HOW THE CHARACTER OF THE OLD IRISH PEOPLE SHOWED ITSELF IN VARIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES AND ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS.

Some of the modes of salutation and of showing respect practised by the ancient Irish indicate much gentleness and refinement of feeling. When a distinguished visitor arrived it was usual to stand up as a mark of respect. Giving a kiss, or more generally three kisses, on the cheek, was a very usual form of respectful and affectionate salutation: it was indeed the most general of all. When St. Columba approached the assembly at Drum-ketta, “King Domnall rose immediately before him, and bade him welcome, and kissed his cheek, and set him down in his own place.”

A very pleasing way of showing respect and affection, which we often find noticed, was laying the head gently on the person’s bosom. When Erc, King Concobar’s grandson, came to him, “he placed his head on the breast of his grandfather.” Sometimes persons bent the head and went on one knee to salute a superior.Although there were no such institutions in ancient Ireland as pawn-offices, pledging articles as security for a temporary loan and its interest, was common enough. The practice was such a general feature of society that the Brehon Law stepped in to prevent abuses, just as our law now contains provisions to safeguard poor people from being wronged in their dealings with pawn-offices. A person might pledge any movable article—a horse, a brooch, a mantle, etc.—and the person holding the pledge might put it to its proper use while it remained with him. He was obliged to return it on receiving a day’s notice, provided the borrower tendered the sum borrowed, with its interest: and if he failed to do so he was liable to fine. Borrowing or lending, on pledge, was a very common transaction among neighbours; and it was not looked upon as in any sense a thing to be ashamed of, as pawning articles is at the present day.

There were distinct terms for all the parts of these transactions—a loan for kindness merely, a loan for interest, a loan in general: and interest was designated by two distinct words. The existence in ancient Ireland of the practice of pledging and lending for interest, the designation of the several functions by different terms, and the recognition of all by the Brehon Law, may be classed, among numerous other customs and institutions noticed throughout this book, as indicating a very advanced stage of civilisation. At what an early period this stage—of lending for interest—was reached may be seen from the fact that it is mentioned in an Irish gloss of twelve hundred years ago.

Old age was greatly honoured, and provision was made for the maintenance of old persons who were not able to support themselves. As to old persons who had no means, the duty of maintaining them fell of course on the children; and a son or daughter who was able to support parents but who evaded the duty was punished. If an old person who had no children became destitute the tribe was bound to take care of him. A usual plan was to send him (or her) to live with some family willing to undertake the duty, who had an allowance from the tribe for the cost of support.

In some cases destitute persons dependent on the tribe, who did not choose to live with a strange family, but preferred to have their own little house, received what we now call outdoor relief. There was a special officer whose business it was to look after them: or, in the words of the law tract, to “oversee the wretched and the poor,” and make sure that they received the proper allowance: like the relieving officer of our present poor laws. He was paid for this duty; and the law specially warned him not to take offence at the abuse he was likely to receive from the poor cross peevish old people he had in charge.

Care was taken that the separate little house in which a destitute old person lived should be a fit and proper one; and its dimensions and furniture, as well as the dimensions of the little kitchen-garden, are set forth in the law. The law also specifies three items of maintenance—food, milk, and attendance; and it adds that the old person was to have a bath at regular intervals, and his head was to be washed every Saturday.

From the arrangements here described it will be seen that there was a kindly spirit in the provisions for old age and destitution, and that the most important features of our modern poor-laws were anticipated in Ireland a thousand years ago.

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.” So says the English poet, Keats, in his poem of Endymion, and he enumerates various natural features and artificial creations as things of beauty; among many others, the sun, the moon, “trees old and new,” clear rills, “the mid-forest brake,” “all lovely tales that we have heard or read.” If he had been in Ireland in old times, he would have come across delightful proofs of the truth of his saying everywhere among the people. They loved and had an intense appreciation of all things of beauty, whether natural or artificial; and they were remarkable for their close observation of the natural features of the world around them.

We know all this from their poetry, their tales, and their writings in general, which strongly reflect this pleasing aspect of their character. Everywhere we meet with passages in which are noticed, with loving admiration, not only those features mentioned by Keats, but many others, such as the boom and clash of the waves, the cry of the sea-birds, the murmur of the wind among the trees, the howling of the storm, the sad desolation of the landscape in winter, the ever-varying beauty of Irish clouds, the cry of the hounds in full career among the glens, the beauty of the native music, tender, sad, or joyous, and so forth in endless variety.

The few examples that follow here, as the reader will at once perceive, exhibit vividly this very fine and very attractive characteristic.

The singing of birds had a special charm for the old Irish people. Comgan, a poet of the seventh century, standing on the great rath of Knockgraffon in Tipperary—one of the old Munster royal residences—which was in his time surrounded with woods, uttered the following verse:—

“This great rath on which I stand
Wherein is a little well with a bright silver drinking-cup:
Sweet was the voice of the wood of blackbirds
Round this rath of King Fiacha.”

Among the examples of metre given in an old Irish treatise on prosody is the following verse, selected merely for a grammatical purpose:—

“The bird that calls within the sallow-tree,
Beautiful his beak and clear his voice;
The tip of the bill of the glossy jet-black bird is a lovely yellow;
The note that the merle warbles is a trilling lay.”

It would be hard to find a more striking or a prettier conception of the power of music in the shape of a bird-song, than the account of Queen Blanid’s three cows with their three little birds which used to sing to them during milking. These cows were always milked into a caldron, but submitted reluctantly and gave little milk till the birds came to their usual perch—on the cows’ ears—and sang for them: then they gave their milk freely till the caldron was filled. This corresponds with the effect of the milking-songs described at p. 89. (See also for bird-songs, p. 83.)Many students of our ancient literature have noticed these characteristics of the old Irish and their writings. “Another poem,” writes Mr. Alfred Nutt, “strikes a note which remains dominant throughout the entire range of Ossianic Literature: the note of keen and vivid feeling for certain natural conditions. It is a brief description of winter:—

“A tale here for you: oxen lowing: winter snowing: summer passed away: wind from the north, high and cold: low the sun and short his course: wildly tossing the wave of the sea. The fern burns deep red. Men wrap themselves closely: the wild goose raises her wonted cry: cold seizes the wing of the bird: ’tis the season of ice: sad my tale.”

In a certain plain, simple prose narrative in one of our old books, where there is not the least effort at fine writing, it is related how, in the noon of a summer day, a little child fell over a cliff into the sea. The mother ran down shrieking expecting he was dashed to pieces: but she found him quite safe “sitting in the trough of the sea”—to quote the lovely words of the old writer—“playing with the waves. For the waves would reach up to him and laugh round him; and he was laughing at the waves, and putting the palm of his hand to the foam of the crest, and he used to lick it like the foam of new milk.”In the Life of St. Columkille it is stated that, while residing in Iona, he wrote a poem in Irish, a tender reminiscence of his beloved native land, in which he expresses himself in this manner:—

Even the place-names scattered over the country—names that remain in hundreds to this day—bear testimony to this pleasing feature of the Irish character: for we have numerous places still called by names with such significations as “delightful wood,” “silvery stream,” “cluster of nuts” (for a hazel wood), “prattling rivulet,” “crystal well,” “the recess of the bird-warbling,” “melodious little hill,” “the fragrant bush-cluster,” and so forth in endless variety.[7]

There is a very old legend that Ailill Inbanna, king of Connaught in the sixth century, earned heaven by his noble self-sacrifice in order to save his people. A bitter war was waged between him and the two princes Donall and Fergus, sons of the king of Ireland, till at last a decisive battle was fought between them at a place called CÚil-Conari, in the present county Mayo, in which Ailill was defeated. And at the end of the day, when he and his army were in full retreat, the king, sitting in his chariot in the midst of the flying multitude, said to his charioteer:—“Cast thine eyes back, I pray thee, and tell me if there is much killing of my people, and if the slayers are near us.” The charioteer did so, and said:—“The slaughter that is made on thy people is intolerable.” Then said the king:—“Not their own guilt, but my pride and unrighteousness it is that they are suffering for. Turn now the chariot and let me face the pursuers; for as their enmity is against me only, if I am slain it will be the redemption of many.” The chariot was accordingly turned round, and the king plunged amidst his foemen and was slain; on which the pursuit and slaughter ceased. That man, says the old legend, by giving up his life, in his repentance, to save his people, attained to the Lord’s peace.

In the old Irish Canon Law, there was a merciful provision to save the family of a dead man from destitution if he died in debt; namely, that certain specified valuable articles—such as a cow, a horse, a garment, a bed, etc.—belonged to the family, and could not be claimed by a creditor.

The yellow plague wrought dreadful havoc in Ireland—and indeed desolated all Europe—in the seventh century. In Ireland at least it appears to have attacked adults more than children, so that everywhere through the country numbers of little children, whose mothers and fathers had been carried off, were left helpless and starving. At this same time lived Ultan, the kindly bishop of Ardbraccan in Meath. It wrung his heart to witness these piteous scenes of human suffering all round him; and he took steps, so far as he was able, to relieve and save the little children. He collected all the orphan babes he could find, and brought them to his monastery; and procuring a great number of cows’ teats, and filling them with milk, he put them into the children’s mouths with his own hands, and thus contrived to feed the little creatures. The number increased daily, so that at last he had as many as 150; and as he was not able to do all the work himself, he had to call in others to assist him in his noble labour of love.

It is proper to remark here that we find other examples in history of the use of a cow’s teat for milk-feeding, and that in Russia infants are often fed in this way.

All this is remembered to St. Ultan down to the present day; for he is often mentioned in old Irish histories, almost always with a remark something like this:—“Little children are always playing round Ultan of Ardbraccan.”

It would be difficult to find an instance where charity is presented in greater beauty and tenderness than it is in this simple story of the good bishop Ultan.