Dublin corporation anecdote—Splendid triennial procession of the Dublin
corporation, called _Fringes_ (franchises), described.
Nothing can better show the high opinion formerly entertained by the
Irish of their own notoriety, and particularly by that celebrated body
called the “Corporation of Dublin,” than the following incident. Mr.
Willis, a leather-breeches-maker in Dame-street, and a famous orator at
the corporation meetings, holding forth on a debate about the parochial
watch (a subject which was considered as of the utmost general
importance), discoursed as follows:—“This, my friends, is a subject
neither trifling nor obscure; the character of our corporation is at
stake on your decision!—recollect,” continued he, “recollect, brother
freemen, that the _eyes of all Europe are upon us_!”—The volunteers were
certainly of some celebrity, and it was supposed they would not be
unheard of in foreign countries.[46]
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Footnote 46:
At the breaking out of the American war Colonel Brown, in derision of
the colonists, declared, that he would march through all America with
_St. Andrew’s watchmen_!—This declaration being made in the House of
Commons, was thought to be in earnest by several members of the Dublin
corporation. It was therefore suggested by one of the body to address
his Majesty with a tender of the watchmen of St. Andrew’s, St. Ann’s,
and St. Peter’s parishes, for _American service_. This _serious_ offer
drew down on the poor colonel such a volley of ridicule, that he never
after mentioned America in Parliament. But such was the _general_
contempt of the Americans at the _commencement_ of the contest.
Colonel Brown was brother to old Lord Altamont.
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One of the customs of Dublin which prevailed in my early days made such
a strong impression upon my mind, that it never could be obliterated.
The most magnificent and showy procession, I really believe, except
those of Rome, then took place in the Irish metropolis every third year,
and attracted a number of English quite surprising, if we take into
account the difficulty and hazard of a passage at that time from London
to Dublin.
The corporation of the latter city were, by the terms of their charter,
bound, once in three years, to perambulate the limits of the lord
mayor’s jurisdiction, to make stands or stations at various points, and
to skirt the Earl of Meath’s liberties—a part of the city at that era in
great prosperity, but forming a local jurisdiction under the earl (in
the nature of a manor) totally distinct from that of Dublin.
This procession being in fact partly intended to mark and to designate
the extreme boundaries of his lordship’s jurisdiction, at those points
where they touch the Earl of Meath’s liberty, the lord mayor thrust his
sword through the wall of a certain house;—and then concluded the
ceremony by approaching the sea at low water, and hurling a javelin as
far upon the sands as his strength admitted, which was understood to
form the boundary between him and Neptune.
The trade of Dublin is comprised of twenty-five corporations, or guilds,
each independent of the other, and represented, as in London, by a
common council. Every one of these comprised its masters, journeymen,
and apprentices;—and each guild had a patron saint, or protector, whose
image or emblem was on all great occasions dressed up in appropriate
habiliments.
For this procession every member of the twenty-five corporations
prepared as for a jubilee. Small funds only were collected, and each
individual gladly bore his extra charges—the masters and journeymen
being desirous of outvying one another, and conceiving that the gayer
they appeared on that great day, the more consideration would they be
entitled to throughout the ensuing three years! Of course, therefore,
such as could afford it spared no expense: they borrowed the finest
horses and trappings which could be procured; the masters rode—the
journeymen walked, and were succeeded by the apprentices.
Every corporation had an immense carriage, with a great platform and
high canopy,—the whole radiant with gilding, ribbons, and draperies, and
drawn by six or eight horses equally decked and caparisoned—their
colours and flags flying in all directions. On these platforms, which
were fitted up as workshops, were the implements of the respective
trades; and expert hands were actually at work during the entire
perambulation, which generally lasted eight or nine hours!—The
procession indeed took two hours to pass. The narrow-weavers wove
ribbons which they threw to the spectators:—the others tossed into the
air small patterns of the fabric they worked upon: the printers were
employed in striking off innumerable hand-bills, with songs, and odes to
the lord mayor, the lady mayoress, &c.
But the smiths’ part of the spectacle was the most gaudy: they had their
forge in full work, and were attended by a very high phaeton adorned in
every way they could think of—the horses covered with flowers, gilt
stars, and coloured streamers. In this phaeton sat the most beautiful
woman they could possibly procure, as wife to their patron, Vulcan. It
is unnecessary to describe her dress: suffice it to say, it approached
that of a Venus as nearly as decency would permit: a blue scarf, covered
with silver doves, was used at her discretion, and four or five little
Cupids, apparently naked, with goose wings stuck to their shoulders,
(aiming with bows and arrows at the ladies in the windows,) played at
her feet.—On one side rode, on the largest horse which could be
provided, a huge fellow, representing Vulcan, dressed _cap-à-pie_ in
coal-black armour, and flourishing an immense smith’s sledge-hammer as
if it had been a light toy!—On the other side pranced his rival, Mars,
on a tawdry-caparisoned charger, in shining armour (with an immensity of
feathers and horse-hair), and brandishing a two-edged glittering sword
six or eight feet long—Venus meantime seeming to pay much more attention
to her gallant than to her husband. Behind the phaeton rode Argus, with
an immense peacock’s tail; whilst numerous other gods and goddesses,
saints, devils, satyrs, &c. were distributed in the procession, on
carriages painted with clouds for the _gods_, and blue flames for the
_devil_!
The skinners and tanners seemed to undergo no slight penance—a
considerable number of these artisans being dressed up close in sheep
and goat skins of different colours. The representatives of the butchers
were enveloped in hides, with towering horns, and rode along brandishing
knives, marrowbones, and cleavers!—a most formidable-looking
corporation! The apothecaries made up and distributed pills and boluses
on their platform, which was furnished with numerous metal pestles and
mortars, so contrived and tuned as to sound, in the grinding, like bells
ringing some popular air.—Each corporation had its appropriate band and
colours; perfect order was maintained; and so proud was the Dublin mob
of what they called their _fringes_,[47] that on this peculiar occasion
they managed to behave with great decorum and propriety.
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Footnote 47:
_Franchises._
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But the crowd seemed always in the most anxious expectation to see _the
tailors_, who were certainly the favourites. The master-tailors usually
borrowed the best horses from their _gentlemen_ customers; and as they
were not accustomed to horseback, the scene was certainly highly
ludicrous. A tailor on a spirited horse has ever been esteemed a
curiosity; but a troop of a hundred and fifty or two hundred tailors,
all decked with ribbons and lace and every species of finery, on horses
equally adorned, presented a spectacle outvying description! Their great
difficulty in keeping their seats was extremely amusing.—But when the
beast was _too obstreperous_, a couple of tawdry apprentices led
him:—this precaution, however, did not prevent occasional misadventures.
The journeymen and apprentices walked—except that number of workmen on
the platform. St. Crispin with his last, St. Andrew with his cross, and
St. Luke with his gridiron, were all included in the show; as were the
city officers in their full robes and paraphernalia. The guild of
merchants, being under the especial patronage of the _Holy Trinity_,
could not, with all their ingenuity, find out any unprofane emblem,
except a _shamrock_, of huge dimensions! the three _distinct_ leaves
whereof are on _one_ stalk. This, by the way, offered St. Patrick means
of explaining the Trinity, and thereby of converting the Irish to
Christianity; and hence the shamrock became the national emblem of
Ireland. The merchants had also a large ship on wheels, drawn and manned
by _real_ sailors.
This singular procession I twice witnessed: it has since been abolished,
after having worked well, and done no harm, from the days of the very
first lord mayor of Dublin. The city authorities, however, began at
length to think venison and claret would be better things for the same
expense; and so it was decided that the money should remain in the purse
of the corporation, and a wretched substitute for the old ceremony was
arranged. The lord mayor and sheriffs, with some dozen of dirty
constables, now perambulate these bounds in privacy and silence;—thus
defeating, in my mind, the very _intention_ of their charter, and taking
away a triennial prospective object of great attraction and pride to the
inhabitants of the metropolis of Ireland, for the sole purpose of
gratifying the sensual appetites of a city aristocracy, who court
satiety and indigestion at the expense of their humbler brethren.
The unnecessary abolition of all ancient ceremonies is impolitic. Such
as that of which I speak, tended to keep up an honest feeling of
national pride, and to mark epochas in time: gratifying the humbler
classes by giving them the prospect, although a distant one, of an
attractive object adapted to their taste, their habits, and their
station. The _fringes_ were a spur to industry, and the poor people took
great pride therein.