Читать книгу One Irish Summer - William Eleroy Curtis - Страница 8

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Dublin Castle does not correspond with the conventional idea of what a castle should be. It looks more like the dormitory of an ancient university or a hospital or military barracks, although there are two ancient towers in which many men have been imprisoned and in which several patriots have died, and the south side of the pile, which overlooks a beautiful lawn in the very center of Dublin, has quite the appearance of a fortress. It has been the scene of much bloody history, much treachery and cruelty, and many deeds of valor have been done in the two courtyards. One of the viceroys of the sixteenth century, in a letter to the King of England describing its partial destruction by fire, wrote that he had “lost nothing but a few barrels of powder and the worst castle in the worst situation in Christendom”.

A certain portion of the building is reserved for the official residence of the lord lieutenant, and there are long suites of quaint old rooms with antique furniture, usually disguised with its summer wrapping of pink-flowered chintz, in which kings and queens and dukes and earls have been entertained for centuries. In olden times it was the habit of the lord lieutenant to permit his guests to go to the wine cellar with glasses in their hands and drink from whatever hogshead they pleased, and it is recorded that some gentlemen who were imbibing longer than usual sent the cellarer to the Duke of Ormonde, who then occupied the office, to provide them with chairs. With that true wit that distinguishes the Irish race, high and low, the duke replied that he did not encourage his guests to drink any longer than they could stand. This custom was abandoned by the Earl of Halifax, owing to the carelessness of certain bewildered gentlemen who left the wine running out of the spigot and lost him many gallons of precious Madeira.

The present lord lieutenant, Lord Aberdeen, spends as little time in the castle as possible, because the viceregal lodge, his country residence, which is only half an hour’s drive distant in Phœnix Park, is so much more comfortable and homelike, but all state ceremonies must take place at the castle, and their excellencies and the household usually bring in their court costumes early in February, for the season commences on the second Tuesday with a levee, a drawing-room on Wednesday, a reception on Thursday, and on Friday a banquet. During the ensuing week a state ball is given, and twice a week thereafter entertainments until the 17th of March, when the season is finished with St. Patrick’s ball. The presentation of guests may be arranged for at the levees or the drawing-room, and everybody who has been presented can go to the ball. The inauguration of a new viceroy takes place in the throne-room, where also a farewell reception is held when he retires.

The castle dates back to the days when it was necessary to have some stronghold, as the king said, “to curb the city as well as to defend it,” and to provide a safe place for the custody of the royal treasure. It was located in the center of the present city of Dublin, but at the time was outside the original walls of the town, upon what is called Cork Hill, because Richard Boyle, the Earl of Cork, had his castle upon the slight elevation it now occupies. Meiller Fitzhenry, an illegitimate son of Henry II., designed and began the building. It was finished in 1213, and from that period has been the center of Irish history. Very little of the original structure remains—only a portion of the walls. The towers have been cut down and modernized. One of them is now used for a supper-room for social occasions, and a kitchen is on the lower floor. The other, which was originally a prison, and is the most complete surviving fragment of the ancient fortress, is a repository for historical documents and the records of the government for the last four or five centuries. There are three circular rooms, one above the other; the walls are nineteen feet thick in places, and four or five long, narrow cells are built into them like recesses and lighted only by a narrow strip at the far end. One of these cells has a secret chamber hidden in the wall, and accessible only by a revolving door, which is difficult to distinguish from the rest of the stone.

The Castle, Dublin; Official Residence of the Lord Lieutenant and Headquarters of the Government

The tower has not been used as a prison since 1798 and 1803, the rebellions of Emmet and Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and the documents relating to their conspiracy are preserved there in the very cells where the men who were convicted by them lay awaiting trial and execution. The late Mr. Lecky, the historian, searched them thoroughly, and gave a surprising account of the character of the private papers that were seized with the effects of the patriots in those days. Love letters, poems, reflections on various subjects, rules of conduct, maxims of the sages, drafts of speeches, and proclamations in soaring language, and many attempts at literary work are mixed up with the reports of spies, informers, detectives, and officials,—some of them from comrades whose treachery was never suspected and which Mr. Lecky was not permitted to publish even at this late day. Some people think these malicious and incriminating documents should be destroyed lest they may sometime come to light and ruin the reputation of men who are highly esteemed by their fellow countrymen. But no one seems willing to give the instructions.

In 1583 a “trial by combat” took place in the courtyard of the castle between Connor MacCormack O’Connor and Teague Kilpatrick O’Connor to settle the responsibility for the murder of a clansman. The weapons were sword and shield. The lord justices and the councillors, the governor-general, the sheriffs, and other officials were present to witness the trial. As was the custom and usage in trials by combat, each man was made to take an oath that he believed his quarrel just, and was ready to maintain it to the death. After a fierce struggle Teague cut off the head of his cousin and presented it on the point of his sword to the lord justices. For many generations the Irish parliament used to assemble at the castle. The first was called in 1328, another in 1585, another in 1639, and the accounts of the expenses of the lord lieutenant show that during the two weeks that parliament was in session the viceregal household consumed ten bullocks, forty sheep, sixteen hogsheads of beer, and various other refreshments to a similar extent.

Oliver Cromwell, when in Dublin, resided at the castle, and in 1654 his youngest son was born there. While Henry Cromwell was viceroy he was driven from the castle and went to live at the viceregal lodge. In 1689, after the battle of the Boyne, in which William of Orange defeated James Stuart, the latter took possession of the castle, but slept there only one night.

The court of Dublin has been insignificant but lively, and has reflected the characteristics of the Irish nobility, who were as fond of a frolic as they were of a fight, and never allowed their sense of decorum or the laws of etiquette to interfere with their pleasure. A hundred years ago ladies, upon being presented for the first time, were solemnly kissed by the viceroy, which was more or less agreeable to him, according to the age and attractions of his guests. One of them who was noted for his wit remarked that he got his kisses as a spendthrift borrows from a usurer, “part in old wine, part in dubious paintings, and part in bright gold and silver.” With all its wit and brilliancy the court has at times been noted for a low state of morality, and at one period that portion of the castle which contains the state apartments was nicknamed “hell’s half-acre” by a satirist.

A figure of Justice which adorns the pediment of the main gate has been the object of much wit and satire for two centuries. Dean Swift once declared that she sat with her face to the viceroy and her back to the people. There are a few good portraits and other pictures in the residence portion of the building, including some pretty medallions in the wall of the throne-room, which are credited to Angelica Kauffman, but nobody knows when or how she happened to paint them.

The mantel of one of the rooms is of black Spanish oak taken from the cabin of the flagship of the Spanish Armada which was wrecked on the Irish coast after the great sea battle of 1588.

The finest of all the rooms is St. Patrick’s Hall, which was designed by the great Lord Chesterfield when he was lord lieutenant of Ireland, and has always been much admired by architects because of its proportions and its lofty painted ceilings representing events in Irish history. The banners of the twenty-four knights of St. Patrick are suspended from either side, and the crimson draperies and upholstering of Irish poplin give the apartment an attractive color. Duplicates of these banners hang in the choir of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where the knights used to meet before 1869, but they have always had their headquarters in the castle, and the Ulster king of arms, the executive officer of the order, is the master of ceremonies at the castle, senior officer in the household of the lord lieutenant, the highest authority on rank and precedent in Ireland, and his seal is necessary to give legal value to patents of Irish peerages. He decides all questions of etiquette, nominates the persons who are presented at the viceregal drawing-room, arranges for all ceremonies, and in processions of state he rides or walks immediately in front of the lord lieutenant, carrying the sword of state as the emblem of the authority of the king.

The office has been in existence since the Middle Ages. Its incumbent was formerly the custodian of the arms, the chief of the heralds, and the keeper of the royal jewels. He has an office in what is known as Bedford Tower, immediately facing the principal entrance to the viceroy’s residence, with a large suite of rooms for his own use, and two or three clerks to look after his business. Otherwise the office carries no compensation except £20 a year and such few fees as are paid for searching the records of the Irish peerage and furnishing certificates of pedigree and title similar to those that are sought at the College of Heralds in London.

The office was held for many years by Sir Bernard Burke, the most eminent of modern genealogists, the originator and author of “Burke’s Peerage,” which is authority on all questions affecting the nobility. His successor was Sir Arthur Vicar, son of the late Colonel Vicar, who commanded the Sixty-first Irish Fusiliers, and is a cousin of half the nobility of Ireland. Sir Arthur is a bachelor, a member of the principal clubs of London and Dublin, president of the Kildare Archæological Society and of the “Ex-Libris Society,” whose members follow the fad of collecting book plates. He is the highest authority on questions affecting the Irish nobility since the death of Sir Bernard Burke, and is the editor of “Lodge’s Peerage,” a volume which relates exclusively to them. Sir Arthur has been a great favorite with everybody. He is an amiable, gentle, witty man, with winning manner, a charming conversationalist, has a keen sense of humor, and has been the confidant of half the peers of Ireland in their sorrows and their difficulties.

In October, 1907, when preparations were being made to invest Lord Castledown as a knight of St. Patrick, it was discovered that the regalia of that order was missing, and no trace has ever been found of it, nor have the detectives obtained a single clew to the mystery. The jewels have an intrinsic value of quarter of a million dollars, but the historical and sentimental value of the articles stolen cannot be estimated. They were kept in a safe in the office of Sir Arthur Vicar as master at arms at the right of the entrance to his private quarters, and the room was usually occupied in the daytime by two clerks and carefully locked at night. This valuable property had been kept in that place for more than two hundred years, and nobody ever dreamed that it might be stolen. The discovery, which was kept secret for several months at the request of the police, caused a postponement of the ceremony, and the chief secretary for Ireland called for the resignation of Sir Arthur as master at arms on the ground that he failed to take proper precautions for the safety of the valuables in question. He was not accused or even suspected of having participated in the robbery, or having any knowledge of it, but there cannot be the slightest doubt that the theft was committed by some person familiar with affairs in the castle, and hence all the employees, everybody, from Lord Aberdeen down, has shared in the humiliation. Sir Arthur Vicar refused to resign, demanded a court of inquiry, and selected Timothy Healy, a member of parliament of the nationalist party from Dublin, as his counsel, and has ever since been appealing for vindication.