Transcript

Lá dhár éirigh Murchadh. Shéid sé an (bh)inn bhuabhaill. Tháinig éanachaí beaga agus móra an domhain. Lean an gadha-... Tháinig éan mór fuiteach faiteach fadléimneach a rabh taobh óir agus taobh airgid air. Lean an gadhar siar dhó ó chosa go (...) na gcrann go crosach na gcrann thart (Bhaile Chiúinneagáin) agus chuaigh an fiach amú ansin air. Shiúil sé thart agus chas fear dó a bhí ag baint chrainn.

"Ardaigh an t-ualach orm," ar seisean.

"Dá n-ardaínn bhrisfinn baic do mhuinéil," ar seisean.

"Bhuel, iompair mo shlat," ar seisean.

D'iompair sé an tslat ach ní bhfuair sé aon obair ariamh ach an tslat a iompar comh fada leis an tsráid. Nuair a chaith sé an t-ualach ar an tsráid d'éirigh sé dho léim agus chuaigh sé sé steip suas ag an doras.

"Gabh isteach," ar seisean.

"Muise, dhá dtéinn isteach," ar seisean, "bheadh faitíos orm," ar seisean, "go mbrisfinn an doras."

"Bhuel, fan is bhéarfaidh mé lámh dhuit," ar seisean.

Shiúil sé síos agus thug sé lámh dhó. Thug sé isteach é agus shuigh an bheirt istigh insa gcisteanaigh, gan bean, duine ná páiste ach an bheirt le chéilí. Chaith siad scathamh fada ann agus, by dad, bhuail Murchadh tip ar an mbord agus tháinig an bhean. D'fhéach sé ar an mbean, Murchadh, agus chrom sé a chloigeann.

"Tá a fhios agamsa goicéard tá ortsa," ar seisean. "Tá tú i ngrá leis an mbean," ar seisean. "Ach suigh síos agus ith do dhinnéar," ar seisean, "agus tá bean agamsa níos breáchta ná í."

Duaidh[1] sé greim, agus fíorbheagán é, agus nuair a bhí an dinnéar ití tháinig an iníon agus nuair a chonaic sé an iníon is beag (nachar) imigh sé craiceáilte. Ní fhaca sé bean ar bith sna seacht ríochta ariamh a bhí ina bean comh breá léi.

"Má tá tú in ann a saothrú," ar seisean, "gheobhfaidh tú í. Má tá tú in ann trí éitheach a bhaint asamsa. Ná ceann eicínt," ar seisean, "bainfidh mé an cloigeann daot."

"Tá mé sástaí," arsa Murchadh.

Nuair a d'ith(e) siad dinnéar chuaigh siad ag siúl. Agus thug sé amach é ins an áit a rabh torna(i)p comh mór le dúcháin mhónadh.

"Bhfaca tú aon tornap ariamh ' bhí ina tornap comh mór leofa sin?" ar seisean.

"Muise, do deimhin chonaiceas," a dúirt Murchadh, ar seisean.

"Chonaic mé tornap," ar seisean, "ag m'athair," arsa seisean, "agus bhí caoga máithreach caorach againn," arsa seisean. "Agus tháinig sneachta mór," ar seisean. "Ghabh siad isteach ann, ghabh siad sin," ar seisean, "faoi Fhéil Bríde. Agus ní bhfuair muid aon uan orthu ansin," ar seisean, "go dtáinig Márta an earraigh. Agus nuair a chuaigh muid ar a dtóir," ar seisean, "bhí dhá fhichead uan," ar seisean, "ag na fiche máithreach," ar seisean, "nuair a chuir muid amach as an tornap iad."

"Thug tú th'éitheach! Thug tú th'éitheach!" ar seisean. "Tá trian dho t'iníon agam," arsa seisean.

"By dad, tá!" ar seisean. "Gabh i leith anois," ar seisean, "go bhfeice tú," ar seisean, "an bhfaca tú aon pháirc chruithneacht ariamh," ar seisean, "mar í seo."

"Muise, go deimhin, chonaic mé páirc chruithneacht," ar seisean, "ag m'athair," ar seisean, "agus ní aithneofá," ar seisean, "dá mbainfeá í sin amach as an gcoirnéal ann."

"Bhuel, bainfidh mise an cloigeann daot anocht," ar seisean, "mu' mbaine tú an gort sin," ar seisean, "nuair a thiocfas mise chugad tráthnóna."

Bhí sé ansin 'na shuí síos, agus ní rabh sé in ann (pioc) ar bith a bhaint ach ag féachaint uirthi mar ní bhainfeadh na mílte fear í. Tháinig an iníon 'uige. Bhí sí i ngrá leis. Bhí sé ina fhear bhreá.

"Tá tú ansin anois," ar sise, "agus maróidh m'athair thú."

"Bhuel, níl aon athrach air," ar seisean. "Is cuma liom é ach thusa a fheiceál."

"Bhuel," ar sise, "(dh)á mbeith a fhios agam," ar sise, "go bhfuil grá agat orm," ar sise, "bhainfinn an gort."

"Muise, tá mé i ndáil le caillte le grá ort," ar seisean.

"Bhuel, má táir," ar sise, "seo, beir ar an gcorrán seo," ar sise, "agus bain trí shlám de."

Rug sé ar an gcorrán agus bhain sé trí shlám, agus bhí an gort ar fad bainte stucthaí.

Tháinig sé tráthnóna. "Bhain tú an gort."

"Muise, go deimhin, bhaineas," ar seisean. "Agus ba gearr de mhoill orm."

"Maise, cén chaoi ar bhain tú é?" ar seisean. "Ní fhaca mise riamh baintí é," ar seisean.

"Maise, chonaic mise," ar seisean. "D'éirigh giorria amach," ar seisean, "is chaith mé an corrán leis."

Translation

One day Murrough got up. He blew the bugle-horn. The small birds and big birds of the world came. The hound followed... A big skittish long-leaping bird that had a golden side and a silver side came. The hound followed it back from (...) of the trees to the crossing(?) of the trees past Baile Chiúinneagáin(?) and he lost it then. He walked around and he met a man who was chopping a tree.

"Lift the load onto me," he said.

"If I did I would break the nape of your neck," he said.

"Well, carry my stick," he said.

He carried the stick but he never worked like he did carrying the stick (?) as far as the street. When he threw the load onto the street he leapt up and he went up six steps to the door.

"Go in," he said.

"Indeed, if I went in," he said, "I would be afraid," he said, "that I would break the door,"

"Well, wait and I will give you a hand," he said.

He walked down and he gave him a hand. He brought him in and the two sat in the kitchen, without a woman, person or child there but the two together. They spent a long while there and, by dad, Murrough tapped the table and a woman appeared. Murrough looked at the woman and he hung his head.

"I know what is wrong with you," he said. "You are in love with the woman," he said. "Well sit down and eat your dinner," he said, "and I have a woman who is finer that her."

He ate a bite, and it was very little, and when the dinner was eaten the daughter came and when he saw the daughter he nearly went mad. He never saw any woman in the seven kingdoms as beautiful as she.

"If you are able to earn her," he said, "you will get her. If you can get three lies out of me. Otherwise," he said, "I will chop off your head."

"I am happy with that," said Murrough.

When they ate dinner they went walking. And he brought him out into the place where there were turnips as big as small ricks of turf.

"Did you ever see a turnip as big as them?" he said.

"Indeed, I did," said Murrough.

"I saw a turnip," he said, "my father had," he said, "and we had fifty milch sheep," he said. "And a snow storm came," he said. "They went in to it, they did," he said, "on St. Bridget's Day. And they had no lambs then," he said," until March of springtime came. And when we went after them," he said, "the twenty milches," he said, "had two score lambs," he said, "when we put them out of the turnip."

"You lied! You lied!" he said. "I have a third of your daughter," he said.

"Indeed, you do!" he said. "Come over now," he said, "to see," he said, "if you ever saw a field of oats," he said, "like this."

"Indeed, I saw a field of oats," he said, "my father had," he said, "and you would not notice," he said, "if you cut that out of its corner."

"Well, I will chop off your head tonight," he said, "if you don't cut that field," he said, "when I come to you this evening."

He sat down there, and he was not able to cut a bit of it but only looked at it because thousands of men could not cut it. The daughter came to him. She was in love with him. He was a fine man.

"There you are now," she said, "and my father will kill you."

"Well, there is no changing it," he said, "I don't care, I only care about seeing you."

"Well," she said, "if I knew," she said, "that you loved me," she said, "I would cut the field."

"Indeed, I am nearly dying with love for you," he said.

"Well, if you are," she said, "here, catch this sickle," she said, "and cut three handfuls of it."

He caught the sickle and he cut three handfuls, and the whole field was cut and stooked.

He came in the evening. "You cut the field."

"Indeed, I did," he said. "And it didn't take me long."

"Well, how did you cut it?" he said. "I never saw it cut," he said.

"Well, I did," he said. "A hare rose up," he said, "and I threw the sickle at him."

Footnotes

Commentary

This appears to be based on an international folktale, ATU 852 Lying contest. In common versions, a princess is offered in marriage to whomsoever can make her exclaim 'That is a lie'. A suitor tells tall tales, and ultimately threatens to reveal some secret or tell an embarrassing story, whereby she relents and says the words, and subsequently marries him. It is also related to a series of folktales about lying, including ATU 1920C That is a lie, ATU 1920A The sea burns and ATU 1960D The great vegetable. These stories are known in most parts of the world, from Eurasia to Africa, and parts of the Americas. See Hans Jorg Uther, The types of international folktales: a classification and bibliography (3 vols, Helsinki, 2004). They appear to be well known in Ireland, with examples having been recorded from most parts of the country. See Seán Ó Súilleabháin and Rieder Th. Christiansen, The types of the Irish folktale (Helsinki, 1968). It also contains a number of international folk motifs, including D1206.1 Magic sickle, X1431 Lies about turnips and H310 Suitor tests, A suitor is put to severe tests by his prospective bride or father-in-law. The episode concerning reaping in the story might be related to H331.1.7 Contest in reaping: best reaper to get beautiful girl as wife. See Stith Thompson, Motif-index of folk literature (rev. and enlarged ed., 6 vols, Bloomington, Ind., 1955-8). H310 is quite an old motif in Irish tradition, and can be found in a tenth-century romance tale concerning the mythological figures of Étaín and Midir (or Éadaoin and Midhir). See Osborn Bergin and R.I. Best (eds.), 'Tochmarc Étaíne', Ériu 12 (1934-8), 137-96.