“Es tu contente à la fleur de tes ans?
As tu des goûts et des amusemens?
Tu dois mener une assez douce vie.
L’autre en deux mots répondait ‘Je m’ennuie.’
C’est un grand mal, dit la fée, et je crois
Qu’un beau secret est de rester chez soi.”--
I was detained six days by contrary winds at Holyhead. Sick of that
miserable place, in my ill-humour I cursed Ireland, and twice resolved
to return to London: but the wind changed, my carriage was on board the
packet; so I sailed and landly safely in Dublin. I was surprised by the
excellence of the hotel at which I was lodged. I had not conceived that
such accommodation could have been found in Dublin. The house had, as I
was told, belonged to a nobleman: it was fitted up and appointed with a
degree of elegance, and even magnificence, beyond what I had been used
to in the most fashionable hotels in London.
“Ah! sir,” said an Irish gentleman, who found me in admiration upon the
staircase, “this is all very good, very fine, but it is too good and too
fine to last; come here again in two years, and I am afraid you will see
all this going to rack and ruin. This is too often the case with us
in Ireland: we can project, but we can’t calculate; we must have every
thing upon too large a scale. We mistake a grand beginning for a good
beginning. We begin like princes, and we end like beggars.”
I rested only a few days in a capital in which, I took it for granted,
there could be nothing worth seeing by a person who was just come from
London. In driving through the streets, I was, however, surprised to
see buildings, which my prejudices could scarcely believe to be Irish.
I also saw some things, which recalled to my mind the observations I had
heard at my hotel. I was struck with instances of grand beginnings
and lamentable want of finish, with mixture of the magnificent and the
paltry; of admirable and execrable taste. Though my understanding was
wholly uncultivated, these things struck my eye. Of all the faculties
of my mind, my taste had been most exercised, because its exercise had
given me least trouble.
Impatient to see my own castle, I left Dublin. I was again astonished by
the beauty of the prospects, and the excellence of the roads. I had in
my ignorance believed that I was never to see a tree in Ireland,
and that the roads were almost impassable. With the promptitude of
credulity, I now went from one extreme to the other: I concluded that
we should travel with the same celerity as upon the Bath road; and I
expected, that a journey for which four days had been allotted might be
performed in two. Like all those who have nothing to do any where, I was
always in a prodigious hurry to get from place to place; and I ever had
a noble ambition to go over as much ground as possible in a given space
of time. I travelled in a light barouche, and with my own horses. My own
man (an Englishman), and my cook (a Frenchman), followed in a hackney
chaise; I cared not how, so that they kept up with me; the rest was
their affair. At night, my gentleman complained bitterly of the Irish
post carriages, and besought me to let him follow at an easier rate the
next day; but to this I could by no means consent: for how could I exist
without my own man and my French cook? In the morning, just as I
was ready to set off, and had thrown myself back in my carriage, my
Englishman and Frenchman came to the door, both in so great a rage, that
the one was inarticulate and the other unintelligible. At length the
object of their indignation spoke for itself. From the inn yard came a
hackney chaise, in a most deplorable crazy state; the body mounted up
to a prodigious height, on unbending springs, nodding forwards, one door
swinging open, three blinds up, because they could not be let down, the
perch tied in two places, the iron of the wheels half off, half loose,
wooden pegs for linch-pins, and ropes for harness. The horses were
worthy of the harness; wretched little dog-tired creatures, that looked
as if they had been driven to the last gasp, and as if they had never
been rubbed down in their lives; their bones starting through their
skin; one lame, the other blind; one with a raw back, the other with a
galled breast; one with his neck poking down over his collar, and the
other with his head dragged forward by a bit of a broken bridle, held at
arm’s length by a man dressed like a mad beggar, in half a hat and half
a wig, both awry in opposite directions; a long tattered great-coat,
tied round his waist by a hay-rope; the jagged rents in the skirts of
his coat showing his bare legs marbled of many colours; while something
like stockings hung loose about his ankles. The noises he made by way of
threatening or encouraging his steeds, I pretend not to describe.
In an indignant voice I called to the landlord, “I hope these are not
the horses--I hope this is not the chaise, intended for my servants.”
The innkeeper, and the pauper who was preparing to officiate as
postilion, both in the same instant exclaimed, “_Sorrow_ better chaise
in the county!”
“_Sorrow_” said I; “what do you mean by sorrow?”
“That there’s no better, plase your honour, can be seen. We have two
more, to be sure; but one has no top, and the other no bottom. Any way
there’s no better can be seen than this same.” [77]
“And these horses!” cried I; “why, this horse is so lame he can hardly
stand.”
“Oh, plase your honour, tho’ he can’t stand, he’ll _go_ fast enough.
He has a great deal of the rogue in him, plase your honour. He’s always
that way at first setting out.”
“And that wretched animal with the galled breast!”
“He’s all the better for it, when once he warms; it’s he that will
go with the speed of light, plase your honour. Sure, is not he
Knockecroghery? and didn’t I give fifteen guineas for him, barring the
luck penny, at the fair of Knockecroghery, and he rising four year old
at the same time?”
I could not avoid smiling at this speech: but my _gentleman_,
maintaining his angry gravity, declared, in a sullen tone, that he would
be cursed if he went with such horses; and the Frenchman, with abundance
of gesticulation, made a prodigious chattering, which no mortal
understood.
“Then I’ll tell you what you’ll do,” said Paddy; “you’ll take four,
as becomes gentlemen of your quality, and you’ll see how we’ll powder
along.”
And straight he put the knuckle of his fore-finger in his mouth, and
whistled shrill and strong; and, in a moment, a whistle somewhere out in
the fields answered him.
I protested against these proceedings, but in vain; before the first
pair of horses were fastened to the chaise, up came a little boy with
the others _fresh_ from the plough. They were quick enough in putting
these to; yet how they managed it with their tackle, I know not. “Now
we’re fixed handsomely,” said Paddy.
“But this chaise will break down the first mile.”
“Is it this chaise, plase your honour? I’ll engage it will go the
world’s end. The universe wouldn’t break it down now; sure it was mended
but last night.”
Then seizing his whip and reins in one hand, he clawed up his stockings
with the other: so with one easy step he got into his place, and seated
himself, coachman-like, upon a well-worn bar of wood, that served as a
coach-box. “Throw me the loan of a trusty Bartly, for a cushion,” said
he. A frieze coat was thrown up over the horses’ heads--Paddy caught it.
“Where are you, Hosey?” cried he. “Sure I’m only rowling a wisp of
straw on my leg,” replied Hosey. “Throw me up,” added this paragon of
postilions, turning to one of the crowd of idle bystanders. “Arrah, push
me up, can’t ye?”
A man took hold of his knee, and threw him upon the horse: he was in his
seat in a trice; then clinging by the mane of his horse, he scrambled
for the bridle, which was under the other horse’s feet--reached it, and,
well satisfied with himself, looked round at Paddy, who looked back
to the chaise-door at my angry servants, “secure in the last event of
things.” In vain the Englishman in monotonous anger, and the Frenchman
in every note of the gamut, abused Paddy: necessity and wit were on
Paddy’s side; he parried all that was said against his chaise, his
horses, himself, and his country, with invincible comic dexterity,
till at last, both his adversaries, dumb-foundered, clambered into the
vehicle, where they were instantly shut up in straw and darkness. Paddy,
in a triumphant tone, called to _my_ postilions, bidding them “get on,
and not be stopping the way any longer.”
Without uttering a syllable, they drove on; but they could not, nor
could I, refrain from looking back to see how those fellows would
manage. We saw the fore-horses make towards the right, then to the left,
and every way but straight forwards; whilst Paddy bawled to Hosey--“Keep
the middle of the road, can’t ye? I don’t want ye to draw a pound
at-all-at-all.”
At last, by dint of whipping, the four horses were compelled to set off
in a lame gallop; but they stopped short at a hill near the end of the
town, whilst a shouting troop of ragged boys followed, and pushed them
fairly to the top. Half an hour afterwards, as we were putting on our
drag-chain to go down another steep hill,--to my utter astonishment,
Paddy, with his horses in full gallop, came rattling and _chehupping_
past us. My people called to warn him that he had no _drag_: but still
he cried “Never fear!” and shaking the long reins, and stamping with his
foot, on he went thundering down the hill. My Englishmen were aghast.
“The turn yonder below, at the bottom of the hill, is as sharp and ugly
as ever I see,” said my postilion, after a moment’s stupified silence.
“He will break their necks, as sure as my name is John.”
Quite the contrary: when we had dragged and undragged, and came up to
Paddy, we found him safe on his legs, mending some of his tackle very
quietly.
“If that had broken as you were going down the steep hill,” said I, “it
would have been all over with you, Paddy.”
“That’s true, plase your honour: but it never happened me going down
hill--nor never will, by the blessing of God, if I’ve any luck.”
With this mixed confidence in a special providence, and in his own good
luck, Paddy went on, much to my amusement. It was his glory to keep
before us; and he rattled on till he came to a narrow part of the road,
where they were rebuilding a bridge. Here there was a dead stop. Paddy
lashed his horses, and called them all manner of names; but the wheel
horse, Knockecroghery, was restive, and at last began to kick most
furiously. It seemed inevitable that the first kick which should reach
the splinter-bar, at which it was aimed, must demolish it instantly. My
English gentleman and my Frenchman both put their heads out of the
only window which was pervious, and called most manfully to be let out.
“Never fear,” said Paddy. To open the door for themselves was beyond
their force or skill. One of the hind wheels, which had belonged to
another carriage, was too high to suffer the door to be opened, and the
blind at the other side prevented their attempts, so they were close
prisoners. The men who had been at work on the broken bridge came
forward, and rested on their spades to see the battle. As my carriage
could not pass, I was also compelled to be a spectator of this contest
between man and horse.
“Never fear,” reiterated Paddy; “I’ll engage I’ll be up wid him. Now for
it, Knockecroghery! Oh, the rogue, he thinks he has me at a _nonplush_,
but I’ll show him the _differ_.”
After this brag of war, Paddy whipped, Knockecroghery kicked; and Paddy,
seemingly unconscious of danger, sat within reach of the kicking horse,
twitching up first one of his legs, then the other, and shifting as the
animal aimed his hoofs, escaping every time as it were by miracle. With
a mixture of temerity and presence of mind, which made us alternately
look upon him as a madman and a hero, he gloried in the danger, secure
of success, and of the sympathy of the spectators.
“Ah! didn’t I _compass_ him cleverly then? Oh, the villain, to be
browbating me! I’m too cute for him yet. See there, now, he’s come to;
and I’ll be his bail he’ll go _asy_ enough wid me. Ogh! he has a fine
spirit of his own, but it’s I that can match him: ‘twould be a poor case
if a man like me cou’dn’t match a horse any way, let alone a mare, which
this is, or it never would be so vicious.”
After this hard-fought battle, and suitable rejoicing for the victory,
Paddy walked his subdued adversary on a few yards to allow us to pass
him; but, to the dismay of my postilions, a hay-rope was at this instant
thrown across the road, before our horses, by the road-makers, who, to
explain this proceeding, cried out, “Plase your honour, the road is so
dry, we’d expect a trifle to wet it.”
“What do these fellows mean?” said I.
“It’s only a tester or a hog they want, your honour, to give ‘em to
drink your honour’s health,” said Paddy.
“A hog to drink my health?”
“Ay, that is a thirteen, plase your honour; all as one as an English
shilling.”
I threw them a shilling: the hay-rope was withdrawn, and at last we went
on. We heard no more of Paddy till evening. He came in two hours after
us, and expected to be doubly paid _for driving my honour’s gentlemen so
well_.
I must say that on this journey, though I met with many delays and
disasters; though one of my horses was lamed in shoeing by a smith,
who came home drunk from a funeral; and though the back pannel of my
carriage was broken by the pole of a chaise; and though one day I went
without my dinner at a large desolate inn, where nothing was to be had
but whiskey; and though one night I lay in a little smoky den, in which
the meanest of my servants in England would have thought it impossible
to sleep; and though I complained bitterly, and swore it was
impracticable for a gentleman to travel in Ireland; yet I never remember
to have experienced, on any journey, less ennui.[78] I was out of
patience twenty times a day, but I certainly felt no ennui; and I am
convinced that the benefit some patients receive from a journey is in an
inverse proportion to the ease and luxury of their mode of travelling.
When they are compelled to exert their faculties, and to use their
limbs, they forget their nerves, as I did. Upon this principle I should
recommend to wealthy hypochondriacs a journey in Ireland, preferably to
any country in the civilized world. I can promise them, that they will
not only be moved to anger often enough to make their blood circulate
briskly, but they will even, in the acme of their impatience, be thrown
into salutary convulsions of laughter, by the comic concomitants of
their disasters: besides, if they have hearts, their best feelings
cannot fail to be awakened by the warm, generous hospitality they will
receive in this country, from the cabin to the castle.
Late in the evening of the fourth day, we came to an inn on the verge of
the county where my estate was situate. It was one of the wildest parts
of Ireland. We could find no horses, nor accommodations of any sort,
and we had several miles farther to go. For our only comfort, the dirty
landlady, who had married the hostler, and wore gold drop ear-rings,
reminded us, that, “Sure, if we could but wait an hour, and take a fresh
egg, we should have a fine moon.”
After many fruitless imprecations, my French cook was obliged to mount
one of my saddle-horses; my groom was left to follow us the next day;
I let my gentleman sit on the barouche box, and proceeded with my own
tired horses. The moon, which my landlady had promised me, rose, and I
had a full view of the face of the country. As we approached my maritime
territories, the cottages were thinly scattered, and the trees had a
stunted appearance; they all slanted one way, from the prevalent winds
that blew from the ocean. Our road presently stretched along the beach,
and I saw nothing to vary the prospect but rocks, and their huge shadows
upon the water. The road being sandy, the feet of the horses made no
noise, and nothing interrupted the silence of the night but the hissing
sound of the carriage-wheels passing through the sand.
“What o’clock is it now, think you, John?” said one of my postilions to
the other.
“Past twelve, for _sartain_,” said John; “and this _bees_ a strange
Irish place,” continued he, in a drawling voice; “with no possible
way o’ getting at it, as I see.” John, after a pause, resumed, “I say,
Timothy, to the best of my opinion, this here road is leading _on_ us
into the sea.” John replied, “that he did suppose there might be such a
thing as a boat farther on, but where, he could not say for _sartain_.”
Dismayed and helpless, they at last stopped to consult whether they had
come the right road to the house. In the midst of their consultation
there came up an Irish carman, whistling as he walked beside his horse
and car.
“Honest friend, is this the road to Glenthorn Castle?”
“To Glenthorn, sure enough, your honour.”
“Whereabouts is the castle?”
“Forenent you, if you go on to the turn.”
“_Forenent_ you!” As the postilions pondered upon this word, the carman,
leaving his horse, and car, turned back to explain by action what he
could not make intelligible by words.
“See, isn’t here the castle?” cried he, darting before us to the turn of
the road, where he stood pointing at what we could not possibly see, as
it was hid by a promontory of rock. When we f reached the spot where he
was stationed, we came full upon the view of Glenthorn Castle: it seemed
to rise from the sea, abrupt and insulated, in all the gloomy grandeur
of ancient times, with turrets and battlements, and a huge gateway,
the pointed arch of which receded in perspective between the projecting
towers.
“It’s my lord himself, I’m fond to believe!” said our guide, taking off
his hat; “I had best step on and tell ‘em at the castle.”
“No, my good friend, there is no occasion to trouble you farther; you
had better go back to your horse and car, which you have left on the
road.”
“Oh! they are used to that, plase your honour; they’ll go on very
_quite_, and I’ll run like a redshank with the news to the castle.”
He ran on before us with surprising velocity, whilst our tired horses
dragged us slowly through the sand. As we approached, the gateway of
the castle opened, and a number of men, who appeared to be dwarfs when
compared with the height of the building, came out with torches in their
hands. By their bustle, and the vehemence with which they bawled to one
another, one might have thought that the whole castle was in flames;
but they were only letting down a drawbridge. As I was going over this
bridge, a casement window opened in the castle; and a voice, which I
knew to be old Ellinor’s, exclaimed, “Mind the big hole in the middle of
the bridge, God bless _yees!”_
I passed over the broken bridge, and through the massive gate, under an
arched way, at the farthest end of which a lamp had just been lighted:
then I came into a large open area, the court of the castle. The
hollow sound of the horses’ feet, and of the carriage rumbling over the
drawbridge, was immediately succeeded by the strange and eager voices of
the people, who filled the court with a variety of noises, contrasting,
in the most striking manner, with the silence in which we had travelled
over the sands. The great effect that my arrival instantaneously
produced upon the multitude of servants and dependants, who issued from
the castle, gave me an idea of my own consequence beyond any thing which
I had ever felt in England. These people seemed “born for my use:” the
officious precipitation with which they ran to and fro; the style
in which they addressed me; some crying, “Long life to the Earl of
Glenthorn!” some blessing me for coming to reign over them; all
together gave more the idea of vassals than of tenants, and carried my
imagination centuries back to feudal times.
The first person I saw on entering the hall of my castle was poor
Ellinor: she pushed her way up to me--
“‘Tis himself!” cried she. Then turning about suddenly, “I’ve seen him
in his own castle--I’ve seen him; and if it pleases God this minute to
take me to himself, I would die with pleasure.”
“My good Ellinor,” said I, touched to the heart by her affection, “my
good Ellinor, I hope you will live many a happy year; and if I can
contribute--”
“And himself to speak to me so kind before them all!” interrupted she.
“Oh! this is too much--quite too much!” She burst into tears; and,
hiding her face with her arm, made her way out of the hall.
The flights of stairs which I had to ascend, and the length of galleries
through which I was conducted, before I reached the apartment where
supper was served, gave me a vast idea of the extent of my castle; but I
was too much fatigued to enjoy fully the gratifications of pride. To the
simple pleasures of appetite I was more sensible: I ate heartily of one
of the most profusely hospitable suppers that ever was prepared for a
noble baron, even in the days when oxen were roasted whole. Then I grew
so sleepy, that I was impatient to be shown to my bed. I was ushered
through another suite of chambers and galleries; and, as I was
traversing one of these, a door of some strange dormitory opened, and
a group of female heads were thrust out, in the midst of which I could
distinguish old Ellinor’s face; but, as I turned my head, the door
closed so quickly, that I had no time to speak: I only heard the words,
“Blessings on him! that’s he!”
I was so sleepy, that I rejoiced having escaped an occasion where I
might have been called upon to speak, yet I was really grateful to my
poor nurse for her blessing. The state tower, in which, after
reiterated entreaties, I was at last left alone to repose, was hung with
magnificent, but ancient tapestry. It was so like a room in a haunted
castle, that if I had not been too much fatigued to think of any thing,
I should certainly have thought of Mrs. Radcliffe. I am sorry to say
that I have no mysteries, or even portentous omens, to record of this
night; for the moment that I lay down in my antiquated bed, I fell into
a profound sleep.