St Moluag’s Little Finger

In 1870, Alexander Carmichael recorded a folktale about two of the most highly venerated saints in Highland culture, Moluag and Calum Cille (Columba). In a race to the island of Lismore, Moluag cut off his little finger and threw it ashore in order to be the first to touch the island. Could this be what Port na Lùdaig - The Little Finger Tune (PS 240) is about? As the musical use of the little finger in this pibroch is unremarkable, the legend offers a better explanation for the title.

I came across this folktale on the Carmichael Watson Project blog:

Moluag (530–592) was an Irish missionary, educated and trained in Bangor, who came to Scotland and is believed to have founded over 100 communities during his lifetime, the most significant being at Lismore, Rosemarkie and Mortlach. His name has been recorded in Irish as Lugdach and Lughaidh, and in Latin as Lugidus, Lugādius and Luanas. His name also often appears with the diminutive of endearment – Moluoc. A popular belief is that his name is derived from mo ludag – my little finger – but this surely is based on the circumstances by which he claimed Lismore (noted below).

He was a contemporary of Columcill and the following account of how Moluag came to settle on Lismore provides an insight into their relationship:

After looking around him in Argyll, S. Moluag resolved to settle in Lismore – the green island in Loch Linnhe. S. Columba heard of his determination and resolved to forestall him. According to the Gaelic verses (Carmichael), which have been passed down from lip to lip for centuries, as S. Moluag approached Lismore he beheld a boat containing S. Columba making for the shore at highest speed. S. Columba’s craft was the faster, and when S. Moluag saw that he was going to lose, he seized an axe, cut off his little finger, threw it on the beach, and cried out “My flesh and blood have first possession of the island, and I bless it in the name of the Lord.”

This version was told by Rev. Archibald B. Scott in 1911 (see below, p. 313). Regarding the importance of Lismore, Carmichael notes (Carmina Gadelica, iii, p. 4):

What is now the parish church of Lismore was in pre-Presbyterian times the chancel of the Cathedral Church of the See of Argyll and the Isles, and was called Eaglais Mhór Mo-Luag, the Great Church of Mo-Luag.

Carmichael was born in Lismore and collected this story from a kinsman on one of his trips home. This is what he recorded in his notebook in 1870 (CW106/2, folio 5r), the earliest source that I have found:

Friday 2 Sep. 1870 from Oban to Lismore.
Mr Duncan Carmichael in the boat who told me Calumcille Maoluag and Ordhean were brothers
M[aoluag] & C[alum Cille] were making for Lismore & each try[ing] who sh[ou]ld be ashore first M[aoluag] put his finger on the tot [tobhta – rower’s bench] & cut it off and when near shore threw it ashore say[ing] Tha m fhuil us m fheoil eir tir agus s lioms an t eilean [Tha m’ fhuil is m’ fheòil air tìr agus ’s leams’ an t-eilean – My blood and flesh have landed and the island is mine!] & then Maol[uag] got Lismore & Cal[um Cille] went to Iona (Ithona).

This was published on the Carmichael Watson Project blog in 2011 and I am grateful to Ronald Black and Allan MacDonald for helping me with the editorial explanations in square brackets. Ronald explained the variant spellings of Columba’s name as follows:

The correct Scottish form in the nominative case is Calum Cille and that is what I always use. The correct Irish form in the nominative case is Colm Cille. Other forms that you find are oblique cases, garblings, slight anglicisations etc. And you will often find what looks suspiciously like the “Irish” form in Scotland, because of course it is also the “Classical Gaelic” form.

Two elaborated versions of the story are found in the following publications:

Carmichael, Alexander, ‘The Barons of Bachuill’, The Celtic Review, v (1909), pp. 356–75.
Scott, Rev. Archibald B., ‘St Moluag and his Work’, Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, xxvii (paper read 9 March 1911, published 1915), pp. 310–323.

Rev. Scott assembles substantial evidence that the rivalry between Moluag and Callum Cille was not merely fictional. Moluag seems to have done more to Christianise Pictland than Calum Cille and was equally active in the Hebrides, founding churches in Tiree, Mull, Trotternish, Raasay, Pabbay, Lewis and Morvern. From the perspective of Gaelic-speaking pipers, Moluag was probably Calum Cille’s equal. It certainly seems plausible that this vivid tale should give rise to a pibroch - especially given the legend attached to The Red Hand in the MacDonalds’ Arms (PS 252):

The Clan Donald hero of the story sprang to the prow of his galley, and with a stroke of his dirk cut off his hand, and cast it upon the shore, thus obtaining the lands for himself and his descendants. To this day the crest of the MacDonalds is the bleeding hand. (History of the Clan Donald, 1920, pp 22–23)

We’re Playing It Wrong… (No. 8)

[The title of this series is admittedly provocative, but also tongue-in-cheek. After all the times other people have told me, ‘you are playing it wrong’, I thought it would be fun to turn the tables a bit. ]

So,

think you know how Cholla Mo Rùin (PS 201 - The Piper’s Warning to His Master) is supposed to go?

Perhaps you think something like this:

Really good, right? I mean: 1) Fay Henderson, and 2) Donald MacDonald version. Very well done, and stuff you don’t get to hear very often. We really should encourage this type of performance, and not just at specialized Quaichs - we should hear them everywhere!

You can a lot of excellent versions on the Internet of this great tune. (Check out Jack Lee’s version here, for example.)

But now, just listen to Mary Morrison sing it at the website Tobar an Dualchais

Suddenly, the tune takes on certain urgency, doesn’t it?

Makes one ponder the possibilities for exploration. Grab a copy and try to play it at her speed, with her urgency. It’s a very different, and very exciting experience.

 

Yet more discoveries - MacDonald Cadences

The more time spent with these primary sources, the information subtly pops out at you.

Case in point: there is some room for discussion regarding the interpretation of cadences. We looked at them several times before (here, here, here, here, and here). From our perspective here at the Club, they represent extremely fluid and flexible embellishments that can be interpreted by the performer in ways allowing for a large range of interpretive expression: from quick, to tripping, to elongated and held.

Of course, others have long argued that the way the cadence is performed today also has a very long history. This is clearly true, as we can see from numerous sources: certainly Angus MacKay very much approved of the held-E, standardizing it in his scores as a the dominant interpretive expression for a cadence. Check out these crahinin examples:

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But we also see held cadences in Peter Reid:

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and even the anonymous transcriber of the Hannay-MacAuslan collection:

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The question is: how frequently was this the case? If all we can was Angus MacKay’s writing, one would be inclined to assume this was very much the dominant interpretive form.

But turning to other scores, it is not so clear. Donald MacDonald likes his cadence runs. His tunes are full of them:

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Hannay-MacAuslan and Peter Reid do as well.

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But it is unclear whether their notation was literal when it indicates even tempo runs, or whether there was already an idiomatic presumption regarding it’s “actual” performative style.

In the absence of evidence one way or the other, no one perspective could definitively state their case, but neither could they be disproven.

Until now:

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This is from Donald MacDonald’s manuscript. Note the fermata under the middle E of the second cadence.

It appears that this mark is original to the manuscript (not a later emendation). It therefore also appears that the transcriber was fully capable of and willing to capture this particular style of expression when he desired to do so - as evidence here.

It is also therefore possible to conclude: in the absence of a fermata (or indication in the staff itself), the E was not intended to be held.

There was no assumption of an “idiomatic” interpretation of the run - if the E were meant to be held, it would have been indicated as such.

And it was.

Clearly.

Some additional thoughts for pondering:

  1. This confirms the validity of the approach made here at the Alt Pibroch Club: that these manuscripts be taken as empirical evidence of specific stylistic choices of performers as captured by the transcribers.
  2. These transcribers were consummate musicians and musical theorists fully capable of retaining the quality of the performance they knew and heard. There is no empirical reason to doubt their scores.
  3. The insistence that notation cannot capture the living expression of musical performance may be true, but that only means it is up to the performer to provide the interpretation using all the tools at her disposal (rubato, expression).
  4. If there is any question about the accuracy of a score, that may be only due to the canonization and interpretive standardization processes of the last century, in particular. The plethora of interpretive options captured in the original scores themselves suggest remarkable differences, and the question of their accuracy only comes from our own desire to make them conform to our standards.

It appears that if Donald MacDonald wanted to cadence run to be a held-E cadence, he would have done (and in fact did) so.