GLENDALOCH

There are not many places in Ireland more interesting than this strange

and weird glen. It can hardly be called beautiful. It is gloomy and grand;

and there is something depressing about it even in the finest day in

autumn when the sombre mountains by which it is surrounded on all sides

but one are mantled in their most gorgeous crimson drapery of

full-blooming heather. It is just such a spot as an anchorite like St

Kevin would choose as a place for contemplation and prayer.

Glendaloch--it ought _not_ to be spelled _Glendalough_--is very nearly in

the centre of the romantic county of Wicklow. It is a good central point

from which to make excursions to the many beautiful and interesting places

in its vicinity, such as Glen Molur, the Glen of Imail, the Meeting of the

Waters, and the Mountain of Lugnacuilla, the highest in Leinster. The

interior of the County Wicklow may be said to be a vast wilderness of

mountains, bogs, and glens. But its mountains have, with one exception,

the defect of being round-topped. They lack the boldness of the hills of

Connemara and Donegal. The mountain that is the most bold and alpine in

the county, and that forms an exception to the general contour of its

hills, is the famous one called the "Sugar-loaf," near Bray. The Dublin

grocer, or whoever he was that gave this beautiful hill such an abominable

name, should have his memory held in everlasting contempt. Its real name

is a grand one, Sleeve Coolan, _recte_ Sliabh Cualann. But in spite of

the generally rounded outlines of the Wicklow Mountains, there are some

splendid alpine views to be seen among them; and none finer than from the

Glen of Lugalaw, about seven or eight miles from Bray.

[Illustration: GLENDALOCH.]

But of all places in Wicklow, Glendaloch is the most famous. It ought to

be so, for there is nothing like it in Ireland. There are many glens as

wild and as gloomy as it, but they lack the historic interest and the

legendary halo that make Glendaloch dear to the archaeologist, the poet,

and the dreamer. Its history goes back almost to the beginning of

Christian times. For five hundred years it was one of the most important

ecclesiastical and educational places in Ireland. Its name constantly

occurs in Irish annals and history; and its history was for centuries as

gloomy as itself, for the Danes plundered it and burned it so often that

it seems strange that it was not abandoned many centuries sooner. It was

so near their great stronghold, Dublin, that it was harried by them on and

off for over two hundred years.

St Kevin's name is indissolubly associated with Glendaloch, or the Seven

Churches, as it is most frequently called, for it is supposed that there

were seven churches in it at one time. St Kevin, according to the best

authority who ever wrote on Irish history and archaeology, the famous John

O'Donovan, came of a distinguished family in the County Wicklow. His name,

in correct orthography, _Coemhgen_, means "fair offspring." He seems to

have been predestined to be a Saint, for many miraculous things are told

of his infancy and early youth. When he was a baby a white cow is said to

have come miraculously to supply him with milk. The story about his having

murdered Kathleen, the girl with eyes of "unholy blue," by throwing her

into that lake that the "Skylark never warbles o'er," is a mere fable. It

seems a pity that the story upon which Moore founded his very beautiful

lyric, "By that Lake, whose gloomy Shore," should have hardly any

foundation in fact. That a certain girl fell in love with him and caused

him a good deal of annoyance is quite true; but he did not kill her or

throw her into the lake. He only administered a rather mild castigation,

as shall be seen. O'Donovan says that the following extract, taken from

the _Codex Killkenniensis_, which, there are good reasons to believe, has

never yet been made public by translation, is the oldest and most

trustworthy account of the transaction known to exist; and that the

trouble between St Kevin and the girl did not take place in Glendaloch,

but in another place in the County Wicklow. O'Donovan's translation of

the story is the one now given:--

"While the most holy Caemhgen (Kevin) was as yet remaining in the house of

his parents, the Lord performed many miracles through him.... The parents

of Kevin observing so great a grace in him, committed him to the care of

the holy seniors, Eoganus, Lochanus, and Enna, in order that he might in

their cell be brought up for Christ; and St Kevin was sedulously reading

with those saints. When he was grown up in the first flower of his youth,

a young girl saw him out in a field along with the brethren, and fell

passionately in love with him, for he was exceedingly handsome. And she

began to make known her friendship for him in astute words. And she was

always laying snares for him in every way she could, by looks, by

language, and sometimes by messengers. But the holy youth rejected all

these allurements. On a certain day she sought the opportunity of finding

him alone, and on a day when the brethren were working in a wood, she

passed by them, and seeing St Kevin working by himself in the wood, she

approached him, and clasped him in her arms with fondest embrace. But the

soldier of Christ arming himself with the sacred sign, and full of the

Holy Ghost, made strong resistance against her, and rushed out of her

arms in the wood; and finding nettles, took secretly a bunch of them, and

struck her with them many times on the face, hands, and feet. And when she

was blistered with the nettles, the pleasure of her love became extinct.

And she being sorrowful of heart, asked on her bended knees pardon of St

Kevin in the name of the Lord. And the Saint praying for her to Christ,

she promised him that she would dedicate her virginity to the Lord. The

brothers finding them discussing together, wondered very much; but the

virgin related to them what had passed; and the brethren hearing such,

were confirmed in their love for chastity. And that little girl afterwards

became a prudent and holy virgin, and diligently observed the holy

admonitions of St Kevin."

The above translation has not, to the writer's knowledge, ever been

previously published. John O'Donovan, the greatest authority on such

matters that ever lived, says in his unpublished letters, while on the

Ordnance Survey of Ireland, that the above extract "is the oldest and only

authority for the story about St Kevin and the lady, and shows clearly

that the scene of it is erroneously placed at Glendaloch by oral tradition

and modern writers. It will also be sufficient evidence that this Saint

did not murder the lady Kathleen, but inflicted a somewhat mild

punishment by flogging her with a bunch of nettles!"

So poor St Kevin's memory is cleared. It is a pity that Moore did not see

the _Codex Killkenniensis_ before he wrote the beautiful lyric that casts

such a cloud on Wicklow's greatest saint. That the name of St Kevin was

highly esteemed not only in Wicklow in ancient times, but all through

Leinster, there is ample proof in ancient Gaelic literature. A poet named

Broccan, writing in the tenth century in praise of his native province of

Leinster and the great people it produced, said:

"I never heard in any province,

Between earth and holy heaven,

Of a nun like St Brigit

Or a cleric like Kevin."[6]

Glendaloch must have been founded in the latter part of the sixth century,

for St Kevin died in 617, aged 120 years. There cannot be any doubt that

it was he who founded Glendaloch. We are told that he sought the sombre

valley for a retreat in which to contemplate and pray, and that before

there were any buildings in it he lived for a long time in a hollow tree,

and subsisted on wild fruit and water. The cave in the cliff overhanging

the lake, known as St Kevin's Bed, the entrance to which is not only

difficult but dangerous, seems also to have given him shelter for a long

time before there were any habitations in the glen. It is said that if

_nouvelles mariees_ succeed in getting into this dark and dismal cavern,

they are sure to be blessed with large families. Why such a belief should

be current is not easy to understand, because St Kevin, after whom the

cavern is called, not only had no children, but was a decided woman-hater.

If he did not drown Kathleen, he at least whipped her with nettles, a

thing that no gallant man would think of doing to a girl who loved him. It

will, however, be the general opinion of most of those who read this

version of the story, that St Kevin "served her right."

Glendaloch has been ruined and uprooted in a shocking manner. Of all its

edifices there are only two that still stand--namely, the round tower and

the building known as "Kevin's Kitchen." This latter is stone-roofed, and

is considered to be one of the oldest buildings of the kind in Ireland.

Archaeologists are not agreed as to what particular use it was originally

intended, but that it was an ecclesiastical edifice of some kind seems to

be the opinion of everyone. There are, it is said, the remains of seven

churches still to be seen in Glendaloch. It appears to have been a walled

city, and Petrie, one of the most painstaking and learned archaeologists

that ever Ireland produced, claimed to have traced the tracks of the walls

in many places. That it contained a large population in the eighth and

ninth centuries seems to admit of little doubt. Oengus the Culdee, whose

verse in which Glendaloch is mentioned has been given in the article on

"Emania the Golden," calls it "multitudinous Glendaloch," and "the Rome of

the western world." Allowing for the exaggeration of which ancient Gaelic

poets may have been rather too fond, it must be admitted that what they

say cannot be entirely ignored; and it is more than probable that

immediately before the Danes and other northern nations began their raids

on Ireland, Glendaloch may have been, and probably was, a large monastic

city, as cities were in those days. The Irish monasteries of the eighth

and ninth centuries were probably the wealthiest in the world, if not in

lands, at least in gold and silver. Where or how they got, or where or how

the ancient Irish got, such quantities of the precious metals is a mystery

that may never be solved; but that Ireland had an enormous amount of gold

and silver in ancient times there can be no doubt at all. This would be

sufficiently proved by the quantity, not of coined money, for they had

not any, but of ornaments of almost every kind that have been found in all

parts of the country, more, it is said, than have been found in the rest

of Europe. There is hardly a barony in Ireland, it might be said hardly a

parish, in which stories are not told of people having become suddenly

rich by finding, it is naturally supposed, treasure trove in the shape of

gold ornaments, very few of which have been preserved, for they were

generally melted down. Sir Wm. Wilde mentions, in one of his catalogues of

articles in the Royal Irish Academy, a find of L3000 worth of gold

ornaments in the County Clare some fifty years ago. It seems a

well-ascertained fact that two labourers found over L20,000 worth of gold

ornaments when working on a railway in Munster some forty odd years ago.

The founder of one of the largest jewellery houses in Ireland told a

friend of the writer's that his first "rise" in business was brought about

by buying antique gold ornaments, at sometimes not half their value, from

people who brought them to him from the country.

When the marauding Northmen first raided Ireland, they seem not to have

had the most remote idea of either conquering the country or making

permanent settlements in it. They may not have despised Irish beef and

mutton, but what they wanted above all was gold and silver. When

Christianity was firmly established in Ireland, the monasteries became the

great depositories of the wealth of the country, and the clergy may be

said to have become its bankers. The monasteries, therefore, became, to a

certain extent, what banks are now, and it was to the monasteries the

Danes gave their first attention. It can hardly be proved from Irish

history that the Danes ever tried to conquer Ireland but once, and that

was at the battle of Clontarf. Even under Turgesius, when they succeeded

in establishing themselves almost everywhere there was salt water or fresh

water to float their ships, they played the part of raiders and not of

conquerors, and never formed a permanent settlement out of sight of their

galleys. In England and in France they acted quite differently. They

conquered and kept all England and a considerable part of France. They

went to England and France to establish themselves, but they went to

Ireland to plunder. The question to be solved is, Why did the Danes act so

differently in Ireland from the way they acted in England and in other

countries? There seems to be no way to answer this question except by

saying that there was so much more of the precious metals in Ireland,

that to get them, and not to conquer the country or form permanent

settlements in it, was their prime object. If history was absolutely

silent about the doings of the Northmen in Ireland, we would, from a surer

guide than history, know that plunder and not settlement was what they had

in view. That guide is place names. There are more Scandinavian place

names to be found in some parishes in the north-east of England than there

are in all Ireland. There are hardly a dozen Scandinavian place names in

Ireland, and they are _all_ on the sea coast but _one_. That one is

Leixlip, and it is only a few miles from the sea, on a river which the

galleys of the Northmen could easily ascend. The only time at which a

serious attempt seems to have been made by the Northmen to become

possessed of Ireland was shortly before the battle of Clontarf, and that

attempt seems to have owed its origin to that horrible but beautiful

woman, Gormfhlaith, sister to the king of Leinster, and whose last of many

husbands was Brian Boramha. That attempt utterly failed, and no other was

ever made. If the Northmen cannot be said to have seriously contemplated

the conquest of Ireland prior to the time immediately before the battle of

Clontarf, it does not seem to have been from lack of men in the country,

for Irish annals and history speak of their vast numbers in such a way as

hardly leaves a doubt as to the awfulness of the scourge they were to the

country at large. So great were their numbers at one time during the ninth

century that we are told that it seemed as if the sea vomited them forth,

and that there was hardly a harbour on the Irish coasts in which there was

not a Danish or a Norwegian fleet. It has to be admitted that the Irish

fought them with the most astonishing persistency and valour. In spite of

the way the country was split into petty kingdoms, with chief kings, who

were generally such only in name, the reception the Northmen got in

Ireland was very different from that which they got in England. The Saxons

often got rid of them by paying them to go away, but the Irish got rid of

them only by the sword. Those who want to know what Ireland suffered from

the raids of the Northmen should read the "Wars of the Gael and the

Gaill." The book is generally believed to have been written by M'Liag, who

was living when the battle of Clontarf was fought, and who was chief poet,

or secretary, to Brian Boramha.

Although the Northmen were allies of Leinster for a long time, they

plundered Glendaloch in the years 833, 886, and 982. It was so near

Dublin and so near the sea that their alliance with Leinster did not

prevent them from raiding it. It was one of the rich ecclesiastical

establishments in Ireland, and one of those most exposed to the incursions

of the Northmen. Its round tower was, therefore, in all probability, one

of the first that was erected. It is now generally believed by those most

competent to form an opinion that the round towers of Ireland were erected

as places of security against the Northmen, and that they were sometimes

used as belfries. Their Irish name, _cloigtheach_, means a bell house and

nothing else; but it is quite clear that, although they sometimes served

as belfries, the primary object of their erection was to secure a place of

safety for the treasures of the church or monastery, close to which they

were invariably erected. Of the hundred and eight round towers which are

known to have been erected in Ireland, and of which remains exist, every

one of them is known to have been erected close to where a church or

monastery stood. More than half of them are in ruins; of some only a few

feet of the walls remain; and of some others the foundations only remain.

It may seem hard for some, in these days of far-reaching projectiles to

imagine how those slender towers, so chaste and beautiful in their

construction, could serve as places of defence or security against the

Danes. They could not have served as such if the Danes had come as

conquerors to form permanent settlements, but as they were only raiders

the towers were generally perfect defences against them. A dozen men shut

into a round tower, the door of which was generally from ten to fourteen

feet from the ground, could laugh at an army of Danes who had neither

battering rams nor artillery of any kind. There was only one way by which

a round tower could be taken or destroyed by men like the plundering hosts

of the Vikings, who did not, and could not, take ponderous implements like

battering rams with them on their raids, and that was by undermining

it--digging its foundations so that it would fall. But this would have

been a very tedious business, for the foundations of many of the round

towers are six and even ten feet below the surface. A few dozen resolute

men in a round tower might defy an army of Danes, provided the besieged

had enough of food and drink in their stronghold. It must, however, be

admitted that the Northmen did sometimes succeed in taking and plundering

round towers, but by what means we do not know.

Those who maintain that the round towers are pre-Christian structures, and

that there is nothing said in Irish annals about their erection, have very

little warrant for such an assertion. If they read Lord Dunraven's work on

ancient Irish architecture, they will find copies of more than one

allusion to their erection from the most authentic Irish annals known to

exist. Here is one taken from the _Chronicon Scottorum_, a work of the

highest authority and authenticity, compiled about the year 1124. "The

great _Cloigtheach_ (or belfry) of Clonmacnois was finished by Gillachrist

Ua Maeleoin and by Turloch O'Connor." This entry refers to the year 1120.

While speaking of the uses of round towers, the wealth of Irish

monasteries, and of Ireland in general in ancient times, it may not be out

of place to say that that very wealth proved a curse to the country, for

if Ireland had not been so rich in precious metals, the Northmen would

probably never have invaded and raided it; or if they did invade it, they

would have done so with a view to subjugating it and forming permanent

settlements in it, as they did in England and France,--things that might

have been, and that probably would have been, of benefit to the country.

If Ireland had been conquered by the Northmen they would certainly have

destroyed the provincial kingdoms, and have brought the whole island under

the sway of one ruler; and whether that ruler was Irish or Norse, it would

have been of immense benefit to the country at large. Ancient Irish polity

was very good theoretically, but practically it was a frightful failure.

The Scandinavian invasions only added to the political confusion of

Ireland. They were of benefit to England and France, for they brought an

infusion of fresh blood into those countries. But to Ireland they brought

destruction and ruin, with only a slight infusion of fresh blood. They

made the political confusion of the country more confounded. They robbed

it of an immense quantity of its wealth, but worse than that, they

destroyed a large part of its literature. The monasteries were not only

the repositories of wealth but of books. It was impossible that

monasteries could be plundered and burnt without damage being done to the

books they contained. There is positive proof in Irish annals that the

Northmen were in the habit of _drowning_ the books they found in the

religious houses. Books were in those days, as is well known, made of

vellum, or prepared leather, a material hard to burn; they were

consequently cast into the nearest lake or river, from which very few of

them were probably ever recovered. If it had not been for Scandinavian

burnings and plunderings, mediaeval Gaelic literature would, even now, be

so immense that it would command the respect of the world at large. Those

who say that the bulk of mediaeval Gaelic writings has come down to us--and

there are those that have the unspeakable hardihood to say so--must be

classed as very prejudiced, or very ignorant of Irish history.

The last entry in the Four Masters relating to Glendaloch occurs under the

year 1163. It appears to have been abandoned shortly after that date; but

why it was abandoned as an ecclesiastical establishment when Danish raids

and plunderings had ceased does not seem to be clearly known.

Glendaloch has been thus lengthenedly treated on because it is the most

interesting ecclesiastical ruin in the province of Leinster, Clonmacnois

only excepted. Its strange and gloomy, yet romantic situation, its

antiquity, its sad history of burnings and plunderings, the utter ruin

that has overtaken most of its monuments, the halo of legend and romance

that is around it, give it a charm even to the non-imaginative and the

rude. For the archaeologist, the poet, the romancer, or the dreamer, it has

attractions and charms greater, perhaps, than they could find on any other

spot of Irish soil.

"LORDLY AILEACH"

Next to Emania and Ardmagh, Aileach is the most historic spot in the

province of Ulster. It lies four miles west of the city of Derry, on a

round, heath-clad hill, some eight hundred feet above the level of the

sea. It is one of the most ancient cyclopean fortresses in Ireland, or,

perhaps, in the world. There is no scenic beauty in the immediate vicinity

of Aileach, but there is a view from the hill-top on which it is situated

that for wildness and sublimity can hardly be equalled anywhere in the

British Isles,--a view which will amply repay any one who sees it on a

clear day. On the north the hills of Inishowen obstruct the view, but west

and south-west it is sublime. The eye ranges over a wilderness of

fantastic-shaped mountains, some shooting up sharp as arrows, others round

and ridgy, separated by sinuous sea-lochs and glittering tarns,--a land of

awful ruggedness and desolation,--of rock-bound shores cleft into myriad

bays and fiords by the thundering almost ever restless northern sea that

beats against them. If no hoary ruin crowned the hill on which the

"Lordly Aileach" of Gaelic poets stands, the view from its summit would be

worth a journey of a hundred miles to see, for most of the wildness and

grandeur of "Dark Donegall" are spread before the eye. On the north-east

and north-west the waters of Loch Foyle and Loch Swilly spread themselves

almost beneath the feet of the gazer from Aileach. It stands on a hill

that commands a view of both Loch Foyle and Loch Swilly; and the site of

this ancient fortress was evidently chosen on account of the view it

commands of those two sea-lochs, for no fleet could enter them for any

distance without being seen by the watchers on the walls of Aileach.

The first thing that should be mentioned when speaking of Aileach is the

noble work that has been lately accomplished regarding it. An article

appeared about it some twenty years ago in the _Irish Times_ of Dublin,

calling attention to its antiquity, the historic and legendary renown of

that ancient place; and a Mr Barnard of Londonderry became interested in

Aileach and determined to make an effort to have the demolished fortress

restored as far as was possible. He made a pilgrimage among the farmers

living in the locality, and got promises of help in the way of men to

work for so many days at the restoration of the fortress. The farmers kept

their word, gave him the help of the men they had promised, and in a

comparatively short time the walls of the ruined fortress, under the

surveillance of Mr Barnard, once again crowned the hill of Greenan, after

having been in ruins for well-nigh eight hundred years. Mr Barnard, and

the farmers that gave him assistance in the good work, deserve the thanks

of every one who is a patriot, or has any reverence for the ancient

monuments of his country, or any respect for the hallowed past.

The early history of Aileach is "lost in the twylight of fable." It is a

pre-historic building, almost as much so as a Pyramid of Egypt. It was

used as a stronghold down to the beginning of the twelfth century; but

when it was built, or by whom, cannot be said to be known from authentic

history, for the many poems that exist about its origin in ancient Gaelic

are legendary rather than historic. There may be, and there probably is, a

great deal of truth in them, but they cannot be accepted as history.

Aileach is a circular, dry-stone fortress with walls nine feet thick. It

was levelled down to the ground when Mr Barnard undertook its restoration.

The history of its destruction is so strange, so unique, and so Irish,

that it must be given. Let the Four Masters tell it. They say, under the

year 1101, that "A great army was led by O'Brian, King of Munster, with

the men of Munster, Ossory, Meath and Connacht, across Assaroe into

Innishowen.... He demolished Grianan Aileach in revenge of Kinncora, which

had been razed and demolished by Muircheartach O'Lochlainn some time

before. O'Brian commanded his army to carry with them from Aileach to

Limerick a stone of the demolished building for every sack of provisions

they had. In commemoration of which was said (by some unknown poet)--

"'I never heard of the billeting of grit stones,

Though I heard of the billeting of companies,

Until the stones of Aileach were billeted

On the horses of the King of the West.'"

This is the only attempt at anything like humour in all the dreary annals

of the Four Masters. Such quiet sarcasm would be a credit to Mark Twain.

But if the poet had said "King of the South" instead of "King of the

West," although it might not have answered his Gaelic rhyme or assonance

quite so well, it would have been more correct, for although Munster is

west of Aileach, it is more south than west. It can never be known how

high the walls of Aileach had been before they were pulled down by

O'Brien, because we don't know how many cavalry he had, or how many stones

he carried to Limerick. Never before was an army loaded with such

impedimenta; but that the story of the stones of Aileach, or at least,

stones similar to them, having been brought to Limerick or its immediate

vicinity, there cannot be much doubt, for they were found there.

The fortress of Aileach is nearly a hundred feet in diameter in the

inside. It is not known if it was ever roofed, but it is probable that it

was. There were two lines of earthen ramparts round it, but they have

nearly disappeared. John O'Donovan thought that the entire hill of

Grianan, on which the fortress stands, was once enclosed by a vast rampart

of earth, and that cultivation has destroyed all but the faintest traces

of it. It seems probable that Aileach was intended more for a stronghold

than for a permanent dwelling-place. It may have been inhabited only when

a siege or an invasion was expected. One of its names, or rather the first

part of one of its names, "Grianan," would indicate that it was intended

only as a summer residence, like the Dunsinane = _Dun soinine_, fine

weather fortress, of Macbeth. Those who could live in winter on top of

the wind-swept hill on which Aileach stands without getting coughs or

colds would require constitutions of iron and lungs of brass.

O'Donovan says that if any reliance can be placed on Irish chronology, the

antiquity of Aileach must be very great, no less than upwards of a

thousand years before the Christian era. He says, also, that the poet,

part of whose poem on Aileach is given below, in making the Tuata de

Danaan King, Eochy, generally known in Irish history and legend as the

Dagda, contemporaneous with the Assyrian King, Darcylus, exactly agrees

with the chronology of O'Flaherty and Usher, who say that he reigned 1053

years before the Christian era.

There is a poem in the "Book of Lecan" on Aileach by the poet to whom

O'Donovan alludes, that in language and _tournure_ bears the marks of

extreme antiquity. Even O'Donovan, great a Celtic scholar as he was, had

apparently extreme difficulty in translating it. It has never been

published. The first dozen or so lines are given here:--

"Aileach Fridreann, arena of mighty kings. A _dun_ through which ran roads

under heroes through five ramparts. Hill on which slept the Dagda. Red its

flowers. Many its houses. Just its spoils. Few its stones. A lofty castle

is Aileach. Fort of the great man. A sheltering _dun_ over the lime

[white] schools. A delightful spot is Aileach. Green its bushes. The sod

where the Dagda found the mound wherein rested Hugh."

But it is in more recent times that the history and records of Aileach

become supremely interesting. It was from there that Muircheartach Mac

Neill, styled the Hector of the west of Europe by old annalists, started

on his celebrated "Circuit of Ireland" in the year 942. He was heir

apparent to the chief kingship of Ireland, and wanted to show the

provincial rulers that he was fit to rule _them_. So he determined to

start on his circuit in the depth of winter, when it appears the ancient

Irish seldom went on forays, and either make or persuade the provincial

rulers to acknowledge his right to the throne when the then reigning chief

king, Donacha, died. The way he is said to have chosen men for the

expedition is very curious and very Irish. He caused a tent to be erected,

keeping the cause of its erection unknown, and made his men to go into it

at night. A fierce dog attacked every one that entered; and opposite to

where the dog was, an armed man also attacked those that entered; both man

and dog simultaneously attacking the intruder. If he who entered the tent

flinched neither from dog nor man, but showed fight to both, he was

chosen; but whoever showed the least sign of cowardice was rejected. Out

of his whole army we are told that Muircheartach could only get a thousand

men, and with that small army, protected by strong leather cloaks, he

started on his Circuit of Ireland to force, intimidate, or coax the

provincial kings to acknowledge that he was their master, and that he was

to be their next suzerain.

Our principal source of information about the Circuit comes from a poem of

undoubted authority and antiquity, written by one called Cormacan Eigeas,

who accompanied Muircheartach on the expedition. It is one of the most

remarkable poems of its age, not only in Gaelic, but in any language. It

was translated more than forty years ago, and may be seen in the

"Transactions" of the Royal Irish Academy; but it is not probable that

even forty persons have ever read it, so little general interest has

heretofore been taken in Gaelic literature or Irish history. For these

reasons it cannot be uninteresting to give some extracts from it. It

commences:

"O Muircheartach, son of the valiant Niall,

Thou hast taken the hostages of Inis Fail,

Thou hast brought them all into Aileach,

Into the stone-built palace of steeds!

"Thou didst go forth from us with a thousand heroes

Of the race of Eoghan of red weapons,

To make the great Circuit of Ireland,

O Muircheartach of the yellow hair!

"The day thou didst set out from us eastwards

Into the fair province of Connor,[7]

Many were the tears down beauteous cheeks

Among the fair-haired women of Aileach."

Muircheartach carried off the King of Ulster; and, as the old chroniclers

tell us, keeping his left hand to the sea, he fared to Dublin, then the

greatest stronghold the Danes had, not only in Ireland but in the west of

Europe. He did not have to fight the Danes of Dublin, although he had

often fought them before, for their king, probably thinking that

"discretion was the better part of valour," surrendered himself a

prisoner. And here one of these inconsequential incidents is related,

which no one but an ancient Irish poet would dream of mentioning.

Muircheartach seems to have had no objection to make love to a Danish

maiden, often as he had fought Danish men. Cormacan, the poet, tells us

that they

"Were a night at fair Ath-cliath [Dublin];

It was not a pleasure to the foreigners:

There was a damsel in the strong fortress

Whose soul the son of Niall was;

She came forth until she was outside the walls,

Although the night was constantly bad."

Muircheartach then proceeded south-west from Dublin to Aillinn, and

carried away the King of Leinster. He then made for Cashel, where the

King of Munster lived. But Callachan, that was his name, showed fight, and

Muircheartach's men threw off their leather cloaks and prepared to stand

by him. However, seeing that things were beginning to look serious, the

King of Munster yielded and was carried away prisoner with a golden fetter

on him. The leader of the Circuit then turned northwards into Connacht,

and carried away the king of that province. So he had the four provincial

kings in his power, and also the Danish King of Dublin. But he did them

neither hurt nor harm, for he seems to have been in a good humour all the

time he was "on circuit"; and we are told by his poet laureate that on

their halts the soldiers amused themselves in many ways, especially by

music and dancing, and he says--

"Music we had on the plain and in our tents,

Listening to its strains, we danced awhile;

There, methinks, a heavy noise was made

By the shaking of our hard cloaks."

The next three verses are magnificent. They are full of dramatic power and

naturalness. When the triumphant army, but triumphant without having shed

a drop of blood, approach Aileach, a messenger is sent forward to announce

its arrival:--

"From the green of Lochan-na-neach

A page is despatched to Aileach

To tell Duvdaire[8] of the black hair

To send women to cut rushes.

"'Rise up, O Duvdaire (_said the page_),

There is a company coming to thy house;

Attend every man of them

As a monarch should be attended.'

"'Tell me (_she said_) what company comes hither

To the lordly Aileach Rigreann,

Tell me, O fair page,

That I may attend them?'

"'The Kings of Erin in fetters (_he replies_),

With Muircheartach, son of the warlike Niall.'"

The kingly prisoners were all brought to Aileach, where they were feasted

for five months; and the following list of their bill of fare will show

that they lived well. Let the same poet tell it:--

"Ten score hogs--no small work,

Ten score cows, two hundred oxen,

Were slaughtered at festive Aileach

For Muircheartach of the great fetters.

"Three score vats of curds,

Which banished the hungry look of the army,

With a sufficiency of cheering mead,

Were given by magnanimous Muircheartach."

When the five kings were feasted--and it is to be hoped fattened--for five

months, Muircheartach brought them to the chief king or emperor, Donacha,

and gave them up to him. The following extraordinary dialogue, taken from

the same poem, occurs between them. Muircheartach says:

"'There are the noble kings for thee.'

Said Muircheartach, the son of Niall;

'For thou, O Donacha, it is certain to me,

Art the best man of the men of Erin.'

"_Donacha._

"'Thou art a better man thyself, O King,

With thee no one can vie;

It is thou who didst take captive the noble kings,

O Muircheartach, son of the great Niall.'

"_Muircheartach._

"'Thou art better thyself, O Donacha the black haired,

Than any man in our land;

Whoever is in strong Tara

It is he that is monarch of Erin.'

"_Donacha._

"'Receive my blessing, nobly,

O son of Niall Glundubh, bright, pure;

May Tara be possessed by thee,

O Prince of the bright Loch Foyle![9]

"'May thy race possess Moy Breagh,[10]

May they possess the white-sided Tara,

May the hostages of the Gael be in thy house,

O good son, O Muircheartach!'"

It is sad to know that this extraordinary poem, with its uniqueness, its

dramatic power, and its raciness of the soil and of the time,

notwithstanding the fact that it was translated and published in the

Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy over forty years ago, is to-day

hardly any more known than it was when it lay unheeded and unknown in the

archaic Gaelic of the tenth century. It might, for all the notice that has

been taken of it, as well not have been translated at all. No other people

on earth would have treated such an archaic literary gem with such

coldness and contempt. It would seem as if the Irish people were losing

not only their soul but their brains. If such a poem were written in

Finnish or in Ojibaway it could not have been more ignored than it has

been by a people who call themselves intellectual.

In this poem the same anachronism may be noticed that led Petrie so much

astray about the Lia Fail having been in Tara in the tenth century.

Muircheartach addresses Donacha as if he were living in Tara, although

Tara had been abandoned four hundred years before, and was as waste and as

desolate in the time of Donacha as it is to-day; the chief kings of his

epoch and for centuries before it, lived usually in Westmeath or in

Donegal.

That Muircheartach Mac Neill, though a sort of Rory O'More of the tenth

century, was a great man can hardly be doubted. He seems to have

contemplated the entire overthrow of the pentarchy and the union of all

the provinces under one sole king, namely, himself. He could hardly have

been ignorant of what had occurred in England in the century previous--how

Alfred had broken up the Saxon heptarchy and made himself practically sole

king in England. If Muircheartach had succeeded in destroying the wretched

system of provincial nationality, and had made the country a political

unit, the subsequent history of Ireland would probably be very different

from what it has been. But Muircheartach was killed by his old enemies the

Danes, the year after he made his famous circuit. They also killed his

father, Niall Glundubh, at the battle of Killmoshogue, near Dublin, in the

year 917. Here is what the Four Masters say about him under the year

941[11]: "Muircheartach of the Leather Cloaks, Lord of Aileach, the Hector

of the west of Europe in his time, was slain at Ardee (in Louth) by

Blacaire, the son of Godfrey, Lord of the Foreigners, on the 26th of

March. In lamentation of him it was said--

"'Vengeance and destruction

Have descended on the race of Conn for ever;

As Muircheartach does not live, alas!

The country of the Gael will always be an orphan.'"

"ROYAL AND SAINTLY CASHEL"

The situation of three of the most historic and remarkable ecclesiastical

establishments in Ireland, namely, Clonmacnois, Glendaloch, and Cashel, is

very peculiar. The first is on a barren sandhill surrounded by the most

strange and unique scenery in Ireland, consisting of almost illimitable

meadows interspersed with bogs. The second is in one of the gloomiest and

weirdest glens in the island; but Cashel is on a towering rock amid some

of the richest land, not only in Ireland but in the world, and overlooking

as goodly a country as human eye perhaps ever gazed on. Ancient Irish

monks and churchmen must have been peculiarly gifted with an appreciation

of the strange, unique, and beautiful in nature, or they would not have

fixed their retreats in such peculiar places. If ancient Irish kings loved

to place their strongholds on hills such as Tara, Aileach, Knock Aillinn,

and Uisneach, ancient Irish ecclesiastics seemed not to have cared whether

their churches were on hills or in hollows, provided they were somewhere

that was strange, weird, or beautiful.

The situation of Cashel is not only beautiful but superb. There is no

other place of its kind in Ireland situated like it. Its situation is as

peculiar as that of Glendaloch or Clonmacnois. It is, perhaps, the most

imposing pile of ecclesiastical ruins in Europe. Mont St Michael in France

can hardly compare with Cashel in commanding beauty of situation. One

overlooks the chilly sea, but the other overlooks as warm, as fair, and as

fertile a country as there is in the world.

[Illustration: BUILDINGS ON THE ROCK OF CASHEL.]

Cashel has inspired many poets; but, unfortunately, none of the great

English masters of song has made it a theme; and it is strange that our

own Moore, who has celebrated Glendaloch, the Vale of Avoca, and other

famous places, never composed a lyric on Cashel. No other place in Ireland

could have given him a grander theme to write poems of the kind in which

he delighted, and in the composition of which he was such an acknowledged

master. It is indeed strange that so few of those who may be called our

minor poets have written about Cashel, and so seldom taken it as their

theme. There exists, however, a short poem on Cashel of the class usually

known as sonnets, and it is probable that neither Moore, nor any of the

other great masters of song, could have written anything superior to it.

It is by the late Sir Aubry de Vere. It first appeared in the _Dublin

Penny Journal_ some sixty years ago; but it has so long been partially

forgotten that it can hardly be out of place to reproduce it here:

"Royal and saintly Cashel! I could gaze

Upon the wreck of thy departed powers,

Not in the dewy light of matin hours,

Nor the meridian pomp of summer's blaze;

But at the close of dim autumnal days

When the sun's parting glance thro' slanting showers

Sheds o'er thy rock-throned pediments and towers

Such awful gleams as brighten on Decay's

Prophetic cheek;--at such a time methinks

There breathes from thy lone courts and voiceless aisles

A melancholy moral, such as sinks

On the worn traveller's heart amid the piles

Of vast Persepolis on her mountain stand,

Or Thebes half buried in the desert's sand."

It is strange that Cashel has not inspired more poets; but it is stranger

still that the once soulful people of Ireland would have allowed it to be

defaced by any modern building erected on the rock on which stands its

hallowed and ruined piles. Some gentleman named Scully has erected a brand

new round tower almost in the very centre of the hoary monuments that are

so sanctified by antiquity. The new tower is not shown on the annexed

plate, because of the horrible picture it would make. It is strange that

those living near Cashel did not prevent, if they could have done so, the

marring of one of the most striking, beautiful and soul-inspiring ruins

not only in Ireland but in Europe. It may be that Mr Scully thought that

by erecting a new monument of antique type there would not be any

incongruity manifested by it, and that by having his name written on it in

the Irish language and in Irish characters he would atone for the error he

committed. If he thought so, he made a great mistake, for _anything_ new,

whether a round tower, a cross, or a brick-built grocery, would destroy

all the antique charm of such noble ruins as those on the rock of Cashel.

It may be willingly granted that it is a pity there are any ruins at all

in the world, and that buildings cannot last new for ever. It should be

remembered, however, that nothing can last always; and that when buildings

become ruined by time, and, above all, when they have become historic like

those on the rock of Cashel, and when they serve to show either the piety

or the civilisation of those who have passed away, it becomes absolute

barbarism to mar them and mock them by erecting _anything_ new in their

immediate vicinity. A modern church on the Hill of Tara is bad enough, but

a new building on the Rock of Cashel is little else than a profanation.

Cashel was a seat of the kings of Munster from a time so far back in the

dim past, that one almost shudders to think how long ago it is. Long

before a Christian edifice crowned the Rock of Cashel, the barbaric dry

stone fortress of some Munster pagan king certainly covered it; for very

little work would have to be bestowed on it to render it an almost

impregnable fortress in ancient times. Some have derived the word Cashel

from _cios_, rent, and _ail_, a rock, making it to mean "rent rock"; for

it is certain that when the kings of Munster lived in Cashel, it was the

place where they received most of their tributes or rents; but the best

modern Gaelic scholars, including Dr P. W. Joyce, author of that most

useful and learned book, "Irish Names of Places," maintain that the word

_Caiseal_ means simply a circular building of dry stones, for the name

occurs in scores of places throughout Ireland; and such a building was no

doubt on this rock in pre-Christian times.

Cashel became a seat of Christian cult at a very early period, and there

are good reasons to think that St Patrick founded a church there. The Rock

of Cashel has for very many centuries been known as _Carraig Phadraig_, or

Patrick's Rock. The first Christian Irishman whose writings have come down

to us was Dubhthach, or, as the name would probably now be Anglicised,

Duffy, Mac U Lugair. In his poem in praise of the prowess of Leinstermen,

he says, that they "unyoked their horses on the ramparts of clerical

Cashel." As this Duffy was a disciple of St Patrick's, and one of the

first converts made by him in Ireland, we are forced to think that one of

the first Christian churches ever erected in Ireland was the one erected

in Cashel, as it appears to have been in existence when Duffy wrote his

poem, which could hardly have been later than the middle of the sixth

century. But no vestige of the church of St Patrick's time remains. It was

probably a wooden building, and may have disappeared as far back as

thirteen centuries ago. The oldest building on the Rock of Cashel is the

round tower, not Mr Scully's incongruous edifice, but the original one,

built probably in the ninth century. It is ninety feet high, and in a

fairly good state of preservation. The cathedral is thought to have been

built in 1169 by O'Brien, King of Munster, but there does not appear to be

much of the building he erected to be seen now, for the ruined cathedral

which exists cannot, from the style of its architecture, be older than the

fourteenth century. We know from authentic history that one of the

Fitzgeralds burned the cathedral in 1495, because he wanted to burn

Archbishop Creagh, who, he thought, was in it; but it does not seem to be

fully known whether the building was entirely or only partially destroyed

by Fitzgerald. Divine service is said to have been celebrated in it so

late as 1752, but it must have been in a semi-ruined condition even then.

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF CORMAC'S CHAPEL.]

But it is Cormac's Chapel that is the real architectural glory of the Rock

of Cashel. It is by some wrongly attributed to the time of Cormac Mac

Cullenann in the ninth century. It was built by Cormac Mac Carthy, a

king of Minister, in the early part of the twelfth century. The principal

proof that it was built at that time is found in the _Chronicon

Scottorum_, in which it is stated that Cormac's Chapel at Cashel was

consecrated in 1130. It is more than probable that the chapel was

consecrated very soon after it was finished. It does not come within the

scope of a work like this to enter into technical details on matters

connected with architecture; but for chaste beauty, for elaborate carving,

and solidity of structure, it may be said that Cormac's Chapel is one of

the most wonderful ecclesiastical buildings of its age in Christendom. The

practised eye of the trained architectural critic might notice some signs

of decay about it, some effacement in the gorgeous carvings or designs

with which almost every stone of the interior is more or less covered; but

to the ordinary observer, the whole building, within and without, seems

almost as perfect as it was the day its architect pronounced it finished.

If Cormac's Chapel were only larger, it would be the noblest and most

remarkable ecclesiastical building of its age in the British Isles, or

probably in Europe. But, unfortunately, it is very small, the nave being

only about thirty feet in length, and the choir only about eighteen. But

what it lacks in size is made up in elaborate carving, chaste design, and

solidity of structure. It looks as if it would last until the day of doom,

and as if nothing but an earthquake could destroy it. Its very roof seems

as strong and as perfect as its walls. It is of cut stone laid on with

geometrical exactness, as sound and as solid as ever it was. However

imposing the _coup d'oeil_ that "the rock-throned pediments and towers" of

Cashel may present from without, it is an examination of this gem of

antique architectural beauty that gives one the highest opinion of the

artistic skill of those whose appreciation of the unique and beautiful led

them to choose this towering rock as a fit place on which to raise

edifices dedicated to the Deity.

It is strange how it was that the ancient or rather the mediaeval Irish,

who knew how to erect such beautiful and enduring stone and mortar

structures as the round towers, and such gems of architectural beauty as

Cormac's Chapel is, and as Mellifont Abbey certainly was, should have

housed their kings and chiefs in dwellings of wood, whose only defence was

an earthen rampart surmounted by a palisade of stakes, or in a Cyclopean

fortress of dry stones. It is absolutely certain that not a single castle

built of stones and mortar existed in Ireland prior to the Anglo-French

invasion. The Irish knew how to build round towers and churches, but seem

never to have thought of building castles until their invaders taught them

to build them. The thing looks very curious, but, on closer examination,

it does not appear so strange, for it is now pretty well known that none

of the Northern nations had castles before the eleventh century. The

French seem to have been the first of the Northern nations that had

castles. It is very doubtful if there was a castle in Great Britain before

the Norman-French conquest. If there were castles in England or Scotland

before the battle of Hastings, they were imitations of those on the

Continent, and were probably designed and built by Continental architects

and mechanics. Neither the Scandinavians nor Northern-Germans appear to

have had castles until late in the middle ages, when they copied them from

more Southern nations. But it was the Norman-French that brought the art

of castle building to its greatest perfection.

The ruins of Hoar Abbey, or St Mary's Abbey, as it is sometimes called,

are situated close to the Rock, but not on it. It is believed to have been

founded by the Benedictine order in the thirteenth century.

Cashel is interesting in almost every way. There is a magnificent view

from its ruin-crowned rock over some of the fairest and most fertile land

in Ireland. Nor is a mountain view wanting, for the Galtees, the second

highest range of mountains in Ireland, are visible, and a noble range they

are, not rounded lumps like so many of the Wicklow Hills, but steep,

sheer, cloud-piercing heights,--Alps in miniature. It is a pity that the

town, or rather the city, of Cashel is not larger and more thriving. It

may have been, like Glendaloch and Kildare, much larger in early Christian

times than it is at present, but there does not seem to be any statement

of the fact in any of the old Gaelic books, so far as is known to the

writer. But whatever may have been the past history of the city of Cashel,

no one in search of the picturesque, the unique, or the historic in

Ireland should fail to see its Rock. It is said that when Scott visited

Ireland he was more impressed by the Rock of Cashel than by anything else

of its kind that he saw in the country.

Of all the remains of Christian edifices in Ireland, Cashel, Glendaloch,

and Clonmacnois are the most interesting. It is not only by the beauty or

peculiarity of their situations that they impress us, for their histories

go so far back into the past, when the combat of Christianity with

Druidism was still going on, that we may regard them as the advance posts

of a purer cult in the ground conquered from paganism. It would be hard to

find in Europe three other places of a similar kind more antique, more

interesting, or more worthy of being respected. What remains of their

hallowed ruins should be guarded with jealous care, and saved from any

further uprooting or profanation.