Transcript

Sé a dúirt an tseanbhean gur mhór an truaighe go dtáini' mac Rí na hÉireanna agus a chuid fear anseo anocht, go rabh an fathach ar shiúl le seacht n-oíche agus le seacht lá agus go bhféadfadh sé a bheith sa bhaile anocht.

"An áit a choinnigh é le seacht n-oíche," a dúirt an fear beag rua, "coinneochaidh sé anocht fosta é."

Thug sí suipéar daofa agus nuair a bhí an suipéar thart, "Caithfidh sé," a dúirt an tseanbhean, "go bhfuil seoideannaí an-deas in Éirinn agaibh."

"Ó, maise, níl," a dúirt sé, "ach caithfidh sé go bhfuil seoideannaí an-deas anseo agaibh."

"Maise, tá," a deir sí. "Tá claidhmhe[1] solasta anseo, claidhmhe agamsa. Agus dá n-iarrfainn an ceann a bheith duitse, bheadh an ceann duid. Agus dá n-iarrfainn é a bheith ort ar ais, bheadh sé ort."

"Bain an ceann de fhear na leathchoise," a deir sé.

Bhain sé... Bhain sí an ceann de fhear na leathchoise.

"Cuir air ar aist[2] é."

Chuir sí air ar aist é.

"Tabhair domhsa an claidhmhe," a dúirt an fear beag rua, "go bhfeice mé an dtigí[3] liom féin a dhath a dhéanamh leis."

Fuair sé an claidhmhe.

"(Is) trua gan an ceann duid, a chailligh," a deir sé.

Níor luaithe a bhí an chaint ráite ná bhí an jab déanta, bhí an ceann den chailligh. "Agus ní chuirfidh mise ort é," arsa seisean.

Shiúil an cúigear leofa go dtí go dtáinig an oíche arna mhárach orthu. Chuaigh siad isteach ina mhacasamhail.

Nuair a chuaigh siad go dtí an dara seanbhean dúirt sí, "Is mór an truaighe go dtáinig sibh orm anocht. Tá an fathach ar shiúl le seacht n-oíche le seacht lá agus beidh sé 'na[4] bhaile anocht."

"Cha bhíonn," a dúirt seisean. "An áit a choinnigh le seacht n-oíche le seacht lá é, coinneochaidh sé anocht fosta é."

Nuair a bhí an suipéar déanta acu, "Caithfidh sé go bhfuil seoideannaí deasa in Éirinn agaibh."

"Maise, níl. Ach caithfidh sé go bhfuil seoideannaí an-deas anseo agaibh," a dúirt an fear rua.

"Bhuel, tá," a deir sí. "Tá sparán anseo agamsa, agus dá n-iarrfainn," a dúirt sí, "pócaí mhac an rí a bheith líonta de dh'airgead bheadh siad líontaí (brúchtaí)."

"Maise," a dúirt cac an rí, "déan nó níl pínn agam."

Bhí a phócaí (brúchtaí) de dh'airgead.

"Teisteáin[5] an sparán," a dúirt an fear beag ribeach rua, "go bhfeice mé goidé rud é."

Theisteáin sí an sparán dó.

"(Is) trua gan an ceann duid, a chailligh," a deir sé.

Níor luaithe a bhí an focal ráite ná bhí an jab déanta.

Shiúil leofa lá harna mhárach go dtí ' dtáinig siad isteach 'uig an tríthú[6] bean. Nuair a tháinig siad 'uig an tríthú bean thug sí a suipéar daofa.

"Caithfidh sé," a deir sí, "go bhfuil seoideannaí an-deas in Éirinn agaibh."

"Maise, níl. Ach caithfidh sé," a dúirt an fear beag rua, "go bhfuil seoideannaí an-deas anseo agaibhse."

"Maise, tá," a deir sí. "Tá clóicín dorcha anseo agamsa, agus bheinn ag siúl thart fá leac na tineadh agus ní bheadh a fhios agad," a dúirt sí, "goidé a bheinn a dhéanamh."

"Órú, cuir ort é," a dúirt sé, "go bhfeice mé é."

Chuir sé uirthi... Chuir sí uirthi an clóicín agus nuair a chuir sí an clóicín uirthi ní fheicfeadh duine ar bith í.

"Tabhair domhsa é," a deir sé, "go bhfeice mé an moitheochaidh mé féin a dhath."

Níor mhoithigh[7]. Ní fhacaidh[8] duine ar bith é.

"(Is) trua gan an ceann duid, a chailligh," arsa seisean.

D'imigh sé féin agus a chlóicín dorcha, a sparán leis agus a chlaidhmhe, ag tarraingt ar níon an rí a bhí sa Domhan Thoir. Shiúil siad leofa isteach thall agus nuair a chuaigh siad go dtí an geafta bhí dhá spíce dhéag ina sheasamh ansin ar an gheafta. Bhí a'n[9] chloigeann déag mac ríghte thuas ansin agus a'n spíce amháin folamh. Tháinig sí amach ropu[10], an bhean uasal í féin. Dúirt sí leis[11] mac an rí, "(An) bhfeiceann tú áit do chloigne amárach?"

"Bhuel má tá féin," a dúirt an fear beag ribeach rua, "is iomaí fear ansin is fhearr ná é agus 's iomaí fear ann is measa ná é."

Bhí go maith is ní rabh go holc. An oíche sin chuir sí a luí iad. Tháinig sí anuas agus cíor léithe.

"Mur rabh an chíor seo agatsa ar maidin amárach bainfidh mé an ceann duid."

Thug sí trí léim ar a cúl, trí léim ar a haghaidh agus, "Trua (gan mé taobh ó thall) den ghealaigh," a deir sí.

"Trua gan mise ansin," a dúirt an fear ribeach rua, "comh luath leat."

Bhí an chíor... Bhí sise faoi gheasa. Bhí an chíor léithe agus bhí an fear beag rua comh luath léithe. Ar fhágáilt thall ar maidin daofa, d'ins[12] sí go rabh mac Rí na hÉireanna (abhus) (...). Fuair an fear beag rua greim ar an chír agus bhí an chíor leis (anuas). Nuair a tháinig sí anuas ar maidin i dtrátha an hocht a chlog 'uige, "Cá bhfuil an chíor," a dúirt sí, "a thug mé aréir duid?"

Chuaigh seisean a chuartú faoi chionn an bhabhstair agus dá mbeadh sé ag cuartú faoi chionn an bhabhstair ó shoin ní rabh an chíor le fáil aige.

Translation

The old woman said that it was a great pity that the King of Ireland and his men came that night, that the giant had been away for seven nights and seven days and that he might be home tonight.

"The place that kept him for the past seven nights," said the little red-headed man, "will keep him tonight as well."

She gave them supper and when supper was over, "It must be," said the old woman, "that you have very nice treasures in Ireland."

"Oh, indeed, we don't," he said, "but you must have very nice treasures here."

"Indeed, we do," she said. "We have a shining sword here, my sword. And if I asked for your head to be off, your head would be off. And if I asked for it to be back upon you, it would be on you."

"Take the head off the one-legged man," he said.

He took... she took the head off the one-legged man.

"Put it back."

She put it back on him.

"Give me the sword," said the little red-headed man, "to see if I can do the same to him."

He got the sword.

"It is a pity your head is not off, you hag," he said.

No sooner were the words said than the job was done, the hag's head was off and, "I won't put it on you," he said.

The five of them walked on until the following night fell upon them. They went into the same kind [of place] again.

When they went to the second old woman she said, "Is is a great pity that you came in to me tonight. The giant has been away for seven nights and seven days and he will be home tonight."

"He won't," he said. "The place that kept him for seven nights and seven days will keep him tonight also."

When they had finished supper, "It must be that you have nice treasures in Ireland."

"Indeed, we don't. But you must have very nice treasures here," said the red-headed man.

"Well, we do," she said. "I have here a purse, and if I asked," she said, "for the pockets of the king's son to be filled with money they would be filled tightly(?)."

"Well," said the king's son, "go ahead, for I haven't a penny."

His pockets were bursting(?) with money.

"Show me the purse," said the little bristly red-headed man, "so I can see what kind of a thing it is."

She showed him the purse.

"It is a pity your head is not off, you hag," he said.

No sooner was the word said than the job was done.

They walked on the following day until they came to a third woman. When they came to the third woman she gave them their supper.

"It must be," she said, "that you have very nice treasures in Ireland."

"Indeed, we don't. But," said the little red-headed man, "you must have very nice treasures here."

"Indeed, we do," she said. "I have a little dark cloak here, and I could be walking around the hearthstone and you wouldn't know," she said, "what I was doing."

"Well, put it on," he said, "so I can see it."

He... She put the little cloak on, and when she put the little cloak on no one could see her.

"Give it to me," he said, "so I can see if I can feel anything."

He didn't. No one saw him.

"It is a pity your head is not off, you hag," he said.

He went off with his dark little cloak, his purse and his sword, heading towards the king's daughter who was in the Eastern World. They walked on in there and when they got to the gate there were twelve spikes on top of it. There were eleven heads of the sons of kings upon them and there was one bare spike. She came out before them, the noble woman herself. She said to the king's son, "Do you see the place where your head will be tomorrow?"

"Well if it is so," said the little bristly red-headed man, "there are many men there who are better than him and many who are worse."

All was well and good. That night she sent them to bed. She came down with a comb.

"If you do not have this comb tomorrow morning I will have your head."

She leapt three times backwards, three times forewards and, "A pity I am not on the on the other side (?) of the moon," she said.

"A pity I am not there," said the little bristly red-headed man, "along with you."

The comb... She was under a spell. She had the comb and the little red-headed man kept up with her. As they left the place beyond in the morning, she said that the son of the King of Ireland was here (...). The little red-headed man got hold of the comb and he had the comb with him (...). When she came down to him in the morning around eight o'clock, "Where is the comb," she said, "that I gave you last night?"

He went searching around the bolster and if he had searched around the bolster till now he would not find the comb.

Footnotes

Commentary

Parts 1 and 2 of this story form a single, if incomplete, narrative regarding the expulsion of the king's son and his subsequent adventures. A key motif repeated in the tale, An deachmhaidh, appears in this instance to mean 'tithe', and events in the story see the young man being sent away by his father and surrendered to fate. The concept of a child being tithed to destiny was identified by early folklore researchers. For example, Jeremiah Curtin described An Deachmhaidh as 'the working of a power outside us in the shaping of careers of men, fate' (Myths and folk-lore of Ireland (Boston, 1890), 243).

This links the narrative to a series of related stories in European folklore, where the tenth child, or in some instances seventh or twelfth, must be given up to fate as a tithe, and whose ultimate destiny is of great significance. In Slavic folklore the young person thus surrendered is a tithe offered to a deity. See Monika Kropej, 'The tenth child in folk tradition', Studia Mythologica Slavica 111 (2007), 75-88. In Irish examples the story of the wandering son serves as an introduction for several international folktale plots. Seán Ó Súilleabháin identified the general outline of the tale, and included a summary in his Handbook of Irish folklore (Detroit, 1942), 601. The current example seems to be based loosely on ATU 400, The man on a quest for his lost wife. See Hans Jorg Uther, The types of international folktales: a classification and bibliography (3 vols, Helsinki, 2004). Other versions of the story begin in a similar fashion, with the son being tithed to An Deachaoin, but continue with different plots. See An Seabhac, 'Mac Rí 'n Deachaoin', Béaloideas 4:1 (1933), 37-45. See also Reider Th. Christiansen, 'Towards a printed list of Irish fairytales', Béaloideas 7:1 (1937), 3-14: 12.

Versions of this story appear in Pádraig Ó Baoighill, Ó Cadhain i dTír Chonaill (Dublin, 2007), 265-74, and in Conall Ó Grianna, Rann na Feirsde: seanchas ár sinsear (Rann na Mónadh, 1998), 236-40.