This reference seems to designate some well-known writings connected with Innisfallen, of which Maelsuthain was the author or compiler, and which can hardly be any other than the well known Annals of Innisfallen. Eugene O’Curry tells us that it has been a constant tradition in the South of Ireland that the Annals of Innisfallen were compiled by Maelsuthain, and he adds that he himself had no doubt the O’Carroll was either ‘the original projector of the compilation,’ or that he enlarged the previous meagre outlines kept in the monastery of Innisfallen into this more regular and extensive historical work.
The principal copy of these Annals is at present preserved in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. “It contains,” says Dr. O’Conor, “fifty-seven leaves (of parchment), of which the first three are considerably damaged, and the fourth partly obliterated. Some leaves at the beginning are also missing.” The missing leaves seem to have begun with a short account of the creation and the history of the early patriarchs extracted from the Book of Genesis. At the sixth begins the history of the Kingdom of the Greeks; then it treats of the general history of the great empires of the world down to the year A.D. 430 (at folio 9), where their real interest begins. Thenceforward there is a brief chronicle of Ireland in different hands, down to the year A.D. 1319. The first scribe has written down to the year A.D. 1130 (at folio 30). The writing of this portion is free and elegant; the initial letters are coloured and adorned; and everything seems to point to the fact that the original scribe of this manuscript wrote no further. But afterwards the work becomes more rude and careless; there is no attempt at ornamentation; in fact, the appearance of the manuscript is a faithful picture of the state of the country—daily going from bad to worse. It is fruitless now to speculate how this venerable monument of Irish learning came into the Bodleian Library of Oxford.
The work known as the Dublin Annals of Innisfallen is a translation in Trinity College Library, which Theophilus O’Flanagan testifies[364] that he made into English “about nineteen years ago, from a copy perfected under the direction of Dr. O’Brien, Bishop of Cloyne and Ross, from the original in the Bodleian Library.” Dr. O’Brien’s scribe was, according to O’Flanagan, a priest of the name of Conroy, who was well versed in the Irish language.
There is another copy in the Royal Irish Academy in Irish and English, beginning with A.D. 250, and coming down to A.D. 1320. It is on paper, and contains 320 folios. During the later years it deals chiefly with the affairs of Munster. At A.D. 1010 we find the following entry:—“Maelsuthain, son of O’Carroll, King of the Eoghanacht of Locha Lein, and the Primate of Ireland, died in Aghadoe.” In the Irish it is ‘Priomfaidh Eirion,’ which appears to mean, ‘chief sage of Ireland.’ More than half this volume deals with the period from A.D. 1170 to 1320, and it contains many interesting entries during that time. The chronology is, however, very defective.
Poetry, it seems, was cultivated in Innisfallen as well as history—for we are told that in A.D. 1197 Gilla Patrick O’Huihair went to his rest. He was archdeacon of the island—which shows that there was a considerable community there at the time—and superior of the convent. He also founded many religious houses, to which he gave books, vestments, and other necessaries. He was, moreover, the Annalist tells us, ‘a celebrated poet;’ and was held in the highest estimation for his chastity, piety, wisdom, and universal charity. We have also another entry, A.D. 1208, which gives us a beautiful picture of a reverend priest of ‘Cloonuama,’[365] who died in this abbey, where he passed the evening of a life chequered by misfortune in penitence and prayer, and was buried in the cemetery of the Abbey of Innisfallen.
There is one significant entry a few years earlier—“anno 1180, this abbey of Inisfallen being ever esteemed a paradise and a secure sanctuary, the treasure and the most valuable effects of the whole country were deposited in the hands of its clergy; notwithstanding which we find the abbey was plundered in this year by Maolduin, son of Daniel O’Donoghue. Many of the clergy were slain—even in their cemetery—by the MacCarthys. But God soon punished this act of impiety and sacrilege, by bringing many of its authors to an untimely end.”
During the eleventh century the O’Donoghoes of Lough Lein rose to great power and influence—one of them became king of Cashel, and several of them are described as royal heirs of Cashel. It was an O’Donoghue who restored the cathedral church of Aghadoe in the twelfth century—he was slain in A.D. 1166. In all probability this Maolduin, son of Daniel, was in feud with his own family, who were always the protectors of the monks of Innisfallen, and he called in the MacCarthys to help him in plundering this venerable shrine. It is satisfactory to know that vengeance soon overtook the despoilers of this paradise, as the chronicler aptly describes it.
Yes, Innisfallen is, in truth, an earthly paradise. The island contains about twelve acres; but this small area is dowered with every charm that can gratify the senses. The surface, fringed with evergreen bowers, is gently undulating, and covered with a carpet of green, so pure and so soft, that the eye loves to linger on its hues. There are miniature creeks, where the wavelets die in gentle ripples; there are giant elms and hoary ash trees, that have lived for centuries; the holly and the arbutus are not shrubs, but forest trees, and their bright green leaves, with blossoms of purest white, or berries of deepest red, gleam through the heavy-laden boughs. Then there are the manifold associations of religion, and history, and poetry, and romance, called up before the mental vision by the aspect of the ruined churches on this queen of islands. You have, besides, the mingled melodies of whispering leaves, and singing birds, and murmuring waters, filling the ear, and inviting the listener to contemplation and repose. Of old, the tinkling of bells was heard from these ruined cloisters, and the gray Franciscan habit was seen stealing along the shores of Muckross, and the cathedral chimes of Aghadoe were borne over the waters to the students’ ears. Now they are all gone—no lectures within these silent roofless walls; no midnight vigils of the gray friars in Muckross; no bishop’s throne in Aghadoe. Yet young Killarney rivals these ivy-grown haunts of ancient learning and holiness in all things save one—the unapproachable beauty of the sites chosen by the monks of old. Their successors live nigh to scenes of beauty; but they have so placed themselves that they can never see them. They seem to prefer naked walls and flat fields to the glorious vision of nature’s unapproachable beauties, which she has poured out with lavish hand, by mountain, stream, and woodland all around this peerless Lake of Learning.[366]