An té a thruaill na h-òrain oirnn

Thuirt mi rium fhìn: “Bha siud math. Fiosrachail. Mo chreach, nise tha agam ri faclan na galla fhéin a leughadh. Bidh seo riaslach.”

Riaslach cha robh è. Bha e ’na thoileachadh o thùs gu éis. Tha Marsaili, a rugadh ann an 1857, ag innse mu a h-athair David Kennedy (1825–86) a bha ’na Khenneth McKellar ri linn. Anns na h-òrain Albannach, cha robh duin’ air thoiseach air. Bha aon deug de chloinn aige, cóignear ghillean, sianar chaileag, uile ’nan seinneadairean. The Sound of Music? B’ eòlach do sheanair air.

Bha de mhiann aig Dàibhidh a chuid òran a thoirt gu eilthirich Albannach air feadh an t-saoghail, ’s tha a’ chiad leth de A Life of Song làn chunntaisean air sgrìoban gu Astràilia, New Zealand, Afraga a-Deas, Canada ’s na Stàitean, cho math ri cuimhneachain dhrùidhteach air foghlam “ceart” ciùil anns an Eadailt.

Tha an dàrna leth mu Innse Gall agus “òrain Innse Gall”. Seo far a bheil e connspaideach. An uair a bha Somhairle MacGill-Eain a’ fàs suas eadar an dà chogadh, bha an còrnair beag de dh’inntinn an t-sluaigh a tha ga lìonadh an-diugh le BBC Alba, Radio nan Gaidheal agus “Ùr-Sgeul” air a thoirt suas le The Songs of the Hebrides – na leabhraichean aig Marsaili. Agus seall na thuirt e mu’n deidhinn.

Chì mi feasgar fann nan Gaidheal,

leus frainich bhuaithe ruigheachd nèimhe,

ach chunnaic mi NicUalraig-Fhriseal

a’ truailleadh ciùil le flùr a’ phris ud . . .

Agus bhiodh gach eile réidh ann

nam bu mhise Kennedy-Fraser:

shnìomhainn ceòl air mhór-thruailleadh

a dhèanadh cagarsaich ’nan cluasan.

An iomradh dhaibh ort, gun teagamh,

dhèanainn sìoda de do chreagan,

dhèanainn ceòl sìthe den Fhuathas,

dh’òlainn á Tobar nan Uaislean . . .

Soraidh le NicUalraig-Fhriseal,

bean uasal ise gun chron;

spoth i ar Ceòlraidh lùthmhor

’s chuir i siùcar air an lot . . .

Càrnar leam tùis mar dh’fheumar

air altairean Khennedy-Fraser . . .

Ach bha Marsaili ’na drochaid eadar a h-athair ann an 1862 agus Julie Fowlis (can) ann an 2012. Sa chaibideil ‘Vocal Study in Paris and Gaelic Songs (1882)’ thig sinn aghaidh ri aghaidh ri diofar iongantach eadar dà chànan chudromach, Eadailtis agus Gàidhlig. “Mathilde Marchesi, at that time probably the most celebrated maestra del canto in the world … was famed for turning out coloratura singers, such as Ilma de Murska, and especially for their technique of the note picchettate order (i.e. hammered notes); and I remember one, a very clever coloratura singer, being so nervous before an audition that Marchesi, taking her by the shoulders where she stood on a little raised platform, shook her, in the end shaking her own fist at her. It takes courage to be a public singer.”

Agus an ceann duilleig na dhà: “I asked myself why I had never tried singing in my grandfather’s tongue. For my maternal grandfather, Charles Fraser, had spoken only Gaelic in his youth. But he himself would not then be drawn – Gaelic had been so scoffed at in his early manhood: I had to look elsewhere for help.”

Mar sin, thug i graphophone leatha a dh’Éirisgeigh ann an 1905. Fhuair i puirt ach dh’fheumadh i na faclan. Dh’aontaich Mgr Ailein an toirt dhi ach an uair sin dh’eug e. Cha bhi fios againn gu bràth dé cho cudromach ’s a tha sin.

’Na àite fhuair i Coinneach MacLeòid, a bha 14 bliadhna na b’ òige na ì, agus chum i ris a’ chùrsa aice fhéin. “My English words to the ‘Sheiling Song’ and the ‘Mull Fisher’ were both inspired by the first line of the original Gaelic verses, but follow these no further. In many cases where the song-words are new they are not so new after all, since they have been, as Kenneth Macleod himself puts it, distilled from the old lore. Some such process must inevitably take place in any renascence of traditional national song, especially when, like ours, it has been spilt almost as badly as the ‘Humpty Dumpty’ of nursery rhyme, and now all the King’s horses and all the King’s men cannot put it together again.”

Nach annasach mar a thuirt i spilt. Saoil na sgrìobh i broken ’s na chuir i a peann troimhe?

Ge suarach leinne an leisgeul, cha robh Marsaili ’na sgoilear ach ’na h-ealainiche. Cleas Shomhairle fhéin, thog i “seann” rud agus rinn i “ùr” e. “I had so learned to dissociate vocal melody from pianoforte framework (in my lectures) that I was ready now to recognize the value of this stark, strong, Hebridean stuff – a value which, in some cases, might otherwise have escaped me …

“For so unaccustomed are we modern music-lovers to melody minus harmonic interpretation that I have myself known cases of total inability to sense melodic beauty as such, without the support and formal suggestion of harmony … These many years devoted to showing what the great song-writers could do in their settings of a simple vocal line of melody were surely my best apprenticeship for the task of trying to blend traditional melody with appropriate harmonic setting.”

Nuair a sgrìobh e na sgrìobh e, cha do bhuail e air Somhairle gun robh seanchas ann, seanchas nam boireannach, cho math ris an dà sheanchas mhór a b’ aithne dhàsan, “clas” agus a’ Ghàidhlig. Chaidh Marsaili fhàgail ’na bantrach le dithist chloinne aig aois 33. Bha aice ri bith-beò a dhèanamh ’s chleachd i na gibhtean a dh’fhàg a h-athair aice ’s an trèanadh a fhuair i. Cha robh cosnadh aice ach ceòl. Chan fhaodadh i dhol gu oilthigh neo bhith ’na gàidsear, ’na sagart, ’na ministear. ’S tha Ahlander ag ainmeachadh nithean eile san robh i an sàs, the suffrage movement, her work as a parish councillor and her support of Scottish nationalism, a chum i air cùl na còmhla san leabhar.

Saoilidh mise gu bheil dà ghuth aig Marsaili ’s i bruidhinn air daoine, “feum” agus “bòidhchead”. Seo eisimpleir de gach seòrsa, “feum” an toiseach. Mu Éirisgeach: “He sang it with a peculiar woodwind-like quality of voice, which suggested a theme for orchestral treatment.”

’S mar bhòidhchead, seall na sgrìobh i mu Penny Dhòmhnallach, Mrs O’Henley, ann an Uibhist. “As the croft was but newly taken up, the cottage was not yet built. We saw a great cairn of dry peats burning above a huge grey boulder, and were told that ‘by to-morrow the rock would be split by the heat of the smouldering turf, and be ready for use in the building of the walls’. Meantime, for the summer months, the mother and bairns were being housed in a freshly put together turf sheiling, a most primitive shelter, but wherever this beautiful woman sat with a baby on her knee, there you had a living picture of the Madonna and Child.

“She was sitting by the peat fire, surrounded by her bairns, when we entered; and we sat on the little three-legged stool by her fire as she crooned songs to her baby and to us. This ‘Mermaid’s Croon’ was the last she sang, and I listened with delight and astonishment as she gave the little syncopated lullaby with the perfect feeling for rhythm which comes apparently from a lifelong association of music with labour.”

Tuigidh sibh a-nist car son a bhreithnich Urras Leabhraichean nan Eilean gun robh e ceart A Life of Song a thoirt a-mach a-rithist.