Part 4

"I am obedient," said Páidin, "but the people will be making a mock of me."

"Never mind the mock, it won't last long," said the angel.

After this conversation a deep sleep fell upon Páidin, and when he awoke there were seven bags upon him, and the angel was gone away. There were two bags on his right side, two bags on his left side, and three others on his back, and they were stuck so fast upon him that he thought that it was growing on him they were. They were the colour of his own skin, and there was skin on them. Next day when Páidin went among the people he put wonder on them, and they called him the Merchant of the Seven Bags, and that name stuck to him until he died.

Páidin began a new life now. He went to the priest, and he showed him the seven bags that were on him, and he told him the reason that they were put on him. The priest gave him good advice and a great coat to cover the seven bags with; and after that Páidin used to be going from house to house and from village to village asking alms, and there used never be a Sunday or holiday that he would not be at Mass, and there used to be a welcome before him in every place.

About seven years after that Páidin was going by the side of the hole into which he had thrown the Stone of Truth. He came to the brink of the hole, went down on his two knees and asked God to send him up the stone. When his prayer was ended he saw the stone coming up, and hundreds of white doves round about it. The stone was rising and ever rising until it came into Páidin's presence on the ground, and then the doves went back again. The next day he went to the priest and told him everything about the Stone of Truth, and the way it came up out of the hole. "I will go with you," said the priest, "until I see this great wonder." The priest went with him to the hole and he saw the Stone of Truth. And he saw another thing which put great wonder on him; thousands and thousands of doves flying round about the mouth of the hole, going down into it and coming up again. The priest called the place Poll na gColum or the Dove's Hole, and that name is on it until the present day. The blessed stone was brought into Cong, and it was not long until a grand cross was erected over it, and from that day to this people come from every place to look at the Dove's Hole, and the old people believed that they were St. Patrick's angels who were in those doves.

The Stone of Truth was for years after that in Cong, and it is certain that it did great good, for it kept many people from committing crimes. But it was stolen at last, and there is no account of it from that out.

Páidin lived until he was four score years of age, and bore his share of penance piously. When the one and twenty years that the angel gave him were finished, and he carrying the seven bags throughout that time, there came a messenger in a dream to say to him that his life in this world was finished, and that he must go the next day before the Cross of Cong and give himself up to God and Mary. Early in the morning he went to the priest and told him the summons he had got in the night. People say that the priest did not believe him, but at all events he told Páidin to do as the messenger had bidden him.

Páidin departed, and left his blessing with his neighbours and relations, and when the clock was striking twelve, and the people saying the Angelical Salutation, Páidin came before the cross and said three times, "My soul to God and to Mary," and on the spot he fell dead.

That cross was in the town of Cong for years. A bishop, one of the O'Duffy's, went to Rome, and he got a bit of the true Cross and put it into the Cross of Cong. It was there until the foreigners came and threw it to the ground. The Cross of Cong is still in Ireland, and the people have an idea that it will yet be raised up in the town of Cong with the help of God.

THE ADVENTURES OF LÉITHIN

PREFACE.

The following interesting story, which, so far as I know, has never been noted, has come down to us in a late Middle Irish text from which I now translate it for the first time. My attention was first called to it years ago by my friend, Dr. Nicholas O'Donnell of Melbourne, an Australian born and bred, but a good Irish scholar, who made a transcript of the story for me from an Irish MS. which he picked up in Australia. It may well have been taken from a vellum, for the initial letter is omitted and a great space left for the scribe to insert it in colours later on. I have carefully compared the copy of the Australian text with four other copies which I find in the Royal Irish Academy, the oldest of which however only dates from 1788, but I found virtually no difference between them, and it is evident that they are all drawn from the same original. There seems to be no variant known. There is an ancient poem of great interest bearing on this story, called the Colloquy between Fintan and the Hawk of Achill. It is in Egerton, 1782, and the text was published in "Anecdota from Irish MSS." vol. I., p. 24, but has never been translated. Fintan, who survived the flood, holds colloquy with the bird, which asked him about his life, and Fintan asks the bird's age. "O hawk from cold Achill take a benison and a victory, from the time you were born of an egg, tell the number of [the years of] your life."

"I am of the same age as thou, O Fintan, son of Bochra." The Bird asks Fintan "since he was a poet and a prophet" to tell him the greatest evils he had ever experienced. We learn from the answer that the ancient salmon in our story was really a rebirth of Fintan himself, and it is exceedingly interesting to find the wily old crow[19] who ate Léithin's young ones, appear upon the scene again, as a leading personage in another drama. Fintan tells how the Creator placed him in the cold streams in the shape of a salmon, how he frequented the Boyne, the Bush, the Bann, the Suck, the Suir, the Shannon, the Slaney, the Liffey, etc., etc. At last he came to Assaroe.

[19] The word "préachan," though it usually means crow, is applied to the seabhac or hawk in this poem. In Co. Roscommon I always heard the Marsh Harrier (or Kite as they called him in English), termed "préachan gcearc" in Irish.

"A night I was on the wave in the north and I at seal-frequented Assaroe. I never experienced a night like that from the beginning to the end of my time.[20]

[20] Literally "of the world."

"I could not remain in the waterfall. I give a leap--it was no luck for me--the ice comes like blue glass between me and the pool of the son of Modharn.

"There comes a crow out of cold Achill, above the inver of Assaroe, I shall not hide it, though it is a thing to keep as a secret. He swept away with him one of my eyes.

"The Goll or Blind One of Assaroe has clung to me [as a name] from that night. Rough the deed. I am ever since without my eye. No wonder for me to be aged."

THE BIRD.

"It was I who swallowed thy eye, O Fintan. I am the grey Hawk, who be's alone in the waist of Achill."

Fintan demands eric [recompense] for his eye, but the implacable old crow answers:

"Little eric would I give thee, O Fintan, son of Bochra the soft, but that one remaining eye in the withered head quickly would I swallow it of one morsel."

The bird goes on to tell Fintan about the various battles it had seen in Ireland. As for the battle of Moytura in Cong:

"It was there thy twelve sons fell; to see them, awsome was the blow, and I gnawed off each fresh body[21] either a hand or one foot or one eye."

[21] Literally "limb."

The old crow it was who carried off the hand of Nuadh covered with rings, which had been lopped off in the slaughter, and which was replaced later on by a silver hand, whence the King of the Tuatha De Danann received the cognomen of Nuadh of the silver hand, but his real hand was the plaything of the crows' young for seven years. He recounts all the eyes he had picked out of heroes' heads after famous fights. It was he too who perched upon Cuchulainn's shoulder, when, dying, he had bound himself to the standing stone,[22] but though his life had almost departed from him the hero pierced him with his _cletin curad_ or hero's little quill. "I came above the hero as his countenance was darkening in death to eat his eyes, it was not an errand of luck, I stoop my head. He feels me on his face, he raises up his weakening hand, he puts his hero's little quill through my body at the first effort (?) I take a troubled flight to Innis Geidh across the valleyed sea and draw forth from myself, rough the task, the hard tough shaft of the dartlet. The head remains in my body. It tortured my heart sorely: sound I am not since that day, and I conceal it not since I am old. It was I who slew, great the tidings, the solitary crane that was in Moy Leana and the eagle of Druim Breac, who fell by me at the famous ford.

[22] See my "Literary History of Ireland," p. 351.

It was I who slew, pleasant the supper, the solitary crane of blue Innis Géidh. IT WAS I WHO CHEWED BENEATH MY COMB THE TWO FULL-FAT BIRDS OF LEITHIN. It was I who slew, royal the rout, THE SLENDER BLACKFOOT of Slieve Fuaid; the BLACKBIRD of Drum Seghsa of the streams died in the talons of my daughter."

It is plain then that this ancient poem, found in Egerton 1782, and in the Book of Fermoy, actually presupposes our story, and has a close connection with it.

THE STORY.

A gentle, noble, renowned patron there was of a time in the land of Ireland, whose exact name was Ciaran of Cluan.[23] A good faith had he in the mighty Lord.

[23] _i.e._, Clonmacnoise.

One day Ciaran bade his clerics to go look for thatch for his church, on a Saturday of all days,[24] and those to whom he spake were Sailmin, son of Beogan, and Maolan, son of Naoi, for men submissive to God were they twain, so far as their utmost diligence went, and many miracles were performed for Maolan, as Ciaran said in the stanza,

[24] Literally "especially."

Maolan, son of Naoi the cleric, His right hand be for our benison If the son of Naoi desired it To work miracles like every saint.

And, moreover, Sailmin, son of Beogan, he was the same man of whom, for wisdom, for piety, and for religion, Ciaran spake the stanza,

Sailmin melodious, son of Beogan. A faith godlike and firm. No blemish is in his body. His soul is an angel.

He was the seventh son of the sons of Beogan of Burren,[25] and those men were the seven psalmists of Ciaran, so that from them are the "Youth's Cross" on the Shannon, and the [other] "Youth's Cross" on the high road to Clonmacnoise [named].

[25] In West Clare.

Howsoever the clerics fared forth alongside the Shannon, until they reached Cluain Doimh. There they cut the full of their little curragh of white-bottomed green-topped rushes. But [before they had done] they heard the voice of the clerics' bell at the time of vespers on Sunday, so they said that they would not leave that place until the day should rise on them on Monday, and they spake the lay as follows:

The voice of a bell I heard in Cluan[26] On Sunday night defeating us, I shall not depart since that has been heard, Until Monday, after the Sunday.

On Sunday did God shape-out Heaven, On that day was the King of the apostles born; On Sunday was born Mary Mother of the King of Mercy.

On Sunday, I say it, Was born victorious John Baptist. By the hand of God in the stream in the East Was he baptised on Sunday.

On Sunday, moreover, it is a true thing, The Son of God took the captivity out of hell. On a Sunday after the battle ...? Shall God deliver the judgment of the last day.

On a Sunday night, we think it melodious, The voice of the cleric I hear, The voice I hear of a bell On Drum Diobraid above the pool.

The voice of the bell I hear Making me to postpone return ...? The voice of the bell I hear Bringing me to Cluan.

By thy hand O youth, And by the King who created thee, My heart thinks it delightful The bell and the voice.

[26] _i.e._, Clonmacnoise.

Howbeit the clerics abode that night [where they were] for the love of the King of Sunday. Now there occurred, that night, a frost and a prolonged snow and a rigour of cold, and there arose wind and tempest in the elements for their skaith, without as much as a bothy or a lean-to of a bed or a fire for them, and surely were it not for the mercy of God protecting them round about, it was not in the mind of either of them that he should be alive on the morrow after that night, with all they experienced of oppression and terror from the great tempest of that wild-weather, so that they never remembered their acts of piety or to say or sing a prayer (?) Nor could they sleep or rest, for their senses were turned to foolishness, for they had never seen the like or the equal of that storm, and of the bad weather of that night, for the venom of its cold and moreover for the bitterness of the morning [which followed it]. And as they were there on the morning of the next day they heard a gentle, low, lamentable, woe-begone conversation of grief above their heads on high, on a tall, wide-extended cliff. And [the meaning] was revealed to them through the virtue of their holiness, and although much evil and anxiety had they suffered, [still] they paid attention to the conversation and observed it. And they between whom the conversation was, were these, namely an eagle who was called Léithin[27] and a bird of her birds[28] in dialogue with her, piteously and complainingly lamenting their cold-state, pitifully, sadly, grievously; and said the bird to the eagle:

[27] Apparently "the little grey one," from "liath"-grey; pronounced "Lay-heen." I have made her feminine and called her "she" in the translation, but the Irish makes her masculine.

[28] _i.e._, one of its own young eagles, or nestlings.

"Léithin," said he, "do you ever remember the like of this morning or of last night to have come within thy knowledge before?"

"I do not remember," said Léithin, "that I ever heard or saw the like or the equal of them, since the world was created, and do you yourself remember, or did you ever hear of such [weather]?" said the eagle to the bird.

"There are people who do remember," said the bird.

"Who are they?" said the eagle.

"Dubhchosach, the Black-footed one of Binn Gulban,[29] that is the vast-sized stag of the deluge,[30] who is at Binn Gulban; and he is the hero of oldest memory of all those of his generation (?) in Ireland.

[29] Now Ben Bulben in Co. Sligo.

[30] _i.e._, "As old as the deluge."

"Confusion on thee and skaith! surely thou knowest not that; and now although that stag be far away from me I shall go to see him, to find if I may get any knowledge from him!"

Therewith Léithin went off lightly, yet was she scarcely able to rise up on high with the strength of the bad weather, and no more could she go low with the cold of the ...? and with the great abundance of the water, and, though it was difficult for her, she progressed lightly and low-flying, and no one living could reveal or make known all that she met of evil and of misery going to Ben Gulban looking for the Blackfoot. And she found the small-headed swift-footed stag scratching himself against a bare oak rampike. And Léithin descended on a corner of the rampike beside him. And she saluted the stag in his own language and asks him was he the Blackfoot. The stag said that he was, and Léithin spoke the lay:

Well for you O Blackfoot, On Ben Gulban high, Many moors and marshes, Leap you lightly by.

Hounds no more shall hunt you Since the Fenians fell, Feeding now untroubled On from glen to glen.

Tell me stag high-headed, Saw you ever fall Such a night and morning? You remember all.

[THE STAG ANSWERS.]

I will give you answer Léithin wise and gray, Such a night and morning Never came my way.

"Tell me, Blackfoot," said Léithin, "what is thy age?"

"I shall tell thee," said the Blackfoot. "I remember this oak here when it was a little sapling, and I was born at the foot of the oak sapling, and I was reared upon that couch [of moss at its foot] until I was a mighty-great stag, and I loved this abode [ever], through my having been reared here. And the oak grew after that till it was a giant oak (?) and I used to come and constantly scratch myself against it every evening after my journeyings and goings [during the day] and I used [always] to remain beside it in such wise till the next morning, and if I had to make a journey or were hotly hunted I used to reach the same tree, so that we grew up with one another, until I became a mighty-great stag, and this tree became the bare withered rampike which you see, so that it is now only a big ruined shapeless-stump without blossom or fruit or foliage to-day, its period and life being spent. Now I have let a long period of years[31] go by me, yet I never saw and never heard tell-of, in all that time, the like of last night."

[31] Or, "a cargo of five hundred years."

Léithin departs [to return] to his birds after that, and on his reaching home the other[32] bird spoke to him, "have you found out what you went to inquire about?"

[32] Literally "second."

"I have not," said Léithin, and she began to revile the bird for all the cold and hardships she had endured, but at last she said, "who do you think again would know this thing for me?" said Léithin.

"I know that," said the bird, "Dubhgoire the Black caller of Clonfert[33] of Berachan."

[33] Perhaps "Cluansost." There is no Berachan in Clonfert in the martyrologies. See "The Death of Bearachan," p. 63.

"Well then I shall go seek him."

And although that was far away from her, yet she proceeded until she reached Clonfert of St. Berachan, and she was observing the birds until they had finished their feeding [and were returning home], and then Léithin saw one splendid bird beautifully-topped, victorious-looking, of the size of a blackbird, but of the brightness of a swan, and as soon as it came into its presence Léithin asks it whether it were Dubhgoire. It said that it was. It was a marvel [to Léithin] when it said that it was, namely that the blackbird should be white, and Léithin spake the lay.

"How is that O Dubhgoire, sweet is thy warbling, often hast thou paid thy calls throughout the blue-leaved forest.

"In Clonfert of the bright streams and by the full plain of the Liffey, and from the plain of the Liffey coming from the east to Kildare behind it.

"From that thou departest to thy nest in the Cill which Brigit blessed. Short was it for thee to overleap every hedge till thou camest to the townland in which Berachan was.

"O Dubhgoire tell to me--and to count up all thy life--the like of yesterday morning, didst thou ever experience it, O Dubhgoire?"

[DUBHGOIRE ANSWERS.]

"To me my full life was three hundred years before Berachan, the lifetime of Berachan I spent [added thereto], I was enduring in lasting happiness.

"Since the time that Lughaidh of the Blades was for a while in the sovereignty of all Ireland I never experienced by sea or by land such weather as that which Léithin mentions in his lay."[34]

[34] Literally, "I never got on sea or land a knowledge of that lay of Leithin's."

"Well, then, my own errand to thee," said Léithin, "is to enquire if thou didst ever experience, or remember to have seen or [to have heard] that there ever came such a morning as yesterday for badness."

"I do not remember that I ever saw such," said Dubhgoire, "or anything like it."

As for Léithin, she was sad and sorrowful, for those tidings did not help (?) her, and she proceeded on her way till she reached her nest and birds.

"What have you to tell us to-day?" said the bird.

"May you never have luck nor fortune," said Léithin. "I have no more news for you than I had when departing, except all my weariness from all the journeyings and wanderings which you contrive to get me to take, without my getting any profit or advantage out of you," and with that she gave a greedy venemous drive of her beak at the bird, so that she had like to have made a prey and flesh-torn spoil of it, with vexation at all the evil and misery she had experienced going to Kildare, so that the bird screeched out loudly and pitifully and miserably.

[A while] after that Léithin said, "It's a pity and a grief to me if any one in Ireland knows [that there ever came a night worse than that night] that I myself do not know of it."

"Well, then, indeed, there is one who knows," says the bird, "Goll of Easruaidh (_i.e._, the Blind One of Assaroe) and another name of him is the Éigne[35] of Ath-Seannaigh (_i.e._, the salmon of Ballyshannon), and it is certain that he knows about that, if any one in the world knows about it."

[35] This is an old poetic word for a salmon.

"It is hard for me to go the way you tell me," said Léithin, "yet should I like exceeding well to know about this thing."

Howsoever she set out, and she never came down until she reached Assaroe of Mac Modhuirn, and she began observing and scrutinizing Assaroe until she saw the salmon feeding near the ford, and she saluted him and said, "Delightful is that O Goll, it is not with thee as with me, for our woes are not the same," and she spake the lay:

[LÉITHIN SPEAKS.]

"Pleasant is that [life of thine] O Goll with success (?) many is the stream which thou hast adventured, not the same for thee and for us, if we were to relate our wanderings.

"It is to thee that I have come from my house, O Blind one of Assaroe, how far doth thy memory go back, or how far is thy age to be reckoned?"

[THE SALMON ANSWERS.]

"As for my memory, that is a long one. It is not easy to reckon it. There is not on land or in bush a person like me--none like me but myself alone!

"I remember, it is not a clear-cut remembrance, the displacing showers of the Deluge, four women and four men, who remained after it in the world.

"I remember Patrick of the pens coming into the land of Ireland, and the Fir Bolg, manful the assembly, coming from Greece to take possession of it.

"Truly do I mind me of Fintan's coming into the country close to me. Four men were the crew of his ship, and an equal number of females.

"I remember gentle Partholan's taking the kingship over Ulster. I remember, a while before that, Glas, son of Aimbithe in Emania.

"I chanced to be one morning that was fair, on this river, O Léithin, I never experienced a morning like that, either before it or after it.

"I gave a leap into the air under the brow of my hard rock [here], and before I came down into my house [of water] this pool was one flag of ice.

"The bird of prey[36] seized me above the land with a furious ungentle onslaught, and bore away my clear blue eye. To me it was not a pleasant world."

[36] Literally "eagle," but this is a mistake, it was not an eagle.

* * * * *

"Well now, my own object in coming to thee," said Léithin, "was to enquire of thee whether thou dost ever remember such a morning as was yesterday?"