Part 3
Next day they said, “Grandmother, we will stay with you to-morrow, and leave you the next day.” On the second morning, they said, “We are going, and you, our grandmother, must do the best you can without us.”
“To what place are you going, my grandsons?”
“We are going to our father, if we can.”
When the old woman heard this, she went into the house, and brought out a basket cup full of trout blood (water), and gave it to Walokit, “Rub this over your whole body; use it always; it will give you strength. No matter how much you use the blood, the basket will never be empty.”
They took farewell of the old woman, and went to the upper side of the sky, but did not go to their father. They live up there now, and go over the whole world, sometimes to find their father, sometimes for other purposes. When they move, we see one, and hear the other.
This tale has a few of the disagreeable features peculiar to some of the early myth-tales of all races,—tales which, if not forgotten, are misunderstood as the race advances, and then become tragedies of horror. Still, such tales are among the most precious for science, if analyzed thoroughly.
In another tale, told me by the same man who related this one, the sun, after his road had been marked out, finally, was warned against his own children, the grisly bears, who would beset his path through the sky, and do their best to devour him.
The grisly bear maiden, Wimaloimis, is a terrible criminal; she piles horror upon horror. She tries to eat up the hospitable trout woman who gives her lodging; she has twins from her own father; she tries to eat her own children; she brings them to commit matricide under cruel conditions. The house of Pelops and Lot’s daughters, combined, barely match her. If the tale of Wimaloimis had belonged to early Greece, and had survived till the time of the Attic tragedians, the real nature of the actors in it would have been lost, in all likelihood, and then it might have served as a striking example of sin and its punishment. Instead of discovering who the _dramatis personæ_ were really, the people of that time would have made them all human. In our day, we try to discover the point of view of the old myth-maker, to learn what it really was that he dealt with. In case we succeed, we are able to see that many of the repulsive features of ancient myths were not only natural and explicable, but absolutely unavoidable. The cloud, a grisly bear, is a true daughter of the sun. The sun and the cloud are undoubtedly the parents of the twin brothers, Thunder and Lightning; there are no other parents possible for them. That the cloud, according to myth description, tried to devour her own children, and was destroyed at last, and torn to pieces by them, is quite true. When we know the real elements of the tale, we find it perfectly accurate and truthful. If the personages in it were represented as human, it would become at once, what many a tale like it is made to be, repulsive and horrible.
Among Gaelic tales there are few in which the heroes are of the earliest period, though there are many in which primitive elements are prominent, and some in which they predominate. In a time sufficiently remote, Gaelic tales were made up altogether of the adventures of non-human heroes similar to those in the tales of America,—that is, heroes in the character of beasts, birds, and other living creatures, as well as the phenomena and elements of nature.
Beasts and birds are frequent in Gaelic tales yet; but they never fill the chief rôle in any tale. At most they are friends of the hero, and help him; not infrequently he could not gain victory without them. If on the bad side, the rôle is more prominent, a monster, or terrible beast, may be the leading opponent, or be one in a series of powerful enemies.
In a few Gaelic tales, phenomena or processes of nature appear still as chief actors; but they appear in human guise. The two tales in which this position is most evident, are those of Mor and Glas Gainach,—not the tale of Mor as given in this volume, but an older tale, and one which, so far as I know, exists only in fragments and sayings. This tale of Mor, which I gathered bit by bit in one place and another through West Kerry, is, in substance, as follows:
Mor (big), a very large woman, came by sea to Dunmore Head, with her husband, Lear, who could not live with Mor, and went around by sea to the extreme north, where he stayed, thus putting, as the phrase runs, “All Ireland between himself and the wife.” Mor had sons, and lived at Dun Quin (the ruins of her house Tivorye [Mor’s house], are shown yet) at the foot of Mount Eagle. She lived on pleasantly; much came to her from the sea. She was very proud of her sons, and cared for no one in the world except them. The woman increased greatly in substance, was rich and happy till her sons were enticed away, and went to sea.
One day, she climbed to the top of Mount Eagle, and, for the first time, saw Dingle Bay with the highlands of Iveragh and Killarney. “Oh, but isn’t Erin the big country; isn’t it widely spread out!” cried she. Mor was enormously bulky, and exerted herself to the utmost in climbing the mountain. At the top, certain necessities of nature came on her; as a result of relieving these, a number of deep gullies were made in Mount Eagle, in various directions. These serve to this day as water-courses; and torrents go through them to the ocean during rainfalls.
News was brought to Mor on the mountain that her sons had been enticed away to sea by magic and deceit. Left alone, all her power and property vanished; she withered, lost her strength, went mad, and then disappeared, no man knew whither. “All that she had came by the sea,” as people say, “and went with the sea.” She who had been disagreeable and proud to such a degree that her own husband had to leave her; the woman whose delight was in her children and her wealth,—became the most desolate person in Erin, childless, destitute, a famishing maniac that disappeared without a trace.
There is an interesting variant to this story, referring to Lear, Mor’s husband. This represents him not as going to the other end of Erin, but as stopping where he touched land first; there he died, and was buried. This is the version confirmed by the grave mound at Dunmore Head.
From the artistic point of view, it is to be regretted that the tale of Mor has not come down to us complete with its variants; but we may be thankful for what we have. The fragments extant, and the sayings, establish the character of the tale, especially in view of a most interesting bit of testimony preserved in a book published in 1757.
After I had collected all the discoverable scraps and remnants of the tale, I came upon the statement in Smith’s “History of Kerry,” page 182, that Dunmore Head was called by the people thereabout, “Mary Geerane’s house.” The author adds the name in Gaelic (which he did not know), in the following incorrect form: “Ty-Vorney Geerane.” Now this sentence does not mean Mary Geerane’s house at all, but the house of Mor, daughter of the sun, Tigh Mhoire ni Greine, pronounced, “Thee Vorye nyee Grainye.” Here is the final fact needed,—a fact preserved with an ignorance of its nature and value that is absolutely trustworthy.
What does the story mean now? Mor, daughter of the sun, leaves her husband, Lear, and comes to land herself. The husband cannot follow; for Lear is the plain of the sea,—the sea itself in its outward aspect. Lear is the Neptune of the Gaels. One version represents Lear as coming to his end at Dunmore Head; the other, as going around the island to Donaghedee, to live separated from a proud and disagreeable wife by the land of all Ireland. Each of these variants is equally consonant with the character of the couple. Let us pursue the tale further. Mor, the cloud woman,—for this she is,—has issue at Dun Quin, has sons (the rain-drops), and is prosperous, is proud of her sons, cares only for them; but her sons cannot stay with her, they are drawn to the sea irresistibly. She climbs Mount Eagle, is amazed at the view from the summit, sits down there and performs her last act on earth, the result of which is those tortuous and remarkably deep channels on the sides of Mount Eagle. After that she hears on the mountain that her sons are gone, she vanishes from human ken, is borne out of sight from the top of Mount Eagle.
Such is the myth of the cloud woman, Mor (the big one), a thing of wonder for the people.
In “Glas Gainach,” with which this volume opens, we have, perhaps, the best tale preserved by memory in Ireland. The tale itself is perfect, apparently, and its elements are ancient.
The prize for exertion, the motive for action, in this tale, is a present from King Under the Wave to his friend the King of Spain. This King of Spain is, of course, supposititious. Who the former friend was whose place he usurped, we have no means of knowing; but we shall not be far out of the way, I think, if we consider him to be the monarch of a cloud-land,—a realm as intangible as the Nephelokokkygia of Aristophanes, but real.
In Elin Gow, the swordsmith, we have a character quite as primitive as the cow or her owners. Elin Gow is found in Scotland as well as in Ireland. Ellin Gowan’s Height, in Guy Mannering, is simply Elin Gow’s Height, _Gowan_ (_Gobhan_ in Gaelic) being merely the genitive case of _Gow_ (_Gobha_). Elin Gow means simply Elin the smith. Under whatever name, or wherever he may be, Elin Gow occupies a position in Gaelic similar to that of Hephæstos in Greek, or Vulcan in Latin mythology; he is the maker of weapons, the forger of the bolt.
In a short tale of Glas Gavlen, which I obtained near Carrick, County Donegal, it is stated that the cow came down from the sky. According to the tale, she gives milk in unlimited quantities to all people without exception. Time after time the rich or powerful try to keep her for their own use exclusively, but she escapes. Appearing first at Dun Kinealy, she goes finally to Glen Columkil near the ocean, where a strong man tries to confine her; but she rises in the air, and, clearing the high ridge on the northern side of the glen, disappears. Since then, there is no free milk in Erin, and none but that which common cows give.
The cow, Glas Gainach or Gaunach or Gavlen, for all three refer to the same beast, betrays at once her relationship with those cows of India so famous in the Rig Veda, those cloud cows whose milk was rain, cows which the demon Vritra used to steal and hide away, thus causing drought and suffering. Indra brought death to this demon with a lightning bolt; for this deed he received the name Vritrahan (slayer of Vritra). The cows were freed then from confinement; and the world was refreshed by their milk, which came to all, rich and poor, in like manner. So far the main characters of the tale are quite recognizable. Cian and Cormac are simply names current in Irish history, and are substituted for names of original heroes, who were characters as far from human and as mythologic as King Under the Wave or Glas Gainach.
A comparison of Gaelic tales with the Indian tales of America shows that the Gaelic contain materials some of which is as ancient as the Indian, while the tales themselves are less primitive.
There are many Indian tales which we can analyze, genuine myths,—a myth, in its earliest form, being a tale the substance of which is an account of some process in nature, or some collision between forces in nature, the whole account being given as a narrative of personal adventure.
Among the Irish tales there are very few ancient myths pure and simple, though there are many made up of myth materials altogether. The tale of Mor, reconstructed from fragments, is a myth from beginning to end; the history of a cloud in the guise of a woman, as Glas Gainach is the history of a cloud in the guise of a cow.
Tales like Glas Gainach and Mor are not frequent in Gaelic at present; but tales of modified structure, composite tales to which something has been added, and from which something has been taken away, are met with oftener than any. The elements added or taken away are not modern, however; they are, if we except certain heroes, quite ancient.
In course of time, and through change of religion, ancient heroes were forgotten in some cases, rejected in others, and new ones substituted; when the argument of a tale, or part of it, grew less distinct, it was strengthened from the general stock, made more complete and vivid. In this way came adventure tales, constructed of materials purely mythic and ancient. Parts were transferred from one tale to another, the same incidents and heroes being found in tales quite different in other respects.
The results to be obtained from a comparison of systems of thought like the Indian and the Gaelic would be great, if made thoroughly. If extended to all races, such a comparison would render possible a history of the human mind in a form such as few men at present even dream of,—a history with a basis as firm as that which lies under geology. If this work is to be accomplished, we must make large additions indeed to our knowledge of primitive peoples. We must complete the work begun in America. We must collect the great tales of Africa, Asia, and the islands of the Pacific,—tales which embody the philosophy of the races that made them. The undertaking is arduous, and there is need to engage in it promptly. The forces of civilized society, at present, are destroying on all sides, not saving that which is precious in primitive people. Civilized society supposes that man, in an early degree of development, should be stripped of all that he owns, both material and mental, and then be refashioned to serve the society that stripped him. If he will not yield to the stripping and training, then slay him.
In view of this state of things, there is no time for delay; primitive man is changing, and the work is extensive.
Of Chinese thought we know very little, especially of Taoism, the most ancient system of the country,—the one which has grown up from Chinese myth-tales. Of African tales, only few have been collected, and those of small value mainly.
In Asia and Eastern Europe, the Russians have done the best work by far; besides many good volumes of Slav tales, they have given us much from the Tartars and Mongols of exceptional value and ancient. In the United States, little was accomplished till recent years; of late, however, public interest has been roused somewhat, and, since Major Powell entered the field, and became Director of the Bureau of Ethnology, more has been done in studying the native races of America than had been done from the discovery of the country up to that time.
To sum up, we may say, that the Indian tales reveal to us a whole system of religion, philosophy, and social polity. They take us back to the beginning of things; they describe Creation and the establishment of the present order in the world.
Those tales form a complete series. The whole mental and social life of the race to which they belong is evident in them. The Gaelic tales are a fragment of a former system. The earliest tales in that system are lost; those which formed the Creation myth, and related directly to the ancient faith and religious practices of the Gaels, were set aside and prohibited at the introduction of Christianity. In many of those that remained, leading heroes were changed by design, or forgotten, and others put in their places. In general, they were modified consciously and unconsciously,—some greatly, others to a less degree, and a few very little.
We find various resemblances in the two systems, some of which are very striking in details, and others in general features; the question, therefore, rises readily enough: Can we not use the complete system to aid us in explaining and reconstructing, in some degree, the imperfect one? We can undoubtedly; and if to materials preserved by oral tradition, like those in this volume, be added manuscript tales, and those scattered through chronicles ecclesiastical and secular, we may hope to give some idea of what the ancient system of Gaelic thought was, and discover whether the Gaelic gods had a similar origin with the Indian. What is true of the Gaelic is true also of other ancient systems in Europe, such as the Slav and Teutonic. These have much less literary material than the Gaelic; but the Slav has vastly greater stores of oral tradition, and tales which contain much precious thought from pre-Christian ages.
During eight years of investigation among Indian tribes in North America, I obtained the various parts of that Creation myth mentioned in this introduction, from tribes that were remote from one another, and in different degrees of development. Such tales I found in the east, in the central regions, and finally in California and Oregon. Over this space, the extreme points of which are three thousand miles apart, each tribe has the Creation myth,—one portion being brought out with special emphasis in one tribe, and another portion in a different one. In tribes least developed, the earliest tales are very distinct, and specially valuable on some points relating to the origin and fall of the gods. Materials from the extreme west are more archaic and simple than those of the east. In fact the two regions present the two extremes, in North America, of least developed and most developed aboriginal thought. In this is their interest. They form one complete system, a single conception richly illustrated.
Shall we find among tribes of Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands, tales which are component parts of great Creation myths like that of North America? We shall find them no doubt, if we spend time and skilled labor sufficient.
The discovery and collection of these materials, and the proper use of them afterward, constitute, for scientific zeal and activity, a task as important as self-knowledge is important to man.
* * * * *
In 1887, I made a journey to Ireland; when I collected tales from which were selected the twenty forming the “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland,” Boston, Little, Brown, and Company, 1889. While in Ireland, during that first visit, and this one, I have met with much good will and kindness which are pleasant to remember.
I must mention, to begin with, my indebtedness to Rev. P. A. Walsh, of the St. Vincent Fathers, Cork, a widely known Gaelic scholar, and a man whose acquaintance with the South of Ireland is extensive and intimate. Father Walsh gave me much information concerning the people, and letters to priests. I am greatly obliged to J. J. MacSweeny, Esq., of the Royal Irish Academy, for help in many ways, and for letters to people in Donegal. To Rev. Eugene O’Growney, Professor of Gaelic at Maynooth, I am grateful for letters and advice.
If I were to mention all who have done me deeds of kindness, the list would be long indeed. I must name, however, in Dingle, the venerable Canon O’Sullivan and Father Scollard, in Bally Ferriter, Rev. John O’Leary. To Mr. Patrick Ferriter, of Dingle, a man of keen intelligence and an excellent Gaelic scholar, I am deeply indebted for assistance in Gaelic. Canon Brosnan, of Cahirciveen, placed all his knowledge of the region where he lives at my service, and on one occasion led in an unwilling story-teller. Father MacDevitt, of Carrick, County Donegal, assisted me much in his neighborhood. Rev. James MacFadden, of Glena, County Donegal, and his curate, Rev. John Boyle, of Falcarra, helped me effectively, and showed the most courteous hospitality. I should return special thanks to Prof. Brian O’Looney, of Dublin, whose knowledge of ancient Gaelic lore is unmatched, and who at all times was as willing as he was able to aid me.
In America, the list of my obligations is short; there is only one man on that continent to whom thanks are due in connection with this volume, but that man, like the hero in Gaelic tales, was worth more than the thousands on all four sides of him. The contents of this book would not have been collected without the co-operation of Hon. Charles A. Dana, who published fifty of these Gaelic tales in the Sunday edition of “The Sun.” At that time no other editor was willing to join in the enterprise; and I did not feel able to endure both the financial burden and the labor of finding and collecting Gaelic tales, as I had done in 1887. Mr. Dana, with his keen eye for literary character, noted at once in the “Myths and Folk-lore” the originality of Gaelic tales and their heroes. When I told him that relics like the Cuculin and Gilla na Grakin of my first book were on the verge of extinction, he joined hands with me to save them, and I set out on my second journey to Ireland.
JEREMIAH CURTIN.
LONDON, ENGLAND, August, 1894.
HERO-TALES OF IRELAND.
ELIN GOW, THE SWORDSMITH FROM ERIN, AND THE COW GLAS GAINACH.
Once King Under the Wave went on a visit to the King of Spain, for the two were great friends. The King of Spain was complaining, and very sorry that he had not butter enough. He had a great herd of cows; but for all that, he had not what butter he wanted. He said that he’d be the richest man in the world if he had butter in plenty for himself and his people.
“Do not trouble your mind,” said King Under the Wave. “I will give you Glas Gainach,—a cow that is better than a thousand cows, and her milk is nearly all butter.”
The King of Spain thanked his guest for the promise, and was very glad. King Under the Wave kept his word; he sent Glas Gainach, and a messenger with instructions how to care for the cow, and said that if she was angered in any way she would not stay out at pasture. So the king took great care of her; and the report went through all nations that the King of Spain had the cow called Glas Gainach.
The King of Spain had an only daughter, and he was to give the cow with the daughter; and the cow was a great fortune, the best dower in the world at that time. The king said that the man who would do what he put on him would get the daughter and the cow.
Champions came from every part of the world, each man to try his fortune. In a short time hundreds and thousands of men lost their heads in combat. The king agreed then that any man who would serve seven years, and bring the cow safe and sound every day of that time to the castle, would have her.
In minding the cow, the man had to follow her always, never go before her, or stop her, or hold her. If he did, she would run home to the castle. The man must stop with her when she wanted to get a bite or a drink. She never travelled less than sixty miles a day, eating a good bite here and a good bite there, and going hither and over.
The King of Spain never told men how to mind the cow; he wanted them to lose their heads, for then he got their work without wages.
One man would mind her for a day; another would follow her to the castle for two days; a third might go with her for a week, and sometimes a man could not come home with her the first day. The man should be loose and swift to keep up with Glas Gainach. The day she walked least she walked sixty miles; some days she walked much more.
It was known in Erin that there was such a cow, and there was a smith in Cluainte above here, three miles north of Fintra, and his name was Elin Gow. He was the best man in Erin to make a sword or any weapon of combat. From all parts of Erin, and from other lands also, young princes who were going to seek their fortunes came to him to have him make swords for them. Now what should happen but this? It came to him in a dream three nights in succession that he was to go for Glas Gainach, the wonderful cow. At last he said, “I will go and knock a trial out of her; I will go toward her.”