The ‘terror of the Night’ and the Morrígain: Shifting faces
of the supernatural.
Introduction
A rich man has a beautiful but poor woman as his lover. They
have two sons together. One day he tells her that he is going to marry a rich
woman, chosen by his family. He will take the children with him. She weeps and
wails like a madwoman, but it is to no avail. Then she picks up the children
and goes to the river, where she drowns them. She falls down, and dies in
grief. In heaven, she is welcomed because she has suffered. But before they let
her in, she must return to collect the souls of her children and bring them
with her. So she goes to the river. Her long hair flows over the riverbanks;
her long fingers grope deep into the water and she calls out for her children.
Parents tell their children not to go to the river after dark, because the
Weeping Woman might mistake them for her own children and take them with her
forever.
In this Mexican tale, we see shifting imagery of a woman. A
lovely but unfortunate woman transforms into a nocturnal ghost, forever
restless, lamenting, looking for her children. At the same time, we are told
about a horrible creature that might harm living children. She reminds us of
other mythological supernatural women, such as the Jewish Lilith and the Greek
Lamia, whose children were killed, causing them to become relentless, murdering
demons.
The narratives portray these women in a linear chronological
development from happy to sad to horrible and from beautiful to ugly, but somehow
these women never seem entirely to lose their original characteristics. Their
representations in text and art shift between the various stages in a
non-linear way. In other words: we are dealing with coexisting, diverse images
of the supernatural. We tend to emphasise one aspect, but often there are
several sides to supernatural beings that are equally ‘true’.
This tendency is sometimes also noticeable with regard to
early Irish mythological beings. The subject of this contribution is the
supernatural woman called the Morrígain, who is usually classified as a War
Goddess. Máire Herbert, however, has rightly pleaded for a fresh, open minded
study of the primary sources about supernatural women, without preconceived
ideas about their function. In this paper the imagery of the supernatural in
the Old Irish poem Reicne Fothaid Canainne will be studied. I hope to show that
the poem represents not only familiar images from the Irish background of the
Morrígain, but that we may also detect unfamiliar, foreign faces of this
figure. This shifting of images makes the Morrígain into a more complex and a
richer symbol than merely a supernatural representative of war.
In the Old Irish poem, central to this paper, it is the
spectral shape of Fothad (§49), who addresses the woman on the battle field. He
refers to his bloody corpse and unwashed head being elsewhere (§2). Before
focusing on the supernatural beings mentioned in this poem, we will first look
at its structure. A schematic survey is given below; the numbers refer to the
stanzas.
1a. Woman, do not speak to me
1b–7. A lament about his death
1b. I look back at what happened at [Linn] Féic.
2. My bloody corpse lies beside Leitir Dá mBruach; my
unwashed head is among the slaughtered warriors.
3. My tryst with you was a tryst with death.
4. My death at Féic was destined for me.
5. Our last meeting was doomed (but I do not blame you).
6. If we had known, we would have avoided this tryst.
7. I was generous during my life.
8–19. A lament about the death of his men
12–19. Description of his men
20. A lament about the present situation
21–22. The battle and death of Fothad & Ailill
23. Warning to the woman
Watch out for the terror of the night
Do not have a conversation with a dead man
Go home with my treasures
24–41a. Description of the treasures
41b–44. Warning to the woman
41b–43. Watch out for the Morrígain
44. I am in danger; I cannot protect you
Go home while parting is still fair.
45. His departure in the morning
Go home; the night is ending
46–47. Request for a memorial
46. Remember this reicne
47. Put a stone on my grave
48–49. The farewell
48a. My imminent departure and the torture of my soul by a
dark one
48b. Only the adoration of the King of Heaven matters
49a. The dark blackbird’s laughter to the believers
49b. My speech and face are spectral
Woman, do not speak to me.
The poem is addressed to the woman. The dead man contradicts
himself regularly, which heightens the emotionality of the poem. His tryst with
the woman turned out to be a tryst with death. The woman was the cause of this
and yet, he does not blame her. His death was destined, but if he had known
this outcome, he would have avoided the tryst. He speaks of his love for his
men and the woman, and asks her to remember his poem and make his gravestone.
If she does this, her love would not be a waste of time, because she would
create two everlasting memorials for him. Yet, he concludes that earthly love
is a folly―the only thing that counts is the adoration of the King of Heaven.
There are several supernatural entities mentioned in this
poem, such as the spectral shape of Fothad, the terror of the night, the
Morrígain, the dark one, and the King of Heaven. Three of them will be
discussed in this paper: first, the terror of the night; second, the Morrígain,
and third, the dark creature mentioned at the end of the poem. I will try to
show that the imagery of these three is interrelated or, in other words, how
the faces of the supernatural shift and mix.
2. The terror of the night and Irish úatha
Fothad starts his poem by silencing the woman. After
lamenting the death of himself and his men, he warns her of danger threatening
her:
“Do not wait for the terror of night on the battle-field
among the resting-places of the hosts; one should not hold converse with a dead
man, betake thee to thy house, carry my spoils with thee!”
What is this ‘terror of night’? Does this merely refer to
the general human fear of the dark night, augmented by the presence of bloody
corpses on the battlefield? The Dictionary of the Irish Language (DIL)
translates úath as ‘fear, horror, terror; a horrible or terrible thing’. Fothad
does not seem to refer to merely an emotion here, but to a supernatural being
that may endanger the woman. She must hurry, because it is somewhere on the battlefield.
There are several descriptions of úatha in early Irish
literature, of which I give a selection here. Úatha are extremely frightening
beings, often associated with battle. The Lebor na hUidre (LU) version of Fled
Bricrenn, ‘The feast of Bricriu’, supplies the following portrayal of úatha:
The geniti screech at him. They wrestle with each other. His
spear is fragmented and his shield is destroyed and his clothes are torn around
him. And the geniti beat and subdue him. ‘Well then, Cú Chulainn’, said Lóeg,
‘wretched coward, one-eyed sprite, your fury and your valour have gone since it
is spectres that ruin you’. Thereupon Cú Chulainn is contorted in a spectral
way and he turns towards the terrors and he hacks and fragments them so that
the valley was full with their blood.
Apparently, the terms urtrochta or airdrecha, ‘spectres’,
and úatha were seen as suitable synonyms for geniti, ‘(female?) creatures’.
Previously in the text at line 8872, the supernatural fighters are referred to
as geniti glinne, ‘(female?) creatures of the valley’. After the fight, they
are referred to as ‘dark enemies’ (lochnamait; line 8894). Their spectral
nature seems to be expressed by the term airdrecha. It could be that the term
geniti indicates their female gender, because a gloss in Lebor na hUidre by
scribe H and glossaries explain genit and/or gen as ‘woman’.
It is worthwhile to have a closer look at this lemma in the
glossaries. We read in O’Mulconry’s Glossary: gen .i. benglynnon .i. foglaid
.i. banfoglaid bid anglinn genit glinde .i. ben inglinn gen, that is: a glynnon
[valley?] woman; that is: a robber; that is: a female robber, who is in a
valley genit glinde [creature of a valley], that is: a woman in a valley. The
lemma genit glinne is thus explained as a woman in a valley, whereby genit is
explained as ben, ‘woman’. The interlinear gloss, however, explains gen as
‘woman’, albeit a special type: the rather mysterious glynnon woman. The latter
in its turn is glossed as a robber, to be precise, as a female robber dwelling
in a valley. The additional gloss that explains gen as ben, ‘woman’, seems to
be inspired by the two previous lemmata in the glossary (nrs 638–639), in which
gene―representing the Greek word for ‘woman’ γυνή―is explained with Latin
mulier, ‘woman’.
In another glossary, found in Dublin, TCD, MS H.3.18, genit
glinne is explained as gen and then two further explanations are given, one
seemingly in Latin and one in Irish: Genit glinde .i. gen .i. glynoon; ben bid
hi nglinn Genit glinne, that is: gen, that is: glynoon woman; that is a woman
who is in a valley. It seems to me that glynnon and glynoon are fake Latin (or
Greek?) terms (cp. Welsh glyn = Irish glenn) which are used here to specify
gen, which does not simply refer to ‘woman’ as it did in lemmata 638 and 639 of
O’Mulconry’s Glossary, but which is here used to explain genit, a supernatural
type of woman.
The main lemma of O’Mulconry’s Glossary, however, directly
explains genit as woman, just as genaiti is glossed mná, ‘women’, in Lebor na
hUidre, line 3520. This latter use of the word genaiti also refers to
supernatural women, who, moreover, are said to laugh in an ominous way.
The examples of geniti in the literature confirm their
supernatural nature. What we can deduct from the episode in Fled Bricrenn about
these úatha, geniti glinne and airdrecha is the following. They are very
powerful, possibly female, supernatural fighters. Three excellent Ulster heroes
are sent to them to test their valor and two of them return naked and defeated.
Cú Chulainn, the most formidable hero, is able to overcome them, but only when
he is roused to his extraordinary martial fury, brought about by the taunts of
his charioteer Lóeg. The úatha are screaming, fighting, nocturnal apparitions,
associated with a valley. The word ‘spectre’ gives the impression that they are
made of thin air, but it should be noted that they appear to have a body that
can be grasped and fought with. Moreover, their valley is covered with their
blood after the fight.
These úatha may be female; another episode in the Lebor na
hUidre version of Fled Bricrenn describes a male Úath. This Úath mac Imomain
(Terror son of Great Fear) possesses great supernatural power, is a
shape-shifter and functions both as a test (like the geniti glinne or úatha)
and as a judge (unlike them) of the three contestants for the hero’s portion.
Another encounter with úatha is found in an adventure of
Finn mac Cumaill. This narrative has come down to us in the form of a prose
tale and two poems, usually referred to as ‘Finn and the Phantoms’. Finn, Oisín
and Caílte are lured to a mysterious house in a valley, where they spend the
night in a gruesome, spectral company. A churl, a three-headed old woman, a
headless man with one eye in his chest, and nine bodies with nine loose heads
make ‘music’ for them by shrieking horribly. The churl kills their horses and
roasts the flesh on spits of rowan. When it is still raw, it is offered as a
‘meal’. Finn refuses to eat, which is taken as an insult. The fire is
extinguished, and Finn and his companions are beaten up during the dark night.
At sunrise the house and its inhabitants vanish, and the human victims and
horses are well again. Finn discovers the identity of their enemies through a
mantic procedure: they were the three or nine Terrors of Yew Valley. It should
be noted that the prose version mentions three úatha, Poem I three fúatha and
Poem II nine fúatha.
In the Middle Irish period, it is difficult to distinguish
úath from fúath, ‘form, likeness; hideous or supernatural form, spectre’,
because even though fúath is a different word, semantically úath and fúath
converge. The úatha are thus portrayed as nocturnal, shrieking, fighting and
frightening shapeshifters, associated with a valley.
These terrifying beings also appear in hagiography. Fúatha
threaten the seventh-century Saint Moling in his youth, according to the Middle
Irish Geinemain Molling ocus a bethae, ‘The birth of Moling and his Life’. When
the saint is sixteen years old, he wanders through Luachair, singing his
prayer. Suddenly, he sees an ominous company on his path: an unshapely, ugly
monster (torathar)―explained by the text as the Fúath aingeda―and his dark, ugly,
unshapely household―explained as people in the shape of spectres (arrachta).
The whole company consists of the Wicked Fúath, his wife, his servant, his dog
and a group of nine persons. St Moling manages to escape from them by making
three enormous leaps. The fúatha cry loud and pursue him, but it is to no
avail. The main fúath in St Moling’s Life is male.
Whitley Stokes
translates in Fúath aingeda as ‘the Evil Spectre’, taking aingeda as
andgedae, sister form of andgid, derived from andach, ‘evil’. Proinsias Mac
Cana points out that the first title of the úath-group in Tale List A is Uath
Angeda and suggests that this refers to an earlier form of the Moling tale.
According to Mac Cana, the original tale may have been about a hag. He bases
this upon a Middle Irish poem ascribed to Moling, in which the saint has a
female adversary, called Aingid. These fúatha share the following
characteristics with the úatha that were described above: residence in a wild
place, their loud shouting, and their fighting habits. Interestingly, the
spectres are said to be engaged in fogal, ‘attack, injury, damage; plundering’,
and díberg, ‘marauding, freebooting, pillaging’, which occupation is also
ascribed to geniti glinne in the above-quoted gloss on the relevant lemma in
O’Mulconry’s Glossary.
Finally, two poems use the term úath to describe the ugly
appearance of the Sovereignty. The poem Temair Breg, baile na fían, extant in
the Book of Leinster (LL) and Rawlinson B 502, ascribed to Cuán Ó Lothcháin
(†1024) tells of the meeting of the five sons of King Eochu Muigmedón with an
old, female seer (écess) in the wilderness, who guards a well. When the son who
is destined to be king kisses her horrible mouth, she turns into the beautiful
appearance of the Sovereignty. The second poem, the metrical dindshenchas on
Carn Máil, also describes king’s sons in the wilderness after a hunt. They are
visited by an old, ugly woman, characterised as úath olair abbáeth, ‘obese
lustful terror’. She threatens to eat them and their dogs, but when one of them
says that he will yield to her sexual desire, she transforms into a radiant,
young beauty. These úatha are dark, ominous appearances, who function as tests
for the sons of a king, and the right reaction of the young man destined for
royalty brings about her transformation into a radiant, promising figure.
Again, an úath turns out to be a shape-shifter, and this specific type has the
gift of prophecy as well.
Thus far, I have discussed humanoid úatha. There are also
bestial terrors, of which I will only mention an example from a text in Old
Irish. The previously described úatha turned out to be a test for kings-to-be.
The úath in Echtrae Fergusa maic Leiti forms a test for a ruling king. When
King Fergus mac Leite sees a monster (designated water beast, muirdris and
úath) under water, his face becomes deformed by fear. This ‘loss of face’ makes
him unfit to be a king and in the end, he also loses his life.
As our poem is Old Irish, our main focus is on texts that
are contemporaneous with it. Therefore, we should take our clues from Fled
Bricrenn and the lemma on genit glinne, which belongs to the Old Irish stratum
of O’Mulconry’s Glossary. It is possible that Fothad warns his lover of one of
these frightening, screaming, utterly destructive fighters, possibly robbers
living in a valley, operating at night. Some readers may have associated the
terror of the night with these supernatural beings.
3. A demon called ‘terror of the night’
There is another possibility that should be considered as
well. Readers who were acquainted with the Bible may have made a different
identification. In the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, there are two references
to a harmful supernatural being, associated with the night and with a sudden
attack. It is
called pa»ad laylâ or ‘the terror of the night’. In Jewish
sources and liturgy, Psalm 91 (Psalm 90 in the Vulgate) is called ‘a song for
evil encounters’, which should be recited before sleep.
What people feared were attacks by harmful supernatural
beings. The Psalm lists several demons ―among them we find the terror of the
night: His [i.e. God’s] truth shall surround you with a shield, You will not be
afraid of the terror of the night. This Psalm was not only used by Jews in
their daily rituals, but was also part of medieval Irish liturgy. Psalm 90:5 is
quoted in ‘Gloria in Excelsis’ in the Irish Liber Hymnorum and paraphrased in
the Antiphonary of Bangor. We know that these texts were sung or recited at
night, and thus one prayed for protection from demons and dangers.
The second reference to the ‘terror of the night’ is in the
Song of Songs. The text tells of sixty strong men surrounding the bed of King
Solomon: “All holding swords and most expert in war Every man’s sword upon his
thigh because of terrors of the night.” A scene of warriors with swords on
their thighs is also known in early Irish literature. In The wasting sickness
of Cú Chulainn men are thus said to swear as testimony to the truth of their
boasts upon battle deeds. Even though the context is completely different, it
is interesting that this statement was put in a ‘demonic’ context by a gloss
explaining that a demon used to talk from the sword. If we want to identify
these ‘demons’, we should think of supernatural women, such as the Morrígain.
Apparently, demons and weapons were associated with each
other, but there is a contrast between the biblical and Irish texts in the
function of armour within this association. In Irish texts, demons are
sometimes said to dwell in armour (i.e., helmets, shields and weapons). As we
saw, in Psalm 90 God’s truth functions as a shield and thus as a way of
protection against demons. A similar function is attributed to the swords held
by the strong men around the bed of King Solomon. This scene reflects the
belief, widespread in the Ancient Near East, that a couple was vulnerable to
the attacks of evil spirits and night demons during the wedding night,
especially when the marriage was consummated. This is why armed servants are
present in the room ―as a protection against demonic attacks. This type of harm
to newly-weds was in particular ascribed to ‘Terror of the night’.
If the author of Reicne Fothaid Canainne knew of this
belief, then the expression ‘terror of the night’ in the context of the poem is
well suited to the occasion. The lover, already killed, warns his beloved woman
of this ‘terror’ in the night that should have been the start of their
marriage. This supernatural attacker of newly-weds could thus have been assumed
to be nearby.
It is, however, uncertain to what extent the author of our
poem was aware of the mythological and cultic background of the terror of the
night as referred to in the Song of Songs. What we badly need is knowledge
about which Jewish traditions were known to medieval Christians. A channel of
transmission that is still traceable today is represented by the writings of
the Church Fathers. In their comments on these two biblical passages, they
explain the ‘terror of the night’ in a sexual and demonic way. Thus far, I have
not found an exposé on the cultic background of the verse in the Song of Songs,
but we could surmise that if the author of Reicne Fothaid Canainne was
acquainted with the Bible, the demonic nature of the terror of the night is
obvious from Psalm 90. What should be noted is that some Jewish theologians
identified this demon as Lilith. As will become clear in this paper, the
question whether (Irish) Christian exegetes also linked the nocturnal terror
with this succubus demon is an intriguing one. The fear of nocturnal temptation
expressed by the Church Fathers seems to hint at a similar identification.
We return to the Old Irish poem. There is a third possible
way to interpret the terror of the night. Looking at the structure of the poem
(see above), we observe that the warning to the woman is interrupted by the
command to take away the treasures. Then an elaborate description of Fothad’s
treasures is given, which breaks off in the middle of quatrain §41. It is as if
the spectre takes up the warning again, by focusing on a supernatural being nearby:
the Morrígain. It might be the case that ‘the terror of night’ already refers
to her.
We learn from the Old Irish Glossary of Cormac that the
supernatural beings called úath and Morrígain have something in common: “False
demons, that is: terrors and Morrígnae.” Apparently, both ‘terrors’ and
morrígnae were good equivalents for the word gúdemain, translated as ‘spectres’
in the Dictionary of the Irish Language. This translation is presumably based
upon the somewhat popular translation by John O’Donovan: ‘.i. spectres and
fairy queens’, to which Stokes added: “Guidemain seems to mean ‘false demons’,
from gó, gúa 😊 W. gau) ‘false’ and demain for demuin, n.
pl. of demon, a demon, daemonion, (Corn. Gevan or jevan), gen. s. demuin”. The
meaning ‘false demons’ is indeed more likely, because this is one of the
interpretations offered by another gloss. It should be noted, moreover, that
the last name of the red woman alias the Morrígain in the Yellow Book of Lecan
version of Táin bó Regamna is Úath.
What is important to us now is that both the Morrígain and
the terror of the night could be classified as terrifying demons. It is
possible that Fothad’s warning is not a double but an interrupted warning about
a supernatural being nearby on the battlefield, known as the terror of the
night alias the Morrígain.
4. Supernatural women and demons
Fothad describes the Morrígain as follows. He calls her ‘an
evil guest’. She visits, stirs up and frightens people. She is washing entrails
and spoils. She laughs and throws her long hair over her back. All these
characteristics deserve further study. For the purpose of the present paper, I
have selected one in particular: her laughter.
The laughter of the Morrígain is described as follows:
“Horrible the hateful laugh she laughs“. The ambiguity of laughter in Irish has
been noted previously: Joseph Vendryes points out that tibid not only means
‘laughs, smiles’ but also ‘to beat, hit, push’; Philip O’Leary discusses the
danger of laughter as a
literary motif; and, most recently, Liam Mac Mathúna
displays the full spectrum of laughter in his survey of Irish lexical
expressions for laughing and smiling.
The expression used in our poem―tibid gen, ‘to laugh a
laugh’ or ‘to smile a smile’―is also found elsewhere in early Irish literature.
Especially interesting for a comparison with the description of the Morrígain
are examples of supernatural women laughing in an ominous and dangerous
context. I selected an example from The wasting sickness of Cú Chulainn, the
text with the scene of warriors with swords on their thighs, mentioned above.
This is the well-known tale about Cú Chulainn and his
relationship with a woman of the síd called Fand, which means ‘tear’. The story
ends indeed in a sad way for Fand and to a certain extent for Cú Chulainn, but
laughter is part of the first meeting between Cú Chulainn and representatives
of the Otherworld. It is, however, ominous laughter, which is expressed by the
words tibid gen. Two women approach Cú Chulainn, who lies asleep against a
pillar stone. They both laugh at him and then almost kill him by beating him
with horsewhips: “The woman in the green mantle came to him and laughed at him,
and struck him with her horsewhip. The other came to him, too, and laughed at
him, and struck him in the same way”. These two women are Lí Ban and Fand from
the síd, who first visited Cú Chulainn in bird form but were attacked by him,
despite his wife’s warning against this, because of the supernatural power
(cumachtae) she perceives behind the birds.
At first sight, the contrast could not be greater when we
compare the Morrígain as described in our poem with the beautiful, enticing
women of the síd in this tale. If we look closer, however, there are some
similarities. The laughter combined with the beating might be seen as a sign of
the sinister
side of the áes síde. A similar hint is found in a poem,
uttered by Cú Chulainn’s charioteer Lóeg, when he calls the women genaiti:
It is great frivolousness for a warrior
To lie in sleep of wasting sickness,
For it shows genaiti i.e., women
Folk from Tenmag Trogaige, i.e., from Mag Mell
And they have subdued (?) thee,
They have confined thee,
They torture thee
in the toils of female frivolousness.
We have seen that the word geniti is used for supernatural
frightening female fighters, also called terrors (úatha), who beat and subdue
Cú Chulainn in Fled Bricrenn; and this is consistent with the image that Lóeg
paints in this poem. They have subdued and tortured Cú Chulainn, who is
confined to his bed. It should be noted that a gloss explains geniti here as
‘women’ (mná), which reminds us of O’Mulconry’s glossary, quoted above: a genit
is a woman (Genit glinde .i. ben i nglinn). The well-known colophon at the end
of the text tells the readers that they should call these women ‘demons’. One
could wonder now what this has to do with the Morrígain. The only two points of
comparison are 1) ominous laughter in a battle context and 2) supernatural
women associated with fighting.
At this point we need to pay attention to an obscure,
heavily glossed poem that accompanies the text ofThe wasting sickness of Cú Chulainn in the manuscript
margin. We read in the upper margin of Lebor na hUidre folio 50a:47:
The desire of the woman of the scaldcrow i.e. badb are her
fires i.e. spear & armour. The slaughter of a body i.e. side thereafter
Juices i.e. blood, body i.e. body/corpse under bodies i.e. under men Eyes i.e.
eyes, heads i.e. head belonging to a raven i.e. of a raven.
Joanne Findon emphasises the fact that this poem is found on
the page where an emotional poem is written, uttered by Fand, in which she says
farewell to Cú Chulainn. Findon points out that one’s eyes are, however, drawn
to the upper margin of the page first, where the scribe (M) “has boxed in the
quatrain and its glosses with dark lines, as if to highlight it particularly”.
The quatrain speaks of the desire of the scaldcrow woman, and this is glossed
by the words: ‘that is: Badb’. Findon states that the bloodthirsty desire of
the Badb in the marginal quatrain is here in fact juxtaposed with the sexual
desire of Fand in the poem in the main text. In her opinion this comparison “is
an outrageous textual distortion that completely misrepresents [Fand’s]
Otherworld nature as it is configured in this text”. Findon suggests that this
poem might be a Christian warning against fascinating Otherworld portrayals,
and especially the moving description of female desire as expressed by Fand.
Just as readers in the Middle Ages could have different
readings of the same text, so can we. Even though I admire Findon’s reading
that focuses on the contrast, I want to look at the similarities between the
Badb and Fand, and include the Morrígain in my reading. The tale is clearly a
moving love story, but there is more to it. There is a good reason why Lóeg
called Fand and Lí Ban geniti. Geniti shriek, fight, and hover above fighting
armies, inciting or frightening warriors. Some of them help Cú Chulainn by
making him more dread-inspiring in battle; others oppose him or are even
involved in his downfall.
Looking again at the role of Fand and Lí Ban in The wasting
sickness of Cú Chulainn we note that they not only overpower Cú Chulainn and
beat him up, but they also incite him to fight in the Otherworld, on the side
of Lí Ban’s husband. Schematically, Lí Ban and Fand represent: first, an
approach to Cú Chulainn in a different―bird―form; second, a threat represented
by the beating; third, an offer of sex; and fourth, an incitement to fight.
This is similar to what the Badb and the Morrígain represent for Cú Chulainn in
Táin Bó Cúailnge Recension I.
As a boy of five, Cú Chulainn is on the battlefield on a
dark night, fighting with a spectre. The Irish word is aurddrag, the term also
used for the úatha or geniti glinne that Cú Chulainn fights with in Fled
Bricrenn. The spectre overpowers him, but then the voice of the Badb from among
the corpses incites him to fight: “They wrestled then and Cú Chulainn was thrown.
He heard the Badb crying from among the corpses: “Poor stuff to make a warrior
is he who is overthrown by phantoms”.
This spectre seems to personify the terror experienced on
the battlefield. It seems as if Conchobar hints at this terror (úath) by using
the word úathbás when Cú Chulainn has found him after conquering the spectre:
‘Why have you come to the battle-field’ said Conchobar, “where you may die of
fright?”
Moreover, in the same epic text, it is the Morrígain who
approaches him in female human form with an offer of assistance in the fight
and of sex, followed by a threat and a fight when he refuses her. These
similarities make me wonder: was the quatrain perhaps added as a reminder of
other supernatural women, who are closely related to Cú Chulainn?
This comparison, moreover, highlights non-stereotypical
sides of supernatural females. The Morrígain is not only dangerous, but also
sensual. The Badb is not only an enemy but also helpful. Fand is not only
beautiful but also connected with violence. Even though we find them sometimes
lumped together in a single category as demons, yet early Irish literature with
its many voices has kept differentiation alive.The glossaries not only apply
the common denominator of demons to supernatural beings but also supply
different names and nuances for them. This seems to be another instance of the
shifting of the faces of the supernatural.
In the area of classification there appears to be some
flexibility as well. For instance, we have seen that Cormac’s Glossary brought
úatha and morrígnae together as gúdemain. In another glossary on ‘The last
Bretha Nemed or judgments of privileged (or professional) persons’, gúdemain
are explained as scald crows and women of the síd, which are then connected
with the Morrígain in a plural form in a gloss in the upper margin: Howlers,
that is: foxes or a wolf. Gudomuin (Gúdemain, false demons), that is: scald
crows or women of the síd. (In the upper margin:) false (?) howlers, that is
the false demons, the morrígna; or it is a falsehood so that the women of the
síd are not demons; it is a falsehood so that the scald crows are not demons of
hell, but demons of the air. (In the right-hand margin:) Or: the foxes double
their howls and the scald crows double their sounds/vowels.
The word gúdemain apparently needed explanation and it is
interesting to note that both marginal comments connect the term with the
previous lemma on glaídemuin. The gloss in the right-hand margin etymologises
both words as having to do with sound. Glaidomuin is explained from glaéd,
‘howl, shout, call’, and emuin, ‘pairs, twins’. Gudomuin is split up in guth,
‘vowel, sound’, and emuin, ‘pairs, twins’. The gloss in the upper margin is
concerned with classification. It is possible that the author took inspiration from
Cormac’s Glossary, because false demons are here explained as morrígna. Perhaps
this glossator also added the wolf to the explanation of howlers as foxes,
because this is the explanation of howlers in Cormac’s Glossary: Gláidemain .i.
maic tíre gláidaite .i. focerdait húalla, ‘Howlers, that is: wolves that howl;
that is: they utter wails’.
At first sight, it may seem that the glossator added a third
category to the howlers and false demons: false howlers. Demons are, however,
also infamous as producers of horrible sounds, screams and shrieks. It looks,
therefore, as if the foxes and wolves should be seen as the true howlers, and
the others perhaps as screamers but not as true howlers. The
glossator then goes on speculating about other ‘false’ classifications and
seems to suggest that women of the síd are not really demons. Scald crows,
furthermore, are demons of the air and―he seems to say―thus not really demons
either, because the true demons are located in Hell.
I have thus tried to make sense of the comments in the upper
margin, and my views remain of course tentative. There is one aspect that is
absent in my interpretation, and that is etymology. What etymological basis did
the author of the gloss in the upper margin have for connecting glaidomuin with
gudomuin other than that they appear in the same order in Cormac’s Glossary?
The only thing I can think of is that the author saw glaidomuin as consisting
of gláed, ‘cry, shout, howl’, and demain, ‘demons’, just as gúdemain was
possibly formed from gú, ‘false’, and demain, ‘demons’. Thus, the lemmata on
‘howl demons’ and ‘false demons’ would have led to an explanation starting with
‘false howlers’ in order to distinguish the howlers from the shriekers.
The classification of scald crows as demonic in Irish texts
is well known, but is it also possible to put foxes and wolves in the same
category. It suffices within the context of this study to point out that
upernatural beings, birds of prey and wild beasts are associated with demons,
because all of these may howl or shriek, and they may inhabit similar places
that are wild or deserted. We encounter collections of these creatures as an
evil omen for the battle to come in, for instance, In cath catharda, the Middle
Irish adaptation/translation of Lucan’s Civil War.
Thus, the centre of Rome is described as becoming a night
lair for wild beasts; nocturnal birds fly around at day time; phantoms and
shades from the Underworld terrify the human inhabitants at night; the Badb of
battle (a Fury in the source text) goes around, and many other abnormal
phenomena are described. The Irish text adds the loud howling of hounds and
wolves at night to the description.61 Biblical visions of destruction also
portray deserted cities, inhabited by wild beasts, birds of prey and frightening
female and male demons. There are several examples of such scenes; one of them
will be discussed below.
5. Black birds and demons
We move on now from the study of the terror of the night and
the Morrígain to the third supernatural being. The first two entities are said
to be a threat to the living woman. The supernatural being to be discussed now
is said to be a threat to the dead man. Toward the end of the poem, Fothad
announces that soon his soul will be tormented:
My riddled body must part from thee awhile,
My soul to be tortured by the black demon.
Save (for) the worship of Heaven’s King,
Love of this world is folly.
Kuno Meyer translates donn as ‘the black demon’. In a later
publication he corrects this into Donn, the proper name of an ancestral deity
of the Irish, the presumably pre-Christian Death God. As this line is
immediately followed by Fothad’s sudden insight that only the adoration of the
King of Heaven matters and love for this world is foolish, we can safely
conclude that an infernal demon is meant here by donn, which literally means ‘a
dark one’. ‘Dark’ (teimen) is also used to describe a blackbird, which is
mentioned in the final quatrain:
It is the dusky ousel that laughs
a greeting to all the faithful:
My speech, my shape are spectral –
hush, woman, do not speak to me!.
Initially, I took this description as another reference to
the dark tormentor of the soul, for lon can also signify ‘demon’. A dangerous
demon, laughing at dead people would supply a nice parallel with the terrifying
Morrígain, laughing at living people.
I have, however, come to a different conclusion. Lon means
‘demon’ in two texts only, and then it is always part of a compound, as lon
craís. This demon of gluttony is found in the Middle Irish Aislinge Meic
Conglinne and ‘The Death of King Herod’. Clearly, this is something different
from what is portrayed in our poem. The blackbird in this poem seems to represent
the biological species. Blackbirds start to sing half an hour before sunrise,
which is earlier than the other birds. Its song is, therefore, the messenger of
the start of the day. Immediately after its mention, Fothad says that his
speech and face are spectral, and―as we all know―when the day begins, phantoms
must vanish. The song of the blackbird is melodious and melancholic, but does
not resemble laughter. We should, therefore, see the laughter in the poem
symbolically, and it could help to combine this laughter with that of the
Morrígain. People doomed to go to hell will fear the sound of the blackbird,
but the faithful can enjoy it. They are protected from danger, just as those
who recite before sleep ‘the psalm for evil encounters’. Neither the terror of
the night nor the laughter of the Morrígain nor the dark demon will affect
them.
Conclusion
The supernatural beings in Reicne Fothaid Canainne overlap
to a certain extent. The terror of the night could represent a nocturnal,
frightening female, from Irish or Jewish tradition, and the term might also
hint at the Morrígain. The Morrígain threatens the woman on the battlefield; a
dark one threatens Fothad as an infernal tormentor. The laughter of the
Morrígain is both paralleled by and contrasted with the laughter of the dark
blackbird. Diverse details are visible in the imagery of the supernaturals,
even though the category ‘demonic’ serves as an umbrella. It could very well be
that another demon hovers in the background of this imagery: the Jewish Lilith,
seducer of men, killer of babies. Like the Morrígain, she is a nocturnal
terror, she has long hair and she howls. She lives in deserted places, among
other demons, birds of prey and wild beasts. In this habitat she is described
in the Book of Isaiah. Jerome replaced Lilith by Lamia in his Latin translation
of the Bible: ’And demons will meet ass-centaurs and the hairy creature shall
cry out, the one to the other. There the Lamia has lain down and found rest for
herself.
A gloss on this verse in Vatican Library, Codex Reginae Lat.
215, written in 876 or 877, ascribed to Eriugena, explains Lamia as ‘the
Morrígain’: Lamia is a monster in the form of a woman, that is: a morrígain.
Lilith, the terror of the night according to some Jewish thinkers, is thus
equated with the Morrígain, who seems to be described as another nocturnal
terror in the Old Irish poem Reicne Fothaid Canainne.
Jacqueline Borsje.
Full article: here.
