impenetrable obscurity seems to hover; but if _Samhuin_ is derived from
_Samhfhuin_, as it is generally supposed, the term literally means the
gathering or closing of summer; and, in fact, on the eve of the first of
November we make our offerings round the domestic altar, (the fireside)
of such fruits as the lingering season affords, besides playing a number
of curious gambols, and performing many superstitious ceremonies, in
which our young folk find great pleasure, and put great faith.”
“For my part,” said Glorvina, “I love all those old ceremonies which
force us to be periodically happy, and look forward with no little
impatience to the gay-hearted pleasures which to-morrow will bring in
its train.”
The little post-boy has this moment tapped at my door for my letter, for
he tells me he sets off before dawn, that he may be back in time for the
sport. It is now past eleven o’clock, but I could not resist giving you
this little scrap of Irish mythology, before I wished you good night.
H. M.
LETTER XIX.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
All the life-giving spirit of spring, mellowed by the genial glow of
summer, shed its choicest treasures on the smiling hours which yesterday
ushered in the most delightful of the seasons.
I arose earlier than usual; the exility of my mind would not suffer me
to rest, and the scented air, as it breathed its odours through my open
casement, seduced me abroad. I walked as though I scarcely touched the
earth, and my spirit seemed to ascend like the lark which soared over
my head to hail the splendour of the dewy dawn. There is a fairy vale in
the little territories of Inismore, which is almost a miniature _Tempe_,
and which is indeed the only spot on the peninsula where the luxuriant
charms of the most bounteous nature are evidently improved by taste
and cultivation. In a word, it is a spot sacred to the wanderings of
Glorvina. It was there our theological discourse was held on the evening
of my return, and thither my steps were now with an irresistible impulse
directed.
I had scarcely entered this Eden, when the form of the Eve, to whose
picturesque fancy it owes so many charms presented itself. She was
standing at a little distance _en profile_--with one hand she supported
a part of her drapery filled with wild flowers, gathered ere the sun
had kissed off the tears which night had shed upon their bosom; with
the other she seemed carefully to remove some branches that entwined
themselves through the sprays of a little hawthorn hedge richly embossed
with the firstborn blossoms of May.
As I stole towards her, I exclaimed, as Adam did when he first saw
Eve--
“---Behold her,
Such as I saw her in my dream adorned,
With all that earth or heaven could bestow.
She started and turned round, and in her surprise let fall her flowers,
yet she smiled, and seemed confused--but pleasure, pure, animated,
life-breathing pleasure, was the predominant expression of her
countenance. The Deity of Health was never personified in more glowing
colours--her eye’s rich blue, her cheek’s crimson blush, her lip’s dewy
freshness, the wanton wildness of her golden tresses, the delicious
langour that mellowed the fire of her beamy glance--I gazed, and
worshipped! but neither apologized for my intrusion, nor had the
politeness to collect her scattered flowers.
“If Nature,” said I, “had always such a priestess to preside at her
altar, who would worship at the shrine of Art?”
“I am her votarist only,” she replied, smiling, and, pointing to a wild
rose which had just begun to unfold its blushing breast amidst the snowy
blossoms of the hedge--added, “see how beautiful! how orient its hue
appears through the pure crystal of the morning dew-drop! It is nearly
three weeks since I first discovered it in the germ, since when I have
screened it from the noonday ardours, and the evening’s frost, and now
it is just bursting into perfection to reward my cares.”
At these words, she plucked it from the stem. Its crimson head drooped
with the weight of the gems that spangled it. Glorvina did not shake
them off, but imbibed the liquid fragrance with her lip; then held the
flower to me!
“Am I to pledge you?” said I.
She smiled, and I quaffed off the fairy nectar, which still trembled on
the leaves her lip had consecrated.
“We have now,” said I, “_both_ drank from the same cup; and if the
delicious draught which Nature has prepared for us, circulates with
mutual effect through our veins--If”--I paused, and cast down my eyes.
The hand which still sustained the rose, and was still clasped in
mine, seemed to tremble with an emotion scarcely inferior to that which
thrilled through my whole frame.
After a minute’s pause--“Take the rose,” said Glorvina, endeavouring
to extricate the precious hand which presented it--“Take it; it is the
first of the season! My father has had his snowdrop--the confessor his
violet--and it is but just you should have your _rose_.”
At that moment the classical remark of the priest rushed, I believe,
with mutual influence, to both our hearts. I, at least, was borne
away by the rapturous feelings of the moment, and knelt to receive the
offering of my lovely votarist.
I kissed the sweet and simple tribute with pious ardour; but with a
devotion more fervid, kissed the hand that presented it. I would not
have exchanged that moment for the most pleasurable era of my existence.
The blushing radiance that glowed on her cheek, sent its warm suffusion
even to the hand I had violated with my unhallowed lip; while the
sparkling fluid of her eyes, turned on mine in almost dying softness,
beamed on the latent powers of my once-chilled heart, and awakened there
a thousand delicious transports, a thousand infant wishes and chaste
desires, of which I lately thought its worn-out feelings were no longer
susceptible.
As I arose, I plucked off a small branch of that myrtle which here grows
wild, and which, like my rose, was dripping in dew, and putting it into
the hand I still held, said, “This offering is indeed less beautiful,
less fragrant, than that which you have made; but remember, it is also
less _fragile_--for the sentiment of which it is an emblem, carries with
it an eternity of duration.”
Glorvina took it in silence and placed it in her bosom; and in silence
we walked together towards the castle; while our eyes, now timidly
turned on each other, now suddenly averted (O, the insidious danger of
the abruptly downcast eye!) met no object but what breathed of love,
whose soul seemed
“--Sent abroad,
Warm through the vital air, and on the heart
Harmonious seiz’d.”
The morning breeze flushed with etherial fervour; the luxury of the
landscape through which we wandered, the sublimity of those stupendous
cliffs which seemed to shelter two hearts from the world, to which their
profound feelings were unknown, while
--Every copse
Deep tangled, but irregular, and bush,
Bending with dewy moisture o’er the head,
Of the coy choiristers that lodged within,
Were prodigal of harmony,”
and crowned imagination’s wildest wish, and realized the fancy’s warmest
vision.
“Oh! my sweet friend!” I exclaimed, “since now I feel myself entitled
thus to call you--well indeed might your nation have held this day
sacred; and while the heart, which now throbs with an emotion to which
it has hitherto been a stranger, beats with the pulse of life, on the
return of this day will it make its offering to that glorious orb, to
whose genial nutritive beams this precious rose owes its existence.”
As I spoke, Father John suddenly appeared. Vexed as I was at this
unseasonable intrusion, yet in such perfect harmony was my spirit with
the whole creation, that, in the true hyperbola of Irish cordiality, I
wished him a thousand happy returns of this season!
“Spoken like a true-born Irishman!” said the priest, laughing, and
shaking me heartily by the hand--“While with something of the phlegm
of an Englishman, I wish you only as many returns of it as shall bring
health and felicity in their train.”
Then looking at the myrtle which reposed on the bosom of Glorvina, and
the rose which I so proudly wore, he added--“So, I perceive you have
both been sacrificing to _Beal_; and like the priests and priestesses
of this country in former times, are adorned with the flowers of the
season. For you must know, Mr. Mortimer, _we_ had our Druidesses as well
as our Druids; and both, like the ministers of Grecian mythology, were
crowned with flowers at the time of sacrifice.”
At this apposite remark of the good priest, I stole a glance at _my_
lovely priestess. Hero, at the altar of the deity she rivalled, never
looked more attractive to the enamoured Leander.
We had now come within a few steps of the portals of the castle, and
I observed that since I passed that way, the path and entrance were
strewed with green flags, rushes, and wild crocuses; * while the heavy
framework of the door was hung with garlands, and bunches of flowers,
tastefully displayed.
* “Seeing the doors of the Greeks on the first of May,
profusely ornamented with flowers, would certainly recall to
your mind the many descriptions of that custom which you
have met with in the Greek and Latin poets.--Letters on
Greece, by Moniseur Da Guys, vol i. p. 153.
“This, madam,” said I to Glorvina, “is doubtless the result of your
happy taste.”
“By no means,” she replied--“this is a custom prevalent among the
peasantry time immemorial.”
“And most probably was brought hither,” said the priest, “from Greece by
our Phonician progenitors: for we learn from Athenæus, that the young
Greeks hung garlands on the doors of their favourite mistresses on the
first of May. Nor indeed does the Roman _floralia_ differ in any respect
from ours.”
“Those, however, which you now admire,” said Glorvina, smiling, “are
no offerings of rustic gallantry; for every hut in the country, on this
morning, will bear the same fanciful decorations. The wild crocus, and
indeed every flower of that rich tint, is peculiarly sacred to this
day.”
And, in fact, when, in the course of the day, I rambled out alone,
and looked into the several cabins, I perceived not only their floors
covered with flags and rushes, but a “Maybush,” as they call it, or
small tree, planted before all the doors, covered with every flower the
season affords.
I saw nothing of Glorvina until evening, except for a moment, when I
perceived her lost over a book, (as I passed her closet window) which,
by the Morocco binding, I knew to be the Letters of the impassioned
Heloise. Since her society was denied me, I was best satisfied to resign
her to Rosseau. _Apropos!_ it was among the books I brought hither; and
they were all precisely such books as Glorvina had _not_ yet _should_
read, that she may know herself, and the latent sensibility of her soul.
They have, of course, all been presented to her, and consist of
“_La Nouvelle Hel oise_” de Rosseau--the unrivalled “_Lettres sur la
Mythologie_” de Moustier--the “_Paul et Virginie_” of St. Pierre--the
_Werter_ of Goethe--the _Dolhreuse_ of Lousel, and the _Attilla_ of
Chateaubriand. Let our English novels carry away the prize of morality
from the romantic fictions of every other country; but you will find
they rarely seize on the imagination through the medium of the heart;
and as for their heroines, I confess, that though they are the most
perfect beings, they are also the most stupid. Surely, virtue would not
be the less attractive for being united to genius and the graces.
But to return to the never-to-be-forgotten _first of May!_ Early in the
evening the Prince, his daughter, the priest, the bard, the old nurse,
and indeed all the household of Inismore, adjourned to the vale, which
being the only level ground on the peninsula, is always appropriated to
the sports of the rustic neighbours. It was impossible I should enter
this vale without emotion; and when I beheld it crowded with the vulgar
throng, I felt as if it were profanation for the
“Sole of unblest feet!”
to tread that ground sacred to the most refined emotions of the heart.
Glorvina, who walked on before the priest and me, supporting her father,
as we entered the vale stole a glance at me; and a moment after, as
I opened the little wicket through which we passed, I murmured in her
ear--_La val di Rosa!_
We found this charming spot crowded with peasantry of both sexes and all
ages. * Since morning they had planted a Maybush in the centre, which
was hung with flowers, and round the seats appropriated to the
Prince and his family, the flag, crocus, and primrose, were profusely
scattered. Two blind fiddlers, and an excellent piper, ** were seated
under the shelter of the very hedge which had been the nursery of my
precious rose; while the old bard, with true druidical dignity sat under
the shade of a venerable oak, near his master.
* In the summer of 1802, the author was present at a rural
festival at the seat of a highly respected friend in
Tipperary, from which this scene is partly copied.
** Although the bagpipe is not an instrument indigenous to
Ireland, it holds a high antiquity in the country. It was
the music of the Kearns, in the reign of Edward the Third.
[See Smith’s History of Cork, page 43.] It is still the
favourite accompaniment of those mirthful exertions with
which laborious poverty crowns the temporary cessation of
its weekly toil, and the cares and solicitudes of the Irish
peasant ever dissipate to the spell which breathes in the
humorous drones of the Irish pipes. To Scotland we are
indebted for this ancient instrument, who received it from
the Romans; but to the native musical genius of Ireland are
we indebted for its present form and improved state. ‘That
at present in use in Ireland,’ says Dr. Burney, in a letter
to J. C. Walker, Esq., is an improved bagpipe, on which I
have heard some of the natives play very well in two parts,
without the drone, which, I believe, is never attempted in
Scotland The tone of the lower notes resembles that of an
hautboy or clarionet, and the high notes, that of a German
flute: and the whole scale of one I heard lately was very
well in tune, which has never been the case of any Scottish
bagpipe that I have yet heard.”
The sports began with a wrestling match; * and in the gymnastic
exertions of the youthful combatants there was something, I thought, of
Spartan energy and hardihood.
* The young Irish peasantry particularly prize themselves on
this species of exertion: they have almost reduced it to a
science, by dividing it into two distinct species--the one
called “sparnaight,” engages the arms only; the other,
“carriaght,” engages the whole body.
But as “breaking of ribs is no sport for ladies,” Glorvina turned from
the spectacle in disgust; which I wished might have been prolonged, as
it procured me (who leaned over her seat) her undivided attention; but
it was too soon concluded, though without any disagreeable consequences,
for neither of the combatants were hurt, though one was laid prostrate.
The victorious wrestler was elected King of the May; and, with “all his
blushing honours thick upon him,” came timidly forward, and laid his
rural crown at the feet of Glorvina. Yet he evidently seemed intoxicated
with his happiness, and though he scarcely touched the hand of his
blushing, charming nueen, yet I perceived a thousand saucy triumphs
basking in his fine black eyes, as he led her out to dance. The fellow
was handsome too. I know not why, but I could have knocked him down with
all my heart.
“Every village has its Cæsar,” said the priest, “and this is ours. He
has been elected King of the May for these five years successively He is
second son to our old steward, and a very worthy, as well as a very fine
young fellow.”
“I do not doubt his worth,” returned I, peevish ly, “but it certainly
cannot exceed the condescension of his young mistress.”
“There is nothing singular in it, however,” said the priest. “Among
us, over such meetings as these, inequality of rank holds no _obvious_
jurisdiction, though in fact it is not the less regarded; and the
condescension of the master or mistress on these occasions, lessens
nothing of the respect of the servant upon every other; but rather
secures it, through the medium of gratitude and affection.” The piper
had now struck up one of those lilts, whose mirth-inspiring influence it
is almost impossible to resist.* The Irish jig, above every other dance,
leaves most to the genius of the dancer; and Glorvina, above all the
women I have ever seen, seems most formed by nature to exce in the art.
Her little form, pliant as that of an Egyptian _alma_, floats before the
eye in all the swimming langour of the most graceful motion, or all the
gay exility of soul-inspired animation. She even displays an exquisite
degree of comic humour in some of the movements of her national dance:
and her eyes, countenance, and air express the wildest exhilaration of
pleasure, and glow with all the spirit of health, mirth, and exercise.
* Besides the Irish jig, tradition has rescued from that
oblivion which time has hung over the ancient Irish dance,
the _rinceadh fada_, which answers to the festal dance of
the Greeks; and the _rinceadh_, or war dance, “which seems,”
says Mr. Walker, “to have been of the nature of the armed
dance, which is so ancient, and with which the Grecian youth
amused themselves during the seige of Troy.” Previous to the
adoption of the French style in dancing, Mr. O’Halloran
asserts, that both our private and public balls always
concluded with the “rinceadh-fada.” On the arrival of James
the Second at Kinsale, his adherents received the
unfortunate prince on the shore with this dance, with whose
taste and execution he was infinitely delighted: and even
still, in the county of Limerick and many other parts of
Ireland, the “rinceadh-fada” is danced on the eve of May.
I was so struck with the grace and elegance of her movements, the
delicacy of her form, and the play of her drapery gently agitated by the
air, that I involuntarily gave to my admiration an audible existence.
“Yes,” said the priest, who overheard me, “she performs her national
dance with great grace and spirit. But the Irish are all dancers; and,
like the Greeks, we have no idea of any festival here which does not
conclude with a dance; * old and young, rich and poor, all join here in
the sprightly dance.”
* “The passion of the Greeks for dancing is common to both
sexes, who neglect every other consideration when they have
an opportunity of indulging that passion.”
Glorvina, unwearied, still continued to dance with unabated spirit, and
even seemed governed by the general principle which actuates all the
Irish dancers--of not giving way to any competitor in the exertion; for
she actually outdanced her partner, who had been jigging with all his
_strength_, while she had only been dancing with all her _soul_; and
when he retreated, she dropped a simple curtsey (according to the laws
of jig-dancing here) to another young rustic, whose seven league brogues
finally prevailed, and Glorvina at last gave way, while he made a scrape
to a rosy cheeked, barefooted damsel, who out jigged him and his two
successors; and thus the chain went on.
Glorvina, as she came panting and glowing towards me, exclaimed, “I have
done my duty for the evening;” and threw herself on a seat, breathless
and smiling.
“Nay,” said I, “more than your duty; for you even performed a work of
supererogation.” And I cast a pointed look at the young rustic who had
been the object of her election.
“O!” she replied, eagerly--“it is the custom here, and I should be
sorry, for the indulgence of an overstrained delicacy, to violate any of
those established rules to which, however trifling, they are
devotedly attached. Besides, you perceive,” she added, smiling, “this
condescension on the part of the females, who are thus ‘won unsought,’
does not render the men more presumptuous. You see what a distance the
youth of both sexes preserve--a distance which always exists in these
kind of public meetings.”
And, in fact, the lads and lasses were ranged opposite to each other,
with no other intercourse than what the communion of the eyes afforded,
or the transient intimacy of the jig bestowed. *
* This custom, so prevalent in some parts of Ireland, is of
a very ancient origin. We read in Keating’s History of
Ireland, that in the remotest periods, when the Irish
brought their children to the fair of Tailtean, in order to
dispose of them in marriage, the strictest order was
observed; the men and women having distinct places assigned
them at a certain distance from each other.
“And will you not dance a jig?” asked Glorvina.
“I seldom dance,” said I--“Ill health has for some time back coincided
with my inclination, which seldom led me to try my skill at the _Poetry
of motion?_”
“Poetry of motion!” repeated Glorvina--“What a beautiful idea!”
“It is so,” said I, “and if it had been my own, it must have owed its
existence to you; for your dancing is certainly the true poetry of
motion, and _Epic_ poetry too.”
“I love dancing with all my heart,” she replied: “when I dance I have
not a care on earth--every thing swims gaily before me; and I feel as
swiftly borne away in a vortex of pleasurable sensation.”
“Dancing,” said I, “is the talent of your sex--that pure grace which
must result from a symmetrical form, and that elixity of temperament
which is the effect of woman’s delicate organization, creates you
dancers. And while I beheld your performances this evening, I no longer
wondered that the gravity of Socrates could not resist the spell which
lurked in the graceful motions of Aspasia, but followed her in the mazes
of the dance.”
She bowed, and said, I “flattered too agreeably, not to be listened to
with _pleasure_, if not with _faith_.”
In short, I have had a thousand occasions to observe, that while
she receives a decided compliment with the ease of almost _bon ton
nonchalance_, a look, a broken sentence, a word, has the power of
overwhelming her with confusion, or awakening all the soul of emotion in
her bosom. All this I can understand.
As the dew of the evening now began to fall, the invalid Prince and
his lovely daughter arose to retire. And those who had been rendered
so happy by their condescension, beheld their retreat with regret, and
followed them with blessings. Whiskey, milk, and oaten bread were now
distributed in abundance by the old nurse and the steward; and the
dancing was recommenced with new ardour.
The priest and I remained behind, conversing with the old and jesting
with the young--he in Irish, and I in English, with such as understood
it. The girls received my little gallantries with considerable archness,
and even with some point of repartee; while the priest rallied them in
their own way, for he seems as playful as a child among them, though
evidently worshipped as a sakit. And the moon rose resplendently over
the vale, before it was restored to its wonted solitary silence.
*****
Glorvina has made the plea of a headache these two mornings back, for
playing the truant at her drawing desk; but the fact is, her days
and nights are devoted to the sentimental sorcery of Rosseau, and the
effects of her studies are visible in her eyes. When we meet, her glance
sinks beneath the ardour of mine in soft confusion; her manner is no
longer childishly playful, or carelessly indifferent, and sometimes a
sigh, scarce breathed, is discovered by the blush which glows on her
cheek for the inadvertency of her lip. Does she, then, begin to feel
she has a heart? Does “_Le besoin de l’ame tendre_,” already throb
with vague emotion in her bosom? Her abstracted air, her delicious
melancholy, her unusual softness, betray the nature of the feelings
by which she is overwhelmed--they are new to herself; and sometimes I
fancy, when she turns her melting eyes on me, it is to solicit their
meaning. O! if I dared become the interpreter between her and her
heart--if I dared indulge myself in the hope, the belief that---- and
what then? ’Tis all folly, ’tis madness, ’tis worse! But whoever
yet rejected the blessing for which his soul thirsted?--And in the
scale of human felicities, if there is one in which all others is summed
up--above all others supremely elevated--it is the consciousness of
having awakened the first sentiment of the sweetest, the sublimest of
all passions, in the bosom of youth, genius, and sensibility.
Adieu, H. M.
LETTER XX.