* M’Dermot, Prince of Coolavin, never suffered his wife tosit at table with him; although his daughter-in-law waspermitted to that honour, as she was the descendant from theroyal family of the O’Connor.
“And do you think the son of Lord M———— would have no chance of obtaining an audience from the Prince?â€
“What the young gentleman that they say is come to M———— house? why about as much chance as his father, but by my conscience, that’s a bad one.â€
“And your young Princess, is she as implacable as her father?â€
“Why, faith! I cannot well tell you what the Lady Glorvina is, for she is like nothing upon the face of God’s creation but herself. I do not know how it comes to pass, that every mother’s soul of us loves her better nor the Prince; ay, by my conscience, and fear her too; for well may they fear her, on the score of her great learning, being brought up by Father John, the chaplain, and spouting Latin faster nor the priest of the parish: and we may well love her, for she is a saint upon earth, and a greatphysicianerto boot; curing all the sick and maimed for twenty miles round. Then she is so proud, that divil a one soul of the quality will she visit in the whole barony, though she will sit in a smoky cabin for hours together, to talk to the poor: besides all this, she will sit for hours at her Latin and Greek, after the family are gone to bed, and yet you will see her up with the dawn, running like a doe about the rocks; her fine yellow hair streaming in the wind, for all the world like a mermaid.
“Och! my blessing light on her every day she sees the light, for she is the jewel of a child.â€
“A child! say you!â€
“Why, to be sure I think her one; for many a time I carried her in these arms, and taught her to bless herself in Irish; but she is no child either, for as one of our old Irish songs says, ‘Upon her cheek we see love’s letter sealed with a damask rose.’ * But if your Honour has any curiosity you may judge for yourself; for matins and vespers are celebrated every day in the year, in the old chapel belonging to the castle, and the whole family attend.â€
* This is a line of a song of one Dignum, who composed inhis native language, but could neither read nor write norspoke any language but his own. “I have seen,†said thecelebrated Edmund Burke (who in his boyish days had knownhim) “some of his effusions translated into English, but wasassured, by judges, that they fell far short of theoriginals; yet they contained some graces, ‘snatched beyondthe reach of ark’ “—Vide Life of Burke.
“And are strangers also permitted?â€
“Faith and it’s themselves that are; but few indeed trouble them, though none are denied. I used to get to mass myself sometimes, but it is now too far to walk for me.â€
This was sufficient, I waited to hear no more, but repaid my communicative companion for his information, and rode off, having inquired the road to Inismore from the first man I met.
It would be vain, it would be impossible to describe the emotion which the simple tale of this old man awakened. The descendant of a murderer! The very scoundrel steward of my father revelling in the property of a man who shelters his aged head beneath the ruins of those walls where his ancestors bled under the uplifted sword of mine.
Why this, you will say, is the romance of a novel-read schoolboy. Are we not all, the little and the great, descended from assassins; was not the first born man a fratricide? and still, on the field of unappeased contention, does not “man the murderer, meet the murderer, man?â€
Yes, yes, ‘tis all true; humanity acknowledges it and shudders. But still I wishmyfamily had never possessed an acre of ground in this country, or possessed it on other terms. I always knew the estate fell into our family in the civil wars of Cromwell, and, in the world’s language, was the well-earned meed of my progenitor’s valour; but I seemed to hear it now for the first time.
I am glad, however, that this old Irish chieftain is such a ferocious savage; that the pity his fate awakens is qualified by aversion for his implacable, irascible disposition. I am glad his daughter isred headed, a pedant, and a romp; that she spouts Latin like the priest of the parish, and cures sore fingers; that she avoids genteel society, where her ideal rank would procure her no respect, and her unpolished ignorance, by force of contrast, make her feel her real inferiority; that she gossips among the poor peasants, over whom she can reign liege Lady; and, that she has been brought up by a jesuitical priest, who has doubtlessly rendered her as bigoted and illiberal as himself. All this soothes my conscientous throes of feeling and compassion; for oh! if this savage chief was generous and benevolent, as he is independent and spirited; if this daughter was amiable and intelligent, as she must be simple and unvitiated! But I dare not pursue the supposition, It is better as it is.
You would certainly never guess that theVilla di Marino, from whence I date the continuation of my letter, was simply afisherman’s huton the seacoast, half way between the Lodge and Castle of Inismore, that is, seven miles distant from each. Determined on attending vespers at Inismore, I was puzzling my brain to think where or how I should pass the night, when this hut caught my eye, and I rode up to it to inquire if there was any inn in the neighbourhood, where achevalier errantcould shelter his adventurous head for a night; but I was informed the nearest inn was fifteen miles distant, so I bespoke a little fresh straw, and a clean blanket which hung airing on some fishing tackle outside the door of thismarine hotel, in preference to riding so far for a bed, at so late an hour as that in which the vespers would be concluded.
This mine host of the Atlantic promised me, pointing to a little board suspended over the door, on which was written:
“Good Dry Lodging.â€
My landlord, however, convinced me his hotel afforded something better than good dry lodging; for entreating me to alight, till a shower passed over which was beginning to fall, I entered the hut, and found his wife, a sturdy lad their eldest son, and two naked little ones, seated at their dinner, and enjoying such a feast, as Apicius, who sailed to Africa from Rome to eat good oysters, would gladly have voyaged from Rome to Ireland to have partaken of; for they were absolutely dining on an immense turbot (whose fellow-sufferers were floundering in a boat that lay anchored near the door.) A most cordial invitation on their part, and a most willing compliance on mine, was the ceremony of a moment; and never did an English alderman on turtle day, or Roman emperor on lampreys and peacocks’ livers, make a more delicious repast, than the chance guest of these good people, on their boiled turbot and roasted potatoes, which was quaffed down by the pure phalernian of a neighbouring spring.
Having learnt that the son was going with the compeers of the demolished turbot to Bally————,
I took out my little escritoire to write you an account of the first adventure of my chivalrous tour; while one of spring’s most grateful sunny show ers, is pattering on the leaves of the only tree that shades this simple dwelling, and myRosinanteis nibbling a scanty dinner from the patches of vegetation that sprinkle the surrounding cliffs. Adieu! the vesper hour arrives. In all “my orisons thy sins shall be remembered.†The spirit of adventure wholly possesses me, and on the dusky horizon of life, some little glimmering of light begins to dawn.
Encore adieu.
Castle of Inismore, Barony of ————.
Ay, ‘tis even so—point your glasses—and rub your eyes, ‘tis all one; here I am, and here I am likely to remain for some time, but whether a prisoner of war, taken up on a suspicion of espionage, or to be offered as an appeasing sacrifice to themanesof the old Prince of Inismore, you must for a while suspend your patience to learn.
According to thecarte du payslaid out for me by the fisherman, I left the shore and crossed the summit of a mountain that “battled o’er the deep,†and which after an hour’s ascension, I found sloped almost perpendicularly down to a bold and rocky coast, its base terminating in a peninsula, that advanced for near half a mile into the ocean. Towards the extreme western point of this peninsula, which was wildly romantic beyond all description, arose a vast and grotesque pile of rocks, which at once formed the site and fortifications of the noblest mass of ruins on which my eye ever rested. Grand even in desolation, and magnificent in decay—it was the Castle of Inismore. The setting sun shone brightly on its mouldering turrets, and the waves which bathed its rocky basis, reflected on their swelling bosoms the dark outlines of its awful ruins. *
* Those who have visited the Castle of Dunluce, near theGiant’s Causeway, may, perhaps, have some idea of itsstriking features in this rude draught of the Castle ofInismore.
As I descended the mountain’s brow I observed that the little isthmus which joined the peninsula to the main land had been cut away, and a curious danger-threatening bridge was rudely thrown across the intervening gulf, flung from the rocks on one side to an angle of the mountain on the other, leaving a yawning chasm of some fathoms deep beneath the foot of the wary passenger. This must have been a very perilous pass in the days of civil warfare; and in the intrepidity of my daring ancestor, I almost forgot his crime. Amidst the interstices of the rocks which skirted the shores of this interesting peninsula, patches of the richest vegetation were to be seen, and the trees which sprung wildly among its venerable ruins, were bursting into all the vernal luxuriancy of spring. In the course of my descent, several cabins of a better description than I had yet seen, appeared scattered beneath the shelter of the mountain’s innumerable projections; while in the air and dress of the inhabitants (which the sound of my horse’s feet brought to their respective doors,) I evidently perceived a something original and primitive, I had never noticed before in this class of persons here.
They appeared to me, I know not why, to be in their holiday garb, and their dress, though grotesque and coarse, was cleanly and characteristic. I observed that round the heads of the elderly dames were folded several wreaths of white or coloured linen, * and others had hand kerchiefs ** lightly folded round their brows, and curiously fastened under the chin; while the young wore their hair fastened up with wooden bodkins. They were all enveloped in large shapeless mantles of blue frieze, and most of them had a rosary hanging on their arm, from whence I inferred they were on the point of attending vespers at the chapel of Inismore.
* “The women’s ancient headdress so perfectly resembles thatof the Egyptian Isis, that it cannot be doubted but that themodes of Egypt were preserved among the Irish.â€â€”Walker onthe Ancient Irish dress, p. 62.** These handkerchiefs they call “Binnogues,†it is a remnantof a very ancient mode.
I alighted at the door of a cabin a few paces distant from the Alpine bridge, and entreated a shed for my horse, while I performed my devotions. The man to whom I addressed myself, seemed the only one of several who surrounded me that understood English, and appeared much edified by my pious intention, saying, “that God would prosper my Honour’s journey, and that I was welcome to a shed for my horse, and a night’s lodging for myself into the bargain.†He then offered to be my guide, and as we crossed the drawbridge, he told me I was out of luck by not coming earlier, for that high mass had been celebrated that morning for the repose of the soul of a Prince of Inismore, who had been murdered on this very day of the month. “And when this day comes round,†he added, “we all attend dressed in our best; for my part, I never wear my poor old grandfather’sberradbut on the like occasion,†taking off a curious cap of a conical form, which he twirled round his hand and regarded with much satisfaction. *
* A few years back, Hugh Dugan, a peasant of the county ofKilkenny, who affected the ancient Irish dress, seldomappeared without his berrad.
By heavens! as I breathed this region of superstition, so strongly was I infected, that my usual scepticism was scarcely proof against my inclination to mount my horse and gallop off, as I shudderingly pronounced, “I am then entering the castle of Inismore on the anniversary of that day on which my ancestors took the life of its venerable Prince!â€
You see, my good friend, how much we are the creatures of situation and circumstance, and with what pliant servility the mind resigns itself to the impressions of the senses, or the illusions of the imagination.
We had now reached the ruined cloisters of the chapel, I paused to examine their curious but dilapidated architecture when my guide, hurrying me on, said, “if I did not quicken my pace, I should miss getting a good view of the Prince,†who was just entering by a door opposite to that we had passed through. Behold me then mingling among a group of peasantry, and, like them, straining my eyes to that magnet which fascinated every glance.
And sure, fancy, in her boldest flight, never gave to the fairy vision of poetic dreams, a combination of images more poetically fine, more strikingly picturesque, or more impressively touching. Nearly one half of the chapel of Inismore has fallen into decay, and the ocean breeze as it rushed through the fractured roof, wafted the torn banners of the family which hung along its dismantled walls. The red beams of the sinking sun shone on the glittering tabernacle which stood on the altar, and touched with their golden light the sacerdotal vestments of the two officiating priests, who ascended its broken steps at the moment that the Prince and his family entered.
The first of this most singular and interesting group, was the venerable Father John, the chaplain. Religious enthusiasm never gave to the fancied form of the first of the patriarchs, a countenance of more holy expression or divine resignation; a figure more touching by its dignified simplicity, or an air more beneficently mild, more meekly good. He was dressed in his pontificals, and, with his eyes bent to the earth, his hands spread upon his breast, he joined his coadjutors.
What a contrast to this saintly being now struck my view; a form almost gigantic in stature, yet gently thrown forward by evident infirmity; limbs of herculean mould, and a countenance rather furrowed by the inroads of vehement passions, than the deep trace of years. Eyes still emanating the ferocity of an unsubdued spirit, yet tempered by a strong trait of benevolence; which, like a glory, irradiated a broad expansive brow, a mouth on which even yet the spirit of convivial enjoyment seemed to hover, though shaded by two large whiskers on the upper lip, * which still preserved their ebon hue; while time or grief had bleached the scattered hairs which hung their snows upon the manly temple. The drapery which covered this striking figure was singularly appropriate, and, as I have since been told, strictly conformable to the ancient costume of the Irish nobles.
* “I have been confidently assured, that the granfather ofthe present Rt. Hon. John O’Neal, (great grandfather to thepresent Lord O’Neal) the elegant and accomplished owner ofShane’s Castle, wore his beard after the prohibited Irishmode.â€â€”Walker, p. 62.
The only part of the under garment visible, was the ancient Irishtruis, which closely adhering to the limbs from the waist to the ancle, includes the pantaloon and hose, and terminates in a buskin not dissimilar to the Romanperones. A triangular mantle of bright scarlet cloth, embroidered and fringed round the edges, fell from his shoulders to the ground, and was fastened at the breast with a large circular golden brooch, of a workmanship most curiously beautiful; round his neck hung a golden collar, which seemed to denote the wearer of some order of knighthood, probably hereditary in his family; a dagger, called askiene(for my guide explained every article of the dress to me,) was sheathed in his girdle, and was discerned by the sunbeam that played on its brilliant haft. And as he entered the chapel, he removed from his venerable head a cap or berrad, of the same form as that I had noticed with my guide, but made of velvet, richly embroidered.
The chieftain moved with dignity—yet with difficulty—and his colossal, but infirm frame, seemed to claim support from a form so almost impalpably delicate, that as it floated on the gaze, it seemed like the incarnation of some pure ethereal spirit, which a sigh, too roughly breathed, would dissolve into its kindred air; yet to this sylphid elegance of spheral beauty was united all that symmetricalcontourwhich constitutes the luxury of human loveliness. This scarcely “mortal mixture of earth’s mould,†was vested in a robe of vestal white, which was enfolded beneath the bosom with a narrow girdle embossed with precious stones.
From the shoulder fell a mantle of scarlet silk, fastened at the neck with a silver bodkin, while the fine turned head was enveloped in a veil of point lace, bound round the brow with a band or diadem, ornamented with the same description of jewels as encircled her arms. *
* This was, with a little variation, the general costume ofthe female noblesse of Ireland from a very early period. Inthe fifteenth century the veil was very prevalent, and wastermed fillag, or scarf; the Irish ladies, like those ofancient and modern Greece, seldom appearing. As the veilmade no part of the Celtic costume, its origin was probablymerely oriental.The great love of ornaments betrayed by the Irish ladies ofother times, “the beauties of the heroes of old,†art thusdescribed by a quaint and ancient author:—“Their necks arehung with chains and carkanets—their arms wreathed withmany bracelets.â€
Such was thefigureof the Princess of Inis-more! But oh! not once was the face turned round towards that side where I stood. And when I shifted my position, the envious veil intercepted the ardent glance which eagerly sought the fancied charms it concealed: for was it possible to doubt the face would not “keep the promise that the form had made.â€
The group that followed was grotesque beyond all powers of description. The ancient bard, whose long white beard
“Descending, swept his aged breast,â€
the incongruous costume—half modern, half antique, of the bare footed domestics, the ostensible steward, who closed the procession—and above all, the dignified importance of thenurse, who took the lead in it immediately after her young lady; her air, form, countenance, and dress, were indeed so singularly fantastic andoutre, that the genius of masquerade might have adopted her figure as the finest model of grotesque caricature.
Conceive for a moment a form whose longitude bore no degree of proportion to her latitude; dressed in a short jacket of brown cloth, with loose sleeves from the elbow to the wrist, made of red camblet striped with green, and turned up with a broad cuff—a petticoat of scarlet frieze, covered by an apron of green serge, longitudinally striped with scarlet tape, and sufficiently short to betray an ancle that sanctioned all the libels ever uttered against the ancles of the Irish fair—true national brogues set off her blue worsted stockings, and her yellow hair, dragged over a high roll, was covered on the summit with a little coiff, over which was flung a scarlet handkerchief, which fastened in a large bow under her rubicund chin.
As this singular and interesting group advanced up the central aisle of the chapel, reverence and affection were evidently blended in the looks of the multitude which hung upon their steps; and though the Prince and his daughter seeked to lose in the meekness of true religion all sense of temporal inequality, and promiscuously mingled with the congregation, yet that distinction they humbly avoided, was reverently forced on them by the affectionate crowd, which drew back on either side as they advanced, until the chieftain and his child stood alone in the centre of the ruined choir, the winds of heaven playing freely amidst their garments, the sun’s setting beam enriching their beautiful figures with its orient tints, while he, like Milton’s ruined angel,
“Above the rest,
In shape and feature proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower;â€
and she, like the personified spirit of Mercy hovered round him, or supported more by tenderness than her strength, him from whom she could no longer claim support.
Those gray headed domestics, too, those faith ful though but nominal vassals, who offered that voluntary reverence with their looks, which his repaid with fatherly affection, while the anguish of a suffering heart hung on his pensive smile, sustained by the firmness of that indignant pride which lowered on his ample brow!
What a picture!
As soon as the first flush of interest, curiosity, and amazement had subsided, my attention was carried towards the altar; and then I thought as I watched the impressive avocation of Father John, that had I been the Prince, I would have been theCaiphastoo.
What a religion is this! How finely does it harmonize with the weakness of our nature, how seducingly it speaks to the senses; how forcibly it works on the passions; how strongly it seizes on the imagination; how interesting its forms; how graceful its ceremonies; how awful its rites. What a captivating, what apicturesquefaith! Who would not become its proselyte, were it not for the stern opposition of reason, the cold suggestions of philosophy!
The last strain of the vesper hymn died on the air as the sun’s last beam faded on the casements of the chapel; and the Prince and his daughter., to avoid the intrusion of the crowd, withdrew through a private door, which communicated by a ruinous arcade with the castle.
I was the first to leave the chapel, and followed them at a distance as they moved slowly along, their fine figures, sometimes concealed behind a pillar, and again emerging from the transient shade, flushed with the deep suffusion of the crimsoned firmament.
Once they paused, as if to admire the beautiful effect of the retreating light, as it faded on the ocean’s swelling bosom; and once the Princess raised her hand and pointed to the evening star, which rose brilliantly on the deep cerulean blue of a cloudless atmosphere, and shed its fairy beam on the mossy summit of a mouldering turret.
Such were the sublime objects which seemed to engage their attention, and added theirsensibleinspiration to the fervour of those more abstracted devotions in which they were so recently engaged. At last they reached the portals of the castle, and I lost sight of them. Yet still spellbound, I stood transfixed to the spot from whence I had caught a last view of their receding figures.
While I felt like the victim of superstitious terror when the spectre of its distempered fancy vanishes from its strained and eager gaze, all I had lately seen revolved in my mind like some pictured story of romantic fiction. I cast round my eyes; all still seemed the vision of awakened imagination. Surrounded by a scenery grand even to the boldest majesty of nature, and wild even to desolation—the day’s dying splendours Awfully involving in the gloomy haze of deepening twilight—the gray mists of stealing night gathering on the still faintly illumined surface of the ocean, which, awfully spreading to infinitude, seemed to the limited gaze of human vision to incorporate with the heaven whose last glow it reflected—the rocks, which on every side rose to Alpine elevation, exhibiting, amidst the soft obscurity, forms savagely bold or grotesquely wild; and those finely interesting ruins which spread grandly desolate in the rear, and added a moral interest to the emotions excited by this view of nature in her most awful, most touching aspect.
Thus suddenly withdrawn from the world’s busiest haunts, its hackneyed modes, its vicious pursuits, and unimportant avocations—dropped as it were amidst scenes and mysterious sublimity—alone—on the wildest shores of the greatest ocean of the universe; immersed amidst the decaying monuments of past ages; still viewing in recollection such forms, such manners, such habits (as I had lately beheld,) which to the worldly mind may be well supposed to belong to a race long passed beyond the barrier of existence, with “the years beyond the flood,†I felt like the being of some other sphere newly alighted on a distant orb. While the novel train of thought which stole on my mind, seemed to seize its tone from the awful tranquillity by which I was surrounded, and I remained leaning on the fragment of a rock, as the waves dashed idly against its base, until their dark heads were silvered by the rising moon, and while my eyes dwelt on her silent progress, the castle clock struck nine. Thus warned, I arose to depart, yet not without reluctance. My soul, for the first time, had here held commune with herself; the “lying vanities†of life no longer intoxicating my senses, appeared to me for the first time in their genuine aspect, and my heart still fondly loitered over those scenes of solemn interest, where some of its best feelings had been called into existence.
Slowly departing, I raised my eyes to the Castle of Inismore and sighed, and almost wished I had been born the Lord of these beautiful ruins, the Prince of this isolated little territory, and adored chieftain of these affectionate and natural people. At that moment a strain of music stole by me, as if the breeze of midnight stillness had expired in a manner on the Eolian lyre. Emotion, undefinable emotion, thrilled on every nerve. I listened. I trembled. A breathless silence gave me every note. Was it the illusion of my now all-awakened fancy, or the professional exertions of the bard of Inismore? Oh, no! for the voice it symphonized, the low, wild, tremulous voice which sweetly sighed its soul of melody o’er the harp’s responsive chords, was the voice ofa woman!
Directed by the witching strain, I approached an angle of the building from whence it seemed to proceed; and perceiving a light which streamed through an open casement, I climbed with some difficulty the ruins of a parapet wall which encircled this wing of the castle, and which rose so immediately under the casement as to give me, when I stood on it, a perfect view of the interior of that apartment to which it belonged.
Two tapers, which burned on a marble slab at the remotest extremity of this vast and gloomy chamber, shed their dim blue light on the saintly countenance of Father John, who, with a large folio open before him, seemed wholly wrapped in studious meditation; while the Prince, reclined on an immense Gothic couch, with his robe thrown over the arm that supported his head, betrayed by the expression of his countenance those emotions, which agitated his soul, while he listened to those strains which spoke at once to the heart of the father, the patriot, and the man—breathed from the chords of his country’s emblem—breathed in the pathos of his country’s music—breathed from the lips of his apparently inspired daughter! The white rising of her hands upon the harp the half-drawn veil that imperfectly discovered the countenance of a seraph; the moonlight that played round her fine form, and partially touched her drapery with its silver beam—her attitude! her air! But how cold—how inanimate—how imperfect this description! Oh! could I but seize the touching features—could I but realize the vivid tints of this enchanting picture, as they then glowed on my fancy! By heavens! you would think the mimic copy fabulous; “the celestial visitant†of an overheated imagination. Yet, as if the independent witchery of the lovely minstrel was not in itself all, all-sufficient, at the back of her chair stood the grotesque figure of her antiquated nurse. O! the precious contrast. And yet it heightened, it finished the picture.
While thus entranced in breathless observation, endeavouring to support my precarious tenement, and to prolong this rich feast of the senses and the soul, the loose stones on which I tottered gave way under my feet, and impulsively clinging to the wood work of the casement, it mouldered in my grasp. I fell—but before I reached the earth I was bereft of sense. With its return I found myself in a large apartment, stretched on a bed, and supported in the arms of the Prince of Inismore! his hand was pressed to my bleeding temple, while the priest applied a styptic to the wound it had received; and the nurse was engaged in binding up my arm, which had been dreadfully bruised and fractured a little above the wrist. Some domestics, with an air of mingled concern and curiosity, surrounded my couch; and at her father’s side stood the Lady Glorvina, her looks pale and disordered—her trembling hands busily employed in preparing bandages, for which my skilful doctress impatiently called.
While my mind almost doubted the evidence of my senses, and a physical conviction alonepainfullyproved to me the reality of all I beheld, my wandering, wondering eyes met those of the Prince of Inismore! A volume of pity and benevolence was registered in their glance; nor were mine, I suppose, inexpressive of my feelings, for he thus replied to them:
“Be of good cheer, young stranger; you are in no danger; be composed; be confident; conceive yourself in the midst of friends; for you are surrounded by those who would wish to be considered as such.â€
I attempted to speak, but my voice faltered; my tongue was nerveless; my mouth dry and parched. A trembling hand presented a cordial to my lips. I quaffed the philtre, and fixed my eyes on the face of my ministering angel. That angel was Glorvina! I closed them, and sunk on the bosom of her father.
“Oh, he faints again!†cried a sweet and plaintive voice.
“On the contrary,†replied the priest, “the weariness of acute pain something subsided, is lulling him into a soft repose; for see, the colour reanimates his cheek, and his pulse quickens.â€
“It indeed beats most wildly,†returned the sweet physician; for the pulse which responded to her finger’s thrilling pressure moved with no languid throb.
“Let us retire,†added the priest, “all danger is now, thank heaven, over; and repose and quiet the most salutary requisites for our patient.â€
At these words he arose from my bedside, and the Prince, gently withdrawing his supporting arms, laid my head upon the pillow. In a moment all was deathlike stillness, and stealing a glance from under my half closed eyes, I found myself alone with my skilful doctress, the nurse, who, shading the taper’s light from the bed, had taken her distaff and seated herself on a stool at some distance.
This was a golden respite to feelings wound up to that vehement excess which forbade all expression, which left my tongue powerless, while my heart overflowed with emotion the most powerful.
Good God! I, the son of Lord M————, the hereditary object of hereditary detestation, beneath the roof of my implacable enemy! Supported in his arms; relieved from anguish by his charitable attention; honoured by the solicitude of his lovely daughter; overwhelmed by the charitable exertions of his whole family; and reduced to that bodily infirmity that would of necessity oblige me to continue for some time the object of their beneficent attentions.
What a series of emotions did this conviction awaken in my heart! Emotions of a character, an energy, long unknown to my apathized feelings; while gratitude to those who had drawn them into existence, combined with the interest, the curiosity, the admiration they had awakened, tended to confirm my irresistible desire of perpetuating the immunities I enjoyed, as the guest and patient of the Prince and his daughter. And, while the touch of this Wild Irish Girl’s hand thrilled on every sense, while her voice of tenderest pity murmured on my ear, and I secretly triumphed over the prejudices of her father, I would not have exchanged my broken arm and wounded temple for the strongest limb and soundest head in the kingdom; but the same chance which threw me in the supporting arms of the irascible Prince, might betray to him in the person of his patient, the son of his hereditary enemy: it was at least probable he would make some inquiries relative to the object of his benevolence, and the singular cause which rendered him such; it was therefore a necessary policy in me to be provided against this scrutiny.
Already deep in adventure, a thousand seducing reasons were suggested by my newly-awakened heart to go on with the romance, and to secure for my farther residence in the castle, that interest, which, if known to be the son of Lord M————, I must eventually have forfeited, for the cold version of irreclaimable prejudice. The imposition was at least innocent, and might tend to future and mutual advantage; and after the ideal assumption of a thousand fictitious characters, I at last fixed on that of an itinerant artist, as consonant to my most cultivated talent, and to the testimony of those witnesses which I had fortunately brought with me, namely my drawing-book, pencils, &c., &c., self-nominatedHenry Mortimer, to answer the initials on my linen, the only proofs against me, for I had not even a letter with me.
I was now armed at all points for inspection; and as the Prince lived in a perfect state of isolation, and I was unknown in the country, I entertained no apprehensions of discovery during the time I should remain at the castle; and full of hope, strong in confidence, but wearied by incessant cogitation, and something exhausted by pain, I fell into that profound slumber I did before but feign.
The mid-day beams shone brightly through the faded tints of my bed curtains before I awakened the following morning, after a night of such fairy charms as only float round the couch of
“Fancy trained in bliss.â€
The nurse, and the two other domestics, relieved the watch at my bedside during the night; and when I drew back the curtain, the former complimented me on my somniferous powers, and in the usual mode of inquiry, but in a very unusual accent and dialect, addressed me with much kindness and goodnatured solicitude. While I was endeavouring to express my gratitude for her attentions, and, what seemed most acceptable to her, my high opinion of her skill, the Father Director entered.
To the benevolent mind, distress or misfortune is ever a sufficient claim on all the privileges of intimacy; and when Father John seated himself by my bedside, affectionately took my hand, lamented my accident, and assured me of my improved looks, it was with an air so kindly familiar, so tenderly intimate, that it was impossible to suspect the sound of his voice was yet a stranger to my ear.
Prepared and collected, as soon as I had expressed my sense of his and the Prince’s benevolence, I briefly related my feigned story; and in a few minutes I was a young Englishman, by birth a gentleman, by inevitable misfortunes reduced to a dependence on my talents for a livelihood, and by profession an artist. I added, that I came to Ireland to take views, and seize some of the finest features of its landscapes; that, having heard much of the wildly picturesque charms of the northwest coasts, I had penetrated thus far into this remote corner of the province of Connaught; that the uncommon beauty of the views surrounding the castle, and the awful magnificence of its ruins, had arrested my wanderings, and determined me to spend some days in its vicinity; that, having attended divine service the preceding evening in the chapel, I continued to wander along the romantic shores of Inismore, and, in the adventuring spirit of my art, had climbed part of the mouldering ruins of the castle to catch a fine effect of light and shade, produced by the partially veiled beams of the moon, and had then met with the accident which now threw me on the benevolence of the Prince of Innisinore; an unknown, in a strange country, with a fractured limb, a wounded head, and a heart oppressed with the sense of gratitude under which it laboured.
“That you were a stranger and a traveller, who had been led by curiosity or devotion to visit the chapel of Inismore,†said the priest, “we were already apprised of, by the peasant who brought to the castle last night the horse and valise left at his cabin, and who feared, from the length of your absence, some accident had befallen you. What you have yourself been kind enough to detail, is precisely what will prove your best letter of recommendation to the Prince. Trust me, young gentleman, that your standing in need of his attention is the best claim you could make on it; and your admiration of his native scenes, of that ancient edifice, the monument of that decayed ancestral splendour still dear to his pride; and your having so severely suffered through an anxiety by which he must be flattered, will induce him to consider himself as evenboundto administer every attention that can meliorate the unpleasantness of your present situation.â€
What an idea did this give me of the character of him whose heart I once believed divested of all the tender feelings of humanity. Everything that mine could dictate on the subject I endeavoured to express, and, borne away by the vehemence of my feelings, did it in a manner that more than once fastened the eyes of Father John on my face, with that look of surprise and admiration which, to a delicate mind, is more gratifying than the most finished verbal eulogium.
Stimulated by this silent approbation, I insensibly stole the conversation from myself to a more general theme: one thought was the link to an-other—the chain of discussion gradually extended, and before the nurse brought up my breakfast we had ranged through the whole circle ofsciences. I found that this intelligent and amiable being had trifled a good deal in his young days with chemistry, of which he still spoke like a lover who, in maturer life, fondly dwells on the charms of that object who first awakened the youthful raptures of his heart. He is even still an enthusiast in botany, and as free from monastic pedantry as he is rich in the treasures of classical literature and the elegancies of belles lettres. His feelings even yet preserve something of the ardour of youth, and in his mild character evidently appears blended a philosophical knowledge of human nature, with the most perfect worldly inexperience, and the manly intelligence of a highly gifted mind, with the sentiments of a recluse and the simplicity of a child. His still ardent mind seemed to dilate to the correspondence of a kindred intellect, and two hours’ bedside chit chat, with all the unrestrained freedom such a situation sanctions, produced a more perfect intimacy than an age would probably have effected under different circumstances.
After having examined and dressed the wounded temple, which he declared to be a mere scratch, and congratulated me on the apparent convalescence of my looks, he withdrew, politely excusing the length of his visit by pleading the charms of my conversation as the cause of his detention. There is, indeed, an evident vein of French suavity flowing through his manners, that convinced me he had spent some years of his life in that region of the graces. I have since learned that he was partly educated in France; so that, to my astonishment, I have discovered the manners of a gentleman, the conversation of a scholar, and the sentiment of a philanthropist, united in the character of an Irish priest.
While my heart throbbed with the natural satisfaction arising from the consciousness of having awakened an interest in those whom it was my ambition to interest, my female Esculapius came and seated herself by me; and while she talked of fevers, inflammations, and the Lord knows what, insisted on my not speaking another word for the rest of the day. Though by no means appearing to labour under the same Pythagorean restraint she had imposed on me; and after having extolled her own surgical powers, her celebrity as the best bone-setter in the barony, and communicated the long list of patients her skill had saved, her tongue at last rested on the only theme I was inclined to hear.
“Arrah! now, jewel,†she continued, “there is our Lady Glorvina now, who with all her skill, and knowing every leaf that grows, why she could no more set your arm than she could break it. Och! it was herself that turned white when she saw the blood upon your face, for she was the first to hear you fall, and hasten down to have you picked up; at first, faith, we thought you were a robber; but it was all one to her, into the castle you must be brought, and when she saw the blood spout from your temple, Holy Virgin! she looked for all the world as if she was kilt dead herself.â€
“And is she,†said I, in the selfishness of my heart, “is she always thus humanely interested for the unfortunate?â€
“Och! it is she that is tender hearted for man or beast,†replied my companion. “I shall never forget till the day of my death,nor theneither, faith, the day that Kitty Mulrooney’s cow was bogged: you must know, honey, that a bogged cow—â€
Unfortunately, however, the episode of Kitty Mulrooney’s cow was cut short, for the Prince now entered, leaning on the arm of the priest.
Dull indeed must be every feeling, and blunted every recollective faculty, when the look, the air, the smile with which this venerable and benevolent chieftain, approaching my bed, and kindly taking me by the hand, addressed me in the singular idiom of his expressive language.
“Young man,†said he, “the stranger’s best gift is upon you, for the eye that sees you for the first time, wishes it may not be the last; and the ear that drinks your words, grows thirsty as it quaffs them. So says our good Father John here, for you have made him your friend ere you are his acquaintance; and as thefriend of my friend, my heart opens to you; you are welcome to my house as long as it is pleasant to you; when it ceases to be so, we will part with you with regret, and speed your journey with our wishes and our prayers.â€
Could my heart have lent its eloquence to my lip—but that was impossible; very imperfect indeed was the justice I did to my feelings; but as my peroration was a eulogium on these romantic scenes and interesting ruins, the contemplation of which I had nearly purchased with my life, the Prince seemed as much pleased as if my gratitude had poured forth withCiceroneaneloquence, and he replied:
“When your health will permit, you can pursue here uninterrupted your charming art. Once the domains of Inismore could have supplied the painter’s pencil with scenes of smiling felicity, and the song of the bard—with many a theme of joy and triumph; but the harp can only mourn over the fallen greatness of its sons; and the pencil has nothing left to delineate but the ruins which shelter the gray head of the last of their descendants.â€
These words were pronounced with an emotion that shook the dilapidated frame of the Prince, and the tear which dimmed the spirit of his eye, formed an associate in that of his auditor. He gazed on me for a moment with a look that seemed to say, “you feel for me, then—yet you are an Englishman and taking the arm of Father John, he walked towards a window which commanded a view of the ocean, whose troubled bosom beat wildly against the castle cliffs.
“The day is sad,†said he, “and makes the soul gloomy: we will summon O’Gallagher to the hall, and drive away sorrow with music.†Then turning to me, he added, with a faint smile “the tones of the Irish harp have still the power to breathe a spirit over the drooping soul of an Irishman; but if its strains disturb your repose, command its silence: the pleasure of the host always rests in that of his guest.â€
With these words, and leaning on the arm of his chaplain, he retired; while the nurse, looking affectionately after him, raised her hands and exclaimed:
“Och! there you go, and may the blessing of the Holy Virgin go with you, for it’s yourself that’s the jewel of a Prince!â€
The impression made on me by this brief but interesting interview, is not to be expressed. You should see the figure, the countenance, the dress of the Prince; the appropriate scenery of the old Gothic chamber, the characteristic appearance of the priest and the nurse, to understand the combined and forcible effect the whole produced.
Yet, though experiencing a pleasurable emotion, strong as it was novel, there was still one little wakeful wish throbbing vaguely at my heart.
Was it possible that my chilled, my sated misanthropic feelings, still sent forth one sigh of wishful solicitude for woman’s dangerous presence? No, the sentiment the daughter of the Prince inspired, only made apartin that general feeling of curiosity, which every thing in this new region of wonders continued to nourish into existence. What had I to expect from the unpolished manners, the confined ideas of this Wild Irish Girl? Deprived of all those touching allurements which society only gives; reared in wilds and solitudes, with no other associates than her nurse, her confessor, and her father; endowed indeed by nature with some personal gifts, set off by the advantage of a singular and characteristic dress, for which she is indebted to whim and natural prejudice, rather than native taste:—I, who had fled in disgust even from those to whose natural attraction the bewitching blandishments of education, the brilliant polish of fashion, and the dazzling splendour ofrealrank, contributed their potent spells.
And yet, the roses of Florida, though the fair est in the universe, and springing from the richest soil, emit no fragrance; while the mountain violet, rearing its timid form from a steril bed, flings on the morning breeze the most delicious perfume.
While given up to such reflections as these—while the sound of the Irish harp arose from the hall below, and the nurse muttered her prayers in Irish over her beads by my side, I fell into a gentle slumber, in which I dreamed that the Princess of Inismore approached my bed, drew aside the curtains, and raising her veil, discovered a face I had hitherto rather guessed at than seen. Imagine my horror—it was the face, the head of aGorgon!
Awakened by the sudden and terrific emotion it excited, though still almost motionless, as if from the effects of a nightmare (which in fact, from the position I lay in, had oppressed me in the form of the Princess) I cast my eyes through a fracture in the old damask drapery of my bed, and beheld—not the horrid spectre of my recent dream, but the form of a cherub hovering near my pillow—it was the Lady Glorvina herself! Oh! how I trembled lest the fair image should only be the vision of my slumber: I scarcely dared to breathe, lest it should dissolve.
She was seated on the nurse’s little stool, her elbow resting on her knee, her cheek reclined upon her hand: for once the wish of Romeo appeared no hyperbela.
Some snowdrops lay scattered in her lap, on which her downcast eyes shed their beams; as though she moralized over the modest blossoms, which, in fate a delecacy, resembled herself. Changing her pensive attitude, she collected them into a bunch, and sighed, and waved her head as she gazed on them. The dew that trembled on their leaves seemed to have flowed from a richer source than the exhalation of the morning’s vapour—for the flowers are faded—-but the drops that gem’d them are fresh.
At that moment the possession of a little kingdom would have been less desirable to me, than the knowledge of that association of ideas and feelings which the contemplation of these honoured flowers awakened. At last, with a tender smile, she raised them to her lip and sighed, and placed them in her bosom; then softly drew aside my curtain. I feigned the stillness of death—yet the curtain remained unclosed—many minutes elapsed—I ventured to unseal my eyes, and met the soul dissolving glance of my sweet attendant spirit, who seemed to gaze intently on her charge. Emotion on my part the most delicious, on hers the most modestly confused, for a moment prevented all presence of mind; the beautiful arm still supported the curtain—my ardent gaze was still riveted on a face alternately suffused with the electric flashes of red and white. At last the curtain fell, the priest entered, and the vision, the sweetest, brightest vision of my life, dissolved!
Glorvina sprung towards her tutor, and told him aloud, that the nurse had entreated her to take her place, while she descended to dinner.
“And no place can become thee better, my child,†said the priest, “than that which fixes thee by the couch of suffering and sickness.â€
“However,†said Glorvina, smiling, “I will gratify you by resigning for the present in your favour,†and away she flew speaking in Irish to the nurse, who passed her at the door.
The benevolent confessor then approached, and seated himself beside my bed, with that premeditated air of chit-chat sociality, that it went to my soul to disappoint him. But the thing was impossible, to have tamely conversed in mortal language on mortal subjects, after having held “high communion†with an etherial spirit; when a sigh, a tear, a glance, were the delicious vehicles of our souls’ secret intercourse—to stoop from this “colloquy sublime!†I could as soon have delivered a logical essay on identity and adversity, or any other subject equally interesting to the heart and imagination.
I therefore closed my eyes, and breathed most sonorously: the good priest drew the curtain and retired on tip-toe, and the nurse once more took her distaff, and, for her sins, was silent.
These good people must certainly think me a second Epimenides, for I have done nothing but sleep, or feign to sleep, since I have been thrown amongst them.
Ihave already passed four days beneath this hospitable roof. On the third, a slight fever with which I had been threatened passed off, my head was disincumbered, and on the fourth I was able to leave my bed, and to scribble thus far of my journal. Yet these kind solicitous beings will not suffer me to leave my room, and still the nurse at intervals gives me the pleasure of her society, and hums oldcronans, or amuses me with what she calls a littleshanaos, * as she plies her distaff; while the priest frequently indulges me with his interesting and intelligent conversation. The good man is a great logician, and fond of displaying his metaphysical prowess, where he feels that he is understood, and we diurnally go overinfinity, space, andduration, with innate, simple, and complex idea, until our own are exhausted in the discussion; and then we generally relax with Ovid, or trifle with Horace and Tibullus, for nothing can be less austerely pious than this cheerful gentle being: nothing can be more innocent than his life; nothing more liberal than his sentiments.