Kitabı oku: «The Celtic Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 1, November 1875», sayfa 4
Now, what are we to say to all these things? Shall we believe that Macpherson advertised his MSS. when he had none? The belief implies that he was insane, which we know was not the case. And are we further to believe that such men as the above deliberately attested what they knew to be false, and what, if false, might easily be proved to be so? It is impossible for a moment to receive such a supposition.
But it is said these, though good men, were prejudiced, spoke loosely, and therefore are not to be relied on in this enlightened and critical age. This, however, is assuming a great deal, and in so doing is uncritical. Prejudice is at work in the nineteenth century even as it was in the eighteenth. These men had far better opportunities of judging the matter than we have. They give their judgment distinctly and decidedly, and I never yet saw any good reason for setting that judgment aside.
I must add further, on the historic evidence, that several Gaelic pieces, and these among the gems of Ossianic poetry, were published by Gillies in 1786; that some of these are found in the Irvine MS. about 1800; that there is no proof of Macpherson having furnished any of these; and that the genuineness of one of them, "The Sun Hymn," given seem to be beyond the possibility of cavil.
From all this it appears to me undoubted that Macpherson began his work with Gaelic MSS., that he founded his English on them, and that various portions of his work were known in several quarters of the country forty years before he published his Gaelic. The subsequent disappearance of all MSS. containing his Gaelic is very remarkable, and is much founded on by Mr Campbell. But the history of literature affords various instances of the preservation of a book depending on one solitary MS. The case of the great Niebelungen-Lied—unknown for centuries, and brought to light through the accidental discovery of a MS.—is quite in point; and to come nearer home, two years ago, only one perfect copy of the first Gaelic book ever printed, Bishop Carewell's translation of John Knox's liturgy, was in existence. It may be, then, that when Macpherson destroyed his Gaelic MSS. he destroyed all in which his poetry was to be found. Again, it is asked, when Highlanders in the present day recite so many heroic ballads, why do they not recite Macpherson's? I answer that there being now forgotten is no proof that they were never remembered. A hundred years may obliterate many things among a people. The last hundred years have wrought such obliterations in the Highlands of Scotland as to make it no cause of wonder that heroic poetry then remembered should now be forgotten.
I must restrict myself to a very few words on the internal evidence—though it is on this the question must be finally decided, if it ever is to be decided. As to the inference from comparing the Gaelic and English, I am sorry to say that I am entirely at variance with Mr Campbell. The more I examine the subject, the deeper is my conviction that the freeness of the Gaelic, the fulness of its similes, and its general freshness incontestably prove it to be the original. I would refer especially to the sea-pieces (e.g., Carhon, ll. 48-52.) In Gaelic they are vivid and graphic—in English tame, and almost meaningless—a fact such as might naturally be expected from the words of a true mariner being translated by a thoroughly "inland bred man" like Macpherson, but absolutely irreconcilable with his having written the Gaelic. Mr Campbell himself in his admirable work of the "West Highland Tales," vol. 4, p. 142, et seq., has some striking and conclusive remarks on the internal evidence of the priority of the Gaelic to the English; and I sincerely hope, when he considers them again, they will induce him to return to his first faith.
Much might be said on the structure of the Gaelic—especially the Gaelic of the 7th Book of Temora, published by Macpherson in 1763, which differs widely from any other Gaelic that I have met with; and much of the whole character of Ossian, whether Gaelic or English, being so absolutely unlike all Macpherson's other compositions—many and well known; but I must conclude by repeating that Mr Campbell's theory "makes confusion worse confounded"—in asking us to set at nought the various facts which I have stated, demands a moral impossibility; and that whatever light may be thrown on the subject from the new Celtic Chair, we must in the present state of our knowledge admit Gaelic to be the original, and Macpherson to be the translator of the Ossianic poems.—I am, &c.,
Archibald Clerk, LL.D.
REMNANTS OF GAELIC POETRY
The name of Lachlan Macpherson, Esq. of Strathmashie, is well known to those who are conversant with the dissertations on the poems of Ossian. About the year 1760 he accompanied his neighbour and namesake, James Macpherson, Esq. of Belville, in his journey through the Highlands in search of those poems, he assisted him in collecting them, and in taking them down from oral tradition, and he transcribed by far the greater part of them from ancient manuscripts to prepare them for the press, as stated by himself in a letter to Dr Hugh Blair of Edinburgh. He was beyond all doubt a man of great powers of mind, and a Celtic poet of no mean order. He died at the comparatively early age of forty years, greatly lamented by his contemporaries, leaving behind him no written literary production.
Fragments of Mr Lachlan Macpherson's poetry, hitherto unpublished, will be acceptable to those who have done so much of late to promote the interests of Celtic literature. In some of his poems, composed in the sportive exercise of his poetic genius, he makes the same objects the subjects of his praise and censure alternately. We give the following specimens:—
On the occasion of a marriage contract in his neighbourhood, the poet honoured the company with his presence. The important business of the occasion having been brought to a close, the bridegroom departed, but remembering that he had left on the table a bottle not quite empty, he returned and took it with him. The poet, viewing this as an act of extreme meanness, addressed the bridegroom as follows:—
Caineadh an Domhnullaich
'S toigh leam Dòmhnullach neo-chosdail
O nach coltach e ri càch.
'N uair bhios iadsan ag iarraidh fortain
Bidh esan 'n a phrop aig fear càis
Ma bha do mhàthair 'n a mnaoi chòir
Cha do ghleidh i 'n leabaidh phòsda glan,
Cha 'n 'eil cuid agad do Chloinn Dòmhnuill,
'S Rothach no Ròsach am fear.
'N uair a bhuail thu aig an uinneig
Cha b' ann a bhuinnigeadh cliù,
Dh' iarraidh na druaip bha 's a' bhotul,
Mallachd fir focail a' d' ghiùr.
We give a free translation of the above into English, far inferior, however, to the Gaelic original:—
Macdonald Satirised
I like to see a niggard man,
One of the great Macdonald clan;
When others are in quest of gain
This man the needy will sustain.
Your mother, if an honest dame,
Has not retained her wedlock fame;
No part is Mac from top to toe,
You're either Rose or else Munro.
When to the house you turned your face,
Let it be told to your disgrace,
'Twas for the dregs you had forgot,
The Poet's curse be in your throat.
The bridegroom, as we may well believe, smarted under the chastisement administered to him. He took an early opportunity of putting himself in the poet's way. Seeing Mr Macpherson riding past his place one day, he went to meet him with a bottle and glass, and importunately begged of him that he would have the goodness to say something now in his favour. Mr Macpherson complied with the request. Sitting on horseback, and taking the glass in his hand, he pronounced the ensuing eulogy on the bridegroom:—
Moladh an Domhnullaich
Bha na bàird riamh breugach, bòsdail,
Beular sinn, gòrach, gun seadh,
Lasgair gasd e Chloinn Dòmhnuill,
Mac Ailein Mhòir as a Mhagh.
Chuir e botul neo-ghortach a' m' dhorn,
A chur iotadh mo sgòrnain air chùl,
'S bàrd gun tùr a bh' air a' chòrdadh
Nach do sheinn gu mòr a chliù.
Ach tha 'n seòrs' ud uile cho caillteach,
Cho mi-thaingeil, 's cho beag ciall,
'S ma thig a' chuach idir o 'n ceann,
Nach fiach e taing na fhuair iad riamh.
The above may be thus translated:—
Macdonald Eulogised
The bards, as we have ever seen,
Liars and flatterers have been;
Boasting, with little cause to glory,
So empty is their upper storey.
Of Clan Macdonald this is one,
Of Allan Mor of Moy the son;
He brought to me a sonsy vessel
To satiate my thirsty whistle.
The poet proved himself unwise
When him he did not eulogise.
The bards—I own it with regret—
Are a pernicious sorry set,
Whate'er they get is soon forgot,
Unless you always wet their throat.
Mr Macpherson had a dairymaid of the name of Flora, whom he described in abusive language in a poem beginning,:—
Flòiri mhùgach, bhòtach, ghlùn-dubh.
He afterwards made amends for the offence he had given her by commending her in very flattering terms. He represents her as a most useful dairymaid, and as a young woman of surpassing beauty, who had many admirers, and, according to his description of her, such were her good qualities, and her personal attractions, that certain persons whom he names, among others the clergyman of the parish, expressed their desire to engage her in their own service. The poet rejects their solicitations, and informs them how unlikely a thing it is that Flora should engage with them, as she was intended for the King:—
Eulogy on Flora
Flòiri shùgach, bhòidheach, shùil-ghorm,
A pòg mar ùbhlan as a' ghàradh,
'N òg bhean, chliùiteach 's còmhnaird' giùlan,
Dh' òlainn dùbailt a deoch-slàinte,
Ge do shiubhail sibh 'n Roinn Eòrpa,
'S na dùthchan mor' an taobh thall dith,
Cha 'n fhaiceadh sibh leithid Flòiri,
Cùl bachlach, glan, òr-bhuidhe na ban-righ.
Maighdean bheul-dearg, foill cha leir dh' i,
'S geal a deud o 'n ceutaich' gàire,
Caoimhneil, beusach, trod neo-bheumach,
'S ro mhaith leigeadh spréidh air àiridh,
Clach-dhatha na h-Alba 's na h-Eirinn,
Nach saltair air feur a h-àicheadh,
Mar dhealt na maidne 'n a h-éirigh,
'S mar aiteal na gréin a dealradh.
A leadan dualach sìos m' a cluasaibh
Chuir gu buaireadh fir a' bhràighe,
Fleasgaich uaisl' a' srì mu 'n ghruagaich,
'N ti tha 'gruaim ris 's truagh a chàramh,
Ach b' annsa leath' cuman 'us buarach,
'S dol do 'n bhuaile mar chaidh h-àrach,
Langanaich cruidh-laoigh m' an cuairt di,
'S binne sud na uaisle chràiteach.
'S gnìomhach, càirdeil, b' fhearr dhomh ràdhainn,
'S glan a h-àbhaist, 's tearc a leithid,
Muime shàr-mhaith nan laogh àluinn,
Im 'us càise théid sud leatha,
Banarach fhortain ghàbhaidh
Nam miosairean làn 's a' chèithe,
Dheanadh i tuilleadh air càraid
'S a phàidheadh dhomh màl Aonghuis Shaw.
An t-àit' am faic sibh 'm bi gibht àraidh
Sùilean chàich bidh 'n sin 'n an luidhe,
Dòmhnull Bàn o 'm mìne Gailig
Bhuin rium làidir as an athar;
Thuirt e, thoir dhomhs' i gu bealltuinn,
Seall an t-earlas tha thu faighinn
Uam-sa, buannachd nan damh Gallda,
No ma 's fearr leat na sin faidhir.
Thuirt Dòmhnull Mac Bheathain 's e 's an éisdeachd,
Nàile, 's fheudar dhomh-sa labhairt,
'S mise 'n t-amadan thar cheud,
A bheireadh cead dh' i 'n déigh a gabhail,
Ach thoir-se nise dhomh féin i,
'S théid nì 'us feudail a' d' lamhaibh,
Gu 'n ruig a 's na tha tilgeadh réigh dhomh
Ann am Banc Dhun-éidinn fathast.
'N uair chual am Ministeir an t-srì
A bha mu 'n rìomhainn thall an amhainn,
Chuir e pìor-bhuic 'us ad shìod' air,
'S chaidh e dìreach orm a dh' fheitheamh,
'S thuirt e, thoir dhomh-s' an ath thìom dhìth,
'S ni mi trì-fillte cho maith thu,
'S ma shearmonaicheas tu féin do 'n sgìreachd
Gheibh thu 'n stìpean 's bean-an-tighe.
Ge pròiseil sibh le 'r n-òr, 's le 'r nì,
Le 'r mòran stìpein, 's le 'r cuid mhnathaibh,
'S fearr leam Flòiri agam fhéin
Na ge do chìt 'iad leis an amhainn,
Dheanainn an còrdadh cho simplidh
'S i dhol cinnteach feadh nan tighean,
Cia mar tha i coltach ribh-se?
'S gur h-e 'n righ tha dol g' a faighinn.
The Mashie, a tributary of the Spey, in the parish of Laggan, runs close by Strathmashie house. It is a small river, but in harvest time, when in flood, it causes considerable damage. The poet takes occasion to censure the Mashie on this account; but he has his pleasant associations in connection with the charming banks of this mountain stream, as expressed in the following stanzas:—
Mathaisith Censured
Mhathaisith fhrògach dhubh,
Fhrògach dhubh, fhrògach dhubh,
Mhathaisith fhrògach dhubh,
'S mòr rinn thu chall domh.
Rinn thu m' eòrna a mhilleadh,
'S mo chuid ghòrag air sileadh,
'Us cha d' fhàg thu sguab tioram
Do na chinnich do bhàrr dhomh.
Mhathaisith, &c.
Cha robh lochan no caochan,
A bha ruith leis an aonach,
Nach do chruinnich an t-aon lan
A thoirt aon uair do shàth dhuit.
Mhathaisith, &c.
Rinn thu òl an tigh Bheathain
Air leann 's uisge-beatha,
'S garbh an tuilm sin a sgeith thu
'S a' ghabhail-rathaid Di-màirt oirnn
Mhathaisith, &c.
Eulogy on Mathaisith
Mhathaisith bhòidheach gheal,
Bhòidheach gheal, bhòidheach gheal,
Mhathaisith bhòidheach gheal,
B' ait leam bhi làimh riut.
'N uair a rachainn a' m' shiubhal
B' e sud mo cheann uidhe
Na bh' air bràigh Choire-bhuidhe
Agus ruigh Alt-na-ceàrdaich.
Mhathaisith, &c.
Gu 'm bu phailt bha mo bhuaile
Do chrodh druim-fhion 'us guaill-fhionn,
Mar sud 's mo chuid chuachag
Dol mu 'n cuairt dhoibh 's an t-samhradh.
Mhathaisith, &c.
SEANCHAIDH.
