll give you as much gold as he will be able to carry on his back in
one load in one day from rise of sun until it sets. It is thirty miles
from my castle to this place and he must do the journey in one day."
"Perhaps you have not as much gold in the house as the garron can
carry," said the saint.
"If I haven't," said the king, "I'll give you as much as will found
three churches for you, and you'll have your garron, too."
"It's a bargain," said the saint.
The king had a coach, a tent and servants, and he said, "I'll wait here
till morning and you can come to my castle with me, and the morning
after you can go home with your load."
"Very well, let it be so," said the saint.
On the morning of the next day they all departed, the saint riding on
the garron, and the king and his servants in the coach. The king drove
his horses as fast as they were able to run, to see would the garron be
able to keep up with them. But if they had to go seven times as quick
the garron was able for them. St. Patrick remained that night at the
king's castle and next morning before sunrise the king brought himself
and his garron to his treasury. The treasurer was there with his men.
They filled a great bag with gold and put it on the garron's back.
"Will he be able to carry it home?" said the king. "He will, and twenty
times as much," said the saint. He filled another bag and put it on
him, and another bag after that.
"Isn't there his enough of a load on him now?" said the king. "There
isn't a half or a quarter of a load yet on him," said the saint. They
were putting [bags] on him until every ounce in the treasury was on
him. Then the saint said, "To show that there isn't half a load on him
yet, put two or three tons of iron on top of the gold." They did that,
and the garron walked out as lightly as though there had been nothing
in it but a bag of oats. "Now," said the saint, "you see that my
garron-_een_ hasn't half a load on him yet." "I see he has not," said
the king. "There is more power in your garron than in all the horses of
the Ard-ri.[98] Take your garron home again, and begin and set up those
churches, and I'll pay the cost."
[98] _i.e._, The High King.
The saint rode on his garron and came home. He soon began to put up the
three churches, and the king paid the costs. But the garron carried
every stone that went to the building. The people have the old saying
still when they want to praise anyone, "May you have the strength of
Patrick's garron!"
When the three churches were finished he bestowed his garron on the
brethren, and he himself went northward, lighting a coal of faith
throughout Ireland which was never quenched, and never shall be
quenched.
When the great judgment shall come it is St. Patrick who will judge the
children of the Gael.
HOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME.
PREFACE.
There is hardly any Irish saint of whom more legends are related, at
least in our literature, than of Saint Moling. He was both a poet and
a prophet. Some stories bring him into contact with Gobán Saor, the
great builder. He figures largely in the extraordinary tale of "Suibhne
Geilt." See also the story of the "Death of Bearchán." The following
legend was printed by my friend, Seán Tóibín, in the "Lochrann" a
couple of years ago. I was sure it was taken from oral sources, but he
has just told me to my surprise, that he was only retelling what he had
read in Irish, not what he had HEARD or taken down orally. However, as
the story had been set up in print, and as I have here no other story
about St. Moling it may stay, only the reader must understand that it
is not actual surviving folk-lore, but a retelling from an Irish MS.
THE STORY.
[He was first called Taircheal, and he was pupil to a cleric.]
Taircheal went out one day, and he had two bags, one on his back and
one in front of him. He took his master's stick, in his hand and off
he set in this guise. He went round Luachair on pilgrimage, and he was
there reciting his rosary when he saw coming towards him the Fuath[99]
and his people; a black, dark, truly ugly band were they, and they had
the form of demons. And they used never give quarter to anyone. And
this was the number of those who were there, namely the Fuath himself,
his wife, his gillie, his hound, and nine others.
[99] Pronounced "Foo-a." A weird shape, phantom, or spectre.
Says the Fuath to his people, "Wait ye there and I'll go talk to yon
man who is alone, and since I took up with a life of plundering and
stealing I never felt a desire to protect any man except that one
only." He gripped his sword and went over to meet Taircheal.
He said to Taircheal, "Whence have you come from, you eater of
beastings?"
"Whence have you come from yourself, you black burnt gruagach[100]?" said
the young man.
[100] Literally, "long-haired one." It is a term for a wizard or warlock.
"I'll take your bags off you, and your head too, unless you listen to
me," said the Fuath.
"By my father's hand you won't unless I wish it myself," said Taircheal.
"By the hand of him who taught me, but I'll ply my weapon on you," said
the Fuath.
"I'd think it easier to put you down than boiled meat," said Taircheal.
"Listen or I'll stick this point in through the middle of your heart,"
said the Fuath.
"I swear," said the young man, "that I'll strike you on the head with
this stick, it is the crozier of my master and tutor, and he promised
that it should never be broken in single combat."
Then fear possessed the Fuath, and he called to his people to come and
help him. The other Fuaths came. Then it was plain to Taircheal that he
had no way of escape or of withdrawing.
"We'll kill you now, brown Taircheal," said the Fuath's hag, "I'll
thrust you through with my knife, and you'll get death and violent
dissolution."
"I ask a request of ye," said Taircheal.
"What is it?" said the Fuaths.
"Let me go to the other side of that ditch, and give three steps in the
path of the King of Heaven and Earth," said he.
The Fuaths laughed. "That's all you want?" said they. "That's all,"
said he.
"Have it then," said the hag, "for you won't go from us, for we are as
swift as the deer of the hill, and this hound of ours is as swift as
the wind."
Then Taircheal walked to the ditch, and gave his three leaps. He went
so far, of the first leap, that they thought he was no bigger [when he
landed] than a crow on top of the hill. The second leap he gave they
did not see him at all, and they did not see whether it was to heaven
or earth he had gone. Of the third leap he landed upon the wall of his
tutor's church.
"That way he's gone," said the Fuath's hag. Then they rose up and ran,
both hound and person, so that their cry and yell was heard a mile
overhead in the upper air. The hounds and populace of the village came
out each one of them to protect the youth, for it was plain to them
that he was being pursued by the Fuaths. But he leapt down off the wall
and ran into the church, and began returning thanks to God in presence
of his tutor.
"What angry madness is on you, son?" said the tutor.
"Nothing much, my tutor," said Taircheal, "it was the Fuaths who were
hunting me;" and he told him the story how he had leaped [ling] from
Luachair in his three leaps.
"Great is your leap [ling] my pupil," said the priest, "and it was for
you that the angel Victor made the prophecy, and Moling [=my leap] of
Luachair shall be your name henceforth from the leaps that you have
leapt."
[uncial: CROICH]
APPENDIX.
NOTE ON THE DEATH OF MULRUANA, p. 33.
This proverb, "as I've burnt the candle I'll burn the inch," must be
old, and appears to have been well-known, for Maolmuire Ua hUiginn,
Archbishop of Tuam, used it over 300 years ago, in a poem beginning
"Slán uaim don da aodhaire," of which I have a manuscript copy.
[uncial: Tig raoirse andiaidh ró-bhruroe,
Tar éir dubhuig tig roinieann,
Fuilnge feadh an órlaigh-si,
Mar do caitheadh an choineall.]
_i.e._, freedom comes after hard-captivity, after darkness comes fine
weather, it is to be endured for the space of this inch, since the
[rest of the] candle has been burnt.
NOTE ON THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN, p. 63.
I have found another version of the very curious story of the Death
of Bearachan. It was sent in many years ago in a collection by some
unknown collector competing for a prize in folk lore at the Oireachtas,
under the [uncial: ainm-bréige] of [uncial: Seághan Crón]. In this
version Bearachan is not a saint but a druid, and the three kings
are Finn Mac Cumhaill king of the Fian, one of the provincial kings,
and the hound Bran, the king of all hounds. The thing that wailed so
piteously outside the door is called an "iarmhar," pronounced Eervar
or Eerwar--there is no such creature known to me. The word is used by
Keating as meaning a "remnant." He talks of the Iarmhar or Remnant of
the Fir Bolg. I have never met the word in any other sense. There is
nothing said in this version about its growing large when it got the
heat, and the relationship to the Breton Buguel Noz is not so apparent
as in the other story.
[uncial: DÁS BHEARACHÁIN NA RÁRDHTE GCLISDE..
Bhí sean-draoi ann, fad ó, gur bh'é ainm a bhí air ná Bearachàn, agus
táinig Fionn Mac Cúmhaill agus righ eile d'á fhiosrughadh, oidhche
airíghthe.
Do bhíodar ag caitheamh na h-oidhche leó féin ann--ag déanamh gach aon
chaitheamh-aimsire o' fhéadadar dóibh féin.
I gcaitheamh na h-oidhche dhóibh d'iarr Fionn de Bhearachán an fada an
saoghal a bhi gearrtha amach dó nó an raibh aon fhios aige air.
Dubhairt Bearachàn d'a fhreagairt go raibh, go maith--go mairfeadh
sé go bráth chun go dtiucfadh tri rigthe gan cuireadh chum a thighe i
gcómhair na h-oidhche,--ar an oidhche sin go dtiucfad mac tíre chuige
do mhar'ochadh é.
"Béan t'anam, mar sin." arsa Fionn, "mar tá trí righthe gan cuireadh
ann so anocht."
"Cionnar a bhéadh"? arsa Bearachán, "agus gan ann acht beirt agaibh."
"Tá," arsa Fionn, "mise righ na Féinne, agur é seo lem' chois
righ cúigeadh is eadh é, agus Bhran atá 'na righ ar ghadharaibh an
domhain."
"O! Dia le m'anam"! arsa Bearachán, "tá mo ghnó déanta mar sin."
"Ni baoghal duit anocht pé sgéal é," arsa Fionn, "no teipfidh sé
orrainn-ne."
Sé rud do dheineadar, ná é do chur fa bhéal tobáin, agus an bheirt eile
bheit ag imirt fithchille ar thóin an tobáin ar eagla go dtuitfeadh
riad 'na geodladh an fhard do bheior ag faire ar Bhearachán. Do dhiodar
as imirt leó.
Budh ghairid dóibh gur airigheadar an t-iarmhar a' ladhairt amuigh,
agus d'iarr sé ortha go h-iairmhéileach é do leogaint isteach.
Dubhrodar leis go doithcheallach, i mbasa, á leogfaidis.
Do lean sé orra, fharo gach n-fhario, agus é niosa truarghmhéilighe
gach uair 'ná a chéile.
Dubhairt Fionn fé dheireadh thair thall gur chóir gur chuireadar diobh
cathanna ba chruardhe 'na pé iarmhar a bhí amuigh do smachtughadh go
maidhin.
D'osgladar an dorus agus do sgaoileadar isteach é, agus do shuidh
sé sa' chúinne agus do leog (leig) sé air do dheith dá leigheadh
(leaghadh) ag an bhfuacht. Is gearr gun tharraihg sé chuige píob, agus
do thornaigh sé ar an gceól do spreagadh do b'uaibhrighe agus d'airigh
aon neach riamh. Agus da ghearr 'na dhiardh sin gur thuit duine
aca na chodladh thall agus duine eile, abhos, agus ap maidin nuair
dhúisigheadar ni raibh fe bhéal an tobáin acht cairnin cnámh. Sin é bár
Bhearacháin agaibh.]
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been
retained except in obvious cases of typographical error.
Diacritical marks are shown as follows breve [)o] and macron[=o].
Italics are shown thus _italic_.