Transcript

Do bhí anso fadó, insa tseansaol... na seana-mhná a bhíodh insa tír, do bhídís ag sníomh a gcuid bréidín agus olainne. Agus má bhídís choíchint, do dheinidís a gcuid féin tweed agus flainín agus abhrais. Do bhí aon bhean amháin ina measc agus níl aon bhliain ná bailíodh sí isteach an oiread abhrais agus ba cheart a dhéanamh gach bliain. Ach ní dheineadh aon ghiob de. Do bhí sí mar sin ar feadh seacht mbliana. Agus nuair a bhíodh sí le haghaidh an t-abhras a dhéanamh ins an lá do theigheadh sí ar cuairt. Nuair a théadh sí ar cuairt i measc na gcomharsan do chaitheadh sí an lá ann go dtí ' mbíodh cuid mhór don oíche caite. Agus nuair a bhíodh sí... cuid mhór don oíche caite ansin aici do thagadh sí isteach, agus amach i meán oíche do shuíodh sí síos cois na tine agus do dheineadh sí slam dá cuid olainne a thabhairt léithe agus (a bheith) dhá cíoradh léithe. Sin é an uair do ghealladh sí (di) féin go mbeadh sí ag déanamh ana-ghnó lá arna mháireach. Thagadh lá arna mháireach ansin... Nuair a thagadh an lá arna mháireach arís do bhuaileadh sí amach i measc na gcomharsan nuair a d'éiríodh sí amach i bhfad sa lá. Do bhíodh sí ag caitheamh na huaire léithe mar sin nó go dtáinig (na) seacht mbliana agus go raibheadar caite aici. Do bhí abhras na seacht mbliana ar fad leagthaithe in aon chúinne amháin aici i gcúinne an tí. Agus má bhí achoíchint, do bhí sí oíche dhos na hoícheantaibh go raibh sí istigh agus í ag cíoradh slam olainne agus do tháinig chuici isteach fear.

"Bail ó Dhia ort," a dúirt an fear nuair a tháinig sé chuici isteach, amach insa meán oíche.

"Dia is Muire dhuit, a ghrá," a dúirt an bhean. "Agus Dé ' bheatha."

"Is fada ins an oíche athá tú ag obair," a dúirt an fear.

"Muise tá, a ghrá," a dúirt sí, "agus is beag obair a dhein mé, ach anois a thosnaigh mé (ar) bheith ag cíoradh ach má mhairim go dtí amáireach, tosnóidh mé ar mo chuid olainne ar fad agus lín agus ní stopfad nó go mbeidh siad ar fad sníofa agam agus iad socair."

"Cad a thabhairfeá anois," a dúirt an fear a tháinig isteach chuici, "don fhear a shnífeadh agus ' chardáilfeadh agus d'fhifeadh agus a chuirfeadh i gcóir gach uile shórt snáth(ach) i do chuid abhrais nó go mbeadh sé i (gcóir) (...) go dtí an (dáil úd) agat, agus do thabhairfeadh chughat anso isteach abhaile aríst seachtain ón oíche athá anocht ann é."

"Ó, a ghrá, (ag déanamh) éacht oibre air," a dúirt sí, "ach dá mbeinn (...) ní fhéadfainn (...). Táim rud beag ró-bhocht."

"Ní iarrfaidh mé aon ghiobal ort," a dúirt an fear, "agus tabhairfidh mé gach snáithe dhe chughat ar n-ais aríst. Ach," a dúirt sé, "bíodh a fhios agat nuair a thiocfaidh mé ar n-ais arís chughat goidéard é m'ainm."

"Tá sin go han-soiléir," a dúirt an bhean. "Ní fhéadfainn é a dhéanamh níos saoire."

Do chuaigh sí suas i gcúinne an tí agus do bhí sí ag leagadh a cuid lín agus olainne chuige anuas nó go raibh gach uile shórt snáithe dhe leagthaithe ar lár an urláir. D'éirigh sé seo agus do bhog sé leis agus do bhí sé ag déanamh beart de nó gur chuir sé gach uile shórt snáithe dhe suas ar a dhroim. Do bhuail sé amach an doras ansin agus gach uile shnáithe dhe thuas ar a dhroim aige.

Agus ní raibh sé aon aga ó dhoras in aon chor ach aga ana-ghearr nuair a chuimhnigh sí istigh uirthi féin. "Tá drochrún déanta agam," a dúirt sí. "Cá bhfaighidh mise cuntas cén t-ainm athá ar an bhfear úd. B'fhearr dhom é a leanúint agus a fhios a bheith a'm cén t-ainm athá air."

Amach léithe ina dhiaidh chomh dian agus (do)b fhéidir léithe. Agus d'imigh sé sin leis 'na bhóthar féin. Do bhí sise dhá leanúint agus níorbh fhéidir léithe theacht orlach ann, agus ní raibh sé orlach ag imeacht uaithe. Agus do bhí lios (...) aici. Do bhí sé ag tabhairt aghaidhe ar an lios. Agus má bhí a choíchint, do bhí sise ina dhiaidh (go dtí fhad) ad iarraidh theacht suas leis ach níorbh fhéidir léithe theacht ann.

Translation

Long ago here, in the old times, there were... the old women in the country, they used to spin their tweed and wool. Anyway, they always made their own tweed and flannel and yarn. There was one woman amongst them and there is no year that she wouldn't gather in as much yarn as should be made every year. But not a pick of it was made. She was like that for seven years. And when she should have been making the yarn during the day she would go visiting. When she would go visiting amongst the neighbours she would spend the day there until a large part of the night was spent. And when she had spent a large part of the night there she would come in, and nearing midnight she would sit down beside the fire and she would bring a good bit of her wool with her and she would comb away. That was when she would promise herself that she would be doing great work the next day. The next day would come then... When the next day would come again she would go out amongst the neighbours late in the day. She used to spend her hours like that until seven years passed and were gone. All the yarn of seven years was gathered in one corner by her in the corner of the house. Anyway, one night she was inside combing some wool when a man came in.

"God bless you," said the man when he came into her, nearing midnight.

"Greetings, my dear," said the woman. "And welcome."

"It is late at night you are working," said the man.

"Indeed it is, my dear," she said, "and it is little work I have done, I have only now (?) started combing but if I live till tomorrow, I will start at all my wool and flax and I won't stop until I have it all spun and settled."

"What would you give now," said the man who came into her, "to the man who would spin and card and weave and sort every single thread in your yarn until it was sorted (...), and who would bring it back home here to you again a week from tonight?"

"Oh, my dear, (...) prodigious work for it (?)," she said, "but if I (...) I couldn't (...). I am a bit too poor."

"I will not ask you for so much as a rag," said the man, "and I will bring every thread of it back again to you. But," he said, "when I come back again to you you must know what my name is."

"That is very clear," said the woman. "I could not do it more cheaply."

She went up to the corner of the house and she drew her flax and her wool down to him until every thread of it was placed on the floor. He got up and he set off and he was making a bundle of it until he put every single thread of it up on his back. He went out the door then with every single thread of it on his back.

And he wasn't far from the door at all but a very short distance when she thought of herself. "I have made a bad deal," she said. "Where will I find out what that man's name is. I had better follow him and know what he is called."

Out she went after him as hard as she could. And he went his own road. She was following him and she could not gain an inch on him, and he was not gaining an inch from her. And she had a (...) fort. He was going toward the fort. And if he was at all, she was after him (...) trying to catch up with him but she couldn't catch up to him.

Commentary

Parts one and two of this story combine to form a version of an international folktale, ATU 500 The name of the supernatural helper. The tale is well known throughout Europe, Asia and parts of Africa. See Hans Jorg Uther, The types of international folktales: a classification and bibliography (3 vols, Helsinki, 2004). It is often referred to in popular culture as Rumplestiltskin, with the name stemming from a German version of the tale that appeared as KHM 55 Rumpelstilzchen, in the Grimm Brothers' Kinder und Hausmärchen 1 (Göttingen, 1812). The story is well known in Ireland, particularly in Munster and Connacht, with several versions also having been recorded in Ulster and Leinster. See Seán Ó Súilleabháin and Rieder Th. Christiansen, The types of the Irish folktale (Helsinki, 1968). It contains a number of international folk motifs, including N475 Secret name overheard by eavesdropper, H521 Test: guessing unknown propounder’s name and D2183 Magic spinning. See Stith Thompson, Motif-index of folk literature (rev. and enlarged ed., 6 vols, Bloomington, Ind., 1955-8). A version of this story was published under the title 'Billy Teabhras' in Séamus Ó Duilearga, Leabhar Stiofáin Uí Ealaoire (Dublin, 1981), 92-4.