Cumha Mhic an Tòisich – Mackintosh’s Lament III

Black Steed

Around this time last year two blogs were published with regard to Cumha Mhic an Tòisich, or Mackintosh’s Lament. This short anecdote was collected by Alexander Carmichael probably from the recitation of Marion MacNeil, styled Mòr nighean Alasdair ’ic Ruaraidh Bhàin (1843–1927), Kentangaval, Barra. She tells the background to how it was composed by a lady whose husband was killed on his return from being married. His death by a black horse had been predicted so he struck the black horse with his pistol and took a white horse instead but he was careless and his feet got tangled in the stirrups and he was dragged along the ground by the horse and was killed. Carmichael was later to publish a long article about this lament in The Highlander and the version given there is based upon this short note:

This cumha was comp[osed] by a

lady whose affianced was kil[led]

in riding home from being

married. He had a spl[e]nd[id] black

horse wild to a degree

and it was faisneac[hd] that the

black horse would kill him.

That morn[in]g the black [horse] was so restive

that he leapt off his back & struck

him with his pistol. He then

took a white horse & in set[tin]g home

the white horse saw the dead

horse lying. He start[ed] & the

young man riding gayly un

guarded lost his seat & his

feet get[tin]g entang[led] in the strirrips

he was dragged aft[er] the horse

& kil[led] ere he could be rescued.

The bride was riding on before

& some turn in the road took him

out of her sight till he was

bro[ugh]t home dead & thus taigh

solais was turn[ed] into tai[gh]

dolais.

References:

CW90, fos. 50v–51r.

Carmichael, Alexander, ‘Cumha Mhic-an-Toisich’, The Highlander, vol. IV, no. 165 (8 Jul., 1876), p. 3., cc. 3 –5.

Image: Black Steed.

Cumha Mhic an Tòisich – Mackintosh’s Lament II

As indicated in a previous blog, Alexander Carmichael contributed another long article to The Highlander – it seems that he was unfamiliar with brevity – about Cumha Mhic an Tòisich, or Mackintosh's Lament. His first article drew a reply from ‘A. M. S.’, or Alexander MacLean Sinclair (1840–1923), a near contemporary who hailed from Glenbard, Nova Scotia. His reply will no doubt be the subject of a subsequent blog. Sinclair published a great deal during his lifetime, works (mainly compilations of Gaelic song and poetry) such as Clàrsach na Coille (1881) and the Glenbard Collection (1890). Letters from his pen also appeared frequently in Gaelic-related newspapers and journals produced in Nova Scotia as well as those in Scotland. It is perhaps no coincidence that Sinclair was also accused of tinkering with his source material, but such accusations may be forgiven, for he, like Carmichael, brought to light much Gaelic and Highland-related material that otherwise would have been lost. It may also be added that Carmichael also furnishes a translation of Cumha Mhic an Tòisich although he admits that it was far from being perfect.

The death of the late young Mackintosh drew from the rich repository of Celtic lore at Creagory a lament for a previous young chief, which was hardly at the time to be in existence, and which perhaps no one but Mr Carmichael himself could furnish in M.S. We were desirous of having a good English version of this lament for the sake of the young widow who has such sad cause to enter into the spirit of it. There is something curious in the fact that the English version which we now have now from Mr Carmichael comes just as the birth of a daughter mingles the joys of maternity with the sorrow that the inheritance of her husband shall not pass to her offspring. Mr Carmichael writes:–

I beg to apologise to your courteous correspondent, ‘A. M. S.’ for delaying to reply to his communication in The Highlander of 27th May.
I regret my inability, at present, to enter into the interesting questions raised by “A. M. S.” though I trust to be able to do so, at some future time. I may, however, state that I entirely agree with him, that there may be music wholly independent of the words, and that much of our best Highland music has been so composed.
Nevertheless, the instances are few, I think, in which there are no words to our Gaelic airs, even to our most complicated laments and pibrochs.

Whether the music may not have been originally composed without the words, and the words subsequently added, as suggested by him, is another question, and one upon which, in the meantime, I am unable to enter. For the present, I must content myself, with giving an English translation of Mackintosh’s Lament, as desired by A. M. S.

The translation is literal–probably too much to be effective. It is very unsatisfactory, and conveys to the reader, and imperfect idea of the beauty and pathos of the original. I invariably find, however, that it is easier to be dissatisfied with a thing than to improve upon it. As will be seen, no attempt is made at rhyme, though I should much like to see the beautiful Gaelic lament adequately rendered into English.

THE MACKINTOSH LAMENT

’Tis I am the woman of sorrow,
Wearing the kertch,
Since all men have heard,
That on its crown is the favour.

Alas! and alas! thou art felled,
Alas! and alas! thou art felled,
Alas! and alas! thou art felled,
In the path of the garden.

The roan horse felled thee,
The roan horse raised not thee,
The roan horse felled thee,
In the path of the garden.

O! would I were there then,
Would! would! I were there then,
O! would I were there then,
I would have grasped thy hand.

A maid stricken in sorrow am I
Whom no one again will recognise,
Since this time last year,
The day the ring was placed on me.

’Tis I that am sore in anguish,
Oft the tear drops from mine eyes,
Sorrowing over the splendid youth,
The gallant rider of fiery steed.

The wine meant for thy marriage
Was spent at thy funeral;
How wept I
Betimes the gallons were being drained!

I shall not go to a wedding,
Neither to feast nor to fair;
’Twas in the early springtime
I received the sorrow that pierced me.

Stricken in grief am I,
Since in the earth they laid thee;
Carry my blessing with my heart’s fond wishes,
To the high tower of stones.

My darling on thee my lover,
Thou beauteous sapling of the clustering locks,
More fragnant than the cinnamon,
To me, is the breath of thy mouth.

Gracefully would’st thou dance
To the strains of the music;
Nor woulds’t thou bend the grass-blade,
Beneath the point of thy high shoe.

My fond love on thy sister,
The young maiden of the yellow hair;
Well beseems thee a ruddy cheek,
Coming from travelling the Brae.

The hunter of the deer thou,
And the salmon on the cascade,
The black-cock on the pointed bough,
And the white bird (swam?) woulds’t thou kill.

Rider of the prancing black steed,
The prancing black steed, the prancing black steed,
Rider of the prancing black steed,
The white steed tore thee.

Young Eon thou art felled,
Young Eon thou art felled,
Young Eon thou art felled,
In the path of the garden.

Young Eon thou art raised,
Young Eon thou art raised,
Young Eon thou art raised,
Alas! unknown to me though first at hand.

Alas! and alas! thou art felled,
Alas! and alas! thou art felled,
Alas! and alas! thou art felled,
In the path of the garden.

The following variations with and additional verse of the poem were written on the 10th of February, last, from Christina Macdonald (?) “Cairistina Bheag”–a cottar woman at Borve, Barra. They were prefaced by an interesting introduction, part of which I quote for the sake of the vivid glance with which it illustrates the warm relationship existing in the olden times between a Highland chief and his clansmen–a relationship which to their honour be it said the descendants of the chief to whom the poem was composed still nobly perpetuate.

The Mackintosh had a foster-father (oide) of whom he sought counsel every morning. Upon a certain day the Mackintosh said to his foster-father–“What counsel to-day foster-father?” “That thou, the essence of my heart and of my reason, (a shugh mo chridhe ’s mo cheille) shalt yet find thy death from that proud prancing steed which thou now ridest under thee. “Hush! thou unsanctified carl (a bhodaich gun bheannachadh) in that thou art belied at the rate,” and pointing his pistol at the horses he shot him dead.

In substance, the rest of the introduction fairly agrees with that given in The Highlander of the 5th February last.

Och nan och leag ’ad thu,
Creach nan creach leag ’ad thu,
Och nan och leag ’ad thu,
Am bialach a gharaidh.

Leag an t-each cionnan thu
Bhreab an t-each cionnan thu
Leag an t-each cionnan thu
An ionad a gharaidh.

Maighdion ro-dhuilich,
Nach fainichear tuillidh mi;
’S mise ta muladach,
O’n la chuireadh orm faine.

’S mise bhean chianail,
O thoiseach na bliadhna
Cha gha’ainn ga m’ iarraidh
Mac iarla no stata.

TRANSLATION.

Alas! and alas! felled they thee,
Ruin of ruin, felled they thee,
Alas! and alas! felled they thee,
In the pass of the garden.

Felled art thou by the roan horse,
Kicked art thou by the roan horse,
Felled art thou by the roan horse,
In the pass of the garden.


A maiden of great grief am I;
Recognised never again shall I be;
I dwell in desolation
Since the ring was put on me.

A woman am I of loneliness,
Since they early time of the year;
Yet would I note accept the seeking
The son of an earl, nor yet that of a noble.

I have time simply to say that I trust “A. M. S.” may yet be able to reconcile this beautiful Gaelic poem, and its tradition with recorded history. Eon variously written, Ewen, Evan, and Hugh, and not John, is the name mentioned in the lament.

Apologising for the length of this paper.
                                                           ALEX. A. CARMICHAEL
                                                                      Creagorry, Outer Hebrides,
                                                                                              21st June 1876.

References:
Carmichael, Alexander, ‘Cumha Mhic-an-Toisich’, The Highlander, vol. IV, no. 165 (8 Jul., 1876), p. 3, cc. 3–5.

Macneil, Calum, ‘Carmichael in Barra’ in Domhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart (ed.), The Life & Legacy of Alexander Carmichael (Ness: The Islands Books Trust, 2008), pp. 44–57.

Image: Black Steed.

Cumha Mhic an Tòisich – Mackintosh’s Lament

There can be little doubt that one of the most powerful, heart-rending and beautiful laments that can be played upon the Great Highland Bagpipe is a tune called Cumha Mhic an Tòisich – Mackintosh's Lament. Carmichael had seen the obituary notice of the Mackintosh chief in The Highlander newspaper and what he read there must have piqued his curiosity so much that he wrote a couple of letters on the subject of this famous lament that later appeared in this newspaper’s columns. The traditional story behind the tune is given, as well as the lyrics taken down by Carmichael from Marion MacNeil or Mòr nighean Alasdair ’ic Ruaraidh Bhàin (1843–1927), daughter of the famous Gaelic seanchaidh Alexander MacNeil or Alasdair mac Ruairidh Bhàin (c. 1787–1881), Kentangaval, Barra.

In the interesting notice, in The Highlander, of the 25th ultimo, of the death of Mackintosh of Mackintosh, it is said:–“In the Northern Meetings he took much interest and frequently acted as one of the judges. His admiration for Highland music was great, and in connection with this, we may note that so highly did he esteem some of the old tunes that he was at considerable labour in tracting the history of some of them. “Cumha Mhic-an-Toisich,” “Mackintosh’s Lament,” was, we understand, so traced by him, and a copy of it, as supplied by him, was published by Messrs Fullarton & Co. In regard to this tune, the deceased wrote–“The tune is as old as 1550 or thereabouts. Angus Mackay in his ‘Pipe Music Book’ gives it 1526, and says it was composed, on the death of Lachlan, fourteenth laird; but we believe it was composed by the famous family bard, Macintyre, upon the death of William, who was murdered by the Countess of Huntly, in 1550. This bard had seen, within the space of forty years, four Captains of Clan Chattan meet with violent deaths, and his deep feelings found vent in the refrain–

Mackintosh the excellent
They have lifted;
They have laid thee
Low, they have laid thee.

These are the only words in existence which I can hear of.” These things are of more than passing interest. The Chief’s statement that these four lines are all he could recover of the famous piobaireachd induced me to search for something more among my own MSS., and I now give the result.

The following poem was taken down on the 25th Sep., 1872, from the singing of Mor nighean Alasdair ’ic Ruaraidh bhain, Keantangaval, Barra. Alexander Macneill, the father of this intelligent cottar girl, is an an excellent sgeulaich (storyteller), and as such, is often mentioned by Mr Campbell of Islay, in his well-known West Highland Tales.
According to my notes, written from the narration of the singer of the lament, there was a prediction prevalent amongst his clansmen that Mackintosh of the day was destined to die through the instrumentality of his beautiful black steed–a steud dubh aluinn–whose glossy skin shone as the raven’s wing, and whose flowing mane and tail waved free as the mountain mist. But whatever he felt, the Chief resolved to show to his people that he treated the prediciton lightly, and so he continued to ride his favourite notwithstanding the entreaties of his friends to the contrary.
On the day of his marriage, the spirited Chief rode his spirited black steed, which, on the way to church, became more than usually restive. The steed reared, and plunged, and curveted, and altogether behaved so wildly, that the rider, losing control over himself and his horse, drew his pistol and shot him dead.
A gille-mor, “man nearest to him,” as the old people say, handed his chief another horse and they proceed to church.
After the marriage ceremony, the gay party set out on their homeward journey. The bride and her maids, upon white palfreys, preceded, and the bridegroom and his friends followed. In passing, the chief’s roan horse shied at the dead body of the black horse, and the rider was thrown to the ground and killed on the spot. A turn in the road hid the accident from those in front, and thus the bride, unconcious of the scene of misery behind her, continued her way home, the happiest of happy brides! She is said to have composed the air and elegy–Cumha Mhic-an-Toisich–The Mackintosh Lament.
“A distressing occurrence,” I remarked, as the narrator ended her interesting introduction to the poem.
“Yes sir,” said the girl, who is a Catholic, “But it was fated to him–bha e ’n dan dha,” which brought out the latent predestinarianism which seems so ingrained in the Scottish mind of all denominations.
I know not of what family was this unhappy lady, who, if this tradition be correct, has had the honour of composing one of the most plaintive, pathetic, and touching, and withal one of the most beautiful things in the Gaelic language.
The late young Mackintosh states that Mackay in his Pipe Music says that the air was composed in the year 1526 on the death of Lachlan, the fourteenth laird, while, he himself, believes that it was composed of Huntly in 1550. The period would agree with an expression in the seventh stanza:–

             Cha lubadh tu am feornan
             Fo shroin da bhroig arda.

            (In dancing) thou wouldst not bend the grass-blade
            Beneath the point of thy high shoe.

In the time of Elizabeth and James, fashionable people in England and Scotland wore shoes curving up at the point, like those worn by fashionable Indians at the present day. In extreme cases shoes curved up to the extent of two feet. The only difficulty is to believe that a Highland chief of that period wore these high shoes. Perhaps after all these are not the shoes meant.

The Rev. Mr Macgregor, Inverness, whom I consider the purest Gaelic writer of the day, has kindly supplied me with this note:–

Tradition also relates that the afflicted widow of the Mackintosh, who came by his death as stated above, not only composed the beautiful air of the Lament, but chanted it as he moved forward at the head of the bier at her husband’s funeral, and marked the time by tapping with her fingers on the lid of the coffin. That, it is said, she continued to do for several miles, from the family castle at Daleross to the burying ground at Petty, and ceased not until these was torn away from the coffin, when it was about to be lowered into the grave. A. M’G.

Cha ’n eil saoidh gu’n a choimeas–“there is no hero without his prototype.” The versatile author of The Ingoldsby Legends gives a story–“The Grey Dolphin”–which, in one point, resembles this. A witch announces to the Baron de Shurland that his favourite dapple-grey steed is to be the means of his death. In order to belie the prediction, the doughty Baron draws his sword and cuts off the steed’s head. Three years thereafter, as the Baron returns home to Scotland, whither he had been with Edward Longshanks fighting an unrighteous war against Wallace, he sees the witch sitting on the bleached skull of his good old steed. Curiosity leads him to approach, when the witch mysteriously disappears. In his disappointment, the Baron kicks the skull, one of whose teeth enter his foot, causing mortification and death.

I regret my inability to throw further light on the subject of the following poem, which I beg to subjoin. ALEX. A. CARMICHAEL.

              Creagorry, Outer Hebrides,
                     17th Jan., 1876

CUMHA MHIC-AN-TOISICH

Is mise ’bhean mhuladach,
’Giulan na curraice.
O’n chualas aig gach duine,
Gur ann ’na mhullach bha am fabhar.

Och! nan och! leagadh thu,
Och! nan och! thogadh thu,
Och! nan och! leagadh thu,
A’m bealach a’ gharaidh!

Leag an t-each cionnan thu,
Cha do thog an t-each cionnan thu,
Leag an t-each cionnan thu,
A’n ionadh a’ gharaidh!

’S truagh! nach robh mis’ a’n sin,
’S truagh! nach robh mis’ a’n sin,
’S truagh! nach robh mis’ a’n sin,
’S bheirinn air laimh ort!

’S i maideann ro-dhabhach,
Nach fhainichear tuillead mi,
O’n taca so ’n-uiridh,
O’n la chuireadh am fainn orm.

’S mise’ tha gu tuirseach,
’S tric snidh air mo shuilean,
’S mi ’g ionndrain an fhiurain
Marcaich ur ’nan steud aluinn.

Am fion bha gu ’d bhainnis,
’S ann chaidh e gu d’ fhalair,
Gur mise bha galach,
’N am ’nan gallan a thraghadh!

Cha teid mi gun bainnis,
Gu feill no gu faidhir,
Gur ann toiseach an earraich,
Fhuair mi an t-saighead a chraidh mi!

Gur mise tha tuirseach,
O’n chuir iad ’san uir thu;
Thoir mo shoraidh le durachd,
Gu tur nan clach arda!

Mo cheist air mo leannain,
Fiuran a’ chuil chlannaich,
Gur cubhraidh o’n canail,
Leam anail do bhraghaid.

Dhannseadh tu comhnard,
’Nan seinneadh iad ceol dhuit,
’S cha lubadh tu am feornan,
Fo shroin do bhroig arda!

Mo cheist air do phiuthair,
Bean og a’ chuil bhuidhe,
Gur maith a thig dhuit rughadh
’Tighinn o shiubhal do bhráighe!

Sealgair an fheidh thu,
’S a bhric’ air an leumadh,
’S choillich dhuibh air bharr geige,
’S gu’n reubteach ’n t-eun ban leat!

Marcaiche an eich leumnaich dhuibh!
Leumnaich dhiubh! leumnaich dhuibh!
Marcaiche an eich leumnaich dhuibh!

Eodhain Oig! leaghadh thu!
Eodhain Oig! leaghadh thu!
Eodhain Oig! leaghadh thu!
An eabar a’ gharaidh!

Eodhain Oig! thogadh thu!
Eodhain Oig! thogadh thu!
Eodhain Oig! thogadh thu!
Och! gu’n fhios domh ’s mi laimh riut!

Och! nan och! leagadh thu,
Och! nan och! thogadh thu,
Och! nan och! leagadh thu,
A’m bealach a’ gharaidh!

References:
Carmichael, Alexander, ‘Cumha Mhic-an-Toisich–Mackintosh’s Lament’, The Highlander, vol. II, no. 143 (5 Feb., 1876), p. 6, cc. 1–2.

Macneil, Calum, ‘Carmichael in Barra’ in Domhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart (ed.), The Life & Legacy of Alexander Carmichael (Ness: The Islands Books Trust, 2008), pp. 44–57.
Image: Black Steed.