or Irishman, ever talks of the United States; we always speak of
America; and as, unfortunately for his highness, America is the
distinctive appellation of one quarter of the globe, no Englishman,
or even Irishman, would ever expect to find America in a map of
Europe. If, indeed, it had been a question about Puckler-Muskau,
or any such place, if place it be, we should, in common with all
the rest of the world, the prince himself perhaps excepted, have
hunted with the greatest alacrity to find it. But why was this old
"country squire" so anxious to find the two American towns, which,
by his anxiety, it is clear he thought his illustrious visitor knew
nothing about? Why? Why, because he "laid the first stone of both
during the American war, in which he commanded seven hundred men,
and loves to recall those days of his youth and importance." In the
preceding page he tells us that his host "is seventy-two years old,
and hale and vigorous as a man of fifty." Now, mark:--Halifax, the
capital of the province of Nova Scotia, was founded in May, 1749,
being exactly seventy-nine years before the year 1828, in which
his highness had the good fortune to meet with its "hale" founder,
_anno ætatis_ seventy-two, in Ireland, he having, according to his
highness's account and calculation, commanded seven hundred men, and
laid the first stone of a city, exactly seven years and four months
before he was born. Whether this "vigorous" personage waited for the
accouchement of his respectable mother to begin operations at B----,
we cannot determine--the initial (so delicate!) baffles us; but we
ought to be contented with his early exertions in the public service
at Halifax.
These innocent, or rather imbecile, blunders or fictions are followed
by another blasphemous satire upon our Church service--coupled with
the remark, that Ireland is "debased by the stupid intolerance of the
English priesthood," and that, therefore, out of a party of twenty
persons, nobody knew where Carlsbad or Prague was; they did not even
know where Bohemia was; in short, "everything out of Great Britain
and Paris was a country in the moon." All this is at Limerick,--where
the sexton of one of the "Catholic churches" told him they had rung
the bells as soon as they heard of his arrival, and begged ten
shillings as a gratuity; though we strongly suspect, that in 1828,
the "Catholic churches" had no bells; where his highness is offered
the order of the Liberators, which he declines, and compounds for
dining with the Agitators; and where also occurs that scene of his
being mistaken for young Ney, which we took leave to transpose to the
earlier part of our observations, in order to identify the author.
The great object, however, of his highness's Irish excursion was, as
might have been anticipated, to visit Mr. O'Connell; and accordingly
he gets a horse (a friend's, of course) to ride to Derrinane, by a
route which man on horseback never went before. On the journey a
"soft rain began to fall," and his delicate highness (who, be it
remembered, always prefers, or, at least, adopts the fashion of
"travelling outside") writes thus:--"As I am seldom in the way of
enjoying such a bath in the open air, I waded with a great feeling
of satisfaction and pleasure through the streams, throwing myself in
some degree into the pleasurable state of mind of a duck. Nothing
of that kind is, as you know, impossible to my mobile fancy."
What are we to make of this? His "thorough-lustre," the Prince
Puckler-Muskau--the "dignified," "prepossessing," all-accomplished,
admired of Goethe, the frank and favoured correspondent of Julia, and
the personal friend of Lady Morgan,--to be able to throw himself into
the pleasurable state of mind of a duck! and then appealing to his
"beloved soul" to bear public testimony that he is capable of such an
exertion. But perhaps the translator is in fault, and "duck" is not
the right word.
In his progress to Derrinane, a series of Munchausen adventures
await his highness:--he contrives to keep his seat in the saddle six
miles after having broken his saddle-girths--he subsequently saddles
himself, and leads his horse, (his carriage and people not being
there)--and at length, after fording bottomless torrents, ascending
inaccessible hills, and avoiding various inevitable accidents, the
least of which would have been mortal, he reaches "the Abbey,"
and, after much thumping and ringing, obtains admission. As many
of our readers may never have had the honour of inspecting this
distinguished _interieur_, we must let his highness speak:--
"The tower clock was striking eleven, and I was, I confess,
somewhat anxious as to my dinner, especially as I saw no living
being, except a man in a dressing-gown at an upper window. Soon,
however, I heard sounds in the house; a handsomely dressed
servant appeared, bearing silver candlesticks, and opened the
door of a room, in which I saw with astonishment a company of
from fifteen to twenty persons sitting at a long table, on which
were placed wine and dessert. A tall, handsome man, of cheerful
and agreeable aspect, rose to receive me, and apologized for
having given me up in consequence of the lateness of the hour,
regretted that I had made such a journey in such terrible
weather, presented me in a cursory manner to his family, who
formed the majority of the company, and then conducted me to my
bedroom. This was the great O'Connell!
"On the whole, he exceeded my expectations. His exterior is
attractive; and the expression of intelligent good-nature, united
with determination and prudence, which marks his countenance,
is extremely winning. He has, perhaps, more of persuasiveness
than of genuine, large, and lofty eloquence; and one frequently
perceives too much design and manner in his words. Nevertheless,
it is impossible not to follow his powerful arguments with
interest, to view the martial dignity of his carriage without
pleasure, or to refrain from laughing at his wit. It is very
certain that he looks much more like a general of Napoleon's
than a Dublin advocate. This resemblance is rendered much more
striking by the perfection with which he speaks French, having
been educated at the Jesuits' College at Doual and St. Omer.
His family is old, and was probably one of the great families
of the land. His friends, indeed, maintain that he springs from
the ancient kings of Kerry,--an opinion which no doubt adds
to the reverence with which he is regarded by the people. He
himself told me--and not without a certain pretension--that one
of his cousins was Comte O'Connell, and 'cordon rouge' in France;
and another a baron, general and chamberlain to the Emperor of
Austria; but that he was the head of the family. He is about
fifty years old, and in excellent preservation, though his youth
was rather wild and riotous....
"If he should succeed in obtaining emancipation, of which I
have no doubt, his career, so far from being closed, will, I
think, only then properly begin. The evils of Ireland, and of
the constitution of Great Britain generally, lie too deep to be
removed by emancipation. His understanding is sharp and quick,
and manners, as I have said, winning and popular; although
somewhat of the actor is perceivable in them, they do not conceal
his very high opinion of himself, and are occasionally tinged
by what an Englishman would call 'vulgarity.' Where is there a
picture entirely without a shade?
"Another interesting man, the real, though not ostensible, head
of the Catholics, was present, Father L'Estrange, a friar, and
O'Connell's confessor. He may be regarded as the real founder
of that Catholic Association so often derided in England, but
which by merely negative powers, by dexterous activity in secret,
and by universally organizing and training the people to one
determinate end, attained a power over them as boundless as
that of the hierarchy in the middle ages; with this difference,
that the former strove for light and liberty, the latter for
darkness and slavery. This is another outbreak of that second
great revolution, which solely by intellectual means, without any
admixture of physical force, is advancing to its accomplishment;
and whose simple but resistless weapons are public discussion
and the press. L'Estrange is a man of philosophical mind and
unalterable calmness. His manners are those of an accomplished
gentleman who has traversed Europe in various capacities, has a
thorough knowledge of mankind, and with all his mildness cannot
always conceal the sharp traces of great astuteness. I should
call him the ideal of a well-intentioned Jesuit. As O'Connell was
busy, I took an early walk with the friar to a desert island, to
which we crossed dry-footed over the smooth sand now left by the
ebb. Here stand the genuine ruins of Derrinane Abbey, to which
O'Connell's house is only an appendix. It is to be repaired by
the family, probably when some of their hopes are fulfilled....
"I wondered when I afterwards found both O'Connell and L'Estrange
entirely free from religious bigotry, and even remarked in them
very tolerant and philosophical views, though they persisted in
choosing to continue true Catholics. I wished I had been able to
conjure hither some of those furious imbeciles among the English
Protestants, who cry out at those Catholics as irrational and
bigoted; while they themselves alone, in the true sense of the
word, cling to the fanatical faith of their politico-religious
party, and are firmly predetermined to keep their long ears for
ever closed to reason and humanity."--Vol. i., pp. 334-338.
Tearing himself from "the Man of the People," Father L'Estrange, and
the rest of "the court of Derrinane," our prince transports himself
to Killarney; inspects Mucruss, rows about the lakes, repeats some of
Mr. Crofton Croker's stories of the great O'Donoghue, and again falls
into one of those _affaires du cœur_, his clever management of which
has so moved the admiration of the venerable Goethe.
"The Irish naïveté of the innkeeper's daughter made such an
agreeable impression on me, that on my return to her father's inn
I scarcely talked to anybody else, and thus won her good graces.
She had never quitted her native mountains, and was as ignorant
of the world as it is possible to conceive. I asked her, in jest,
if she would go with me to Cork. 'Oh no,' said she, 'I should be
afraid to go so far with you. Do tell me now who you really are:
You are a Jew--_that_ I know already.' 'Why, are you mad?' said
I; 'what makes you think I must be a Jew?' 'Ah, you can't deny
it; haven't you a black beard all round your chin, and five or
six gold rings on your fingers?' My disclaimer was of no use. At
last, however, she said good-humouredly, that if I positively
would not allow that I was one, she wished at least that I might
'become as rich as a Jew,' (an English phrase.) I confirmed this
with a Christian 'Amen!'"
Barring the last bit of blasphemy, this is a laughable page. We only
ask, whether any prince, who had not the mind of a duck, would record
such an adventure as this? Another bar-maid--another pot-girl--and
she to whom he exclusively devoted his attentions, to set him down
for a Jew, and not to be convinced to the contrary! Where were his
"people"--where the evidence to counteract this calumny? The mere
nastiness of encouraging a tuft of unseemly hair under his chin could
hardly have led the girl to this conclusion.
The second volume presents us with a series of visits to Protestant
country gentlemen, whose manners and dinners he derides, and whose
wives and daughters are talked of as "imbecile bigots," because they
"remember the Sabbath-day, and keep it holy,"--interspersed with
scenes on which his highness dwells with more satisfaction, but of
which we regret to find we can afford but few specimens. At Cashel
he passes several of his _white_ days, chiefly, of course, in the
company of persons unconnected with the "stupid, dull, Anglican
system." _Inter alia_, he is invited by "the Catholic dean to meet
the archbishop and sixteen other clergymen at dinner."
"The table did honour to a chaplain of the Holy Father.... The
conversation then turned on religious subjects, and was in a
perfectly free and partial spirit: never did I perceive the least
trace of bigotry, or of the disgusting affectation of puritanical
rigour. At the dessert, several sang their national songs, some
of which had no pretension to sanctity. As the one who sat next
me remarked some little surprise on my countenance, he said in
my ear, 'Here we forget the foreign * * * * the archbishop,
and the priest,--at table we are only gentlemen, and to enjoy
ourselves.'"--Vol. ii., pp. 47, 48.
"Before the archbishop retired," says his highness, "he said
to me, in a most obliging manner, 'You are _as you tell us!_ a
bishop! consequently, you owe obedience to the archbishop. I
employ this, my authority, to command you to dine here to-morrow
with your colleague the Bishop of Limerick, whom we expect
to-day;--I must hear of no excuse.' I answered, taking up the
jest, 'I readily confess that it does not beseem me to withstand
the discipline of the Church, and your grace and the dean know so
well how to sweeten obedience, that I submit the more willingly.'"
"I passed the evening in the society of the * * * * I have
seldom found Protestant clergymen so frank and sincere as these
Catholics. We came to the conclusion, that we must either receive
blindly the hereditary faith the Church prescribes; or, if this
be not in our power, form our own religious system as the result
of individual thoughts and individual feelings, which may rightly
be called the religion of philosophers. The * * * * spoke French
most fluently, I therefore quote his own words: 'Heureusement
on peut en quelque sorte combiner l'un et l'autre; car, au bout
du compte, il faut une religion positive au peuple.' 'Et dites
surtout,' replied I, 'qu'il en faut une aux rois et aux prêtres;
car aux uns elle fournit le par la grâce de Dieu, et aux autres,
de la puissance, des honneurs, et des richesses; le _peuple_ se
contenterait, peut-être, de bonnes lois et d'un gouvernement
libre.' 'Ah,' interrupted he, 'you think like Voltaire,
"Les prêtres ne sont pas ce qu'un vain peuple pense,
Et sa crédulité fait toute notre science."'
'Ma foi,' said I, 'si tous les prêtres vous ressemblaient je
penserais bien autrement.'"
"I was, unfortunately, unable to keep my word with my friendly
Amphitryon. A 'megrim' confined me all day to my bed. The
archbishop sent me word that he would cure me; and, if I
would but bring firm faith, would be sure to drive away the
headache-fiend by a well-applied exorcism. I was, however,
obliged to reply, that this devil was not one of the most
tractable, and that he respected no one but Nature, who sends
and recalls him at her pleasure, which, alas! is seldom in less
than four-and-twenty hours. I must, therefore, cut off even you,
dearest Julia, with a few words."
This is a pleasant specimen of communication between a "frank and
sincere" Irish * * * *, and a Lutheran liberal, who, in order to quiz
the very idea of a Protestant episcopacy, announces himself at a
drinking, singing party of papists, of which an archbishop makes one,
to be a bishop himself.
When the prince has done with the popish archbishop, he takes to
the pipers, and is safely delivered of this sapient remark:--"These
pipers, who are almost all blind, derive their origin from remote
antiquity. They are gradually fading away, for all that is old must
vanish from the earth." This is a truism:--but, as pipers, like other
men, to whatever age they may attain, are all born young--even in
Ireland--his highness may still encourage the hope, that when the
old ones die off, others will succeed them. The chapter of pipers is
succeeded by a not very delicate one on game-cocks; but we must pass
over this, and accompany the prince to the Phœnix Park, where he is
in his proper sphere.
"Lord Anglesea invited me to dinner," says his highness, "and
the party was brilliant. He is beloved in Ireland for his
impartiality, and for the favour he has always shown to the
cause of emancipation. His exploits as a general officer are
well known--no man has a more graceful and polished address in
society. A more perfect work of art than his false leg I never
saw."
This climax of compliment will, no doubt, be felt and appreciated by
his Excellency: he adds--
"The power and dignity of a Lord Lieutenant are considerable
as representative of the king; but he holds them only at the
pleasure of the ministry. Among other privileges, he has that of
creating Baronets; and in former times inn-keepers, and men even
less qualified, have received that dignity."
Baronets, as everybody knows, the Lord Lieutenant never could
create, and the knighthoods the prince refers to most ungracefully,
considering the "free and easy" manner in which, as we shall
presently see, he treated Sir Charles Morgan and Sir Arthur
Clarke--the individuals to whom he obviously points--and their
"womankind." But, indeed, his malignity towards unfortunate Lady
Morgan is worthy of severer reprehension. The following passage
appears to us entirely indefensible:--
"I spent a very pleasant evening to-day at Lady M----'s. The
company was small, but amusing, and enlivened by the presence
of two very pretty friends of our hostess, who sang in the
best Italian style. I talked a great deal with Lady M---- on
various subjects, and she has talent and feeling enough always
to excite a lively interest in her conversation. On the whole,
I think I did not say enough in her favour in my former letter;
at any rate, I did not then know one of her most charming
qualities,--that of possessing two such pretty relatives.
"The conversation fell upon her works, and she asked me how
I liked her Salvator Rosa? 'I have not read it,' replied I,
'because' (I added by way of excusing myself, 'tant bien que
mal') 'I like your fictions so much, that I did not choose to
read anything historical from the pen of the most imaginative of
romance writers.' 'O, that is only a romance,' said she; 'you may
read it without any qualms of conscience.' 'Very well,' thought
I; 'probably that will apply to your travels too,'--but this I
kept to myself. 'Ah,' said she, 'believe me, it is only _ennui_
that sets my pen in motion; our destiny in this world is such
a wretched one that I try to forget it in writing.' Probably
the Lord Lieutenant had not invited her, or some other great
personage had failed in 'his engagement to her, for she was
quite out of spirits."--Vol. ii., p. 103.
At page 108 we are introduced to Lady Clarke, Lady Morgan's
sister--for they are both "Ladies"--and Sir Arthur Clarke, and the
Misses Clarke, who turn out to be the two "pretty relatives." Lady
Clarke, we are told, "is very superior to her celebrated relation
in accurate taste and judgment." Of the young ladies, whom his
highness calls his "little nightingales," the prince says much; but
it would be unfair to criticise his criticisms upon them, which are
only distinguished by vanity, puppyism, conceit, bad taste, and bad
feeling. He takes these poor girls to see "the fine artist," M.
Ducrow, ("an admirable model for sculptors, in an elastic dress,
which fits exquisitely,") ride nine horses at once, and "finally go
to bed with a pony dressed as an old woman;" and the "little one"
trembled with delight, with anxiety and eagerness, and kept her hands
clenched all the time; and then comes a history of his fetching out a
girl, who had acted Napoleon, from a dressing-room, where she stood
naked as "a little Cupid before the glass," (we should have said a
little Venus!)--but there is no end to his malice.
"I rested myself (he says) this evening in the accustomed place.
'Tableaux' were again the order of the day. I had to appear
successively as Brutus, an Asiatic Jew, Francis the First,
and Saladin. Miss J---- was a captivating little fellow as a
student of Alcala; and her eldest sister, as a fair slave, a
welcome companion to Saladin. As the beautiful Rebecca, she also
assorted not ill with the oriental Jew. All these metamorphoses
were accomplished with the help only of four candles, two
looking-glasses, a few shawls and coloured handkerchiefs, a burnt
cork, a pot of rouge, and different heads of hair."
Even the mysteries of her ladyship's dressing-room, and the articles
which compose her ladyship's toilette, are not sacred in the eyes of
this "right-minded observer!"
Our readers have probably had enough of the prince. On the political
portion of his highness's book we cannot enter, because his politics
are universally mixed up with impiety. As to personal adventure,
his closing chapters on Ireland contain little of that, except his
being invited to drink wine at a radical meeting, and a visit to the
Catholic Association. The rest is a mere tissue of commonplaces,
evidently gleaned from the female attendants of the small inns which
his highness was in the habit of frequenting, while his "carriage
and people" were absent. He quits Ireland, and starts from Holyhead
by the mail; he arrives at Shrewsbury, and, although the mail very
rarely stops for anybody, perambulates the whole town,--sketches
the horses,--examines the castle, and the tread-mill,--and yet is
in time to pursue his journey, which he does on the outside of the
mail, with four outside passengers! At Monmouth he pauses,--goes into
a bookseller's shop to "buy a Guide,"--and "unexpectedly" makes the
acquaintance of the bookseller's "very amiable family," particularly
two "pretty daughters,"--of whom his highness observes, as a Lyell or
Murchison would of lumps of nickel or tungsten, "they were the most
perfect specimens of innocent country girls I ever met with." They
were at tea when his highness dropped in; and the father, "unusually
loquacious for an Englishman, took him absolutely and formally
prisoner, and began to ask him the strangest questions about the
Continent and about politics."
"The daughters," said his highness, "obviously pitied
me--probably from experience--and tried to restrain him; but
I let him go on, and surrendered myself for half an hour _de
bonne grace_, by which I won the good-will of the whole family
to such a degree, that they all pressed me most warmly to stay
some days in this beautiful country, and to take up my abode
with them. When I rose at length to go, they positively refused
to take anything for the book; '_bongré, malgré_,' I was forced
to keep it as a present. Such conquests please me; because their
manifestations can come only from the heart."
The reader will presently find the sequel to this double shot, by
which two perfect specimens of innocence were killed dead; but he
must first be told that his highness, the next morning, charges the
landlord of his inn, the waiters, or the chambermaids, or somebody,
with stealing his purse and pocket-book. They indignantly deny the
charge, and repel the imputation, which his highness appears to have
been anxious to cast equally upon gentlemen and innkeepers, and offer
to submit to instant search, adding, however, that his highness must
undergo a similar operation. This his highness declines; he thinks
it best to put up with the loss of ten pounds, and depart; and what
will the reader think he therefore did? "Why," says the prince, "I
therefore took some more bank-notes out of my travelling-bag, paid
the reckoning, and so departed."
From this splendid detail we discern that his highness travelled with
a sac de nuit stuffed with bank-notes; nevertheless--
"The Prince, unable to conceal his pain"
at the loss of his ten pounds, runs to his amiable friends at the
bookshop, and imparts to them the disaster:--
"The surprise and concern of all were equal. In a few minutes the
daughters began to whisper to their mother, made signs to one
another, then took their father on one side; and after a short
deliberation, the youngest came up to me and asked me, blushing
and embarrassed, 'Whether this loss might not have caused me
a temporary embarrassment, and whether I would accept a loan
of five pounds, which I could restore whenever I returned that
way:' at the same time trying to push the note into my hand.
Such genuine kindness touched me to the heart: it had something
so affectionate and disinterested, that the greatest benefit
conferred under other circumstances would perhaps have inspired
me with less gratitude than this mark of unaffected goodwill. You
may imagine how cordially I thanked them. 'Certainly,' said I,
'were I in the slightest difficulty, I should not be too proud to
accept so kind an offer; but as this is not in the least degree
the case, I shall lay claim to your generosity in another way,
and beg permission to be allowed to carry back to the Continent a
kiss from each of the fair girls of Monmouth.' This was granted,
amid much laughter and good-natured resignation. Thus freighted,
I went back to my carriage!"--(N.B.--He had come by the mail.)
The end of all this interesting story is, that two or three days
after, his highness (whom, like Goethe, and unlike the barmaids, and
the bookseller's daughters, we always "figure to ourselves as of a
dignified aspect") finds his purse and his book in his dressing-gown
pocket, so that the whole episode is given to show his Julia what a
fine man he is, and how ready his "specimens of innocence" are to
fall vanquished at his feet.--"Eich dyn!"