“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.