PROSE ROMANCES.
“Lying, worldly stories concerning the Tuatha de Danann, the sons
of Milesius, and Finn Mac Cumhail with his Feine.”—CARSUEL (A.D.
1567.)
It may be thought by some that too much has been said concerning
the ballads and the character of the Féinne. Others may be quite
dissatisfied with the fragmentary notices which have been taken
of those grand Gaelic ancestors. The former ought to bear in mind
that the authors of these Celtic romances were the fathers and for
centuries the cultivators of Gaelic song and story; and that they
were also “the cause” of much rhyme and romance in others. The
student of Gaelic literature can no more give up his devotion to
Ossian and to the bards who were his contemporaries and successors
than the English student can forget his Chaucer and Spenser and
the glorious poetic host of the Elizabethan age. The latter ought
to remember that instead of a few paragraphs it would require many
volumes to bring forward with fair adequacy the literature and
history of the Finian period.
Let us now glance at the popular fictions of Irish romancists. To
the Scottish student these are suggestive as presenting similar but
varying conceptions regarding the same class of heroes.
As bearing on the Irish character of the present day, it is very
remarkable that the Irish versions of the stories and ballads are, as
compared with those of Scotland, characterised by more magnificent
exaggerations and more gorgeous romance. The glow of richer eloquence
and of a more splendid verbiage, combined at the same time with
more of the sense of the ludicrous and incongruous, is felt as you
tread the famous field of _Magh-lene_, or the more renowned scene of
_Cathgarbh_ [Gabhra], or listen to the cleverly invented dialogues
between Ossian and Patrick, in the company and under the guidance of
the Irish Gaelic literati. This is worth noting, for it indicates how
early essential differences began to develop between the two tribes
of the same race. At this very day the natural eloquence of Irishmen
(proverbially all born orators) far transcends that of Highlanders,
whose hardy native hills appear to have made them generally more men
of brave deeds than of eloquent good words. The richer soil and the
softer climate of Ireland have had a more emasculating influence
on the Irish brother tribes; but nature is not always unkind; this
possible disadvantage is more than counterbalanced by the rich flow,
suavity, and sweetness of the Irish tongue. It is not only the
eloquence but the peculiar character of Irish wit and humour that is
traceable in Eire’s versions of the Celtic romances. There is also
a stationary element observable in the history of the nation. The
pre-Celtic, Celtic or Finian Ireland is very much to-day what it
was upwards of a thousand years ago. St. Patrick may have made the
most of Ireland nominally Christian but the essential heathenism of
many of the people has never been yet eradicated; nor was it in the
Highlands till this century, deeply and powerfully as the people were
touched by drastic ecclesiastical and political changes. A Highland
bard of great natural abilities and poetic endowments—William
Livingston—has very well expressed in an interesting poem, “Eirin
a’ gul” (Erin weeping), his satisfied conviction that the people
have never changed. Livingston sang as a Scottish Gael of the
pre-Reformation days would. He had as little regard for his Holiness
in Rome as he had for the late Rev. Principal Candlish, of Edinburgh,
when the latter was preaching in Greenock, and Livingston assumed a
threatening attitude as if he would dirk the preacher, who had the
temerity to touch up the Highlanders—about the Sustentation Fund, I
suppose. It is melancholy to observe—especially suggestive to those
who make so much of our boasted advancement in civilisation—that
the Gaelic peasantry of Munster to-day cannot show that they have
risen higher on the steps of their ancestral dead selves than what
they were when the Gaelic ballads were first rehearsed on the glens
and bens of ancient _Muiman_. The same remark till recently was
applicable to many parts of the Highlands.
Among the most famous of the old Celtic romances are the three
tragical stories of the “Children of Tuirrean,” the “Children of
Lir,” and the “Children of Uisneach,” whom we have already come
across in the Gaelic ballads; also the “Pursuit of Diarmad,” and the
“Cattle Raid of Cuailgne.” As it has been always so popular in both
Scotland and Ireland, let us look at the “Pursuit of Diarmad.” There
is no space for even the briefest outlines of the large number of
other celebrated fictions. The following paragraphs from this nearly
endless _Pursuit_ may be compared with the Scottish poetical version
already given.
Finn is about to be married to the daughter of King Cormac, and high
festival is held in the banquetting hall of royal Tara.
The King of Erin sits down to enjoy drinking and pleasure, with his
wife at his shoulder, and Gràine at her shoulder. Finn MacCuhail
is at the King’s right hand. Cairbre Liffeachair, the son of the
king, is there, and so is Ossian, the son of Finn. The other chief
Finian heroes are also there. (In the quotations I follow the Irish
orthography of the proper names.)
“‘Tell me now,’ said Grainne to Daire Mac Morna of the songs,
‘who is that warrior at the right shoulder of Oisin, the son of
Fionn?’ ‘Yonder,’ said the druid, ‘is Goll Mac Morna, the active,
the warlike.’ ‘Who is that warrior at the shoulder of Goll?’ said
Grainne. ‘Oscar, the son of Oisin,’ said the druid. ‘Who is that
graceful-legged-man at the shoulder of Oscar?’ said Grainne. ‘Caoilte
Mac Ronain,’ said the druid. ‘What haughty, impetuous warrior is
that, yonder, at the shoulder of Caoilte?’ said Grainne. ‘The son of
Lughaidh of the mighty hand, and that man is sister’s son to Fionn
Mac Cumhaill,’ said the druid. ‘Who is that freckled, sweet-worded
man, upon whom is the curling dusky-black hair, and [who has] the two
red ruddy cheeks, upon the left hand of Oisin, the son of Fionn?’
‘That man is Diarmad, the grandson of Duibhne, the white-toothed, of
the lightsome countenance; that is the best lover of women and of
maidens that is in the whole world.’ ‘Who is that at the shoulder
of Diarmad?’ said Grainne. ‘Diorruing, the son of Dobhar Damhadh
O’Baoisgne, and that man is a druid and a skilful man of science,’
said Daireduanach. ‘That is a goodly company,’ said Grainne.”
Miss Gràine Mac Cormac, or rather Princess Gràine, might well make
this remarkable admission regarding the character of those heroes.
She was emphatically a woman. The above series of questions is
thoroughly in harmony with the inquisitorial character of ladies of
fashion in general, as well as with ordinary feminine curiosity. This
curiosity was awakened by the vision of and contact with a band of
conquering heroes whose names have mysteriously touched the heart
of the Celtic world for centuries. Let handsome young Diarmads be
careful. Gràinne “called her attendant handmaid to her, and told her
to bring to her the jewelled-golden-chased goblet which was in the
_grianan_ after her. The handmaid brought the goblet, and Grainne
filled the goblet forthwith, and there used to go into it the drink
of nine times nine men. Grainne said, ‘Take the goblet to Fionn
first, and bid him take a draught out of it, and disclose to him
that it is I that sent it to him.’” This was done by the obsequious
handmaid; the same dose was sent to Cormac, his wife, and son, by
the orders of Princess Gràine, with the result that “one after
another they fell into a stupor of sleep and of deep slumber.” The
scheming Gràine might well be satisfied with the immediate fruits of
the potations which she administered to her father, Fionn and the
rest. She is now to administer a dose of a different sort to Finn’s
nephew, Diarmad. And while we cannot refuse our sympathies to the
brave and betrothed Finn, severe as our ethics in the marital sphere
may be, yet we cannot also help remembering that it was hard for a
young princess to be wedded to even a sovereign person whose son and
grandson were present. She must have intuitively felt it would be
the union of June and December. Diarmad, “the white-toothed, of the
lightsome countenance;” and “the best lover of women and of maidens
in the whole world,” and Finn’s nephew, would naturally be esteemed a
more desirable admirer by this highly passionate and royal girl.
Gràine turns to Diarmad and says to him: “Wilt thou receive courtship
from me, O son of Duibhne?” “I will not,” said Diarmad. “Then,”
said Gràine, “I put thee under bonds of danger and destruction, O
Diarmuid, that is, under the bonds of Dromdraoidheachta, if thou
take me not with thee out of this household to-night, ere Fionn
and the King of Erin arise out of that sleep.” Diarmad replies
by speaking of the bonds as “evil,” and indulges in expressions
or self-depreciation. She reminds him of some brave deeds he
performed once “on the plain of Teamhair [Tara],” when “Fionn and
the seven battalions of the standing Fenians chanced to be there.”
She insinuates that this was the cause of her admiration, seeing
Diarmad taking “his caman from the next man to him, and winning the
goal three times upon Cairber and upon the warriors of Teamhair.”
She turned the light of her eyes upon him that day, and never gave
her love to another, nor would she till she died. Diarmad wonders
why it was not Finn that was the object of her love instead of
himself, because “there is not in Erin a man that is fonder of a
woman than he.” He now makes another excuse: Finn has the keys of
Tara; they cannot leave the town. But the willing lady finds means
of exit for herself and the reluctantly gallant gentleman. “There
is a wicket-gate to my _Grianan_, and we will pass out through it.”
Diarmad, after some more ungallant excuses, goes to “his people,”
and particularly to Ossian, and says, “O, Oisin, son of Fionn, what
shall I do with these bonds that have been laid on me?” “Thou are not
guilty of the bonds which have been laid on thee,” said Oisin, “and I
tell thee to follow Grainne, and keep thyself well against the wiles
of Fionn.” The soft-hearted, but irresolute Diarmad, questions the
rest of the Finian heroes in a similar fashion; and they all appear
to be favourable to Gràine’s proposition and bonds; one of them,
Caoilte, says very gallantly and emphatically, “I say that I have a
fitting wife, and yet I had rather than the wealth of the world that
it had been to me that Grainne gave that love.” This sounds very like
the possible determination of a chivalrous Irish colonel of “the
seven battalions of the standing Fenians.” After a little further
hesitation, Diarmad at last exclaims. “Then go forward, O Grainne.”
The hero now enters on a series of manly exploits. Gràine and he flee
into Clanrickard, in Galway, where he fortifies a little grove in
which they shelter themselves. Those in pursuit discover this grove,
but Diarmad’s sagacious advisers before he left send the knowing dog,
Bran, half-human, half-brute, to warn him. Bran has “knowledge and
wisdom,” and thrusts his head into Diarmad’s bosom. That, and the
friendly shouts of the dog’s far-off masters are sufficient.
There now appears in the relation a character well known in many
stories—_Aonghas_, or Angus, _vel_ Innes, _vel_ Æneas, of the
Brough, a place on the Boyne. He was the son of Dagdae, a king of
the Danaans in Ireland; and _mirabile dictu_ reigned over the island
for eighty years. He was a great friend of Diarmad, to whom he
presented two remarkable swords and two javelins equally remarkable
and _venomous_ in their character, designated—the former _Moraltagh_
and _Begaltagh_; and the latter, _Gathdearg_ and _Gathbuidhe_. He now
comes to the help of the eloping fugitives in their besieged “grove,”
where “Grainne awoke out of her sleep” in a rather disconcerted
state of mind. _Aonghas_ carries her off in a fold of his mantle,
but Diarmad will not submit to be rescued in that rather inglorious
fashion.
After that Aonghas and Gràine had departed. Diarmad “arose as a
straight pillar and stood upright, and girded his arms and his armour
and his various sharp weapons about him.” He came to a door of the
seven-wattled doors that there were to the enclosure, and asked who
was at it. One or other of the chiefs of the Féinne was at the first
five doors at which he successively interrogated; and each and all
of them were ready to permit him tacitly to make his escape, but
his chivalrous nature would not allow him to regain his freedom in
any unknightly fashion. The sixth wicket is hostile: but it is not
Finn’s. He comes to the seventh:—“He asked who was at it? ‘Here are
Fionn, the son of Cumhaill, the son of Art, the son of Treunmhor,
O’Baoisgne, and four hundred hirelings with him; and we bear thee no
love, and if thou wouldst come out to us, we would cleave thy bones
asunder.’ ‘I pledge my sword,’ said Diarmuid, ‘that the door at which
thou art, O Fionn, is the first [_i.e._, the very] door by which I
will pass of [all] the doors.’ Having heard that Fionn charged his
battalions on pain of their death, and of their instant destruction,
not to let Diarmad pass them without their knowledge. Diarmuid having
heard that, arose with an airy, high, exceeding light bound, by the
shafts of his javelins and by the staves of his spears, and went
a great way out beyond Fionn and beyond his people without their
knowledge or perception. He looked back upon them, and proclaimed to
them that he had passed them, and slung his shield upon the broad
arched expanse of his back, and so went straight westward; and he was
not long in going out of sight of Fionn and of the Fenians.”
At Ros-da-shoileach (now Limerick) the hero found Aonghas and Gràine
in a warm and comfortable hut, with half a wild boar on spits.
Aonghas departs, leaving with them his best counsel against “the
wiles of Finn.”
After availing themselves of various refuges, the fugitive pair
approach the west coast of Kerry, where they see the allies of
Fionn from the French coast drawing close to the shore. Nine times
nine warriors step ashore, and Diarmad inquires what was their
business, and what county they came from. They reply that they
are “the three royal chiefs of Muir-n-iocht,” and are now come at
Fionn Mac Cumhaill’s order to seek and to curb “a forest marauder”
called Diarmuid O’Duibhne, whom he has outlawed. In a trial of
skill Diarmuid kills fifty of these French Finians. These are
styled “green” Finians, with three of whom Diarmad deals somewhat
remorselessly in the course of a day or two. Their names will be
interesting to the Gaelic reader—_Duch-chosach_ (black-footed),
_Fionn-chosach_ (fair-footed), _Treun-chosach_ (strong-footed).
Before he finally encounters these and the “three enchanted hounds”
Diarmad thus accoutres himself:—“He girt about him his suit of battle
and of conflict, under which, through which, or over which, it was
not possible to wound him; and he took the Moralltach, that is the
sword of Aonghas na Brogha, at his left side, which [sword] left no
stroke nor blow unfinished at the first trial. He took likewise
his two thick shafted javelins of battle—from which none recovered,
either man or woman, that had ever been wounded by them. After that,
Diarmuid roused Grainne and bade her keep watch and ward for Muadhan,
[saying] that he himself would go to view the four quarters around
him. When Grainne beheld Diarmuid with bravery and daring [clothed]
in his suit of anger and of battle, fear and great dread seized her.”
But an off-hand reply “soothed Grainne, and then Diarmuid went in
that array to meet the green Finians.” These are part of the troubles
and feats of Diarmad MacDoon, the alleged ancestor of the great
MacCailein line. The romance will be found in the third volume of the
Transactions of the Dublin Ossianic Society, well edited by Mr S. H.
O’Grady. Our own Highland versions on the subject are tolerably well
known.
During the dreamy period of the Middle Ages the great literary source
of amusement among the Gaels of Scotland were the “Ursgeuls,” _noble_
or romantic tales, which upwards of thirty years ago were collected
and published (1859-62) by J. F. Campbell, Esq., of Islay. They were
not produced in the heroic ages, the period of the great mass of our
ballad literature. The ballads and the tales, no doubt, have been
mixed together; but the latter are distinctly of a later growth. Some
of the tales were manufactured as recently as the eighteenth century;
but the most of them belong to the pre-Reformation period. Some of
them are traceable to classical sources; others indicate relationship
with Oriental stories. From Japan to the Hebrides, as shown by Mr
Campbell in his introduction and notes to the four volumes of his
“West Highland Tales,” are found the relics of the same original
“Sgeulachd,” with the modifications which country, clime, and
circumstance would naturally necessitate. In their fundamental lines
or conceptions these tales are the common property of the whole Aryan
race—of the Hindoo in the east, and of the German and Celt of the
west. The study of talelogy, as well as philology, leads us to the
common origin of all the members of the Indo-European family. Many of
the Highland tales must have been matured under the spirit that the
crusades into the east invoked in the west. We find reference in them
to Turks, Greeks, Romans, Spaniards, Franks, &c., and to conditions
of life which show their close relations to mediæval times. They
became the popular literary sustenance of the people, supplying the
want which is met by the popular works of fiction or novels of the
present day. We find every phase of character exhibited in their
outlines, extravagant as many of them often are. They are still
waiting classification.
Mr Campbell was a very enthusiastic collector of these tales for
years. He traversed more than once the whole of the Highlands to
gather up these fragments of bygone Celtic life. His success far
exceeded his sanguine anticipations. His volumes constitute the
monument of his success, as well as of the industry, talent, and
scientific spirit which he brought to bear upon the work. He had many
hearty assistants in all parts of the Highlands, whom he inspired
with much of his own enthusiasm. Mr Hector MacLean, of Ballygrant,
Islay, an able Gaelic scholar, and a man of real culture and literary
talent, helped him in transcribing the Gaelic, while he himself
transferred the tales into literal idiomatic English. It has been
fortunate for our limited Gaelic literature that Mr Campbell has
left us so much of our popular prose in these goodly four volumes,
and so much of genuine ballad poetry in his “Leabhar na Féinne.” I
give a specimen of these tales in translation. Space will not admit
of giving the _sgeulachd_ complete; but enough is presented to
illustrate the general style and character. The reader of these tales
realises at once their kinship with the Danish tales of Andersen, the
German stories of Grimm, and the Welsh Mabinogion translated by Lady
Guest.
MAOL A’ CHLIOBAIN.
There was a widow once of a time, and she had three daughters, and
they said to her that they were going to seek their fortunes. She
prepared three bannocks. She said to the big daughter, “Whether do
you like best the little half with my blessing, or the big half with
my curse?” “I like best,” said she, “the big half with your curse.”
She said to the middle one, “Whether do you like best the big half
with my curse, or the little half with my blessing?” “I like best,”
said she, “the big half with your curse.” She said to the little
one, “Whether do you like best the big half with my curse, or the
little half with my blessing?” “I like best the little half with your
blessing.” This pleased her mother, and she gave her the other half
likewise.
They left, but the two elder ones did not wish to have the younger
one with them, and they tied her to a stone. They held on, and when
they looked behind them whom did they see coming but her with the
rock on her back. They let her alone for a while until they reached
a stack of peats, and they tied her to the peat-stack. They held on
for a while, when whom did they see coming but her with the stack of
peats on her back. They let her alone for a while until they reached
a tree, and they tied her to the tree. They held on, and whom did
they see coming but her with the tree on her back. They saw that
there was no use meddling with her. They loosed her and they let her
come with them. They were travelling till night overtook them. They
saw a light far from them, and if it was far from them they were not
long reaching it. They went in. What was this but the house of a
giant. They asked to remain overnight. They got that, and they were
set to bed with the three daughters of the giant.
There were turns of amber beads around the necks of the giant’s
daughters, and strings of hair around their necks. They all slept,
but Maol a’ Chliobain kept awake. During the night the giant got
thirsty. He called to his bald rough-skinned lad to bring him water.
The bald rough-skinned lad said that there was not a drop within.
“Kill,” said he, “one of the strange girls, and bring me her blood.”
“How will I know them?” said the bald rough-skinned lad. “There are
turns of beads about the necks of my daughters, and turns of hair
about the necks of the rest.” Maol a’ Chliobain heard the giant, and
as quickly as she could she put the strings of hair that were about
her own neck and the necks of her sisters about the necks of the
giant’s daughters, and the beads that were about the necks of the
giant’s daughters about her own neck and the necks of her sisters,
and laid herself quietly down. The bald rough-skinned lad came and
killed one of the daughters of the giant, and brought him her blood.
He bade him bring him more. He killed the second one. He bade him
bring him more, and he killed the third. Maol a’ Chliobain wakened
her sisters, and she took them on her back and went away. The giant
observed her, and he followed her.
The sparks of fire which she was driving out of the stones with her
heels were striking the giant in the chin, and the sparks of fire
that the giant was taking out of the stones with the points of his
feet, they were striking Maol a’ Chliobain in the back of her head.
It was thus with them until they reached a river. Maol a’ Chliobain
leaped the river, and the giant could not leap the river. “You are
over, Maol a’ Chliobain.” “Yes, if it vex you.” “You killed my three
bald red-skinned daughters.” “Yes, if it vex you.” “And when will you
come again?” “I will come when my business brings me,” &c., &c.
The tale is a good deal longer; but the above portion will give
an idea of the style and manner of the whole. Unlike many of the
ballads, the language of these tales is thoroughly popular. Mr
Campbell had in his possession, besides what he published, much
material deposited after his recent death in the Advocates’ Library.
_A Popular Rhyme_, frequently occurring in the tales, is a great
favourite as a boat song. It fills the same place in the popular
romances that the “Banners” does in the heroic ballads. The original
will be found in the second volume of Campbell’s “Tales,” and is
regarded as very old. “The vigorous and elastic spirit that pervades
the following verses must have strung the heart of many a hardy
mariner who loved to feel the fresh and briny breeze driving his
snoring Birlinn, bounding like a living creature over the tumbling
billows of the inland loch, or the huge swell of the majestic main.”
Pattison translates thus:—
We turned her prow unto the sea, her stern unto the shore,
And first we raised the tall, tough masts, and then the canvas hoar;
Fast filled our towering, cloud-like sails, for the wind came from
the land,
And such a wind as we might choose, were the winds at our command:
A breeze that rushing down the hill would strip the blooming heather,
Or rustling through the green-clad grove, would whirl its leaves
together.
It heaped the ruins on the land, though sire and sire stood by,
They could no help afford, but gaze with wan and troubled eye!
A flap, a flash, the green roll dashed, and laughed against the red;
Upon our boards, now here, now there, it knocked its foamy head.
The dun bowed whilk in the abyss, as on the galley bore,
Gave a tap upon her gunwale and a slap upon her floor.
She could have split a slender straw—so clean and so well she went—
As still obedient to the helm her stately course she bent.
We watched the big beast eat the small—the small beast nimbly fly,
And listen to the plunging eels—the sea-gulls’ clang on high—
We had no other music to cheer us on our way
Till round those sheltering hills we passed, and anchored in this bay.
When the hero or heroes of the tale had to undertake a sea voyage
this rhyme was invariably introduced by the reciter as a fit
description of how it was accomplished. _Ghearradh i cuinnlein caol
coirce le feabhas a stiuraidh_ appears to have been the highest
conception of skilful steering, and we may readily believe that it
would be hard to surpass such a marvellous feat. Much complaint has
been made against these same “lying, worldly stories,” which the good
bishop Carsuel found obstructing his reforming efforts. Several of
his profession since have uttered the same complaint. But surely if
the minds of the people were not filled with a better gospel, the
wisest thing they could do was to extract any lessons of prudence and
morality that they could find in these simple tales.
As to the preservation and age of these romances the question is
excellently stated in the following sentences by Standish O’Grady:
“Whatever it may be that has given vitality to the traditions of
the mythic and elder historic period, they have survived to modern
times; when they have been formed into large manuscript collections,
of which the commonest titles, ‘Bolg an t-Salathair,’ answering to
a ‘Comprehensive Miscellany.’ These were for the most part written
by professional scribes and schoolmasters, and being then lent to,
or bought by those who could read, but had no leisure to write,
used to be read aloud in farmer’s houses on occasions when numbers
were collected at some employment, such as wool-carding in the
evenings; but especially at wakes. Thus the people became familiar
with all these tales. The writer has heard a man who never possessed
a manuscript, nor heard of O’Flanagan’s publication, relate at the
fireside the death of the sons of Uisneach without omitting one
adventure, and in great part retaining the very words of the written
versions.” “It has been already said that some of these legends and
poems are new versions of old; but it is not to be supposed that they
are so in at all the same degree or the same sense as, for instance,
the modernised _Canterbury Tales_ are of Chaucer’s original work.
There is this great difference, that in the former, nothing has been
changed but some inflections and constructions, and the orthography
which has become more fixed; the genius and idiom of the language,
and in a very great measure the words, remaining the same; while in
the latter all these have been much altered. Again the new versions
of Chaucer are of the present day; whereas our tales and poems, both
the modifications of older ones, and those which in their very origin
are recent, are one with the other, most probably three hundred years
old.”
It was the authors, writers, and preservers of these tales and
romances that manufactured and handed down to us the fabulous
chronicles in which the early migrations and history of the Gaelic
clans lie embedded. Let us cast a glance at these interesting
chronicles, the historical value of which has not yet been decided by
our Celtic literati.
It has been a question much discussed, how the British islands were
first peopled; whether some other nameless tribes landed before the
Celts; and in what manner the Celts came into possession. It is
admitted by some Cymri in traditions that their brother Gaels were
before them, whoever had been in possession before the Gaels. Hu the
Mighty, the great ancestor of the Welsh, being a wise ruler, entered
into federal relations with the Gaels on his arrival, the land being
extensive enough for the two Celtic tribes. This Hu Gadarn, who is
said to have come with his people direct from the regions round about
“where Constantinople now is,” is thus described in the poetry of his
country:—
“The mighty Hu with mead would pay
The bard for his melodious lay;
The Emperor of land and sea
And of all living things was he.”
Irish annalists make a certain Milesius and others leaders of the
Gaelic colonies by which Ireland was peopled. These colonies came
from the East, and having rested in Spain, they sailed thence
directly to Ireland. There are many historical romances extant
regarding these colonies of Gaels and their wanderings and final
settlement in Ireland. “The Chronicles of Eri” is among the most
interesting. Dr Keating, in his legendary history of Ireland,
gives the descent of the Gael from Gathelus, or _Gaidheal Glas_,
as follows:—Gathelus, who started westward from Egypt, was the son
of Niul, son of Fenius Farsa, son of Baath, son of Magog, son of
Japhet, son of Noah! The force of reason could no further go. Niul
was a man of much learning and wisdom, and was married to a daughter
of Pharaoh, called Scoto. She was the mother of Gathelus, who, it
is said, was an intimate friend of Moses. When the great exodus of
Israel from Egypt took place Gathelus was in his eightieth year.
After various adventures his descendants arrived in Spain, where they
remained for some time masters of the country. Milidh or Milesius
was an eminent warrior; greatly distinguished himself before leaving
Egypt in a war with the Ethiopians; fought in Scythia, and became
one of the kings of the descendants of Gathelus in Spain. He also
was married to a Scota, a daughter of Pharaoh. His sons, in the year
500 before Christ, sailed to Ireland with a fleet of thirty vessels.
They soon conquered the Tuatha de Danaan, and divided Ireland into
two parts. Ebir was made king of the southern part of the island, and
Eremon of the northern part.
The descendants of Gathelus in all their wanderings are supposed
to have carried with them Jacob’s Stone, the famous _Lia Fail_, or
stone of destiny, stolen from Scone by that royal robber of Scotch
antiquities, Edward I., now in the coronation chair in Westminster
Abbey. It is alleged that it was removed from Ireland to Scotland in
503 A.D. by Murtogh MacEarc that his brother Fergus Mor might be
crowned on it. Science makes havoc at times with tradition. After
examining the _Lia Fail_, Professor Geikie, according to Dr Skene,
declares that it is merely a block of Perthshire sandstone. At the
same time, it must be a stone of great antiquity, and lies at last
in a safe and honourable resting-place, at whose shrine, and before
the mightiest and most beloved Monarch that ever sat on an earthly
throne, Celt and Saxon, Dane and Norman, bend the knee in loyal
unity. There is an interesting prophecy of a very ancient origin
connected with the _Lia Fail_. O’Hartigan, an Irish poet, who died in
975, speaks of it in the following couplet—
An cloch a ta fam dha shail,
Uaithe raidhtear Inis Fail.
_The stone beneath my two heels,
From it, is said, the Isle of Fail._
Hector Boece, the Scottish historian, gives the following Latin
couplet:—
Ni fallat fatum, Scoti, qnocunque locatum,
Invenient lapidem, regnare tenentur ibidem;
Of which Keating gives the following Gaelic:—
Cineadh Scuit saor an fine,
Mun budh breag an fhaisdine,
Mar a fuighid an liagh-fhail,
Dlighid flaitheas do ghabhail.
Rendered thus in English—
The Scots shall brook that realm as native ground,
If weirds fail not, where’er this chair is found.
So much for the _Lia Fail_.
* * * * *
There is a reluctance on the part of Irish writers to accept any
theory that implies the colonisation of Ireland from Britain. On
the contrary, they rather attempt to prove that the Scottish Gael
emigrated from Ireland—a theory which appears to have been invented
in the fifteenth century. It was afterwards adopted unquestioningly
by Scottish antiquarians, with few exceptions, of whom James
Macpherson of Ossianic fame was one. For some time the Highlanders
generally accepted the theory, and almost all the Highland clans
were somehow or other traced to an Irish original. _MacMhaighstir
Alastair_ thus sings of the original country of the clans according
to the belief of last century:—
“There are thousands now in Alba
As stout as are in any land;
_The grey Gaels from Scota_,
Who cheerful round your colours stand.”
By _Scota_ Ireland is meant. All the elaborate and romantic
chronicles by which Milesian and Spanish colonies are made to land on
Irish soil were mostly manufactured by monks in the Middle Ages, and
have no defensible historical foundation; the same may be affirmed of
the alleged colonisation of Argyllshire by Irish Gaels.
Some of the romances and the chronicles, however, suggest what appear
to be reliable facts respecting the several races of Erin and Albin.
Just as there were several tribes of Finians in ancient Eire, so
there are different tribes of Celts in modern Ireland. A powerful
pre-Celtic element, as in the north-west of Scotland, prevails in
the south-west of Ireland. On the other hand a Norse element also
prevails in the north-west of Scotland, which has largely entered
into the population of the north of Ireland. The difference of
character exhibited by the generic Irish and generic Scottish Celt is
to be traced no doubt to the degrees of original difference in the
blending of races.
The Norse element has always been recognised by the more intelligent
of the Highlanders. We find Mary MacLeod, the Harris poetess, born in
1569, addressing the Dunvegan chief of the day in these words:—
“In counsel or fight, thy kindred
Know these should be thine—
Branch of _Lochlin’s_ wide-ruling
And king-bearing line!
And in Erin they know it
Far over the brine;
No Earl would in Albin
Thy friendship decline.”
The matter of religion is, no doubt, an important factor in the
later difference; but the sturdier Norse element in the Highlander’s
constitution may account for much. In reading the literature of the
two countries, we are at once struck with the different keys to which
the bards attune their harps. An Irish bard, in English, sings thus
of his country:—
“She sits alone on the cold gravestone,
And only the dead are nigh her;
In the tongue of the Gael she makes her wail;
The night wind rushes by her:
“‘Few, O few, are the leal and true,
And fewer shall be, and fewer;
The land is a corse;—no life, no force—
O wind with sere leaves strew her!
“‘Men ask what scope is left for hope
To one who has known her story;
I trust her dead! Their graves are red;
But their souls are with God in glory.’”
This note is not to be found in the whole range of Highland poetry.
Perhaps it is because the retrospect of the past is not so full of
sadness for the Highlander, who, notwithstanding his rebellions
and their frequent non-success, has fairly maintained his ground
in Scotland. He has had his share in the struggles for Scotland’s
independence; and he now identifies himself with the whole nation,
proud of the name, and rejoicing in her glorious history. The
Jacobite bard, Alexander Macdonald, addresses the Scottish Lion thus:—
“Hail! thou rending Lion,
Of matchless force and rampant pride!
When up thy chieftains roused them
Gay banners fluttered far and wide.
* * * * *
Strong rock and everlasting,
Hard and old and undecayed,
High thy royal crest show,
For thousands gather in thy shade,
With mirth in their armour bright—
The dauntless race that never yield—
The spectres that stir panic flight,
When quick striking swords they wield.
Many gallant youths beneath thee,
With stout hands and shoulders great,
Go rushing on where’s honour won—
For wild fight they’re never late.
With steady foot and agile hand
To thrust or cut each weapon gleams;
Red on the ground death gasps around,
But gay o’erhead the Lion streams.
Thou roaring, frowning Lion!” &c.
This is the kind of poetry on which the Highland national spirit has
been fed. Retrospects have less weight and prospects more with the
Highlander. On the other hand the Irish Gael dwells intensely on the
past, and thus grievously sins against his future. As appendix to
this chapter on prose romances, I give some Irish _literary facts_
and a Hibernian _picture of Ossian_ in verse, as—
IRISH VERSIONS.
The early literature of the Scottish Gael cannot be well understood
apart from early Irish literature. The ballads of the two countries
describe the same struggles; the characters engaging in the strife
are the same, and bear the same names. So it ought to be interesting
to compare some of the idealised characters of early Irish literature
with those that we find in Scotland.
The early history of Ireland and its literature has not yet been
written, and the name remark is applicable to the Highlands of
Scotland. One able and scientific work has been recently produced
in the latter country—the learned three volumes of Dr W. F.
Skene—“Celtic Scotland.” The indefatigable labours of the late
Professor Eugone O’Curry have prepared the way for an authentic
history of Ireland; and it is to be hoped that such works as those of
the Gradys, Stokeses, &c., will clear the ground of fables and reveal
the genuine lines of early Irish annals. In his “Lectures on the
Manuscript Materials of Ancient Irish History,” O’Curry remarks—“It
will be found that all the writers who have published books on the
subject up to the time of delivering these lectures—books some of
them large and elaborate—_not one_ ever wrote who had previously
acquired the necessary qualifications, _or even applied himself
at all to the necessary study_, without which, as I think I have
established beyond a doubt, the history of Ireland could not possibly
have been written. _All_ were ignorant, almost totally ignorant, of
the greater part of the records and remains of which I have here, for
the first time, endeavoured to present a comprehensive, and, in some
sort, a connected account.” Irish scholars have an immense mass of
valuable ancient manuscripts in which they find rich remains of their
early literature, as well as materials for their early history. Let
us mention some of the most important. Here is a list of some of the
old and middle Irish periods:—
A copy of the Four Gospels, stained with the blood of the Irish St.
Killian, who was martyred in 678 A.D.; taken from his tomb in 743.
In the library of Trinity College, Dublin, are found—A Latin copy of
the Four Gospels, written previous to 700 A.D.; the Four Gospels
of Dimma, Latin, with a few Gaelic words, 620 A.D.; the Book of
Durrow, containing the Four Latin Gospels, about 700 A.D.; the Book
of Kells, same contents as last, about 800 A.D.; the Gospel of St.
Moling, about 800 A.D.; the Book of Armagh, containing the Latin New
Testament, notes on St. Patrick’s life, and the life of St. Martin of
Tours, 807 A.D.; the Book of Leinster, containing the Cattle Raid of
Cuailgne, and the Destruction of Troy, 1150 A.D.; the Yellow Book of
Lecain, 1391 A.D; and the Book of Brehon Laws—the last-named three
books are in the Irish language. In the Royal Irish Academy are the
Book of the Dun Cow, also containing the Cattle Raid, 1106 A.D.; the
Book of Ballymote, 1391 A.D.; also a copy of the Book of Lecain, 1416
A.D. These are all in the Irish language. Earlier dates than those
given have been assigned to some of these books. These and the Annals
of Loch Cè, the Annals of the Four Masters, the Annals of Tighernac,
&c., are all of great interest and value to Gaelic scholars in
Scotland. The ancient Celtic literature extant in Scotland cannot be
at all compared in extent with that preserved in Ireland.
As already remarked, the picture of Ossian that the Irish ballads and
tales present resembles that of the ballads and tales of Scotland.
In the fourth volume of the Transactions of the Ossianic Society of
Dublin, we find a description of the journey and residence of Ossian
in _Tir-nan-Og_, “The Land of Youth.” In Scotland this place is known
as _Eilein-na-h-Oige_, “The Isle of Youth.” Ossian and the rest of
the Fianna were “hunting on a misty morning nigh the bordering shores
of Loch Léin,” when a fleet rider was seen advancing towards them—
“A young maiden of most beautiful appearance,
On a slender white steed of swiftest power.”
The name of this maiden is “Niamh,” and she describes herself as the
“fair daughter of the King of Youth.”
“A royal crown was on her head;
And a brown mantle of precious silk,
Spangled with stars of red gold,
Covering her shoes down to the grass.
“A garment, wide, long, and smooth,
Covered the white steed:
There was a comely saddle of red gold
And her light hand held a bridle with a golden bit.”
In answer to Fingal’s inquiry she says that, “as yet she has not
been spoken of with any man,” but that “her affection and love she
has given to his son”—Ossian. In these ballads and tales “geasan,”
some bewitching obligations or bonds, are frequently spoken of. It
was by the exercise of this power—these invisible bonds—that the
faithless spouse of Fingal compelled the beautiful Diarmad to elope
with her. This Princess, “the golden-headed Niamh,” put her “geasan”
on Ossian. She thus addresses him:—
“Obligations unresisted by true heroes,
O! generous Oisin, I put upon thee,
To come with myself now upon my steed
Till we arrive at the ‘Land of Youth.’
“It is the most delightful country to be found,
Of greatest repute under the sun,
Trees dropping with fruit and blossom,
And foiliage growing on the tops of boughs.
“Abundant there are honey and wine,
And everything that eye has beheld,
There will not come decline on thee with lapse of time,
Death or decay thou wilt not see.”
He is to get there a “hundred swords,” and a hundred of every article
or possession that could be dear to the heart of a warrior or a bard.
Ossian thus replies:—
“No refusal will I give from me,
O charming queen of the golden curls!
Thou art my choice above the women of the world,
And I will go with willingness to the ‘Land of Youth.’”
The poet then describes in melancholy strains his parting with his
own people—the Féinne:—
“I kissed my father sweetly and gently,
And the same affection I got from him;
I bade adieu to all the Fianna,
And the tears flowed down my cheeks.
“Many a delightful day had Fionn and I,
And the Fianna with us in great power,
Been _chess-playing_ and drinking,
And hearing music—the last that was powerful?
“A hunting in smooth valleys,
And our sweet-mouthed dogs with us there;
At other times, in the rough conflict,
Slaughtering heroes with great vigour.”
Macpherson’s Ossian is never caught at “chess-playing,” or speaking
of other things that might savour of more recent days. The course of
Ossian and Niamh is thus described:—
“We turned our backs to the land,
And our faces directly due west;
The smooth sea ebbed before us,
And filled in billows after us.”
Before they arrive at the “Land of Youth,” Ossian rescues a
distressed Princess from the hated hands of a giant; and
“We buried the great man
In a deep sod-grave, wide and clear;
I raised his flag and monument,
And I wrote his name in Ogham Cráobh.”
They are welcomed to the “Land of Youth” by a “multitude of
glittering bright hosts,” and conducted to a Royal fortress, by whose
side are seen—
“Radiant summer-houses and palaces,
Made all of precious stones.”
“When all arrived in one spot,
Then courteously spoke the ‘King of Youth,’
And said, ‘This is Ossin,’ the son of Fionn,
The gentle consort of ‘golden-headed Niamh!’”
He spent a long time in the “Land of Youth;” but in the midst of its
calm, waveless existence, he longs for his old life with the Féinne,
and for a sight once more of his lost brothers-in-arms:—
“I asked leave of the King,
And of my kind spouse—golden-headed Niamh,
To go to Erinn back again,
To see Fionn and his great host.”
She reluctantly consents to Ossian’s return; and the parting is
bitterly sad to both:—
“I looked up into her countenance with compassion,
And streams of tears run from my eyes,
O Patrick! thou wouldest have pitied her
Tearing the hair of the golden head.”
She warns him on his return never to alight off the white steed, or—
“Thou wilt be an old man, withered and blind.”
On his arrival in Erin he sought, with a doubtful and trembling
heart, for the Fianna. He soon met a great troop of men and women,
who saluted him kindly, and were surprised at the bulk of his person,
his form, and appearance. He asked them whether Fionn was alive, and
whether any disaster had swept the Fianna away. He was told that a
“young maiden” came for Fionn, and that he went away with her to the
“Land of Youth:”—
“When I mysel heard that report,
That Fionn did not live, nor any of the Fianna,
I was seized with weariness and great sorrow,
And I was full of melancholy after them.”
The poet immediately betakes himself to “Almhuin” of great exploits
in broad Leinster; but could not see the “Court of Fionn,” and—
“There was not in its place in truth,
But weeds, chick-weeds, and nettles.”
While passing through the Glen of the Thrushes he sees three hundred
men before him: their leader cries for help to the bard, whose
chivalrous instincts are roused, and who, forgetting the strict
injunctions of Niamh not to touch the earth, alighted and relieved
them from their difficulty, performing the most marvellous exploits.
But alas!—
“No sooner did I come down,
Than the white steed took fright;
He went then on his way,
And I, in sorrow, both weak and feeble.”
He had been a long time in the “Land of Youth,” and intended going
back to that country, perpetually “under the full bloom;” but now he
could not. His stay in that land reminds us of the seven sleepers of
Ephesus. He tells the everlastingly occurring Patrick—
“I spent a time protracted in length,
Three hundred years and more,
Until I thought ’twould be my desire
To see Fionn and the Fianna alive.”
The great prince-poet, as everywhere represented, is in his last days
poor and blind. After declaring to Patrick that—
“There is many a book written down,
By the melodious sweet sages of the Gaels,
Which we in truth are unable to relate to thee,
Of the deeds of Fionn and of the Fianna;”
he concludes his lengthy relation in these two stanzas:—
“I lost the sight of my eyes,
My form, my countenance, and my vigour,
I was an old man, poor and blind,
Without strength, understanding, or esteem.
“Patrick! there is to thee my story,
As it occurred to myself without a lie,
My going and my adventures in certain,
And my returning from the ‘Land of Youth.’”
Such is the picture we have of Ossian and his life in some of the
Irish ballads. There is no resemblance between this poetry and
that which Macpherson has given us. _Oisin an Tirna-h-Oige_ is the
production of a writer who lived not many centuries ago. It is
certainly much more modern than even the Oisian of the older ballads,
in which dialogues between the saint and the poet occur.
A very fine specimen of the old heroic poem of the Gael is the
Battle of _Cnoc-an-air_. Here we have terrible fighting among the
“Seven battalions of the standing Fenians.” The Irish versions of
the dialogues between Patrick and Ossian are very much like those of
Scotland.
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