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Penelope's Irish Experiences, a fiction by Kate Douglas Wiggin |
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Part 5. Royal Meath - Chapter 26. Ireland's Gold |
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_ Part V. Royal Meath Chapter XXVI. Ireland's gold 'I sat upon the rustic seat-- Denis Florence M'Carthy. The Old Hall, Devorgilla,
The Old Hall, from which I write, is somewhere in the vale of the Boyne, somewhere near Yellow Steeple, not so far from Treadagh, only a few miles from Ballybilly (I hope to be forgiven this irreverence to the glorious memory of his Majesty, William, Prince of Orange!), and within driving distance of Killkienan, Croagh-Patrick, Domteagh, and Tara Hill itself. If you know your Royal Meath, these geographical suggestions will give you some idea of our location; if not, take your map of Ireland, please (a thing nobody has near him), and find the town of Tuam, where you left us a little time ago. You will see a railway line from Tuam to Athenry, Athlone, and Mullingar. Anybody can visit Mullingar--it is for the million; but only the elect may go to Devorgilla. It is the captive of our bow and spear; or, to change the figure, it is a violet by a mossy stone, which we refuse to have plucked from its poetic solitude and worn in the bosom or in the buttonhole of the tourist. At Mullingar, then, we slip on enchanted garments which conceal us from the casual eye, and disappear into what is, in midsummer, a bower of beauty. There you will find, when you find us, Devorgilla, lovely enough to be Tir-nan-og, that Land of the Ever Youthful well know to the Celts of long ago. Here we have rested our weary bodies and purified our travel-stained minds. Fresh from the poverty-ridden hillsides of Connaught, these rich grazing-lands, comfortable houses, magnificent demesnes and castles, are unspeakably grateful to the eye and healing to the spirit. We have not forgotten, shall never forget, our Connemara folk, nor yet Omadhaun Pat and dark Timsy of Lisdara in the north; but it is good, for a change, to breathe in this sense of general comfort, good cheer, and abundance. Benella is radiant, for she is near enough to Trim to go there occasionally to seek for traces of her ancestress, Mary Boyce; and as for Salemina, this bit of country is a Mecca for antiquaries and scholars, and we are fairly surrounded by towers, tumuli, and cairns. "It's mostly ruins they do be wantin', these days," said a wayside acquaintance. "I built a stone house for my donkey on the knockaun beyant my cabin just, and bedad, there's a crowd round it every Saturday callin' it the risidence of wan of the Danish kings! An' they are diggin' at Tara now, ma'am, looking for the Ark of the Covenant! They do be sayin' the prophet Jeremiah come over from England and brought it wid him. Begorra, it's a lucky man he was to get away wid it!" Added to these advantages of position, we are within a few miles of Rosnaree, Dr. La Touche's demesne, to which he comes home from Dublin to-morrow, bringing with him our dear Mr. and Mrs. Colquhoun of Ardnagreena. We have been here ourselves for ten days, and are flattered to think that we have used the time as unconventionally as we could well have done. We made a literary pilgrimage first, but that is another story, and I will only say that we had a day in Edgeworthstown and a drive through Goldsmith's country, where we saw the Deserted Village, with its mill and brook, the 'church that tops the neighbouring hill'; and even rested under
The whitethorn is very late this year, and we found ourselves in the full glory of it. It is beautiful in all its stages, from the time when it first opens its buds, to the season when 'every spray is white with may, and blooms the eglantine.' There is no hint of green leaf visible then, and every tree is 'as white as snow of one night.' This is the Gaelic comparison, and the first snow seems especially white and dazzling, I suppose, when one sees it in the morning where were green fields the night before. The sloe, which is the blackthorn, comes still earlier and has fewer leaves. That is the tree of the old English song:--
It was at twilight when we first swam this fragrant, golden sea--twilight, and the birds were singing in every bush; the thrushes and blackbirds in the blossoming cherry and chestnut-trees were so many and so tuneful that the chorus was sweet and strong beyond anything I ever heard. There had been a shower or two, of course; showers that looked like shimmering curtains of silver gauze, and whether they lifted or fell the birds went on singing. "I did not believe such a thing possible but it is lovelier than Pettybaw," said Francesca; and just here we came in sight of a pink cottage cuddling on the breast of a hill. Pink the cottage was, as if it had been hewed out of a coral branch or the heart of a salmon; pink-washed were the stone walls and posts; pink even were the chimneys; a green lattice over the front was the only leaf in the bouquet. Wallflowers grew against the pink stone walls, and there is no beautiful word in any beautiful language that can describe the effect of that modest, rose-hued dwelling blushing against a background of heather-brown hills covered solidly with golden gorse bushes in full bloom. Himself and I have always agreed to spend our anniversaries with Mrs. Bobby at Comfort Cottage, in England, or at Bide-a-Wee, the 'wee, theekit hoosie' in the loaning at Pettybaw, for our little love-story was begun in the one and carried on in the other; but this, this, I thought instantly, must somehow be crowded into the scheme of red-letter days. And now we suddenly discovered something at once interesting and disconcerting--an American flag floating from a tree in the background. "The place is rented, then," said Francesca, "to some enterprising American or some star-spangled Irishman who has succeeded in discovering Devorgilla before us. I well understand how the shade of Columbus must feel whenever Amerigo Vespucci's name is mentioned!" We sent the driver off to await our pleasure, and held a consultation by the wayside. "I shall call at any rate," I announced; "any excuse will serve which brings me nearer to that adorable dwelling. I intend to be standing in that pink doorway, with that green lattice over my head, when Himself arrives in Devorgilla. I intend to end my days within those rosy walls, and to begin the process at the earliest possible moment." Salemina disapproved, of course. Her method is always to stand well in the rear, trembling beforehand lest I should do something unconventional; then, later on, when things romantic begin to transpire, she says delightedly, "Wasn't that clever of us?" "An American flag," I urged, "is a proclamation; indeed, it is, in a sense, an invitation; besides it is my duty to salute it in a foreign land!" "Patriotism, how many sins are practised in thy name!" said Salemina satirically. "Can't you salute your flag from the high-road?" "Not properly, Sally dear, nor satisfactorily. So you and Francesca sit down, timidly and respectably, under the safe shadow of the hedge, while I call upon the blooming family in the darling, blooming house. I am an American artist, lured to their door alike by devotion to my country's flag and love of the picturesque." And so saying I ascended the path with some dignity and a false show of assurance. The circumstances did not chance to be precisely what I had expected. There was a nice girl tidying the kitchen, and I found no difficulty in making friends with her. Her mother owned the cottage, and rented it every season to a Belfast lady, who was coming in a week to take possession, as usual. The American flag had been floating in honour of her mother's brother, who had come over from Milwaukee to make them a little visit, and had just left that afternoon to sail from Liverpool. The rest of the family lived, during the three summer months, in a smaller house down the road; but she herself always stayed at the cottage, to 'mind' the Belfast lady's children. When I looked at the pink floor of the kitchen and the view from the windows, I would have given anything in the world to outbid, yes, even to obliterate the Belfast lady; but this, unfortunately, was not only illegal and immoral, but it was impossible. So, calling the mother in from the stables, I succeeded, after fifteen minutes' persuasion, in getting permission to occupy the house for one week, beginning with the next morning, and returned in triumph to my weary constituents, who thought it an insane idea. "Of course it is," I responded cheerfully; "that is why it is going to be so altogether charming. Don't be envious; I will find something mad for you to do, too. One of us is always submitting to the will of the majority; now let us be as individually silly as we like for a week, and then take a long farewell of freakishness and freedom. Let the third volume die in lurid splendour, since there is never to be a fourth." "There is still Wales," suggested Francesca. "Too small, Fanny dear, and we could never pronounce the names. Besides, what sort of adventures would be possible to three--I mean, of course, two--persons tied down by marital responsibilities and family cares? Is it the sunset or the reflection of the pink house that is shining on your pink face, Salemina?" "I am extremely warm," she replied haughtily. "I don't wonder; sitting on the damp grass under a hedge is so stimulating to the circulation!" observed 'young Miss Fan.' _ |