Since yesterday I have been an inhabitant of a pretty Gothic cottage at
the foot of a mountain. From one of my windows I see fertile fields:
from the other, wood, lake, and rocks. The master of the house is Mr.
O'R----'s brother, who possesses besides this charming residence a very
pretty wife, to whom I pay my court a little, for the gentlemen drink
and hunt too much for my taste. The family estate would have naturally
devolved on my whimsical friend; but as he was always rather a wild
bird, who from his boyhood had a strong propensity for whiskey-punch and
a joyous life, his father, having the disposal of it, left it to his
youngest son. The brothers are nevertheless the best possible friends;
and the light-hearted kindly nature of the eldest finds no wormwood in
the wine which he drinks at his brother's table; while on the other
side, the younger respects the poverty of his kind-hearted and amusing
elder, (who gets regularly drunk every evening,) and lets him want for
nothing. Such a connexion does honour to both, the more, because at the
fathers death the lawyers were of opinion that the will might have been
set aside. Both have doubtless acted with as much wisdom as kindness to
leave it uncontested, and thus keep the oyster for themselves.
We passed the whole day in rambling about these magnificent
mountain-paths. Others went out snipe-shooting, after which we sat _at
the dinner table till 2 o'clock in the morning_. Very soon after the
dessert was served, the ladies, as usual, left us: and now the drinking
began in earnest. Coffee was brought very late; on the heels of which
followed a stimulating 'souper' of 'devils' of all sorts,[144] raw
oysters and pickles. This formed the prelude to potheen punch, of which
several drank from twelve to sixteen large tumblers, whilst O'R---- kept
the whole company 'in a roar of laughter' by his inexhaustible wit and
mad tricks. Besides this, every man was forced to sing a song: I among
the rest, a German one, of which nobody understood a word, but all were
very politely delighted. At two, I retired; but all the others staid. As
my chamber was unfortunately directly over them, it was long before I
could sleep for their noise and laughter.
_October 18th._
You will wonder at the somewhat coarse and low life I led here, and to
say the truth I wonder at it myself; but it is 'genuine,' that is to
say, perfectly natural to these people, and nothing assumed; and that
has ever a charm of its own, at least for me. Besides, the lady of the
house is really charming, lively and graceful as a French-woman, with a
foot like a zephyr.
This morning we hunted hares, and many a bold leap was taken. In the
evening they produced the most celebrated piper of Ireland, Keans
Fitzpatrick, called the King of the Pipers, having been honoured with
the approbation of 'His most gracious Majesty King George the Fourth.'
Indeed, the melodies which the blind minstrel draws from his strange
instrument are often as surprising as they are beautiful, and his skill
is equal to his highly polished and noble air. 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.
_October 19th._
In the course of the day we met two men of very suspicious appearance in
a wood. My companion very cooly pointed them out to me as notorious
robbers, who had managed, partly by cunning, partly by the general
terror they inspired, to preserve their liberty;--another proof how
defective is the government and how entirely perverted are all the
relations and sentiments of society; two things by which Ireland is
specially characterized. Both of these men, who called themselves
farmers because they rented a little bit of potatoe-field were of a
singularly striking and national aspect. The one, a slender man of about
forty, handsome, with a wild but imposing physiognomy, was a highly
picturesque figure, even in his rags. Contempt of all danger was
impressed upon his noble brow;--indifference in all disgrace played
scornfully about his audacious mouth. His history confirmed the language
of his features. He wore three or four military medals, which he had
gained in the wars in Spain and France. In consequence of repeated
proofs of his remarkable courage he had been raised to the rank of a
non-commissioned officer, from which his disorderly conduct soon caused
him to be degraded: he had then served a second time, again
distinguished himself, and again for the same reasons as before been
disgraced, though not convicted of any capital offence.--He is now
strongly suspected of being the leader of the band of robbers who infest
the Galtees, and have committed several murders. His companion was in
external appearance the complete reverse of him; he was, for an Irish
farmer, unusually well clad, that is to say, in whole clothes; sixty
years old, short and thick-set, and in his whole aspect almost like a
Quaker. In his sanctified countenance, however, lurked such an
expression of cunning and of pitiless determination, that he appeared to
me much more terrible than the other. He was prosecuted two years ago
for forging bank-notes; and was very nearly convicted, when he was
rescued from the gallows by a dexterous lawyer to whom he entrusted his
case. With tears of gratitude he put fifty pounds into the hand of his
deliverer, lamenting most pathetically that he could not requite him
better. The advocate was satisfied with his success, and put the notes
into his pocket-book. What was his indignation at finding that Paddy had
paid him in the very notes from the consequences of the manufacture of
which he had just saved him! When the Irish take a bad turn, (and the
only wonder is that they do not all do so,) they are the most dangerous
people in the world; their most prominent qualities--courage, levity,
and cunning,--are but too efficient in enabling them to dare every thing
and to effect much.
_Oct. 21st._
I had so often laid the hospitality of these worthy squires under
contribution, that I was obliged 'en conscience' to make some return. I
therefore invited them all to dine with me before my departure. In the
morning I gave a cock-fight, 'car il faut hurler avec les loups;' then a
concert of the great piper; then we had a ride; and lastly 'grand
festin, grand chère, et bon feu.' During our ride we came to a spot at
which a magistrate named Baker was shot three years ago. He was a man
exactly in the stile of the Bailiffs (_Amtmäner_) in Ifflands's Plays;
only, alas! there was no noble character to thwart and counteract him.
The day before his death, in discharging a man whom he had imprisoned
for six weeks on a charge of suspected revolutionary practices, he
publicly said, "Last month I sent you word that I wanted to speak to
you;--you would not come. I have given you this little lesson for it,
which I hope will make you more complying in future: if not, in six
weeks more you shall swing; of that you may rest assured!" The county
was at that time under 'martial law,' in consequence of some
disturbances; and almost unlimited power was given to the local
authorities, whose insolence and atrocity therefore knew no bounds. The
immediate cause of Baker's death was of a kind which deprives one of all
pity for him. He was indebted £500 to a dairyman, partly for articles
supplied to his household, partly for money he had borrowed. This he had
promised to pay as soon as the man found a suitable match for his
daughter, whose portion the money was to be. In a few years this took
place, and the dairyman humbly entreated to be paid. Baker, however,
continually put him off under various pretences; and finding he could
obtain nothing but vain promises, the poor fellow at length threatened
him with an action, and set off for Cork to consult a lawyer. Taking
advantage of his absence, Baker appeared the next day at his house,
followed by a detachment of soldiers, and with infernal hypocrisy asked
his wife, then pregnant of her seventh child, whether she knew of any
concealed arms, and told her that her husband was strongly accused of
having secreted some. The woman answered without fear or hesitation,
that she was sure no such thing existed in her house; that her husband
would never have any thing to do with such plots; as Mr. Baker himself,
who was an old acquaintance, well knew. "Take care what you say," said
Baker; "for if any thing is found after you have denied it, you are
subject to transportation for life." The woman persisted in her denial
"Well, then, at your peril be it," said he. "Soldiers, search the house
thoroughly, and bring me word what you find." They found nothing; but a
second search being made, under Baker's own superintendance, a loaded
pistol was produced by some man, who pretended to have found it under
some straw; into which it was always suspected Baker himself had just
thrust it. The woman was immediately dragged away, and being regarded as
convicted by the presence of the corpus delicti, was, after a short
trial, sentenced to transportation. In a few days her husband returned,
and moved heaven and earth to obtain her pardon. In vain did he entreat
that at least he might be suffered to go to Botany Bay instead of his
unhappy wife, the pregnant mother of six children. He offered to give
Baker the £500. But this fiend remained inexorable, jeeringly reminding
the despairing husband "that he wanted the money to portion off his
daughter, who," he added, "might now keep house for him, if after the
consequences of the search he had still any house to keep. That he need
not trouble himself about his wife's travelling expenses, for that the
Government would generously provide for them." The law had its course;
the poor woman was transported, and is perhaps now at Port Jackson. The
husband, made furious by despair, and joined by her brothers and two
other men, shortly after avenged her, by Baker's cruel death. They fell
upon him in the open fields, hunted him like a wild beast, and killed
him slowly by a number of shots. All were taken and hanged.
Tales of horror like this were formerly of daily occurrence in this
unhappy land, and even now have not entirely ceased. That such a
contrast should exist between England and Ireland, and under the same
Government too; that it should be suffered to endure for centuries, is
indeed afflicting to every philanthropic mind. Unbridled bigotry, and
rapacity unwilling to disgorge any part of its former prey, are the
causes;--six millions of human beings the victims.
I have nothing remarkable to relate concerning my dinner-party: it was
like its predecessors, and lasted far too long.
It was formerly the custom to give parties, of which the sole and avowed
object was desperate drinking,--a fashion which is comparatively fallen
into disuse. It was a common thing for a man to lock himself into a room
with a hogshead of wine and some jolly companions, and not to leave it
till the last drop was emptied. Barrington mentions such a party in his
memoirs. It was given in a shooting lodge, in which the wall had been
covered with mortar only the day before, and was of course still wet.
Here the company were locked in with a pipe of claret, just arrived from
France; and when some of them who had tumbled against the wall, awoke in
the morning from their night's debauch, they found themselves so
thoroughly identified with it that they were obliged to be cut away,
some with the loss of their clothes and others of their hair.
After my guests had exhausted their store of anecdotes, which were not
precisely of a kind to entertain you with, they resorted to all sorts of
practical jokes and 'tours de force.' One of these was quite new to me.
It is an experiment which any body may try, and it struck me as curious
enough. The wildest and fiercest game-cock may be rendered motionless,
and compelled to lie in deathlike stillness as long as you please, by
simply laying him on a table, with his beak close to a white line drawn
across it. Nothing is necessary but first to draw this line with chalk,
then to take the cock in your hands and lay him on the table with his
beak turned towards it. You press him down, and there he will lie as if
bound by some spell; his beak stretched out, and his eyes immoveably
fixed on the white line, till you take him away. The experiment must be
tried by candlelight.
'Voilà de grandes bagatelles, mais à la guerre comme à la guerre.'
_Oct. 22d._
As Fitzpatrick the piper, whom I had sent for to my party yesterday, was
still in the town, I had him come to play 'privatim' in my room while I
breakfasted, and observed his instrument more accurately. It is, as you
know, peculiar to Ireland, and contains a strange mixture of ancient and
modern times. The primitive simple bagpipe is blended with the flute,
the oboe, and some tones of the organ and of the bassoon: altogether it
forms a strange but pretty complete concert. The small and elegant
bellows which are connected with it are fastened to the left arm by
means of a riband, and the leathern tube communicating between them and
the bag lies across the body; while the hands play on an upright pipe
with holes like a flageolet, which forms the end of the instrument, and
is connected with four or five others joined together like a colossal
Pan's pipe. During the performance, the right arm moves incessantly
backwards and forwards on the body, in order to fill the bellows. The
opening of a valve brings out a deep humming sound, which forms an
'unisono' accompaniment to the air. By this agitation of his whole body,
while his fingers were busied on the pipes I have described, Fitzpatrick
produced tones which no other instrument could give out. The sight, in
which you must picture to yourself the handsome old man with his fine
head of snow-white hair, is most original and striking; it is, if I may
say so, tragi-comic. His bagpipe was very splendidly adorned, the pipes
were of ebony ornamented with silver, the riband embroidered, and the
bag covered with flame-coloured silk fringed with silver.
I begged him to play me the oldest Irish airs; wild compositions, which
generally begin with a plaintive and melancholy strain like the songs of
the Slavonic nations, but end with a jig, the national dance, or with a
martial air. One of these melodies gave the lively representation of a
fox-hunt, another seemed to me borrowed from the Hunters' Chorus in the
Freischütz; it was five hundred years older. 'Les beaux esprits se
rencontrent dans tous les âges.'
After playing some time, the venerable piper suddenly stopped, and said
smiling, with singular grace, "It must be already well known to you,
noble Sir, that the Irish bagpipe yields no good tones when sober: it
requires the evening, or the stillness of night, joyous company, and the
delicious fragrance of steaming whiskey-punch. Permit me, therefore, to
take my leave."
I offered such a present as I thought worthy of this fine old man, whose
image will always float before me as a true representative of Irish
nationality.
With Fitzpatrick I take my leave of you, dearest Julia, to set out on my
return to Dublin, whence I calculate on despatching my next letter to
you.
Your faithful L----.