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Seeing Europe with Famous Authors

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We advanced along a sort of giant's causeway, the pavement of which was
the heads of basaltic columns, all fitting together in the most
beautiful symmetry; and, turning round the precipice to our right hand,
found ourselves at the entrance of the great cave. The sea was too
stormy to allow us to enter it, as is often done in boats, we had
therefore to clamber along one of its sides, where a row of columns is
broken off, at some distance above the waves, and presents an
accessible, but certainly very formidable causeway, by which you may
reach the far end. I do not believe that any stranger, if he were there
alone, would dare to pass along that irregular and slippery causeway,
and penetrate to the obscure end of the cave; but numbers animate one
another to anything. We clambered along this causeway or corridor, now
ascending and now descending, as the broken columns required, and soon
stood--upward of seventy of us--ranged along its side from one end to
the other. Let it be remembered that this splendid sea cave is forty-two
feet wide at the entrance; sixty-six feet high from low water; and runs
into the rock two hundred and twenty-seven feet. Let it be imagined that
at eight or ten feet below us it was paved with the sea, which came
rushing and foaming along it, and dashing up against the solid rock at
its termination; while the light thrown from the flickering billows
quivered in its arched roof above us, and the whole place was filled
with the solemn sound of the ocean; and if any one can imagine to
himself any situation more sublime, I should like to know what that is.
The roof is composed of the lower ends of basaltic columns, which have
yet been so cut away by nature as to give it the aspect of the roof of
some gigantic cathedral aisle; and lichens of gold and crimson have
gilded and colored it in the richest manner.

It was difficult to forget, as we stood there, that, if any one slipt,
he would disappear forever, for the billows in their ebb would sweep him
out to the open sea, as it were in a moment. Yet the excitement of the
whole group was too evident to rest with any seriousness on such a
thought. Some one suddenly fired a gun in the place, and the concussion
and reverberated thunders were astounding.

When the first effect was gone off, one general peal of laughter rung
through the cave, and then nearly the whole company began to sing "The
Sea! the sea!" The captain found it a difficult matter to get his
company out of this strange chantry--where they and the wind and waves
seemed all going mad together--to embark them again for Iona.

Venerable Iona--how different! and with what different feelings
approached! As we drew near, we saw a low bleak shore, backed by naked
hills, and at their feet a row of miserable Highland huts, and at
separate intervals the ruins of the monastery and church of Ronad, the
church of St. Oran and its burying-ground, and lastly, the cathedral....

Nothing is more striking, in this wild and neglected spot, than to walk
among these ruins, and behold amid the rank grass those tombs of ancient
kings, chiefs, and churchmen, with their sculpture of so singular and
yet superior a style. It is said that there were formerly three hundred
and sixty stone crosses in the Island of Iona, which since the
Reformation have been reduced to two, and the fragments of two others.
The Synod of Argyle is reported to have caused no less than sixty of
them to be thrown into the sea at one time, and fragments of others,
which were knocked in pieces, are to be seen here and there, some of
them now converted into gravestones.

They lie on the margin of the stormy Atlantic; they lie among walls
which, tho they may be loosened for years, seem as tho they never could
decay, for they are of the red granite of which the rocks and islets
around are composed, and defended only by low enclosures piled up of the
same granite, rounded into great pebbles by the washing of the sea. But
perhaps the most striking scene of all was our own company of voyagers
landing amid the huge masses of rock that scatter the strand; forming
into long procession, two and two, and advancing in that order from one
ruin to another.

We chanced to linger behind for a moment; and our eye caught this
procession of upward of seventy persons thus wandering on amid those
time-worn edifices--and here and there a solitary cross lifting its head
above them. It was a picture worthy of a great painter. It looked as tho
the day of pilgrimages was come back again, and that this was a troop of
devotees thronging to this holy shrine. The day of pilgrimages is,
indeed come back again; but they are the pilgrimages of knowledge and an
enlightened curiosity. The day of that science which the saints of Iona
were said to diffuse first in Britain has now risen to a splendid noon;
and not the least of its evidences is that, every few days through every
summer, a company like this descends on this barren strand to behold
what Johnson calls "that illustrious island which was once the luminary
of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians
derived the benefit of knowledge and the blessings of religion." A more
interesting or laudable excursion the power of steam and English money
can not well enable our countrymen to make.



VII

IRELAND



A SUMMER DAY IN DUBLIN [Footnote: From "The Irish Sketch Book."]

BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

Our passage across from the Head [Holyhead] was made in a rain so
pouring and steady, that sea and coast were entirely hidden from us, and
one could see very little beyond the glowing tip of the cigar which
remained alight nobly in spite of the weather. When the gallant
exertions of that fiery spirit were over for ever, and, burning bravely
to the end, it had breathed its last in doing its master service, all
became black and cheerless around; the passengers had dropt off one by
one, preferring to be dry and ill below rather than wet and squeamish
above; even the mate, with his gold-laced cap (who is so astonishingly
like Mr. Charles Dickens, that he might pass for that gentleman)--even
the mate said he would go to his cabin and turn in. So there remained
nothing for it but to do as all the world had done....

A long pier, with a steamer or two at hand, and a few small vessels
lying on either side of the jetty; a town irregularly built, with
showy-looking hotels; a few people straggling on the beach; two or three
ears at the railroad station, which runs along the shore as far as
Dublin; the sea stretching interminably eastward; to the north the Hill
of Howth, lying gray behind the mist; and, directly under his feet, upon
the wet, black, shining, slippery deck, an agreeable reflection of his
own legs, disappearing seemingly in the direction of the cabin from
which he issues; are the sights which a traveler may remark on coming on
deck at Kingstown pier on a wet morning--let us say on an average
morning; for according to the statement of well-informed natives, the
Irish day is more often rainy than otherwise. A hideous obelisk, stuck
upon four fat balls, and surmounted with a crown on a cushion (the
latter were no bad emblems perhaps of the monarch in whose honor they
were raised), commemorates the sacred spot at which George IV. quitted
Ireland: you are landed here from the steamer; and a carman, who is
dawdling in the neighborhood, with a straw in his mouth, comes leisurely
up to ask whether you'll go to Dublin?

Is it natural indolence, or the effect of despair because of the
neighboring railroad, which renders him so indifferent? He does not even
take the straw out of his mouth as he proposes the question, and seems
quite careless as to the answer. He said he would take me to Dublin "in
three quarthers," as soon as we began a parley; as to the fare, he would
not hear of it--he said he would leave it to my honor; he would take me
for nothing. Was it possible to refuse such a genteel offer?

Before that day, so memorable for joy and sorrow, for rapture at
receiving its monarch and tearful grief at losing him, when George IV.
came and left the maritime resort of the citizens of Dublin, it bore a
less genteel name than that which it owns at present, and was called
Dunleary. After that glorious event Dunleary disdained to be Dunleary
any longer, and became Kingstown, henceforward and forever. Numerous
terraces and pleasure-houses have been built in the place--they stretch
row after row along the banks of the sea, and rise one above another on
the hill. The rents of these houses are said to be very high; the Dublin
citizens crowd into them in summer; and a great source of pleasure and
comfort must it be to them to have the fresh sea-breezes and prospects
so near to the metropolis.

The better sort of houses are handsome and spacious; but the fashionable
quarter is yet in an unfinished state, for enterprising architects are
always beginning new roads, rows and terraces; nor are those already
built by any means complete. [Footnote: This was written in 1842.]
Besides the aristocratic part of the town is a commercial one, and
nearer to Dublin stretch lines of low cottages which have not a
Kingstown look at all, but are evidently of the Dunleary period.... The
capabilities of the country, however, are very, very great, and in many
instances have been taken advantage of; for you see, besides the misery,
numerous handsome houses and parks along the road, having fine lawns and
woods, and the sea in our view, at a quarter of an hour's ride from
Dublin. It is the continual appearance of this sort of wealth which
makes the poverty more striking; and thus between the two (for there is
no vacant space of fields between Kingstown and Dublin) the car
reaches the city.

The entrance to the capital is very handsome. There is no bustle and
throng of carriages, as in London; but you pass by numerous rows of neat
houses, fronted with gardens, and adorned with all sorts of gay-looking
creepers. Pretty market-gardens, with trim beds of plants and shining
glass-houses, give the suburbs a riante and cheerful look; and, passing
under the arch of the railway, we are in the city itself. Hence you come
upon several old-fashioned, well-built, airy, stately streets, and
through Fitzwilliam Square, a noble place, the garden of which is full
of flowers and foliage. The leaves are green, and not black as in
similar places in London; the red-brick houses tall and handsome.
Presently the ear stops before an extremely big red house, in that
extremely large square, Stephen's Green, where Mr. O'Connell says there
is one day or other to be a Parliament. There is room enough for that,
or for any other edifice which fancy or patriotism may have a mind to
erect, for part of one of the sides of the square is not yet built, and
you see the fields and the country beyond....

The hotel to which I had been directed is a respectable old edifice,
much frequented by families from the country, and where the solitary
traveler may likewise find society. For he may either use the Shelburne
as a hotel or a boarding-house, in which latter case he is comfortably
accommodated at the very moderate daily charge. For this charge a
copious breakfast is provided for him in the coffee-room, a perpetual
luncheon is likewise there spread, a plentiful dinner is ready at six
o'clock; after which, there is a drawing-room and a rubber of whist,
with tay and coffee and cakes in plenty to satisfy the largest appetite.
The hotel is majestically conducted by clerks and other officers; the
landlord himself does not appear, after the honest comfortable English
fashion, but lives in a private mansion hard by, where his name may be
read inscribed on a brass-plate, like that of any other private
gentleman.

A woman melodiously crying "Dublin Bay herrings" passed just as we came
up to the door, and as that fish is famous throughout Europe, I seized
the earliest opportunity and ordered a broiled one for breakfast. It
merits all its reputation: and in this respect I should think the Bay of
Dublin is far superior to its rival of Naples. Are there any herrings in
Naples Bay? Dolphins there may be; and Mount Vesuvius, to be sure, is
bigger than even the Hill of Howth: but a dolphin is better in a sonnet
than at a breakfast, and what poet is there that, at certain periods of
the day, would hesitate in his choice between the two?

With this famous broiled herring the morning papers are served up; and a
great part of these, too, gives opportunity of reflection to the
newcomer, and shows him how different this country is from his own. Some
hundred years hence, when students want to inform themselves of the
history of the present day, and refer to files of "Times" and
"Chronicle" for the purpose, I think it is possible that they will
consult, not so much those luminous and philosophical leading articles
which call our attention at present both by the majesty of their
eloquence and the largeness of their type, but that they will turn to
those parts of the journals into which information is squeezed into the
smallest possible print, to the advertisements, namely, the law and
police reports, and to the instructive narratives supplied by that
ill-used body of men who transcribe knowledge at the rate of a penny
a line....

The papers being read, it became my duty to discover the town; and a
handsomer town, with fewer people in it, it is impossible to see on a
summer's day. In the whole wide square of Stephen's Green, I think there
were not more than two nursery-maids, to keep company with the statue of
George I., who rides on horseback in the middle of the garden, the horse
having his foot up to trot, as if he wanted to go out of town too. Small
troops of dirty children (too poor and dirty to have lodgings at
Kingstown) were squatting here and there upon the sunshiny steps, the
only clients at the thresholds of the professional gentlemen whose names
figure on brass-plates on the doors. A stand of lazy carmen, a policeman
or two with clinking boot-heels, a couple of moaning beggars leaning
against the rails and calling upon the Lord, and a fellow with a toy and
book stall, where the lives of St. Patrick, Robert Emmet, and Lord
Edward Fitzgerald may be bought for double their value, were all the
population of the Green.... In the courts of the College, scarce the
ghost of a gyp or the shadow of a bed-maker. In spite of the solitude,
the square of the College is a fine sight--a large ground, surrounded by
buildings of various ages and styles, but comfortable, handsome, and in
good repair; a modern row of rooms; a row that has been Elizabethan
once; a hall and senate-house, facing each other, of the style of George
I.; and a noble library, with a range of many windows, and a fine manly
simple façade of cut stone.

The bank and other public buildings of Dublin are justly famous. In the
former may still be seen the room which was the House of Lords formerly,
and where the bank directors now sit, under a clean marble image of
George III. The House of Commons has disappeared, for the accommodation
of clerks and cashiers. The interior is light, splendid, airy, well
furnished, and the outside of the building not less so. The Exchange,
hard by, is an equally magnificent structure; but the genius of commerce
has deserted it, for all its architectural beauty. There was nobody
inside when I entered, but a pert statue of George III. in a Roman toga,
simpering and turning out his toes; and two dirty children playing,
whose hoop-sticks caused great clattering echoes under the vacant
sounding dome.

Walking toward the river, you have on either side of you, at Carlisle
Bridge, a very brilliant and beautiful prospect. The four courts and
their dome to the left, the custom-house and its dome to the right; and
in this direction seaward, a considerable number of vessels are moored,
and the quays are black and busy with the cargoes discharged from ships.
Seamen cheering, herring-women bawling, coal-carts loading--the scene is
animated and lively. Yonder is the famous Corn Exchange; but the Lord
Mayor is attending to his duties in Parliament, and little of note is
going on. I had just passed his lordship's mansion in Dawson Street--a
queer old dirty brick house, with dumpy urns at each extremity, and
looking as if a story of it had been cut off--a rasée house. Close at
hand, and peering over a paling, is a statue of our blest sovereign
George II. How absurd these pompous images look, of defunct majesties,
for whom no breathing soul cares a halfpenny! It is not so with the
effigy of William III., who has done something to merit a statue. At
this minute the Lord Mayor has William's effigy under a canvas, and is
painting him of a bright green picked out with yellow--his lordship's
own livery.

The view along the quays to the four courts has no small resemblance to
a view along the quays at Paris, tho not so lively as are even those
quiet walks. The vessels do not come above-bridge, and the marine
population remains constant about them, and about numerous dirty
liquor-shops, eating-houses, and marine-store establishments, which are
kept for their accommodation along the quay. As far as you can see, the
shining Liffey flows away eastward, hastening (like the rest of the
inhabitants of Dublin) to the sea.

In front of Carlisle Bridge, and not in the least crowded, tho in the
midst of Sackville Street, stands Nelson upon a stone pillar. The post
office is on his right hand (only it is cut off); and on his left,
Gresham's and the Imperial Hotel. Of the latter let me say (from
subsequent experience) that it is ornamented by a cook who could dress a
dinner by the side of M. Borel or M. Soyéld there were more such artists
in this ill-fated country! The street is exceedingly broad and handsome;
the shops at the commencement, rich and spacious; but in Upper Sackville
Street, which closes with the pretty building and gardens of the
Rotunda, the appearance of wealth begins to fade somewhat, and the
houses look as if they had seen better days. Even in this, the great
street of the town, there is scarcely any one, and it is as vacant and
listless as Pall Mall in October.



DUBLIN CASTLE [Footnote: From "Ireland: Its Scenery, Character, Etc."]

BY MR. AND MRS. S. C. HALL

The building of Dublin "Castle"--for the residence of the Viceroys
retains the term--was commenced by Meiler FitzHenry, Lord Justice of
Ireland, in 1205; and finished, fifteen years afterward, by Henry de
Loundres, Archbishop of Dublin. The purpose of the structure is declared
by the patent by which King John commanded its erection: "You have given
us to understand that you have not a convenient place wherein our
treasure may be safely deposited; and forasmuch, as well for that use as
for many others, a fortress would be necessary for us at Dublin, we
command you to erect a castle there, in such competent place as you
shall judge most expedient, as well to curb the city as to defend it if
occasion shall so require, and that you make it as strong as you can
with good and durable walls." Accordingly it was occupied as a strong
fortress only, until the reign of Elizabeth, when it became the seat of
the Irish government--the court being held previously at various palaces
in the city or its suburbs; and in the seventeenth century, Terms and
Parliaments were both held within its walls.

The Castle, however, has undergone so many and such various changes from
time to time, as circumstances justified the withdrawal of its defenses,
that the only portion of it which nows bears a character of antiquity is
the Birmingham Tower; and even that has been almost entirely rebuilt,
altho it retains its ancient form. The records of this tower--in modern
times the "State Paper Office"--would afford materials for one of the
most singular and romantic histories ever published. It received its
name, according to Dr. Walsh, not from the De Birminghams, who were
lords justices in 1321 and 1348; but from Sir William Birmingham, who
was imprisioned there in 1331, with his son Walter; "the former was
taken out from thence and executed, the latter was pardoned as to life
because he was in holy orders." It was the ancient keep, or ballium, of
the fortress; and was for a very long period the great state prison, in
which were confined the resolute or obstinate Milesian chiefs, and the
rebellious Anglo-Norman lords. Strong and well guarded as it was,
however, its inmates contrived occasionally to escape from its durance.
Some of the escapes which the historians have recorded are remarkable
and interesting.

The Castle is situated on very high ground, nearly in the center of the
city; the principal entrance is by a handsome gateway. The several
buildings, surrounding two squares, consist of the lord-lieutenant's
state apartments, guardrooms, the offices of the chief secretary, the
apartments of aides-du-camp and officers of the household, the offices
of the treasury, hanaper, register, auditor-general, constabulary, etc.,
etc. The buildings have a dull and heavy character--no effort has been
made at elegance or display--and however well calculated they may seem
for business, the whole have more the aspect of a prison than a court.
There is, indeed, one structure that contributes somewhat to redeem the
somber appearance of "the Castle"--the chapel is a fine Gothic edifice,
richly decorated both within and without. The following description of
the ancient character of "the Castle" is gathered from Dr. Walsh:

"The entrance from the city on the north side was by a drawbridge,
placed between two strong round towers from Castle Street, the westward
of which subsisted till the year 1766. A portcullis, armed with iron,
between these towers, served as a second defense, in case the bridge
should be surprised by an enemy. A high curtain extended from the
western tower to Cork Tower, so called after the great Earl of Cork,
who, in 1624, expended a considerable sum in rebuilding it. The wall was
then continued of equal height until it joined Birmingham Tower, which
was afterward used as a prison for state criminals; it was taken down in
1775, and the present building erected on the site, for preserving part
of the ancient records of the kingdom. From this another high curtain
extended to the Wardrobe Tower, which served as repository for the royal
robe, the cap of maintenance, and the other furniture of state. From,
this tower the wall was carried to the North or Storehouse Tower (now
demolished) near Dame's Gate, and from thence it was continued to the
eastern gateway tower, at the entrance of the castle. This fortress was
originally encompassed with a broad and deep moat, which has long since
been filled up. There were two sally ports in the wall, one toward Sheep
(now Ship) Street, which was closed up in 1663 by the Duke of Ormond,
after the discovery of Jephson and Blood's conspiracy."

The walls by which it was formerly surrounded, and the fortifications
for its defense, have nearly all vanished. Neither is Dublin rich in
remains of antiquity; one of the few that appertain to its ancient
history is a picturesque gateway, but not of a very remote date, called
Marsh's Gate. It stands in Kevin Street, near the cathedral of St.
Patrick, and is the entrance to a large court, now occupied by the horse
police; at one end of which is the Barrack, formerly, we believe, the
Deanery, and Marsh's library.



ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL [Footnote: From "Ireland: Its Scenery,
Character, Etc."]

BY MR. AND MRS. S. C. HALL

If few of the public structures of Dublin possess "the beauty of age,"
many of its churches may be classed with the "ancient of days." Chief
among them all is the Cathedral of St. Patrick; interesting, not alone
from its antiquity, but from its association with the several leading
events, and remarkable people, by which and by whom Ireland has been
made "famous." It is situated in a very old part of Dublin, in the midst
of low streets and alleys, the houses being close to the small open yard
by which the venerable structure is encompassed. Its condition, too, is
very wretched; and altho various suggestions have been made, from time
to time, for its repair and renovation, it continues in a state by no
means creditable either to the church or the city. It was built A.D.
1190, by John Comyn, Archbishop of Dublin, by whom it was dedicated to
the patron saint of Ireland; but it is said, the site on which it stands
was formerly occupied by a church erected by the saint himself--A.D.
448. St. Patrick's was collegiate in its first institution, and erected
into a cathedral about the year 1225, by Henry de Loundres, successor to
Archbishop Comyn, "united with the cathedral of the Holy Trinity,
Christ's Church, Dublin, into one spouse, saving unto the latter the
prerogative of honor." The question of precedence between the sees of
Dublin and Armagh was agitated for centuries with the greatest violence,
and both pleaded authority in support of their pretensions; it was at
length determined, in 1552, that each should be entitled to primatial
dignity, and erect his crozier in the diocese of the other: that the
archbishop of Dublin should be titled the "Primate of Ireland;" while
the archbishop of Armagh should be styled, with more precision, "Primate
of all Ireland"--a distinction which continues to the present day.

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