Chapter III (2)

In appearance _Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ was tall, handsome, and fascinating. He was distinguished by a winning gentleness and modesty of manners, as well as by his generous sensibility and steadfast friendship. His presence was courted in every company, and he was everywhere made welcome. Of most of the chieftains and Highland lairds he was a very acceptable acquaintance, while no public assembly, or social meeting was considered complete if that object of universal favour, the bard of Strath, were absent.

When a very young man he was united in marriage to Flora, daughter of Mr Campbell of Strond, in the Island of Harris. Fondly attached to his native isle, he rented from his chief the farm of Breakish, with the grazing Island of Pabbay, at £24 sterling annually. And as an instance of the many changes effected by time, it may be mentioned that the same tenement is now rented at about £250 a-year. From what has been said of the bard's amiable disposition and gentle manners, it will seem no wise surprising that he proved to be one of the most affectionate of husbands, and dutiful of fathers. The happiness of the matrimonial state was to him, however, but of short duration. His wife, to whom he was greatly attached, died in the prime and vigour of life. He was rendered so disconsolate by means of his sudden and unexpected bereavement, that he took a dislike to the scene of his transient happiness, and relinquished his farm in Strath. Having removed from Skye, he took possession of a new tenement of lands from Mackenzie in Kintail. Greatly struck by what he considered the unrefined manners of his new neighbours in that quarter, and contrasting them with the more genial deportment of his own distinguished clan in Strath, he had the misfortune to exercise his poetic genius in the composition of some pungent satires and lampoons directed against the unpolished customs of the natives of Kintail. It is needless to add that by these means he gained for himself many enemies, and forfeited the good wishes of all around him. Finding himself thus disagreeably situated, after an absence of four years, he returned to Skye, where he was cordially received by his chief, and put in possession of his former farm at Breakish. After being twelve years a widower he went to Inverness for the purpose of visiting some of his schoolfellows who resided there. Previous to his leaving the capital of the Highlands his acquaintances there urged upon him the propriety of marrying a widow lady of the name of Mackintosh, whom they represented as being possessed of considerable means. He reluctantly complied with their wishes, but it became soon too apparent to him that he did so at the expense of his own happiness. His bride was not only penniless but deeply involved in debt. Next morning after his marriage he was visited by messengers who served him with summonses for a heavy debt due by his wife. In the impulse of the moment, while he held the summons in his hand, he seized a pen, and having taken his bride's Bible, wrote the following expressive lines on the blank leaf:--

"Tha'n saoghal air a roinn,
Tha dà dhàn ann,
Tha dàn ann gu bhi sona,
Ach tha dàn an donuis ann."

This marriage proved, in every respect, an unhappy one. The lady, as a stepmother, was peevish, harsh, and undutiful. Her cruelty to her husband's children was a continual source of grief to him, and of unhappiness to his domestic circle. On a certain day, the lady quarrelling with one of her step-daughters, told her she hated to see her face, and that she always considered the day an unlucky one on which she had the misfortune to meet her first in the morning. The girl, inheriting no doubt a share of her father's power of repartee, quickly answered her stepmother, and said, "You have every cause to believe that it is unlucky to meet me, for I was first-foot to my dear father the unfortunate morning on which he left home to marry you."

Even amid his misfortunes, which he endured with much forbearance, _Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ was renowned for his hospitality and genuine Highland friendship. Remote though the period be since he lived, still his memory is fondly cherished in the place. He was possessed of so endearing accomplishments, that time itself can hardly wipe away his memory from the minds of his countrymen and clan. Many fragments of his numerous songs continued for ages to be repeated in the country, but it is feared, from all the changes which have taken place in the circumstances of the natives, that these are now irretrievably lost. Many of his witty sayings became proverbial in the island. He was one of the first sportsmen in the country, and was considered one of the most successful deer stalkers of his day. Along with his other accomplishments he was an excellent performer on the violin, and in this respect he had no equal in the Western Isles. Of him it may be justly said:--

"To thee harmonious powers belong,
That add to verse the charm of song;
Soft melody with numbers join,
And make the poet half divine!"

As a proof of Lachlan Mackinnon's loyalty, it may be mentioned that, quite contrary to the wishes of his chief, he went along with some other loyal subjects, all the way from Skye to Inverness, in the year 1717, to sign a congratulatory address to George I. on his succeeding to the British throne. He spent the remainder of his days in his native isle and parish, and died universally regretted in the year 1734, at the age of sixty-nine. His funeral was attended by most of the Highland chieftains, and their principal vassals. His cousin-german, Alasdair Dubh of Glengarry, and all his gentlemen tacksmen were then present, as also Macdonald of the Isles, Macleod of Dunvegan, Mackinnon of Mackinnon, and Mackenzie of Applecross, with their chief retainers. A numerous band of Highland pipers preceded the bier playing the usual melancholy coronach. Amidst a vast assemblage of all ranks and classes his remains were consigned to their kindred dust in the old churchyard of Gillchrist, being the burying-ground of the parish which gave him birth. A rude flag, with an inscription, still marks the poet's grave; but the memory of his many virtues will be handed down in the place to generations yet unborn.

_Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ composed a beautiful and pathetic song which is still preserved, to "Generosity, Love, and Liberality." He personified those three, and pretended that he met them as lonely outcasts in a dreary glen, and addressed them:--

Latha siubhal sleibhe dhomh,
'S mi 'falbh leam fein gu dlùth,
A chuideachd anns an astar sin
Air gunna glaic a's cù,
Gun thachair clann rium anns a' ghleann,
A'gul gu fann chion iùil;
Air leam gur h-iad a b' aillidh dreach
A chunnacas riamh le m' shùil.

Gu'm b' ioghnadh leam mar tharladh dhoibh
A'm fàsach fad air chùl,
Coimeas luchd an aghaidhean,
Gu'n tagha de cheann iùil,
Air beannachadh neo-fhiata dhomh
Gu'n d' fhiaraich mi, "Cò sùd?"
'S fhreagair iad gu cianail mi
A'm brïathraibh mine ciùin.

"Iochd, a's Gràdh, a's Fiughantas,
'Nar triùir gur h-e ar n-ainm,
Clann nan uaislean urramach,
A choisinn cliu 's gach ball,
'Nuair a phàigh an fheile cis d'an Eug
'Sa chaidh i fein air chàll
'Na thiomnadh dh' fhàg ar n-athair sinn
Aig maithibh Innse-Gall."

SGIATHANACH.

FINGAL.

IN the yellow sunset of ancient Celtic glory appear the band of warriors known as the Ossianic heroes. Under the magnifying and beautifying influence of that sunset they tower upon our sight with a stature and illustriousness more than human. Of these heroes, the greatest and best was _Fionn_ or Fingal. Unless our traditions are extensively falsified he was a man in whom shone all those virtues which are the boast of our race. The unflinching performance of duty, the high sense of honour, the tenderness more than woman's, and the readiness to appreciate the virtues of others were among his more conspicuous characteristics. Now that Celtic anthropology is being so extensively discussed, is it not remarkable that Fingal, who so truly personifies the character of that race, is not adduced as the representative Celt? He was a Celt to the very core, and Celtic character has been in no small degree moulded by copying his example. He was, in truth, not the _ultimus_ but the _Primus Gaelorum_.

Nevertheless, it must be confessed that to many English readers Fingal is nothing but a name, and that even to most of them he looms dark and dim through the mist of years. Unhappily, a nature so transcendently humane and heroic as his is not the sort to win the admiration of the vulgar. Nay, so far is its simple grandeur removed above the common materialism of modern life that the most refined cannot, at first sight, appreciate its exalted loveliness.

The fullest and, we believe, the truest account of him is to be found in Ossian's poems. That the poetry so denominated was, in substance, composed by Ossian we have no doubt. At any rate the descriptions of Fingal therein contained are not only consistent throughout, but also in accordance with all that we know of him from other sources. But were we even to adopt the absurd theory that Fingal is a creation of Macpherson's imagination, the intrinsic beauty of the picture well deserves our study.

An old man retaining all the energy, but not the rashness of youth; age with vigour instead of decrepitude, delighting in the words of sound wisdom rather than the usual tattle of second childhood; and, withal, an old man who is prone to moralise as old men are; a man able and willing to do his duty in the present though his heart is left in the past; such is the most prominent figure in these poems. He is pourtrayed as of tall, athletic frame and kingly port, his majestic front and hoary locks surmounted by the helm and eagle plume of the Celtic kings.

Though the idea of Fingal pervades most of Ossian's poems he is seldom introduced _in propria persona_. Even when attention is directed to him the poet merely and meagerly sketches the herculean outline, and leaves our imagination to do the rest:--

At intervals a gleam of light afar
Glanced from the broad, blue, studded shield of war,
As moved the king of chiefs in stately pride;
With eager gaze his eye was turned aside
To where the warriors' closing ranks he sees;
Half-grey his ringlets floated in the breeze
Around that face so terrible in fight
And features glowing now with grim delight.--_Tem. B. V._

In order to introduce his hero with the greater _eclat_, the bard first places his friends in great straits; represents them, though brave, as overcome by the enemy and without hope, apart from Fingal. Both friends and foes speak of him in terms of respect, and even the greatest leaders acknowledge his superiority. When Fingal appears on the scene the poet rouses himself to the utmost. He piles simile on simile to give an adequate idea of his first charge--

Through Morven's woods when countless tempests roar,
When from the height a hundred torrents pour,
Like storm-clouds rushing through the vault of heaven,
As when the mighty main on shore is driven,
So wide, so loud, so dark, so fierce the strain
When met the angry chiefs on Lena's plain.
The king rushed forward with resistless might,
Dreadful as Trenmor's awe-inspiring sprite,
When on the fitful blast he comes again
To Morven, his forefather's loved domain.
Loud in the gale the mountain oaks shall roar,
The mountain rocks shall fall his face before,
As by the lightning's gleam his form is spied
Stalking from hill to hill with giant stride.
More terrible in fight my father seemed
When in his hand of might his weapon gleamed,
On his own youth the king with gladness thought
When in the furious highland wars he fought.--_Fingal B. III._

The notion that Ossian drew in part, at least from real life, is favoured by the wonderful calmness and absence of effort evinced in delineating so great a character. Expressions that go far to heighten our admiration of Fingal are employed in a quiet matter of course way. "The silence of the king is terrible," is an expressive sentence. Or this again, "The heroes ... looked in silence on each other marking the eyes of Fingal."

Nor are the gentler feelings less fully brought out in Ossian's favourite character. Nothing could speak more for his affability than the attachment shown by his followers. "Fear, like a vapour winds not among the host! for he, the king, is near; the strength of streamy Selma. Gladness brightens the hero. We hear his words with joy."[A]

Gallantry and philanthropy we might expect to find in his composition, but the tenderness he frequently displays strikes us as remarkable in an uncivilized chief. His lamentation over the British city on the Clyde is as pathetic as any similar passage in our language.

Another surprising trait is the generosity he invariably displays to his vanquished foes. All the more surprising is it that a "savage" should show magnanimity when the heroes of civilized Greece, Rome, and Judea, counted it virtuous to torture their captured enemies. "None ever went sad from Fingal," he says himself. Over and over he is represented as lamenting the death of enemies when they fall, or granting them freedom and his friendship when they yield--"Come to my hill of feasts," he says to his wounded opponent Cathmor, "the mighty fail at times. No fire am I to lowlaid foes. I rejoice not over the fall of the brave."

A notable fact about Fingal is, that though he lived in times of war, in disposition he was a man of peace. "Fingal delights not in battle though his arm is strong." "When will Fingal cease to fight?" he complains, "I was born in the midst of battles, and my steps must move in blood to the tomb." Under the influence of this desire for peace he formally gave up his arms to Ossian--

My son, around me roll my byegone years,
They come and whisper in the monarch's ears.
"Why does not grey-haired Fingal rest?" they say
"Why does he not within his fortress stay?
Dost thou in battle's gory wounds delight?
Lovest thou the tears of vanquished men of might?"
Ye hoary years! I will in quiet lie,
Nor profit nor delight in blood have I.
Like blustering storms from wintry skies that roll,
Tears waste with grief and dreariness the soul.
But when I stretch myself to rest, I hear
The voice of war come thundering on my ear
Within the royal hall, with loud command,
To rouse and draw again th' unwilling brand.--_Tem. B. VIII._

Limited as were the means of communication in those pre-telegraphic times the fame of such a man must have spread. Accordingly, we read of his name being known and respected far and near. Foreign princes speak of him with admiration, and refugees from distant lands seek his protection.

But it is on the power of his name in after times that we wish more particularly to dwell. There have been no people who honoured their heroes so much as the Celts. With them _valour_ and _value_ were synonymous terms. Theirs was not a nobility of money, or literature, or æsthetics, or even of territory. Nobleness should be the qualification of a nobleman, and strange as it may seem, it was among the uncivilised Celts of Ireland and Scotland that such a character was properly appreciated. But they held nobleness and heroism to be identical. They seem to have thoroughly believed that cowardice was but the result of vice. A fearless man, they felt, must be a true man, and he was honoured accordingly. _Flath-innis_, the _Isle of the Noble_, was their only name for heaven. _Allail_ or _divine_ they applied to their heroic men. To imitate such was the old Celtic religion as it was the primitive religion of most other peoples.

Among all the heroes whom the ancient Gael worshipped there was no name so influential as Fingal's. Through the ages he has been the idol and ideal of the Celt. His example was their rule of justice. His maxims were cited much as we would quote Scripture. To the youth he was held up as the model after which their lives should be patterned, and where Christianity had not yet eradicated the old creed, a _post mortem_ dwelling with him in _Flath-innis_ was deemed no mean incentive to goodness. He was, in fact, the god of the Gaelic people, worshipped with no outward altar, but enshrined in the hearts of his admirers. How far the more admirable traits of Highland character may be attributed to the assimilating influence of the idea of Fingal we cannot decide. That our character as a people has been largely influenced for good by the power of his example we have no doubt. The bards, an order of the old Druidic hierarchy, became the priests of the Fingalian hero-worship. Songs, elegies, and poetic legends formed their service of praise. To induce their countrymen to reverence and imitate so great and glorious a Gael as Fingal was the object of many of their bardic homilies. Taking into account the nature and circumstances of the ancient Caledonians, we must conclude that from position and influence none were more suitable to become their ethical and æsthetical advisers than these minstrel ministers of the Fingalian hero-olatry.

Of course such a faith could not long withstand the more generous and cosmopolitan spirit of Christianity, yet we venture to assert that it was vastly preferable in its effects to some abortions of our common creed. That there was a conflict between the two religions we know. As late as the sixteenth century a Christian ecclesiastic complains that the leaders of Gaelic thought of the period were heathen enough to delight in "stories about the Tuath de Dhanond and about the sons of Milesius, and about the heroes and _Fionn_ (Fingal), the son of Cumhail with his Fingalians ... rather than to write and to compose and to support the faithful words of God and the perfect way of truth."

Down to the present day the name of _Fionn_ is reverenced by the less sophisticated Highlanders and Islanders. That his name will in future be more extensively, if less intensely, respected we may confidently predict. As men's views become more broad and just, and their feelings become more cultivated and refined, we may hope that a superior character such as Fingal will by-and-bye be appreciated. Even now he is widely admired and we begin to read in the signs of the times the fulfilment of his own words:--

When then art crumbled into dust, O! stone;
Lost in the moss of years around thee grown;
My fame, which chiefs and heroes love to praise,
Shall shine a beam of light to future days,
Because I went in steel and faced th' alarms
Of war, to help and save the weak in arms.--_Tem. B. VIII._

MINNIE LITTLEJOHN.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: The quotations in prose are from Macpherson's translation.]