About noon I quitted Dublin entirely alone, comfortably established on
my good steed. I left my carriage and people in the town, and sent a
little travelling bag, containing my most necessary effects, before me
by the stage-coach. Unfortunately, however, this was changed by mistake;
and though I waited for it a whole day and night in Bray, only twenty
miles from Dublin, it did not overtake me; rather than go back or wait
longer, I bought a Scotch cloak and some linen in Bray, and entered on
my tour quite after the fashion of a student. I supped with a young
parson of good family, who made me laugh heartily at his orthodoxy in
matters of religion, interspersed with talk which was by no means
remarkable for severe decorum or virtue. But such is the piety of
Englishmen,--it is to them at once a party matter and an affair of good
manners; and as in politics they follow their party implicitly, through
thick and thin, reasonable and unreasonable, because it _is_ their
party;--as they submit to a custom for ever because it _is_ a custom; so
they regard their religion, (without the least tincture of poetry,) in
exactly the same point of view: they go to church on Sundays, just as
regularly as they dress every day for dinner; and regard a man who
neglects church, just in the same light as one who eats fish with a
knife.[123]
Accompanied by the young divine, who was travelling the same way for
some distance, I left Bray at five o'clock in the morning. In a most
lovely country we passed Kilruddery, a newly built seat of the Earl of
Meath, in the style of the houses of Elizabeth's time;--in this case the
masses are not sufficiently large to produce a good effect. The park is
not very extensive, but long and narrow; the gardens, in the old French
taste, are very celebrated; but, probably owing to our unpretending
appearance, we were most discourteously denied admittance. In England
this is common enough, but rare in Ireland, and gave no very favourable
impression of the philanthropy of the possessor. My companion, who is an
adherent of 'la grace efficace,'--that is to say, who is firmly
persuaded that God, from all eternity, predestined his favourites for
heaven, and others who pleased him less for hell,--made no doubt; in his
wrath, that the Lord of Kilruddery belonged to the latter category. "It
is a disgrace to an Irishman!" exclaimed he, angrily; and I had some
difficulty in making him understand the duty of tolerance.
A second park, Bellevue, the property of a worthy old gentleman, readily
opened its gates to us. Here is a summer-house which seems to hang in
the air, and overlooks the 'Glen of the Downs,' a deep valley, behind
which two extinct volcanoes rear their conical heads. The summer-house
had just been prettily covered with purple heather. A less happy thought
was a stuffed tiger, lying as if alive in the anteroom.
My travelling chaplain here quitted me, and I rode alone to the vale of
Durwan, where, in a narrow romantic pass, stands a rock eighty or a
hundred feet high, shaped in the rude outline of the human figure. The
country people, who relate many wondrous stories about it, call it the
Giant. Not far from it are the ruins of a castle, so entirely overgrown
with ivy, that you must approach very near to distinguish it from the
surrounding trees. At the end of the valley the path winds over meadows
to a considerable height, which command a most exquisite view. I looked
across the sea, and saw, almost with a feeling of home sickness, the
Welsh mountains in the blue distance.
After having refreshed myself with bread and milk in a little country
inn, I took my way to the 'Devil's Glen,' which merits the name it
bears. The wild scene opens with a Gothic castle, whose blackened walls
rise above the surrounding wood: you then plunge into a glen whose sides
gradually rise higher and higher, and are more and more contracted,
while the moaning breeze rustles louder through the dark thicket, and
the torrent roars more fearfully. I rode on with difficulty over the
slippery earth, incessantly annoyed by the overhanging boughs, and
suddenly found the path terminated by a magnificent cascade, which
plunges headlong over lofty crags, and disappears foaming in the bottom.
If not the devil himself, it is at least Kühleborn.
Most agreeable is the change from this awful glen to the lovely sylvan
valley of Rosanna, where I ate my mid-day repast under the shade of
high ash-trees. I found two regular English tourists, armed with _hortus
siccus_ and hammers. They had resided here for some weeks, during which
time they had had the clean table-cloth removed from the dirty table,
and remained sitting an hour at dessert, with exactly the same
punctuality as in a London coffee-house, though they had miserable
sloe-juice instead of claret, and roasted apples instead of ripe fruit.
At seven o'clock I mounted my horse again, galloped ten miles along the
main road, and just before sunset reached the exquisitely beautiful
Avondale. In this paradise every possible charm is united. A wood which
appears of measureless extent, two noble rivers, rocks of every variety
of picturesque form, the greenest meadows, the most varied and luxuriant
shrubberies and thickets; in short, scenery changing at every step, yet
never diminishing in beauty. The last time I traversed the valley it was
moonlight, and I should have found my way with difficulty but for a
young man who was returning from shooting; with true Irish kindness and
courtesy he accompanied me at least three miles on foot, far beyond the
most intricate parts. The night was extremely clear and mild, the sky as
blue as by day, and the moon lustrous as a gem. Though I lost something
in extent of view, I gained perhaps more by the magic light which was
diffused through the atmosphere; by the darker and more fantastic
'contours' of the rocks,--the thought-pregnant stillness,--and the
sweetly-awful loneliness of night.
At ten o'clock I reached the end of my day's journey, Avoca Inn; where I
found very tolerable accommodation, kind and hearty attendance, and
moderate charges. I met another English tourist in the eating-room:--but
this was a high spirited and interesting young man, who fully
sympathized in my rapture at the enchanting country, and with whom I
talked away a very pleasant hour at tea, before I sat down to write to
you. But now good night, for mountain travelling demands early rising.
_Roundwood, August 23rd._
Yesterday I rode eight German miles,--to-day nine; and my chest is not
at all the worse. Pleasure is an excellent restorative; and I have seen
so many varied objects, that these few days appear to me like so many
weeks.
I had slept well, though the broken windows of my chamber were only
repaired with pillows. My humble lodging was succeeded by a better
breakfast, and my horse was excellently taken care of. I ride like the
Arabs, either at a gallop or a foot pace: this fatigues one the least,
and gets over the most ground. My first excursion was to the celebrated
'Meeting of the Waters,' where the two rivers Avon-beg and Avon-more
unite their streams. They have chosen the most picturesque spot in which
to celebrate their nuptial feast.
On a rock on this side stands Castle Howard, with its numerous towers
and battlements, which, unluckily, were but just finished, and on a near
approach lost all their imposing effect. I found the castle still buried
in sleep; and a servant in his shirt showed me the pictures, among which
is a splendid portrait of Mary Stuart. This must be a speaking likeness;
it is clearly of her time; and the attractive, truly French face, with
the delicate nose, the captivating mouth, the languishing fire of the
eyes; and that indescribable, inimitable expression which, without
making any direct advance, yet somehow inspires courage, and though not
devoid of womanly dignity, yet at the first glance bespeaks confidence
and intimacy,--all convince one that thus the woman must have looked,
whom scarcely any man could approach nearly, however severed by
inequality of rank, without soon assuming the character of a lover. Her
hands are exquisite; and in her dress, although of the 'barroque' style
of that age, there reigns such harmony, that one is instantly convinced
she was not less skilled in the arts of the toilet than her countrywomen
of the present day.
An excellent road leads from this place through the 'entire vale' to the
park of Bally-Arthur. The peculiar characteristic of this valley is,
that the hills on either side are clothed with such impenetrable
beech-woods that there is no visible interval between the masses, and it
really looks as if you could ride on the tops of the trees. I here
quitted the road, and followed a footpath in the thicket, which led me
to a very beautiful view; at the termination of the long glen, the
towers of Arklow appeared as if set in a frame. About a mile and a half
further on, the path suddenly ends in a ha-ha, over which my horse
utterly refused to leap. As the wall was on my side, and the turf below
very soft, I hit upon a new expedient: I tied my handkerchief over the
eyes of the refractory beast, and pushed him down backwards over the
wall. He was very little frightened, and not at all hurt by the fall as
I had expected, and grazed peaceably blindfold till I rejoined him. This
manoeuvre saved me at least five miles.
The new park in which I now found myself,--for all this part of the
country is a continued pleasure-ground,--belonged to Shelton Abbey, a
modern piece of Gothicry, intended to represent an old abbey. The
possessors had been absent for years; and a negro who was at work in the
garden, showed me the rooms, in which are some very interesting
pictures. The hero of one is the great-grandfather of the possessor; the
scene in Italy, and the costume, as well as the manners represented,
most strange and even revolting. The civil negro led me across the
fields and through a pretty deep ford in the river, (whose ice-cold
waters did not seem to alarm him), to the town of Arklow, whence I
returned along the high road to dinner at Avoca Inn. In the course of my
ride I ascended another hill, from which I looked down into three
distinct valleys, the contrasted character of which afforded a most
singular view. Scarcely had I seated myself at table (at Avoca), when I
was told that some one wished to speak to me. A young man, whom I had
never seen, was shown in, and presented to me a pocket-book, which, to
my no small astonishment, I recognized as my own; containing, besides
other important papers which I always carry about me, all the money I
had taken for my journey. I had, Lord knows how, dropped it out of my
breast-pocket in the summer-house; and had, therefore, no small reason
to congratulate myself on so honourable and obliging a finder. In
England I should hardly have had the good fortune to see my pocket-book
again, even if a 'gentleman' had found it; he would probably have let it
lie in peace,--or kept it.
I must here take occasion to explain to you what this far-famed epithet
'gentleman' means, since the signification affixed to it is inimitably
characteristic of the English.
'A gentleman' is neither a man of noble birth, nor a man of noble
sentiments (_weder ein Edelmann noch ein edler Mann_--neither a
Nobleman nor a noble man;) but, in strictness,[124] a man of independent
means, and perfect knowledge of the usages of good society. He who
serves or works for the public in any way, (the higher functionaries of
the state, and here and there a poet or artist of the first category
only excepted,) is no 'gentleman,' or at best only a half a one. I was
greatly astonished at hearing a certain well-known personage, with whom
all lovers of horses, native and foreign, are well acquainted; who is
rich, who is on a footing of intimacy with many Dukes and Lords, and
enjoys great consideration, but who presides at a weekly auction of
horses (thereby doing useful service to the public)--say of himself, "I
can't imagine how the Duke of B---- could commission me to carry a
challenge to Count M----; he ought to have employed a gentleman,--those
things are not in my way."
A really poor man, who is not in a situation to contract debts, can on
no terms be a 'gentleman.' On the contrary, a rich scamp, who has had
what is called a good education, so long as he preserves his
'character'[125] (reputation) dexterously, passes for a 'perfect
gentleman.' In the exclusive society of London there are yet finer
'nuances.' A man, for instance, who were to manifest any timidity or
courtesy towards women, instead of treating them in a familiar,
confident, and 'nonchalant' manner, would awaken the suspicion that he
was 'no gentleman:' but should the luckless man ask twice for soup at
dinner, or appear in evening dress at a breakfast which begins at three
in the afternoon and ends at midnight,--he may be a prince and a
'millionaire,' but he is no gentleman.
But let us back from Babylon's tyrannous jargon to the freedom of the
hills. The country through which I now rode was strikingly like the flat
part of Switzerland, gradually rising till I found myself opposite to
the highest mountains of Wicklow, whose heads were shrouded in clouds.
The valley of Glenmalure has a character of desolate sublimity, which
harmonized perfectly with the weather. In the midst stands a deserted
and already decaying barrack, which looks like a haunted
castle;--neither tree nor bush is to be seen, and the sides of the
mountains are covered with loose stones. The valley has only
subterranean inhabitants, and their life produces death. Here are great
lead-works, whose unwholesome exhalations are traced on the pallid faces
of the workmen. I dressed myself in a black slop, and was driven into
one of the entrances,--a gloomy and terrific journey. The passages were
cold as ice; pitch-darkness reigned in them, and a cutting wind loaded
with a death-like smell blew in our faces. Minute drops fell with a
hollow sound from the low roof, which bent us nearly double; and the
jolting of the car, which a man dragged slowly over the rugged bottom,
completed the picture of horrors.
The delicate state of my chest did not permit me to remain long here,
and I gave up all further researches, glad 'once more to see the rosy
light.'
I had now to ride over a new and magnificent military road (for the
government has the watchfulness of a bad conscience about Ireland,) over
one of the mountains which enclose the valley. The view from the heights
was extensive and beautiful, and yet of a very different character from
any I had yet seen: it was much improved by a most favourable light
thrown by the sun from beneath a line of black clouds. No effect of
light gives such clearness and brilliancy to distant objects as this.
The rays lay in broad stripes like a glory on the intersecting lines of
hills; and the two 'Sugar Loaves' stood overtopping all, in deep blue
against this clear horizon. The way down the mountain is so serpentine
that I could gallop along it with ease. It was nevertheless quite
evening before I reached the last valley which I had yet to see in this
day's tour--the Valley of the Seven Churches. Here stood, above a
thousand years ago, 'sic fabula docet,' a large city with seven
churches, which the Danes destroyed. A handsome gateway still remains
almost entire, though the key-stone is wanting. Time has repaired this
loss by a thick ivy branch, which holds together the whole arch. Seven
distinct ruins are, according to the popular belief, the remains of
those holy structures which gave its name to the valley. Only one of
them indisputably bears this character, and is remarkable from one of
the highest of those strange mysterious towers, without doors or
windows, which are found near many ruins of religious houses in Ireland.
At the further end of the valley, sunk in the deepest hollow and most
sacred repose, sleep two dark lakes, celebrated for the adventures of
Saint Kevin. The rocks around them are uncommonly steep, and in many
places formed like stairs. In one is a narrow and deep cleft, exactly as
if cut by a mighty blow. The legend tells that the young giant Fian
MacCumhal, being thought by his comrades yet too weak to serve in the
war they were then waging, cleft the rock with his sword, and so put an
end to their doubts. Further still, in a rock overhanging the lake, you
descry a black hole in the cave,--Saint Kevin's cell.
Here the saint sought refuge from the persecuting love of the king's
beautiful daughter Cathelin, and lived for a long time in solitude on
roots and herbs. In a fatal hour the wandering fair-one discovered the
fugitive, and surprised him in the dead of night on his mossy couch.
With sweet kisses she awakened the ungallant saint; who seeing his
danger, took the desperate resolution of pushing Cathelin over the
precipice into the lake, where she lost life and love in its dark
waters.
But the man of God felt some touch of human pity, and commanded that no
other life should ever be lost in these waters,--a charm which, as my
guide testified, is in full force to this day. This 'cicerone' was a
pretty, and as usual half-naked, boy of about eleven; his dress was a
specimen of an Irish toilette, worthy of mention. He wore the coat of a
grown man, which besides many diaphanous places, was deficient in a
sleeve and a half, and one flap, while the other streamed after him like
the tail of a comet. Neckcloth, waistcoat, and shirt were dismissed, as
wholly superfluous: to make amends, the remains of a pair of red plush
breeches made a most magnificent appearance, though in somewhat strong
contrast with the naked legs beneath. To see this figure scramble over
the rocks like a squirrel, singing all the while bits of "Tommy"[126]
Moore and Walter Scott, was certainly characteristic. As he led me to
the cave, at a point where the passage was rather slippery, he cried,
"Oh you can come on very well; I brought Sir Walter Scott here, and he
climbed over the worst places, though he had a lame foot." He could talk
of nothing else; and recited rapidly four lines which Scott or Moore, I
forget which, had composed in the cavern. These people are so exactly
suited to the wild and ruin-clad country, that without them it would
lose much of its romantic interest.
In order to reach a tolerable inn at night, I had to ride ten miles over
an interminable moor, the usual haunt of all sorts of spirits, though
only now and then a solitary Will-o'-the-wisp flitted by me.
When I reached the village, both the inns were filled with 'tourists;'
and it was with the greatest difficulty that I procured a little sort of
ante-room, in which I was to sleep on straw. The tea, butter, toast and
eggs were, however, excellent, and hunger seasoned my repast. I cannot
describe to you how delightful this life is to me. Amidst all its
privations, I feel myself a hundred times more 'à mon aise,' than
encumbered and annoyed with a thousand unnecessary conveniences. I am as
free as the bird in the air, and that is one of the highest enjoyments.
And now, honour to whom honour is due. Few men would sit down with
religious regularity every evening, after such fatigues, to write you a
faithful report of all the events of the day. If it does but give you
pleasure, I am rewarded a thousandfold.
_Bray, August 24th._
Gall maintained, as you may remember, when he examined my skull in
Paris, that I have a very prominent organ of veneration. Nevertheless
many have regarded me as a vile heretic; but he was right;--that is, if
religion consists in love, and in a sincere striving after truth. In
such a joyful, pious frame of mind did I greet the fresh morning with
prayer and praise, and the inward brightness broke through the gloomy
damp mist which surrounded me; for the weather was extremely bad. The
road too was desert and melancholy;--but, patience! the evening brought
back sunshine and beauty.
For the present I saw nothing around me, as far as my eye could reach,
but barren heath and moor; a stormy wind blew across it in gusts; and
drove before it the rack, which, when I came within its reach, wetted me
like a heavy rain. Short and feeble gleams of sun gave momentary hope,
till about noon the clouds parted; and exactly as I reached the summit
of the mountain above the magnificent valley and lake of Luggelaw, the
sun gilded all the country beneath me, though the tops of the hills were
yet shrouded in mist.
This valley belongs to a wealthy proprietor, who has converted it into a
delightful park. It is singularly laid out, and I will try to give you
an idea of it. The valley forms a nearly regular long oval basin. The
lake occupies the immediate fore-ground to the mountain's foot; the
middle-ground is meadow-land, studded with groups of trees, and watered
by a meandering stream; and in its centre, backed by a solitary rock, is
an elegant 'shooting lodge.' The mountains surrounding the valley are
very high and steep, and rise on every side, in a bare and unbroken line
from the perfectly level plain. On the left are naked rocks of imposing
aspect, only here and there overgrown with heath-plants; the three other
sides are clothed with thick and varied vegetation, whose foliage hangs
into the very lake. At the spot where the mountain streams flow through
bright green herbage into the lake, it forms a broad waterfall. It is
indeed a lovely spot of earth, lonely and secluded; the wood full of
game, the lake full of fish, and nature full of poetry. As the shooting
season has not yet begun, the proprietor was absent; and the wife of
the steward, a still pretty woman, though rather 'passée,' with handsome
white hands, and manners above her station, at my request prepared my
breakfast; while her lively little son conducted me about the valley. A
beautiful greyhound, who bounded over the ground as lightly as a leaf
borne by the wind, and enjoyed his freedom in the wildest gambols,
accompanied us. We climbed, not without pain to my chest, 'car je ne
vaux plus rien à pied,' to a rocky table-land, four hundred feet high,
which overlooks the whole valley. Opposite is a strange sport of
nature,--a monstrous face regularly formed in stone, looking gloomily
and angrily on the lake below. The eye-brows and beard were distinctly
marked by moss heath, and the prominent cheeks and deep sunk eyes
perfectly formed by the clefts in the rock. The mouth is open;--when you
remove further off it closes, but without altering the other features.
It is really a high prerogative to possess such a living image of a
mountain spirit. He looks, however, as I said, angrily on the lake, and
seems to call aloud with open mouth, "Ye human creatures, leave my
valley, my fish, my game, my rocks, and woods in peace! Leave them, or I
will bury you, ye pigmies, under my ruins!" But it is in vain! the voice
of spirits is become powerless since man's own spirit awoke. Rübezahl's
countenance is turned to stone, and his voice dies away in the gusty
breeze, which irreverently sports with his bushy eyebrows, and curls the
waves of the lake as if in scorn against him.
An interval of ten miles of uninteresting country lay between this walk
and my arrival at the gate of the park of P----, one of the most
extensive and beautiful in Ireland. But it was Sunday, the lord of the
domain a saint,--and of course the gate locked. On this day, according
to his view of the matter, a pious man must on no account leave his
house except to enclose himself within the gloomy walls of a damp
church: on no account rejoice himself in God's own wondrous and
magnificent temple. This was a sin to which Lord P---- would by no means
afford encouragement, and at his recent departure had therefore
prohibited the opening of his gate. Instructed by the adventure which
you may recollect befell me in England, I made no attempt at winning a
passage by means of a gift, but pursued my way along a wall, over which
from time to time I cast a longing and stolen glance at the magnificent
waterfall and the enchanting scene. Thou beneficent God! thought I, in
what different ways art thou worshipped! One man roasts his neighbour to
thy honour; another fashions thee as Apis: some represent thee more
partial and unjust than the devil himself; others think they offer thee
the most acceptable service when they deface thy loveliest gifts, or
deprive themselves and others of the enjoyment of them. Oh! Lord P----,
you will not read these lines; but it were good for you if you could,
and if you would lay them to heart! Full many a poor man, who sweats
through the whole week that he may pay you your rent, would feel his
heart expand with joy on a Sunday in your beautiful park, and would
bless the goodness of that God who has not left him wholly destitute;
who has spread out before his eyes the glory and the beauty of creation.
And this joy would be reflected back upon yourself;--but perhaps, you
are not even present? Perhaps you send your pious commands from afar?
You are, perhaps, like so many of your colleagues, one of those
'absentees' who by the hands of ravenous and merciless agents strip the
people of their last rag, rob them of their last potatoe,[127] to
enrich the charlatans of London, Paris, or Italy. Then, indeed, if that
be the case, your religion can hardly go beyond superstitious veneration
for the Sunday, and for the ceremonies of your priests.
From hence to Bray the cultivation is luxuriant; the country is filled
with houses and gardens of the opulent citizens: the road lies at the
foot of the Great Sugar Loaf, whose hoary naked cone is barren of all
vegetation. I saw some travellers who had just ascended it, and looked
like moving chess-men; I envied them the magnificent view, for the day
was brilliant and the atmosphere perfectly clear. Towards evening I lay
myself down in a lonely spot, among the field-flowers by the side of a
brook, and gave myself up to a dreamy and grateful delight in this
beautiful world; leaving, like a knight-errant, my faithful steed to
graze by my side. I thought of you and of past times; I called on the
living to appear, and the dead to arise, and looked into my past life as
into a mirror--now with a melancholy, then with a cheerful smile: for
through all the follies and vanities of this world, through errors and
faults, there still ran one pure silver thread strong enough to
endure;--feelings of childlike love, and a high capacity for enjoyments
which God's goodness renders attainable by all.
I returned to Bray in good time, and found my travelling-bag arrived; it
contained many things which, after long privation, were not to be
despised: among others, it afforded me the most interesting of
companions, Lord Byron. I have now two portraits of him before me,
drawings which have been given me, and which I have had bound in the
Giaour and Don Juan. Like Napoleon, while yet aspiring, he is thin, wild
and melancholy; when he had reached the summit, he is fat and smiling.
But in both these otherwise so different countenances is seen that
scornful, haughty spirit, deeply shaken by fate, more deeply sensitive
by nature, which animated these features.
I can never refrain from laughing at the English, who pass such pitiful
cockney judgments on this their second poet (for after Shakspeare the
palm is surely his,) because he ridiculed their pedantry, because he
could not adapt himself to the manners and usages of their little nook,
nor share in their cold superstition; because their insipidity was
sickening to him, and because he denounced their arrogance and
hypocrisy. Many of them cross themselves (inwardly) when they mention
him; and even the women, though their cheeks glow with enthusiasm when
they read him, in public take part vehemently against their secret
favourite.
It was worthy of grateful Germany, worthy of our Patriarch, to erect a
lasting German arch of triumph, to a man who belongs to Europe, opposite
to that monument of infamy which the English have laboured to build.
Could I but bid you a 'farewell' as immortal as his,--it should be no
last, I hope no long farewell, but as tender and as touching. Think of
me thus.
Your faithful L----.