The house in this particular instance happens to be round, but it might equally be oval or quadrangular. The high-pitched roof is supported by one, two, or more poles, across which runs a beam, from which hang lamps. Along the walls are ranged a series of cubicles or sleeping compartments, each screened off from the rest of the room by a wooden partition, eight or nine feet high, the various compartments thus being open at the top. (We have seen that there were outside the house a number of separate sleeping-chambers, entered by separate doors. But, except in a very large and important mansion, the chief provision for sleeping would be these little cubicles ranged round the wall of the chief dwelling-apartment. Of course, in the cabin of a peasant there would not be even these, and all would sleep as best they could in the same room). Each cubicle contains a bed for one, two, or three persons, the better beds being elegantly curtained; also a rack on which to hang clothes. Outside each cubicle, attached to the wooden partition, is a seat facing into the central apartment.
The fire is placed near the centre of the house, and round it are grouped a number of moveable seats. There are also three or four wooden tables in the apartment, with low seats or couches on which to recline when at meals.
Let us imagine for the nonce that we are foreigners of some distinction. Our host is not a chief, but a mere bó-aire; yet he is a man of considerable wealth and of not a little culture. He will do the honours of his house as punctiliously as would Meadhbh and Aileall at Rathcroghan or Cairbre at Tara. As a preliminary to dinner, we are invited to refresh ourselves by a bath. (The ancient Irish had a veritable passion for bathing: every child was taught to swim, and a gambol in the river or lake was part of the recreation of every day. Indeed, in those times in Ireland swimming was a necessary accomplishment: the ancient Irish never built stone bridges, and in the absence of a ford or a causeway swimming was the ordinary mode of crossing a river. Moreover, bathing at home was a daily practice, at least amongst the middle and upper classes. It was the custom to wash only the hands on rising; and in the late afternoon, just before dinner, a bath was indulged in. The bath was a large tub or vat called dabhach.) Suppose we decline to bathe, we shall at least be pressed to have our feet washed: and, this ceremony performed, we sit down to dinner. To be accurate, we do not so much sit down, as lie down. For the tables are very low, and the seats are long, low couches on which, as amongst the Romans, the guests recline. Our sandals or other foot-covering are removed just before dinner by an attendant.
The table is plentifully spread with an abundance of good cheer. Of flesh meat, pork is the favourite, but there is beef, mutton, and even venison in plenty. The meat is boiled, roast, or broiled much as it is at present. Broth figures largely in the meal, and there are ‘kitchens’ (annlann is the Irish word) of onions, garlic, kale, cress, and other herbs. These come from the lubhghort or kitchen-garden, which we might have seen behind the lios in our passage towards the house. White-meats of various kinds,—new milk, buttermilk, butter, cheese, and eggs—are used in abundance. Honey figures largely in the menu. The drinks, in addition to milk, are such light intoxicants as ale, brewed for the most part from barley; mead, a delicate and delicious drink made chiefly from honey; and wine, which is, of course, imported. Uisge beathadh, or whiskey, was not invented for many centuries after the period we are dealing with.
The majority of the table-vessels are made of wood, beech-wood being the commonest material; but we notice that the best vessels are of yew. There are corns or drinking horns fashioned from bullock’s horn, but the favourite drinking-vessel is the well-known wooden meadar. We eat from platters and use knives, but no forks: dinner-forks, as an invention, are only a few centuries old. Men and women sit at table together; and all join freely in the conversation.
Dinner over, our host invites us to visit the grianán or sunny chamber of the women folk. This apartment, as its name implies, is invariably placed in the brightest part of the dwelling. Often the grianán is a separate house altogether; but in the present instance, as is frequently the case, it is a raised apartment, placed in front over the common sitting-room, immediately above the door. Here the ladies of the house sit and work; here the daughters and foster-daughters of the bó-aire are trained in all the useful and ornamental arts suited to their station in life. Here they are taught to prize the six gifts of perfect womanhood; and these, according to the old Irish, were the gift of beauty, the gift of voice, the gift of sweet speech, the gift of needlework, the gift of wisdom, and the gift of chastity. It was the universal custom in ancient Ireland for fathers and mothers to send their children to be fostered in the home of some friend or relative; and the foster-children lived in their adopted home precisely on the same footing as the children of the family. The old tales give us many delightful glimpses of the life of the grianán, with its large family of young girls, sisters and foster-sisters, living together in amity. The most memorable and beautiful is that which we gain of the home life of Emer, the future spouse of Cuchulainn, in the tale known as the Wooing of Emer.
It is now late evening. The tables in the main apartment have been cleared away; the lamps which hang from the cross-beam are lit, and so are candles made of rushes dipped many times into hot grease. The folk gather round the fire, just as they are wont to do in our own day, in Irish-speaking homes. A seanchaidhe drops in, and another who has a store of old songs; and just such another night of song and sgéalaidheacht, of seanchus and comhradh, is passed happily away as we have all of us spent by some remembered fireside in the Gaedhealtacht. All too soon comes the signal to retire to rest. Our hosts conducts us to our cubicle (imda), where our bed—fortunately a lige cumtachta or curtained bed, with a comfortable dergud or mattress resting on the substantial tolg (bedstead), and furnished with linen sheets, blankets (setigi), a quilt (colcaid), and a pillow (adhart)—invites us to slumber. With the ‘slan codlata’ of our kindly bó-aire ringing in our ears we sink to rest; and so ends our first evening in an Irish homestead of the days of Meadhbh.