Beauties and Antiquities of Ireland Part 5

Next to Emania and Ardmagh, Aileach is the most historic spot in the province of Ulster. It lies four miles west of the city of Derry, on a round, heath-clad hill, some eight hundred feet above the level of the sea. It is one of the most ancient cyclopean fortresses in Ireland, or, perhaps, in the world. There is no scenic beauty in the immediate vicinity of Aileach, but there is a view from the hill-top on which it is situated that for wildness and sublimity can hardly be equalled anywhere in the British Isles,--a view which will amply repay any one who sees it on a clear day. On the north the hills of Inishowen obstruct the view, but west and south-west it is sublime. The eye ranges over a wilderness of fantastic-shaped mountains, some shooting up sharp as arrows, others round and ridgy, separated by sinuous sea-lochs and glittering tarns,--a land of awful ruggedness and desolation,--of rock-bound sh.o.r.es cleft into myriad bays and fiords by the thundering almost ever restless northern sea that beats against them. If no h.o.a.ry ruin crowned the hill on which the "Lordly Aileach" of Gaelic poets stands, the view from its summit would be worth a journey of a hundred miles to see, for most of the wildness and grandeur of "Dark Donegall" are spread before the eye. On the north-east and north-west the waters of Loch Foyle and Loch Sw.i.l.l.y spread themselves almost beneath the feet of the gazer from Aileach. It stands on a hill that commands a view of both Loch Foyle and Loch Sw.i.l.l.y; and the site of this ancient fortress was evidently chosen on account of the view it commands of those two sea-lochs, for no fleet could enter them for any distance without being seen by the watchers on the walls of Aileach.

The first thing that should be mentioned when speaking of Aileach is the n.o.ble work that has been lately accomplished regarding it. An article appeared about it some twenty years ago in the _Irish Times_ of Dublin, calling attention to its antiquity, the historic and legendary renown of that ancient place; and a Mr Barnard of Londonderry became interested in Aileach and determined to make an effort to have the demolished fortress restored as far as was possible. He made a pilgrimage among the farmers living in the locality, and got promises of help in the way of men to work for so many days at the restoration of the fortress. The farmers kept their word, gave him the help of the men they had promised, and in a comparatively short time the walls of the ruined fortress, under the surveillance of Mr Barnard, once again crowned the hill of Greenan, after having been in ruins for well-nigh eight hundred years. Mr Barnard, and the farmers that gave him a.s.sistance in the good work, deserve the thanks of every one who is a patriot, or has any reverence for the ancient monuments of his country, or any respect for the hallowed past.

The early history of Aileach is "lost in the twylight of fable." It is a pre-historic building, almost as much so as a Pyramid of Egypt. It was used as a stronghold down to the beginning of the twelfth century; but when it was built, or by whom, cannot be said to be known from authentic history, for the many poems that exist about its origin in ancient Gaelic are legendary rather than historic. There may be, and there probably is, a great deal of truth in them, but they cannot be accepted as history.

Aileach is a circular, dry-stone fortress with walls nine feet thick. It was levelled down to the ground when Mr Barnard undertook its restoration.

The history of its destruction is so strange, so unique, and so Irish, that it must be given. Let the Four Masters tell it. They say, under the year 1101, that "A great army was led by O'Brian, King of Munster, with the men of Munster, Ossory, Meath and Connacht, across a.s.saroe into Innishowen.... He demolished Grianan Aileach in revenge of Kinncora, which had been razed and demolished by Muircheartach O'Lochlainn some time before. O'Brian commanded his army to carry with them from Aileach to Limerick a stone of the demolished building for every sack of provisions they had. In commemoration of which was said (by some unknown poet)--

"'I never heard of the billeting of grit stones, Though I heard of the billeting of companies, Until the stones of Aileach were billeted On the horses of the King of the West.'"

This is the only attempt at anything like humour in all the dreary annals of the Four Masters. Such quiet sarcasm would be a credit to Mark Twain.

But if the poet had said "King of the South" instead of "King of the West," although it might not have answered his Gaelic rhyme or a.s.sonance quite so well, it would have been more correct, for although Munster is west of Aileach, it is more south than west. It can never be known how high the walls of Aileach had been before they were pulled down by O'Brien, because we don't know how many cavalry he had, or how many stones he carried to Limerick. Never before was an army loaded with such impedimenta; but that the story of the stones of Aileach, or at least, stones similar to them, having been brought to Limerick or its immediate vicinity, there cannot be much doubt, for they were found there.

The fortress of Aileach is nearly a hundred feet in diameter in the inside. It is not known if it was ever roofed, but it is probable that it was. There were two lines of earthen ramparts round it, but they have nearly disappeared. John O'Donovan thought that the entire hill of Grianan, on which the fortress stands, was once enclosed by a vast rampart of earth, and that cultivation has destroyed all but the faintest traces of it. It seems probable that Aileach was intended more for a stronghold than for a permanent dwelling-place. It may have been inhabited only when a siege or an invasion was expected. One of its names, or rather the first part of one of its names, "Grianan," would indicate that it was intended only as a summer residence, like the Dunsinane = _Dun soinine_, fine weather fortress, of Macbeth. Those who could live in winter on top of the wind-swept hill on which Aileach stands without getting coughs or colds would require const.i.tutions of iron and lungs of bra.s.s.

O'Donovan says that if any reliance can be placed on Irish chronology, the antiquity of Aileach must be very great, no less than upwards of a thousand years before the Christian era. He says, also, that the poet, part of whose poem on Aileach is given below, in making the Tuata de Danaan King, Eochy, generally known in Irish history and legend as the Dagda, contemporaneous with the a.s.syrian King, Darcylus, exactly agrees with the chronology of O'Flaherty and Usher, who say that he reigned 1053 years before the Christian era.

There is a poem in the "Book of Lecan" on Aileach by the poet to whom O'Donovan alludes, that in language and _tournure_ bears the marks of extreme antiquity. Even O'Donovan, great a Celtic scholar as he was, had apparently extreme difficulty in translating it. It has never been published. The first dozen or so lines are given here:--

"Aileach Fridreann, arena of mighty kings. A _dun_ through which ran roads under heroes through five ramparts. Hill on which slept the Dagda. Red its flowers. Many its houses. Just its spoils. Few its stones. A lofty castle is Aileach. Fort of the great man. A sheltering _dun_ over the lime [white] schools. A delightful spot is Aileach. Green its bushes. The sod where the Dagda found the mound wherein rested Hugh."

But it is in more recent times that the history and records of Aileach become supremely interesting. It was from there that Muircheartach Mac Neill, styled the Hector of the west of Europe by old annalists, started on his celebrated "Circuit of Ireland" in the year 942. He was heir apparent to the chief kingship of Ireland, and wanted to show the provincial rulers that he was fit to rule _them_. So he determined to start on his circuit in the depth of winter, when it appears the ancient Irish seldom went on forays, and either make or persuade the provincial rulers to acknowledge his right to the throne when the then reigning chief king, Donacha, died. The way he is said to have chosen men for the expedition is very curious and very Irish. He caused a tent to be erected, keeping the cause of its erection unknown, and made his men to go into it at night. A fierce dog attacked every one that entered; and opposite to where the dog was, an armed man also attacked those that entered; both man and dog simultaneously attacking the intruder. If he who entered the tent flinched neither from dog nor man, but showed fight to both, he was chosen; but whoever showed the least sign of cowardice was rejected. Out of his whole army we are told that Muircheartach could only get a thousand men, and with that small army, protected by strong leather cloaks, he started on his Circuit of Ireland to force, intimidate, or coax the provincial kings to acknowledge that he was their master, and that he was to be their next suzerain.

Our princ.i.p.al source of information about the Circuit comes from a poem of undoubted authority and antiquity, written by one called Cormacan Eigeas, who accompanied Muircheartach on the expedition. It is one of the most remarkable poems of its age, not only in Gaelic, but in any language. It was translated more than forty years ago, and may be seen in the "Transactions" of the Royal Irish Academy; but it is not probable that even forty persons have ever read it, so little general interest has heretofore been taken in Gaelic literature or Irish history. For these reasons it cannot be uninteresting to give some extracts from it. It commences:

"O Muircheartach, son of the valiant Niall, Thou hast taken the hostages of Inis Fail, Thou hast brought them all into Aileach, Into the stone-built palace of steeds!

"Thou didst go forth from us with a thousand heroes Of the race of Eoghan of red weapons, To make the great Circuit of Ireland, O Muircheartach of the yellow hair!

"The day thou didst set out from us eastwards Into the fair province of Connor,[7]

Many were the tears down beauteous cheeks Among the fair-haired women of Aileach."

Muircheartach carried off the King of Ulster; and, as the old chroniclers tell us, keeping his left hand to the sea, he fared to Dublin, then the greatest stronghold the Danes had, not only in Ireland but in the west of Europe. He did not have to fight the Danes of Dublin, although he had often fought them before, for their king, probably thinking that "discretion was the better part of valour," surrendered himself a prisoner. And here one of these inconsequential incidents is related, which no one but an ancient Irish poet would dream of mentioning.

Muircheartach seems to have had no objection to make love to a Danish maiden, often as he had fought Danish men. Cormacan, the poet, tells us that they

"Were a night at fair Ath-cliath [Dublin]; It was not a pleasure to the foreigners: There was a damsel in the strong fortress Whose soul the son of Niall was; She came forth until she was outside the walls, Although the night was constantly bad."

Muircheartach then proceeded south-west from Dublin to Aillinn, and carried away the King of Leinster. He then made for Cashel, where the King of Munster lived. But Callachan, that was his name, showed fight, and Muircheartach's men threw off their leather cloaks and prepared to stand by him. However, seeing that things were beginning to look serious, the King of Munster yielded and was carried away prisoner with a golden fetter on him. The leader of the Circuit then turned northwards into Connacht, and carried away the king of that province. So he had the four provincial kings in his power, and also the Danish King of Dublin. But he did them neither hurt nor harm, for he seems to have been in a good humour all the time he was "on circuit"; and we are told by his poet laureate that on their halts the soldiers amused themselves in many ways, especially by music and dancing, and he says--

"Music we had on the plain and in our tents, Listening to its strains, we danced awhile; There, methinks, a heavy noise was made By the shaking of our hard cloaks."

The next three verses are magnificent. They are full of dramatic power and naturalness. When the triumphant army, but triumphant without having shed a drop of blood, approach Aileach, a messenger is sent forward to announce its arrival:--

"From the green of Lochan-na-neach A page is despatched to Aileach To tell Duvdaire[8] of the black hair To send women to cut rushes.

"'Rise up, O Duvdaire (_said the page_), There is a company coming to thy house; Attend every man of them As a monarch should be attended.'

"'Tell me (_she said_) what company comes. .h.i.ther To the lordly Aileach Rigreann, Tell me, O fair page, That I may attend them?'

"'The Kings of Erin in fetters (_he replies_), With Muircheartach, son of the warlike Niall.'"

The kingly prisoners were all brought to Aileach, where they were feasted for five months; and the following list of their bill of fare will show that they lived well. Let the same poet tell it:--

"Ten score hogs--no small work, Ten score cows, two hundred oxen, Were slaughtered at festive Aileach For Muircheartach of the great fetters.

"Three score vats of curds, Which banished the hungry look of the army, With a sufficiency of cheering mead, Were given by magnanimous Muircheartach."

When the five kings were feasted--and it is to be hoped fattened--for five months, Muircheartach brought them to the chief king or emperor, Donacha, and gave them up to him. The following extraordinary dialogue, taken from the same poem, occurs between them. Muircheartach says:

"'There are the n.o.ble kings for thee.'

Said Muircheartach, the son of Niall; 'For thou, O Donacha, it is certain to me, Art the best man of the men of Erin.'

"_Donacha._ "'Thou art a better man thyself, O King, With thee no one can vie; It is thou who didst take captive the n.o.ble kings, O Muircheartach, son of the great Niall.'

"_Muircheartach._ "'Thou art better thyself, O Donacha the black haired, Than any man in our land; Whoever is in strong Tara It is he that is monarch of Erin.'

"_Donacha._ "'Receive my blessing, n.o.bly, O son of Niall Glundubh, bright, pure; May Tara be possessed by thee, O Prince of the bright Loch Foyle![9]

"'May thy race possess Moy Breagh,[10]

May they possess the white-sided Tara, May the hostages of the Gael be in thy house, O good son, O Muircheartach!'"

It is sad to know that this extraordinary poem, with its uniqueness, its dramatic power, and its raciness of the soil and of the time, notwithstanding the fact that it was translated and published in the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy over forty years ago, is to-day hardly any more known than it was when it lay unheeded and unknown in the archaic Gaelic of the tenth century. It might, for all the notice that has been taken of it, as well not have been translated at all. No other people on earth would have treated such an archaic literary gem with such coldness and contempt. It would seem as if the Irish people were losing not only their soul but their brains. If such a poem were written in Finnish or in Ojibaway it could not have been more ignored than it has been by a people who call themselves intellectual.

In this poem the same anachronism may be noticed that led Petrie so much astray about the Lia Fail having been in Tara in the tenth century.

Muircheartach addresses Donacha as if he were living in Tara, although Tara had been abandoned four hundred years before, and was as waste and as desolate in the time of Donacha as it is to-day; the chief kings of his epoch and for centuries before it, lived usually in Westmeath or in Donegal.

That Muircheartach Mac Neill, though a sort of Rory O'More of the tenth century, was a great man can hardly be doubted. He seems to have contemplated the entire overthrow of the pentarchy and the union of all the provinces under one sole king, namely, himself. He could hardly have been ignorant of what had occurred in England in the century previous--how Alfred had broken up the Saxon heptarchy and made himself practically sole king in England. If Muircheartach had succeeded in destroying the wretched system of provincial nationality, and had made the country a political unit, the subsequent history of Ireland would probably be very different from what it has been. But Muircheartach was killed by his old enemies the Danes, the year after he made his famous circuit. They also killed his father, Niall Glundubh, at the battle of Killmoshogue, near Dublin, in the year 917. Here is what the Four Masters say about him under the year 941[11]: "Muircheartach of the Leather Cloaks, Lord of Aileach, the Hector of the west of Europe in his time, was slain at Ardee (in Louth) by Blacaire, the son of G.o.dfrey, Lord of the Foreigners, on the 26th of March. In lamentation of him it was said--

"'Vengeance and destruction Have descended on the race of Conn for ever; As Muircheartach does not live, alas!

The country of the Gael will always be an orphan.'"

"ROYAL AND SAINTLY CASHEL"

The situation of three of the most historic and remarkable ecclesiastical establishments in Ireland, namely, Clonmacnois, Glendaloch, and Cashel, is very peculiar. The first is on a barren sandhill surrounded by the most strange and unique scenery in Ireland, consisting of almost illimitable meadows interspersed with bogs. The second is in one of the gloomiest and weirdest glens in the island; but Cashel is on a towering rock amid some of the richest land, not only in Ireland but in the world, and overlooking as goodly a country as human eye perhaps ever gazed on. Ancient Irish monks and churchmen must have been peculiarly gifted with an appreciation of the strange, unique, and beautiful in nature, or they would not have fixed their retreats in such peculiar places. If ancient Irish kings loved to place their strongholds on hills such as Tara, Aileach, Knock Aillinn, and Uisneach, ancient Irish ecclesiastics seemed not to have cared whether their churches were on hills or in hollows, provided they were somewhere that was strange, weird, or beautiful.

The situation of Cashel is not only beautiful but superb. There is no other place of its kind in Ireland situated like it. Its situation is as peculiar as that of Glendaloch or Clonmacnois. It is, perhaps, the most imposing pile of ecclesiastical ruins in Europe. Mont St Michael in France can hardly compare with Cashel in commanding beauty of situation. One overlooks the chilly sea, but the other overlooks as warm, as fair, and as fertile a country as there is in the world.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUILDINGS ON THE ROCK OF CASHEL.]

Cashel has inspired many poets; but, unfortunately, none of the great English masters of song has made it a theme; and it is strange that our own Moore, who has celebrated Glendaloch, the Vale of Avoca, and other famous places, never composed a lyric on Cashel. No other place in Ireland could have given him a grander theme to write poems of the kind in which he delighted, and in the composition of which he was such an acknowledged master. It is indeed strange that so few of those who may be called our minor poets have written about Cashel, and so seldom taken it as their theme. There exists, however, a short poem on Cashel of the cla.s.s usually known as sonnets, and it is probable that neither Moore, nor any of the other great masters of song, could have written anything superior to it.

It is by the late Sir Aubry de Vere. It first appeared in the _Dublin Penny Journal_ some sixty years ago; but it has so long been partially forgotten that it can hardly be out of place to reproduce it here:

"Royal and saintly Cashel! I could gaze Upon the wreck of thy departed powers, Not in the dewy light of matin hours, Nor the meridian pomp of summer's blaze; But at the close of dim autumnal days When the sun's parting glance thro' slanting showers Sheds o'er thy rock-throned pediments and towers Such awful gleams as brighten on Decay's Prophetic cheek;--at such a time methinks There breathes from thy lone courts and voiceless aisles A melancholy moral, such as sinks On the worn traveller's heart amid the piles Of vast Persepolis on her mountain stand, Or Thebes half buried in the desert's sand."