Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge/Imleabhar 5/Uimhir 11/Domhnall Ó Laoghaire agus na Mná Sidhe
| ←Abhrán Grádha | Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge, Imleabhar V, Uimh. 11 (1895) by Domhnall Ó Laoghaire agus na Mná Sidhe |
Anecdota from Irish MSS. XIV→ |
[ 168 ]Do ḃí gaol ag Miċeál a’Conċuḃair agus a ḃean le beag-naċ gaċ uile ḋuine ’san bparáiste—do ḃí, mar adeireaḋ na coṁarsain, earball fada aca—agus ar maidin lá ar n-a ḃáraċ do ḃí coiṁṫionól mór bailiġṫe timċioll an tiġe, réiḋ ċun dul ’san tsoċraide. Do ḃí siad go léir ag cur síos agus ag bíodán mar ġeall ar an “sgairt” do leig Doṁnall as ag an tóraṁ an lá roiṁe sin; aċt níor ḃ’ḟada gur ṫáinig sé féin ar an ḃfód. Do ṡiuḃal sé isteaċ i measg na ndaoine agus do ċongḃaiġ sé suas a ċeann, mar do ḃí ’ḟios aige go raiḃ siad ag á ġearraḋ ċoṁ mín le tobac. Do ḃeannuiġ cuid aca ḋo, aċt do ḃí doiċeall ar ċuid eile aca, agus d’ iompuiġ siad a gcúl air; aċt níor ḃac sé leo. |
[ 170 ]Michael O’Connor and his wife had relationship with nearly every person in the parish—they had, as the neighbours used to say, “a long tail” and on the morning of next day there was a great assemblage gathered round the house ready to go in the funeral. They were all putting down (talking about) and backbiting Daniel on account of the burst (of laughter) he let out of him at the wake the day before that; but it wasn’t long till he himself came on the sod. He walked in among the people and he kept up his head, for he knew well they were cutting him as fine as tobacco. Some of them saluted him, but there was churlishness on another share of them, and they turned their backs on him, but he didn't meddle with them. |
[ 168 ]“Cad d’éiriġ ḋuit indé nó cad do ḋein tú?” ar Peadar Bacaċ, “Naċ mór an díċéille do ḃí ort, a Ḋoṁnaill? Tá tú fá ḋroċ-ṁeas annso indiu.” |
[ 170 ]“What happened to you yesterday, or what did you do?” said Peter Bacach. “Isn’t it great the foolishness that was on you, Daniel? You are under bad favour here to-day.” |
[ 168 ]“Naċ cuma ḋuit anois, a Ṗeadair?” ar Doṁnall. “Fá ḋroċ-ṁeas adeir tú? Tá ’ḟios agut go maiṫ go ḃfuil mise annso gan spleaḋaċas dóiḃ. Aċt fan go fóil agus feicfiḋ tú go mbeiḋ an-ḃáiḋ aca liom ar ball: ná bí as an tsliġe. B’ḟéidir go mbeiḋ sé i gcumus duit congnaḋ do ṫaḃairt dom.” |
[ 170 ]“Isn't it indifferent to you now, Peter?” said Daniel. “Under bad favour you say! You know well that I am here independently of them. But wait awhile and you will see that there will be great friendship with them for me by-and-by: don’t be out of the way, maybe it would be in your power to give me some help.” |
[ 168 ]D’imṫiġ Doṁnall isteaċ ’san teaċ annsan, agus d’ḟág sé Peadar ag seasaṁ amuiġ ag beinn an tiġe, ag feuċaint ’n-a ḋiaiḋ agus ag craṫaḋ a ċinn. |
[ 170 ]Daniel went into the house then, and he left Peter standing outside at the gable of the house looking after him and shaking his head: |
[ 168 ]“Congnaḋ do ṫabairt do, an n-eaḋ? cad ’n-a ṫaoiḃ airiú? Ó, tá an diaḃal ṡiar air indiu; buaileann sé an “dá ’Liam Dacson” amaċ ’s amaċ; go ḃfóiriḋ mo Ṫiġearna Dia ort, a Ḋoṁnaill!” |
[ 170 ]“To give him help, is it? For what reason, aroo? O! the d—l is behind on him to-day; he beats the two William Daxons out-and-out. May my Lord God help you, Daniel!” |
[ 168 ]Nuair do ċuaiḋ Doṁnall isteaċ, do ḃuail se a ḋruim leis an teine agus d’ḟeuċ sé go géur ar an “nġaisgiḋeaċ,” aċt an t-am so do ḃrúiġ sé an gáire faoi le hobair ṁóir, agus do ċongḃuiġ sé istiġ í; aċt ar a ṡon sin féin, do ḃí smigeaḋ ag briseaḋ amaċ ar a ṡúiliḃ. D’iarr sé ar ṡean-ḃean do ḃí ’n-a suiḋe ar a gruga ag an teine cia an t-am do ḃeiḋeaḋ an leanaḃ réiḋ ċun dul ’san ċoṁra, agus duḃairt sí, i gceann leaṫ-uaire eile nó mar sin. |
[ 170 ]When Daniel went in he struck his back to the fire, and looked sharply on the “hero,” but this time he bruised down the laughter and kept it inside; but for all that a smile was breaking out on his eyes. He asked an old woman who was sitting on her hunkers at the fire what time would the child be ready to go in the coffin, and she said, at the end of a half an hour, or that way. |
[ 168 ]“Tá sé i n’am doṁsa tosnuġaḋ, is dóiġ liom,” ar Doṁnall agus do ċaiṫ sé súil isteaċ ar an gcliaḃán. |
[ 170 ]“It is time for me to begin, I think,” said Daniel, and he threw an eye in on the cradle. |
[ 168 ]Do ċuaiḋ sé amaċ annsan agus do ṫug sé isteaċ cliaḃ mór móna, agus ċiḋ go raiḃ teine ṁaiṫ ṡíos ċeana, do ċuir sé síos an ṁóin agus níor ḃ’ḟada go raiḃ na daoine ag cur alluis leis an meud teasa do ḃí aisti. Níor ċuir Miċeál suim ar biṫ ann, mar do ḃí sé dearg-cínnte go raiḃ Doṁnall boċt éadtrom, aċt duḃairt sé leis na mnáiḃ do ḃí istiġ, an leanaḃ do ċur i gcóir le haġaiḋ na soċraide. |
[ 170 ]He went out then and brought in a great basket of turf. and, though there was a good fire down before, he put down the turf, and it was not long till the people were perspiring with the (share of) heat that was out of it. Michael took no notice of him, for he was red certain that poor Daniel was “light;” but he asked the women who were inside to put the child in readiness against the funeral. |
[ 170 ]Daniel opened the two doors and drew out the fire in a way that there was a big hole behind it; and then he said to the people who were making wonder of him: | |
[ 169 ]“Tá siḃse go léir ’am’ ṁasluġaḋ agus ag bíodán orm-sa ó ṁaidin indé. Tá siḃ cinnte go ḃfuilim imṫiġṫe as mo ċéill, aċt ní’lim, buiḋeaċas le Dia! Agus anois a Ṁiċíl Uí Ċonċuḃair, feuċ ar an rud atá fá ṫóraṁ annso agut!” |
[ 170 ]“Ye are all slandering and abusing me since yesterday morning. Ye are certain that I am gone out of my mind; but I am not, thank God! And now, Michael O’Connor, look on the thing that is under a wake here with you.” |
[ 169 ]Leis sin do ṫug sé iarraċt ċun greim d’faġáil ar an “ngaisgiḋeaċ” aċt do ḃí sé sin ro-ṫapaiḋ ḋo, agus ar dúnaḋ do ṡúl, do ḋein sé gearrḟiaḋ duḃ ḋe féin, agus le sgread uaṫḃásaċ d’airiġ na daoine míle ó ḃaile, do léim sé as an gcliaḃán, agus amaċ leis ar an ndorus mar síḋe gaoiṫe agus an madraḋ ’na ḋiaiḋ agus na buaċailliḋe óga ’na ḋiaiḋ sin aríst. Aċt do ṫug an gearrḟiaḋ na cosa uaṫa go léir agus ní ḟaca siad ní ba ṁó é. Is dóċa gur ċuir sé leiṫead an ċúntae idir é féin agus Doṁnall go háiriġṫe. |
[ 170 ]With that he made an effort to get a grip on the “hero,” but he (the “hero”) was too quick for him, and, on the closing of your eye, he made a black hare of himself, and, with a terrible shriek that was heard a mile from home, he leaped out of the cradle and out with him like a “fairy blast,” and the dog after him, and the young boys after him again. But the hare brought the legs from the whole of them, and he was not seen any more. I suppose he put the breadth of the county between himself and Daniel at any rate. |
[ 169 ]Níor airiġ aonduine riaṁ a leiṫéide gleó a’s do ḃí, nuair léim an gearrḟiaḋ imeasg na mban. Ṫosnuiġ siad ag sgreadaoil agus do ċuaiḋ cuid aca i luige. Do ṡaoil na daoine amuiġ go raiḃ Doṁnall ag éirġe níos measa, agus go raiḃ sé ag marḃaḋ na mban; agus nuair do riṫ siad isteaċ ċun réitiġ do ḋeanaḋ, fuair siad an cliaḃán follaṁ agus Miċeál agus greim aige ar Ḋoṁnall agus é ag iarraiḋ air ar son anama a aṫar, cá raiḃ a leanaḃ. |
[ 170 ]No one ever heard the like of the confusion that was when the hare leaped among the women. They began to scream, and some of them fainted. The people outside thought Daniel was getting worse, and that he was killing the women; and when they ran in to make peace they found the cradle empty, and Michael (and he) having a grip of Daniel, (and he) asking him for the sake of his father’s soul where was his child. |
[ 169 ]“B’ḟurusd’ aiṫint’,” aduḃairt Peadar Bacaċ, “go raiḃ níos mó eolas aige ná leig sé air i dtaoiḃ an ruda gránna sin do riṫ amaċ ó ċianaiḃ. Agus anois, a Ḋoṁnaill, má tá aon tuaraisg agut ar leanaḃ Ṁiċíl Uí Ċonċuḃair, taḃair uait é agus beannaċt Dé ort! ’Ḃfuil ’ḟios agut cá ḃfuil an leanaḃ?” |
[ 170 ]“It was easily known,” said Peter Bacach, “that he had more knowledge than he let on about that detestable thing that ran out awhile ago. And now, Daniel, if you have any information about Michael O’Connor’s child, give it from you, and the blessing of God on you! Do you know where is the child?” |
[ 169 ]“B’ḟéidir go ḃfuil agus b’ḟéidir ná fuil. Aċt fan go socair anois go ḃfeicfiḋ mé.” |
[ 170 ]“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. But wait awhile quietly until I see.” |
[ 169 ]D’imṫiġ sé amaċ agus do ċuir sé teaċtaire fá ḋéin a ṁáṫar agus an leanaiḃ agus ṫáinig sí gan ṁoill. Do ṫóg Doṁnall an leanaḃ ó n-a ṁáṫair ag an dorus, agus do ṫaisbeán sé dos-na daoiniḃ é. Do ṫug an ṁáṫair ḃoċt léim as a corp le háṫas, agus is iongantaċ na’r ṁúċ sí an créatuirín; agus ar an taoiḃ eile, do ḃí Miċeál ag pógaḋ agus ag craṫad láṁ le Doṁnall agus ag taḃairt buiḋeaċais do agus leiṫ-sgeul i dtaoiḃ na droċ-ḃaraṁala do ḃí aige air. |
[ 170 ]He went out and sent a messenger for his mother and the child. and she came without delay. Daniel took the child from his mother at the door and showed him to the people. His (the child’s) mother gave a leap out of her body with joy, and it is wonderful she didn’t smother the creature; and on the other side, Michael was kissing and shaking hands with Daniel and giving him thanks, and excuses for the bad opinion he had of him. |
[ 169 ]B’éigin do Ḋoṁnall annsan an sgeul do innsint ó ṫus go deireaḋ, agus ’nuair do ḃí sé críoċnuiġṫe, i n-ionad tóraiṁ agus soċraide, is bainḟeis do ḃí aca. |
[ 170 ]It was necessary for Daniel then to tell his story from beginning to end, and when he was finished, in the place of a wake and funeral it was a wedding (i.e., a feast) they had. |
[ 169 ]D’ḟás an leanaḃ suas agus deineaḋ fear breaġ láidir ḋe, agus do ḃí sé ċoṁ ceanaṁail ar Ḋoṁnall a’s do ḃí sé ar a aṫair féin. ’Nuair do ṫáinig an droċ-aimsir, do briseaḋ Miċeál O’Conċubair as a ċuid talṁan agus d’imṫiġ sé féin agus a ḃean agus Miċeál Óg—sé sin an mac—anonn go h-Americá, agus bliaḋain nó ḋó ’na ḋiaiḋ sin, ’nuair do ċuir sé an ḃean aosda do lean Doṁnall iad agas do ṫug siad congnaḋ d’á ċéile ċun maraċdáil ’san tír sin. Do ḃí an t-áḋ orṫa. Tá Miċeál Óg indiu agus é gan uireasḃuiḋ an tsaoġail air. Tá sé ċoṁ saiḋḃir le prionnsa agus ní’l greim ar biṫ ar an airgiod aige. Níor iompuiġ sé a ċul riaṁ ar aonduine ó ċúntae an Ċláir agus bíḋeann céad míle fáilte aige roiṁ na daoiniḃ a ṫéiġeann anonn ó’n taoiḃ so. Deir siad go mbeiḋ sé ag teaċt aḃaile an ḃliaḋain so ċugainn ċun aon raḋarc aṁáin d’ḟaġáil, sul a ḃfaġaḋ sé bás, ar an áit ann ar ḃain Doṁnall é de na mnáiḃ Siḋe. |
[ 170 ]The child grew up, and a fine strong man was made of him, and he was as fond of Daniel as he was of his own father. When the “bad times” came, Michael O’Connor was broken out of his (share of) land, and he, his wife, and young Michael—that is, the son—went over to America, and a year or two alter that, when he buried the old woman, Daniel followed them, and they gave help to each other to find a living in that country. The luck was on them. Young Michael is to-day (and he) without the want o the world on him. He is as rich as a prince, and he has no hold in the world of the money. He never turned his back on a person from the County Clare, and there is a cead mile failte with him for the people who go over from this side. They say he will be coming home this year coming to get one sight before he dies of the place in which Daniel took him from the fairy women. |
[ 169 ]Níor ṗós Doṁnall riaṁ. Tá sé curṫa le tamall maiṫ anois, agus ar an leaċt do ċuir Míċeál Óg ós a ċeann tá na focail so le feiscint: |
[ 170 ]Daniel never married. He is buried for a good while now, and on the monument young Michael put over him, these words are to be seen: |
NOTES.
Ag cur síos, “talking about;” lit., “putting down.”
Bíodán, “calumny, falsehood, lies.”
Doiċeall, “churlishness.”
Báiḋ, “affection, friendship.”
An ḋa ’Liam Dacson, two fictitious characters who bore an unenviable reputation in West Clare.
Ar a gruga, “on her hunkers.”
Dearg-cinnte, “positively certain.”
Le h-aġaiḋ na socraide, “in order to, with a view to.” See note on “Aġaiḋ,” Trí Ḃior-Ġaoiṫe, page 301.
siḋe gaoiṫe, “a fairy wind.” Often applied to a sudden gust of wind, which, on a calm summer day, sends the dust on the road, or the hay on a meadow, whirling up into the air.
réiteaċ, "harmony, reconciliation."
an droċ-aimsir, “the bad times,” referring to the years ’47-8.
uireasḃuiḋ, pron, urusa in Clare; “want, need, indigence.”
Tomás O’h-Aoda.