Irish myth
In the “Imram Snedgusa acus meic Riagla” [of the tenth or close of the ninth century, cf. Zimmer, 1889, pp. 213, f., 216], the men of Ross slay King Fiacha Mac Domnaill for his intolerable tyranny. As a punishment, sixty couples of the guilty were sent out to sea, and their judgment and fate left to God. The two monks, Snedgus and Mac Riagail, afterwards set out on a voluntary pilgrimage on the ocean—while the sixty couples went involuntarily—and, after having visited many islands,[46] reached in their boat a land in which there were generations of Irish, and they met women who sang to them and brought them to the king’s house (cf. Odysseus’s meeting first with the women in the Phæacians’ land, and their showing him the way to the palace of Alcinous). The king received them well and inquired from whence they came. “We are Irish,” they replied, “and we belong to the companions of Columcille.” Then he asked: “How goes it in Ireland, and how many of Domnaill’s sons are alive?” They answered: “Three Mac Domnaills are alive, and Fiacha Mac Domnaill fell by the men of Ross, and for that deed sixty couples of them were sent out to sea.” “That is a true tale of yours; I am he who killed the King of Tara’s son [i.e., Fiacha], and we are those who were sent out to sea. This commends itself to us, for we will be here till the Judgment [i.e., the day of judgment] comes, and we are glad to be here without sin, without evil, without our sinful desires. The island we live on is good, for on it are Elijah and Enoch, and noble is the dwelling of Elijah....”
The similarity to the meeting of Gudleif and the Icelanders with the likewise exiled great man and chief, who did not give his name but hinted at his identity, is evident. If we suppose that the island Gudleif reached was originally the white men’s, or the holy (baptized) men’s land, then it may be possible that the great man’s words to Gudleif about there being men on the island who were greater (“ríkari”) than he is connected with the mention of Elijah and Enoch.
Thus we see a connection between Gudleif’s voyage (and the exiled Breidvikinge-kjæmpe on the unknown island) and Irish myths and legends, the Arabic tale, and finally the Odyssey. What the mutual relationship may be between Edrisi’s tale and the Irish legends is to us of minor importance. As the Norse Vikings had much communication with the Spanish peninsula[47] it might be supposed that the Norse tale, derived from Irish myths, had reached Portugal; but as the Arabic tale has several similarities to the voyages of Brandan and Maelduin, and to Dicuil’s account of the Faroes (with their sheep and birds), which are not found in the Norse narrative, it is more probable that the incidents in the experiences of the Portuguese adventurers are derived directly from Ireland, which also had close connection with the Spanish Peninsula, chiefly through Norse ships and merchants. We must in any case suppose that the Icelandic tale of Gudleif’s voyage came from Ireland; but it may have acquired additional colour from northern legends.
Northern tales
There is a Swedish tale of some sailors from Getinge who were driven by storms over the sea to an unknown island; surrounded by darkness they went ashore and saw a fire, and before it lay an uncommonly tall man, who was blind; another equally big stood beside him and raked in the fire with an iron rod. The old blind man gets up and asks the strangers where they come from. They answer from Halland, from Getinge parish. Whereupon the blind man asks: “Is the white woman still alive?” They answered yes, though they did not know what he meant. Again he asks: “Is my goat-house still standing?” They again answered yes, though ignorant of what he meant. He then said: “I could not keep my goat-house in peace because of the church that was built in that place. If you would reach home safely, I give you two conditions.” They promised to accept these, and the blind old man continued: “Take this belt of silver, and when you come home, buckle it on the white woman; and place this box on the altar in my goat-house.” When the sailors were safely come home, the belt was buckled on a birch-tree, which immediately shot up into the air, and the box was placed on a mound, which immediately burst into flame. But from the church being built where the blind man had his goat-house the place was called Getinge [in J. Grimm, ii. 1876, p. 798, after Bexell’s “Halland,” Göteborg, 1818, ii. p. 301]. Similar tales are known from other localities in Sweden and Norway. The old blind man is a heathen giant driven out by the Christian church or by the image of Mary (the white woman); sometimes again he is a heathen exile.
Here we have undeniable parallels to the storm-driven Icelanders’ meeting with the exiled Breidvikinge-kjæmpe, who asks after his native place and his woman, Thurid,[48] and who also sends two gifts home, though with very different feelings and objects. It may be supposed that the Swedish-Norwegian tale is derived from ancient myths, and the Icelandic narrative may have borrowed features, not, of course, from this very tale, but from myths of the same type.
Japanese fairy-tale
Remarkable points of resemblance both to the voyages of the Irish (Bran’s voyage) to the Fortunate Isles in the west, and to those of Gudleif and of the eight Portuguese (in Edrisi), are found in a Japanese tale of the fortunate isles of “Horaisan,” to which Moltke Moe has called my attention.[49]