It is doubtful if there is in Ireland--there certainly is not in the
province of Connacht--a more interesting ruin than Cong Abbey. Its
situation is beautiful, between two great lakes, with a background of some
of the wildest and ruggedest mountains in Ireland. It would be hard to
conceive of a place more suited for a life of religious meditation than
this venerable pile, into which he who is called Ireland's last chief king
retired to bewail his sins and lament for the power that his own
pusillanimity and carelessness had allowed to pass away from him and his
family for ever. If Roderick O'Connor was the last of Ireland's monarchs,
he was also one of her worst. History hardly tells of a good act of his
except the endowment of the Abbey of Cong; and the greater the light is
that is thrown on the history of Ireland by the translation of her ancient
annals, the weaker and more imbecile the character of Roderick appears,
and the more just and merited that which Moore says of him in his history
of Ireland:--"The only feeling the name [of Roderick] awakens is that of
pity for the doomed country which at such a crisis of its fortunes, when
honour, safety, independence, and national existence were all at stake,
was cursed for the crowning of its evil destiny with a ruler and leader so
entirely unworthy of his high calling." If the Anglo-French invasion of
Ireland had occurred in the reign of his brave and warlike father,
Turloch, one of the greatest of those who claimed the chief sovereignty of
Ireland, the invaders would almost certainly have been all killed within a
month after they landed, and the subsequent history of Ireland would
probably be very different from what it has been.
Irish annals tell us that the first religious establishment in Cong was
founded by St Fechin in the year 624; but John O'Donovan says in a note in
his translation of the Four Masters that Roderick O'Connor founded and
endowed the Abbey of Cong. That a religious house of some kind was founded
in it by St Fechin there can be no doubt at all, for up to a recent period
it was known as Cunga Fechin, or Cong of Fechin. O'Donovan may have meant
that Roderick O'Connor endowed and founded the abbey, the remains of
which exist at present, for not a vestige of the original building
founded by St Fechin remains. It was, like most of the very early churches
and religious houses of ancient Ireland, built entirely of wood, and has
consequently long ago disappeared. Cong was originally a bishopric. There
were five bishoprics in the province of Connacht--namely, Tuam, Killala,
Clonfert, Ardcharne, and Cong. The Synod that settled the question of the
bishoprics of Connacht met at Rathbrassil, in what is now the Queen's
County, in 1010. The abbey, the remains of which still exist, was founded
in 1128 by the Augustinians, during the reign of Roderick O'Connor's
heroic father, Turloch. Roderick subsequently endowed it, and ended his
days in it. It is an interesting and suggestive fact that most of the
great religious establishments of Ireland were not only founded but built
in the material that now remains of them before the Anglo-French invasion,
showing clearly that that event put a stop to almost everything that could
be called progress. The invaders, although professing the same faith as
the invaded, were much more anxious to build castles than churches. There
was hardly a castle in Ireland before the time of Strongbow. This was not
caused by ignorance of the art of building among the Irish, for some of
the round towers and churches erected long before the time of Strongbow
are as perfect specimens of architecture as were erected in any country at
the same period. The native Irish king, or chief, was contented with a
wooden house surrounded by an embankment, capped with a palisade of wood;
but the Norman raised mighty edifices of stone to protect him from the
wrath of those he had robbed.
Cong Abbey is a large building nearly 150 feet in length. Few of the
ancient churches of Ireland are any longer, and many of them are not
nearly so long. It would be a mistake to say that the ruins at Cong are in
a good state of preservation, for traces of violence and vandalism are
apparent almost everywhere on them. The whole place has a terribly
dilapidated look. It has been said that only for ivy and the Guinnesses
the Abbey of Cong would have tumbled down long ago. It is true that ivy
has prevented great masses of masonry from falling; and it is true that
the late Sir Benjamin Guinness did a good deal of mending on the old
walls. But it was before his time, when religious intolerance was worse
than it is at present, that Cong Abbey was mutilated and defaced. It is
sad to know that there is hardly an old religious edifice in Ireland that
has not suffered from sectarian animosity. The ruins of Mellifont, near
Drogheda, have been torn up from their foundations, so that hardly a trace
of that once magnificent abbey now remains except the crypts and the vast
walls and fosses by which it was surrounded. Ruthless vandals tried their
best with sledges and hammers to overthrow the great cross of
Monasterboice in Louth, but the stone of which it consists was too hard
for them, for they only succeeded in mutilating what they could not
destroy.
In its present dilapidated condition it is hardly possible to form a
correct idea of what Cong Abbey was in the days of its splendour. It is
almost impossible, also, to form an exact idea of its general plan, for
many comparatively modern additions have evidently been made to it. Its
having been used as a burying place within recent times has, as the same
thing has done at Clonmacnois, sadly interfered with its picturesqueness.
But, as at Mellifont, "enough of its glory remains" to show that it must
have been a building of exquisite beauty. Some of its floral capitals
carved on limestone are as fine specimens of the carver's art as can be
found anywhere in the world. Both Sir William Wilde and Doctor Petrie
agree in this. There was probably no abbey in Ireland that contained more
beautiful specimens of the carver's art than Cong. Vast numbers of its
sculptured stones have been defaced by vandalism or carried away to build
walls or out-houses. It is not easy to know what was the exact extent of
the gardens or mensal grounds of the abbey, for the walls that enclosed
them cannot be fully traced, and are not intact like the walls around the
Abbey of Boyle in the County Roscommon. The Abbey of Cong seems to have
been the great depository for the precious things of the province of
Connacht. The Order of Augustinians, to whom it belonged, was very rich,
and had vast possessions in the province, and it would seem that no abbey
in it was as rich as that of Cong. In it were kept deeds, books, records,
and many other precious things, all of which have disappeared save the
marvellously beautiful cross now to be seen in the Dublin Museum, and
which artists and connoisseurs have pronounced to be "the finest piece of
metal work of its age to be found in Europe." It is known from the Gaelic
inscription on the Cross of Cong that it was made in Roscommon, for the
name of the maker is identified with that town. The fact of such a
priceless relic and such a gem of art having been kept in the Abbey of
Cong shows that it was considered to be the most important and most secure
place in the province. The Cross of Cong was supposed to be formed from
part of the real cross. The Irish inscription on it is perfectly legible,
and can be easily understood by any one who knows the modern language. The
name of the maker is on it, and also that of Turloch O'Connor, who claimed
to be chief King of Ireland, and for whom it was made in the year 1123.
The Abbey of Cong was never plundered by the Danes; if it was, no record
of its having been plundered is to be found in the Annals of the Four
Masters, or in the Annals of Loch Key. This fact of Cong not having
suffered from the Danes would seem to show that it did not contain much
wealth during the ninth and tenth centuries, when the maraudings of the
Norsemen were at their worst. If the Abbey of Cong was worth plundering,
it is hard to conceive how it could have been spared by them. It is
probable that the church founded there by St Fechin was very small, and
that the establishment became important only when the O'Connor family rose
to prominence in the province, for it was richly endowed by Turloch and
by Roderick O'Connor, both of whom claimed to be chief kings of Ireland.
[Illustration: CROSS OF CONG.]
None of our ancient seats of piety and learning will repay a visit better
than Cong. In it and around it there is a great deal to interest the
antiquarian, the tourist, and the lover of Nature. The neck of land that
lies between Loch Corrib and Loch Mask is one of the most curious, varied,
and beautiful spots in Ireland. It has rushing, limpid rivers above, and
boiling, roaring ones below. The whole country in the vicinity of Cong
seems to be honeycombed by subterranean waters. There is probably as much
running water underground and overground in the narrow strip of country
between Loch Corrib and Loch Mask as would turn all the grist mills in
Ireland, but unfortunately there is hardly a wheel moved by it.
There is much in the vicinity of Cong, outside of its glorious old abbey,
to interest both the antiquarian and the tourist. It was close to it that
the greatest battle history records as having been fought on Irish soil
took place--namely, that of Moy Tuireadh, between the Firbolgs and the
Tuatha de Danaans, a full account of which will be found in Sir William
Wilde's charming book "Loch Corrib," which should be read by every one
who desires to visit Cong or its vicinity.
Cong is very nearly on the road to Connemara, which, with the exception of
parts of Donegal, is the wildest, most savage, and most extraordinary part
of Ireland. Those who want to see all the wildness of Connemara, its
chaotic mountains, its innumerable lakes, far-entering bays, and
illimitable bogs, should drive from Cong, or from Oughterard to Clifden,
and go from there to Galway by rail. Whoever travels that route will see
some of the most charming as well as some of the most terrific scenery in
Ireland. He will see more lakes than can be found on an area of equal size
in any part of the known world. If the visit is made when the heath is in
full bloom, he will have such a world of flowers to feast his eyes on as
can hardly be seen anywhere else, not even in Ireland.
Loch Corrib, at the head of which Cong is situated, is one of the great
lakes of Ireland. The traveller going to Cong sails up it from Galway.
There is not very much of antiquarian interest on its shores or on its
islands, save the ruins of _Caislean na Ceirce_, or the Hen's Castle. They
are on a promontory on the lake. It is not a very old building, being
probably of the fourteenth century, and was built, it is supposed, by one
of the O'Flaherties.
There are the ruins of what antiquarians think are those of one of the
oldest churches ever erected in Ireland, on the bleak island of
Incha-goile. There are also the ruins of another church on the same
island; but judging from the extremely archaic architecture of the one
first mentioned, it must be many centuries older than the other. Both
churches must have been very small.
But although the lower part of Loch Corrib cannot boast of much scenic
beauty, its upper part is magnificent. It thrusts its sinuous arms up into
the wildest recesses of the Joyce Country, and among mountains of
fantastic forms. The Joyce Country, _Duthaigh Sheoghach_ in Gaelic, has
ever been remarkable for the gigantic size of its men. There have been
scores of Joyces who were from six feet four to six feet six in height,
and stout in proportion. There are still some of its men of immense size.
It is said that not so very long ago a giant Joyce was going home from a
fair or market, and that a faction of ten men who were not on perfectly
friendly terms with him, followed him to beat or perhaps kill him. Joyce
had no weapons or means of defence of any kind, so he unyoked the horse
from the cart or dray on which he was riding, tore it to pieces, armed
himself with one of its shafts as a "shillelagh," and awaited his enemies;
but they seem not to have liked being hit with the shaft of a cart and
retreated. Those who like can believe or not believe this story. It is
given as the writer heard it from a very respectable gentleman who knew
Joyce.