Transcript

Sa tseanaimsir, roimh an drochshaol, bhí fear ar a dtugtaí Tomás Buidhe 'na chónaí in Úraid i gConamara. Creidim nar rabh mórán dho mhaoin ná dh'ollmhaitheas an tsaoil aige. Agus ní rabh ní ar bith ag goil idir é agus codladh na hoíche ach cén chaoi le saidhbhreas a dhéanamh. B'fhacthas dó nach rabh aon chaoi le saidhbhreas a fháil ní b'éasca ná ciste a fháil. Agus bhí sé ag déanamh imní dhó gur mór an t-ionadh nach dtiocfadh brionglóid chuige go bhfaigheadh sé ciste, mar chuala sé, duine ar bith a dtiocfadh brionglóid chuige trí oíche i ndiaidh a chéile go bhfaigheadh sé an rud a bheadh le... geallta dhó sa mbrionglóid sin.

Bhí go maith is ní rabh go holc. Faoi dheireadh, bhí brionglóid ag Tomás oíche amháin: dá dtéadh sé go Droichead Buidhe Luimnigh go bhfaigheadh sé ciste ann. Níor inis sé a scéal dh'aon duine ach choinnigh sé ina intinn féin é agus dúirt sé leis féin mar seo, "Tá liom anois má bhíonn an bhrionglóid seo a'm san oíche amáireach nó san oíche arú amáireach." Dhá luaithe dhá dtéadh sé a chodladh chuile oíche théadh sé a ch-... Chuaigh sé a chodladh níos luaithe (ná)[1] oíche seo, le súil go dtiocfadh a bhrionglóid chuige. Agus tháinig. D'inis sé a scéal ansin dá mhuintir sa mbaile agus réitigh sé é féin i gcomhair aistir, aistear bliana, i gcás go mbeadh sé ar ais faoi cheann seachtaine agus a chiste leis.

Bhalaigh sé ar maidin an lae sin. Agus ghearr sé aichearra ar gach bealach is gach bóthar. Agus ní dhearna sé stad mara ná mórchónaí gur shroich sé Droichead Buidhe Luimnigh. Ach ní rabh ciste ná stór ansin roimhe. Bhí go maith agus ní rabh go holc. Bhí sé ag siúl suas anuas Droichead Luimnigh ar feadh seacht lá na seachtaine, ag tíocht abhaile trom tuirseach ag a lóistín chuile thráthnóna. Ach tráthnóna an seachtú lá cé bhuailfeadh anall chuige ach scolóigín bheag isteach ón tír.

"Go mbeannaí Dia dhuit," arsa an scológ le Tomás.

"Dia is Muire dhuit," arsa Tomás.

"Muise, an miste a fhiafraí," arsa an scológ, "céard tá tú a chuartú? Mar níl aon lá le seachtain nach bhfeicim thú ag siúl síos agus suas an droichead sin gan fios do ghnaithe.

"Ní miste, go deimhin," arsa Tomás. "Rinne mé brionglóidí trí oíche i ndiaidh a chéile dhá dtéinn amach go Droichead Buidhe Luimnigh go bhfaighinn ciste ann. Ach níl ciste ná stór faighte a'm ann fós, théis mo sheachtain a bheith caite a'm ann. Agus, em, gach ar thug mé dh'airgead as baile liom tá sé caite a'm anois."

"Ó, muise, is mór an díth céille a bhí ort," arsa an scolóigín, "mar rinne mise brionglóidí trí oíche mé féin i ndiaidh a chéile, dhá dtéinn go hÚraid, cérbí cén áit a bhfuil sé, go bhfaighinn ciste ann faoi bhun sceithí[2] a bhfuil a haghaidh siar."

Ghoin a aire Tomás agus chuimhnigh[3] sé air féin go mb'fhéidir gurb í an ciste a bhí in aice leis an mbaile aigesan a rabh sé a bhrionglóidí ach go gcaithfeadh sé ghoil go Droichead Buidhe Luimnigh le tuairisc a fháil cé rabh sí. Níor lig sé tada lena ais. Níor úirt sé tada leis an scolóig i dtaobh Úraid ná tada eile ach bhalaigh leis abhaile ar maidin lá arna mháireach. Agus, ar ndóigh, hébrí cén deifir a bhí ag goil go Luimneach air bhí a sheacht n-oiread deifre air ag tíocht ar ais go hÚraid air. Creidim nár chodail sé an oíche sin suaimhneach[4] chor ar bith ach ag faire ar an maidin. Agus sé an chéad mhaith a rinne sé a ghoil amach agus a láí aige agus thosaigh sé ag cartadh faoi bhun na sceithí agus, ar ndóigh, chart sé sin aníos corcán[5] mór óir. Chroch sé leis abhaile é agus cheap sé, dheamhan lá bochtaineacht a bheadh air féin ná ar aon duine a bhainfeadh leis an fhad is a mhairfidís. Ar ndóigh níor spáráil sé an t-airgead ar lucht bealaigh is ar lucht bóthair agus ní dhearna siadsan dearmad ar cuairt a thabhairt air anois agus arís nuair a bhídís ag goil thairis.

Bhí an t-ór ionann is a bheith caite aige an t-am seo agus gan mórán saidhbhris ná maoin ná beithigh ná caoirí aige dhá bharr ach an oiread. Ach aon mhaidin amháin bhí scoláire bocht ina shuí a chois na tine ag fanacht go mbeadh a bhéilí réidh dhó. Agus leac a bhí ar an gcorcán a frítheadh faoi bhun na sceithí, bhí sí leagthaí ar bhéal corcán prátaí a bhí ag bruith dhó.

Translation

In the old days, before the Famine, there was a man called Yellow-haired Thomas living in Oorid in Conamara. I believe he didn't have many riches or much wealth in life. And the only thing keeping him from sleep at night was how to make his fortune. The way he saw it was that there was no easier way to make one's fortune than to find a treasure-trove. And he was concerned that it was a wonder he didn't dream about finding a treasure-trove, because he had heard that anyone who dreamt about something three nights in succession would get the thing that was... promised him in that dream.

The time passed. At last, Thomas had a dream one night: if he went to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick he would find a treasure-trove there. He didn't tell anybody but kept it to himself and he said to himself, "I'm in luck now if I have the same dream tomorrow night or the night after that." As soon as he would go to sleep every night he used to go... He went to sleep earlier this night, hoping the dream would come to him. And it did. Then he told his parents at home and he got ready for a journey, a year's journey, in case he returned within a week with the treasure-hoard.

He went off in the morning that day. And he took a short cut on every route and road. And he made no delay whatsoever until he reached the Yellow Bridge of Limerick. But no treasure-hoard or riches awaited him there. The time passed. He walked up and down the Limerick Bridge for the seven days of the week, coming home worn and weary to his lodgings every evening. But on the evening of the seventh day who did he meet coming towards him but a little farm hand from down the country.

"God bless you," said the farm hand to Thomas.

"Hello," said Thomas.

"So, may I ask," said the farm hand, "what you are looking for? Because every day this week without fail I see you walking up and down that bridge and I don't know what you're up to."

"Ask away, certainly," said Thomas. "I dreamt three nights in succession that if I went out to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick I would find a treasure-hoard there. But I haven't found a treasure-hoard or riches yet, after spending the whole week there. And I've spent all the money I brought from home now."

"Oh, well, you were greatly lacking in sense," said the farm hand, "because I myself dreamed three nights in succession, that if I went to Oorid, wherever that is, I would find a treasure-hoard there under a bush that faces westward."

Thomas pricked up his ears and thought to himself that maybe it was the treasure-hoard that was near his own home he was dreaming of but that he would have to go to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick to find out where it was. He revealed nothing. He said nothing to the farm hand about Oorid or anything else but he headed off home the following morning. And, of course, however much of a hurry he was in to get to Limerick he was seven times as hurried returning to Oorid. I believe he didn't sleep soundly at all that night awaiting the morning. And the first thing he did was to go out with his spade and he started shoveling under the bush and, of course, he dug up a big pot of gold. He brought it home with him and he thought he and everyone belonging to him wouldn't experience one more day of poverty as long as they lived. He certainly didn't spare money on passers-by and travellers and they never forgot to pay him a visit now and then when they were passing by.

The gold was nearly spent at a certain point and he didn't have many riches or cattle or sheep as a result either. But one morning a poor scholar was sitting by the fire waiting for his meal to be ready. And there was a flat stone over the pot that had been found under the bush. It was placed over the pot of potatoes that had been set to boil for him.

Footnotes

Commentary

This is a well-developed version of an international folktale, ATU 1645 The treasure at home. Early literary versions can be traced back as far as thirteenth-century Persia, and it has been found throughout Europe and Asia. See Hans Jorg Uther, The types of international folktales: a classification and bibliography (3 vols, Helsinki, 2004). It is very popular throughout Ireland, with many examples to be found throughout all four provinces. See Seán Ó Súilleabháin and Rieder Th. Christiansen, The types of the Irish folktale (Helsinki, 1968). It contains an international folk motif, N531.1 Dream of treasure on the bridge. See Stith Thompson, Motif-index of folk literature (rev. and enlarged ed., 6 vols, Bloomington, Ind., 1955-8).