The hermit of the rock : a tale of Cashel

Contents

CHAP. PAGE

I. HALLOW-EVE IN BRYAN’S COTTAGE, , . . 5

II. HALLOW-EVE AT ESMOND HALL, . , . , 18

Chapter I. Hallow-eve In Bryan’s Cottage

A raw, cold evening was that of the last day of October, in the year 18 — , a short time after the memorable “Year of Emancipation ” — as the twenty-ninth year of this century is distinctively called amongst the Catholic people of Ireland. The crops were all gathered in from the rich level fields around the city of Cashel — the last potato-heap was covered out of doors, and the last load of that valuable esculent garnered in for present consumption in the farmer’s household. The rich man’s barns and haggards were full, and so were his byres, while even the poorest cottier had his slender stock of potatoes and turf stored away — his sole provision for the coming winter. The ancient city of Cashel, shorn of its former splendour, and dwindled down, in the vicissitudes of time, to the dimensions of a moderately-sized country town, lay dull and indistinct at the foot of the old Rock which sheltered it from the increasing violence of the wind that came sweeping from the north over the far-spreading plain. And the Rock itself loomed in soli tary grandeur over the silent town, crowned with the solemn mementoes of departed glory, the ruins of many a stately edifice of other days, whose shattered walls were traced in broken and irregular lines against the grey lowering sky. The piles of masonry, so varied and distinct one from the other in the light of day, were merged in one dark solid mass as the evening mist

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gathered thick and heavy around them on their rocky perch. But still, like a spectral head, rose over all the weird pillar-tower, lone “ chronicle of Time/’ keeping ward ever, through the garish day and the still night-watches, over the buried dead who sleep around and the ruins of ancient art —

The proud halls of the mighty and the calm homes of the just.

The lights in the city came out one by one, twinkling like stars through the gathering gloom. So, too, in the group of mud cabins that cower immediately beneath the great Rock, in unsightly contrast with the mouldering monuments of human grandeur towering above. Each in succession gave its faint glimmering light to the dull wintry eve, but still the Rock remained shrouded in darkness ; the royal palace of Munster’s kings and the lordly dwelling where princely ecclesiastics ruled of old are dark and silent now as the graves that contain the ashes of their lords ; nor light nor sound comes forth from the ancient abbey that stands close by, all alike wrapped in the solemn mystery of the past, typified by the deepening gloom of the hour and the silence of death that reigns for ever in the lonely place.

The last tint of daylight was vanishing from earth and sky when the door of the smallest and poorest of the cabins at the foot of the Rock was opened with a quick, eager motion, and a woman might be seen in the aperture, her small figure dimly revealed by the light of a resin candle, which flickered through the smoky atmosphere of the miserable hut. Throwing the skirt of her blue drugget gown over her head, she made one step beyond the threshold, then stopped as if checked by a strong and sudden impulse. She cast a half-frightened, halfanxious look at the frowning vyalls above, and then a longer and more earnest one at the iron gate leading up the steep ascent to the ruins, muttering drearily^ to herself, “ Isn’t it a quare night for any Christian to be up there — of all places in the world? Sure, I know well nothing good can come of it, and many’s the time I tould him so, the witless crathur ! ”

As she stood in an attitude of fixed attention, with eye and ear strained to the uttermost, there came from the neighbouring town certain loud noises like the banging of doors rapidly and often repeated. Shouts of laughter and merry voices came

HALLOW-EVE LN BE VAN’S COTTAGE . 7 loud and distinct to the ear of the lonely watcher. A change came over her withered features as she listened, and a smile of strange meaning, half sorrow, half mockery, wreathed her thin pale lip, and shone in her dulled eyes.

“ Ay, sure, it’s Hol’eve night ! ” she muttered, “ an’ the fun is beginnin’ already ! The boys an’ the girls are abroad in the streets playin’ their Hol’eve thricks. They’re pullin’ their cabbage-stalks now in the dark, to see whether their sweethearts ’ill be crooked or straight ; an’ they’re standin’ outside the doors wid their mouths full of water listenin’ for the first name that’s spoken within. An’ some of the girls are washin’ their shifts, I’ll go bail, at the south-runnin’ water below ; an’ it’s them will spread the fine supper, when the rest o’ the house is all asleep, to see who’ll come in to eat it, an’ to turn the shift that’s a-dryin’ by the fireside. Vo ! vo ! vo ! it’s little they think of the throubles that may be in store for them ! It’s little I thought of them, aither, when I was like them ! An’ many’s the thrick I played of a Hol’eve night, — an’ didn’t I see — och, didn’t I — didn’t I — oh, wirra ! wasn’t my stalk always the straightest and purtiest h It was — it was — but what came of \t 1 — 0 Lord ! what came of it i ”

Forgetting apparently her interest in the Eock, whatever it might be at that hour, she wrung her hands, and, bursting into a passionate flood of tears, retreated into her dismal dwelling, and hastily closed the door, still repeating to herself in the same wild way, “ What came of it all ? what came of it all 1 Ah ! ” she suddenly added, with a startled glance around the smoky hut, “ what better could come of it ? Didn’t I rake the haystack in the DiviVs name the very last Hol’eve before — before ” — She did not finish the sentence, but, squatting down by the smouldering fire on the hearth, she clasped her hands in front of her knees, and her head sank on her chest in an attitude of helpless, hopeless, incurable woe.

The woman was first aroused from her lethargy by the raising of the door -latch, and then she started up with the energy and vivacity of youth to accost an old man, much older than herself, although she too was, or appeared to be, in close proximity to the vale of years.

“ Wisha, Bryan Cullenan !” said she, “ what sort of a man are you, at all, that you’d think of stayin’ up there among the

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dead afther the stars are in the sky of a Hol’eve night There isn't man or woman in Tipperary that 'id do it except your four hones ! ”

Excited as she was, she did not forget the old man’s comfort, such as it was. She was down on the hearth blowing the turf fire with her apron, and, seeing it begin to emit a cheerful blaze, she drew over to the hearth a small and very rickety table, barely large enough for two cups and saucers, two plates, a third cup containing some coarse brown sugar, a diminutive milk pitcher minus the handle, and a plate containing a tempting pile of the ever-welcome potato-cake cut in triangular slices, being the four parts of a small circular cake, each piece slit in two and carefully buttered. A small white loaf, a much greater delicacy, stood also on the table. This was “ the big supper ” of Hallo w-eve, and the old man’s dim eyes brightened as he watched the preparations, for tea and white bread were luxuries seldom seen in that poor dwelling.

Slowly old Bryan took his seat on a low stool by the fire, and, leaning over it, spread forth his hands to catch the welcome heat. He seemed to have forgotten the abrupt question which had greeted his entrance, but it was not so, for when the woman began to repeat it in a sharper tone, he raised his head, and, looking at her with a somewhat sagacious smile, said, “ You think I’m losin’ my hearin’, Cauth, aroon ! but I’m not, thanks be to God ! I heard what you said, mavrone, but I wonder at you to say it. Sure, you know well enough that every night is the same up there,” — pointing upwards with his thumb. “Do you think them that are abroad on Hol’eve night has power to go next or near the holy walls and the blessed graves on the Rock of Cashel ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” he laughed or rather chuckled in a faint wheezing voice, “ I’d like to see them showin’ their noses where so many saints lie waitin’ for the last trumpet — it wouldn’t be for the good of their health if they did, and they know that well. Fairies, indeed, on the Rock of Cashel ! Ha ! ha ! there’s sperits enough there, I’m thinkin’, to keep the place to themselves ! ”

“ Christ save us ! ” said Cauth, setting down the little black crockery teapot on the table with a haste that came near upsetting all, — “ Christ save us ! ” and she crossed herself with a visible shudder, “ can’t you let the sperits alone ? ”

HALLOW-EVE IN BRYAN'S COTTAGE.

“ What harm am I doin' them, aroon ? ” asked Bryan innocently.

“ Who says you're doin' them harm ? " cried Cauth tartly. “ But don’t be talkin' about them ! You're enough to frighten one out of their wits, so you are ! Sit over now an' take your supper."

“ I will, avourneen, an' God bless you ! But what makes you so feard of the sperits, Cauth ? Did you ever see one ? "

“ See one ? " and Cauth shuddered again. “ If I did it isn't alive I'd be now. Can't you talk of something else, you conthrary ould man you ? "

“What will I talk of, then?" said Bryan, with a sort of solemn humour that contrasted oddly with the churchyard gravity of his look and manner. “ What will I talk of. Cauth?"

“ I was askin' a while agone what kept you so late on the Rock the night ? "

Although Cauth said this, it was evidently more to change the topic than from any interest in the probable answer. Her eyes were fixed gloomily and vacantly on the blazing turf before her, and her thin lips kept moving as though she were communing with herself.

But Bryan was never the quickest of perception, so he heeded not the other's abstraction, but answered in good faith —

“ I was workin' ever since I went up this mornin' at the Archbishop's tomb in the choir above. There was some bits of the beautiful carving gone off the front of it this time back, an', as luck would have it, I found some of them among the rubbish. So I was fittin' them in here an' there, an' " —

“An' you're a great fool for your pains!" broke in Cauth, starting suddenly from her reverie with the air of one who would fain get rid of her own thoughts. “ Now what good does it do for you to be spendin' your time up there from mornin' till night, an' sometimes from night till mornin’, in that fearsome ould rookery, where there's nothing but stones and bones and grey walls ? "

“Woman! ” said Bryan, with a sudden assumption of dignity and a solemnity of tone that awed Cauth into wondering silence, — “ woman J what’s that you say ? Who are you that

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dares to speak so lightly of God’s holy place, an’ the consecrated walls, an’ the bones that will come together an’ rise in glory at the Day of J udgment ? — why wouldn’t I look after them, for if I don’t who will ? ”

“ Well you said it, Bryan Cullenan ! ” murmured Cautli, her head drooping on her chest, and her hands clasped convulsively as they rested on her knees, — “ well you said it — who am I? — ay, who am 1 ? There’s times when I hardly know myself.”

It might be that the old man was accustomed to these fits of abstraction and abrupt changes of manner in the one companion of his solitary life, for he answered soothingly, as though he spoke to a little wayward child, “ Well, never mind, Cauth, never mind. I’m so much of my time all alone on the Kock above, with only shadows round about me, that I ’most forget how to speak to flesh and blood like myself. But why don’t you take your supper, Cauth ? ”

“I’m not hungry,” was the curt reply.

“ But you know it’s Hol’eve night, Cauth, an’ you can’t but eat something, if it was only for company-sake, an’ in honour of the night. Why, the fairies you were talking of a while ago ” — “No, I wasn’t talkin’ of them — will you whisht now, Bryan? or you’ll get yourself into trouble this blessed night. Fair may they come and fair may they go ! sure, myself wouldn’t make so free as to mention their name good or bad. But as for eatin — I couldn’t do it, Bryan, I couldn’t — my heart is too full thinkin’ of the days that’ll never come back, an’ — an’ ” — She stopped, reached out her hand, and, taking the cup of tea that stood untasted on the table, gulped it down with feverish avidity ; then, pressing her eyelids very close together, she forced back the tears that were gathering in her eyes, and started to her feet, exclaiming —

“Well! there now, haven’t I the poor memory of my own? Sure, I’ve something better than tay for you, Bryan ! ”

Going to a little alcove in a corner of the hut, Cauth drew out, with an air of great importance, a black bottle, which she placed on the table with a dreary attempt at a smile, saying at the same time, “ If you’re done with them things, Bryan, I’ll take them away.”

Bryan nodded assent, with his eyes fixed inquisitively on the bottle.

HALLOW-EVE IM BRYAN’S COTTAGE. 11 n What’s in it, Cauth 1 ” he at length inquired.

“ Some of the best potheen in Tipperary, Bryan, an’ you’re to drink the master’s health in it this good Hol’eve night. Them’s the orders. An’ see here, Bryan ! ” — taking a small paper package from the cupboard, — “ here’s lump sugar, no less; for the young mistress said, with a sweet smile on her face, that old Bryan — meaning you, av coorse — must have his punch the night as good as the master himself. The Lord’s blessin’ on her every day she rises ! ”

“Wisha, amen, Cauth, amen, from my heart out!” said the old man, with a fervour little to be expected from him, a gleam of joy brightening his aged eyes at the thought that, poor and old and lonely as he was, there was one amongst the rich and the young and the happy that did not forget him amid all the luxurious festivity of her own stately mansion. Oh, how glad the rich can make the poor !

“ Was she here the day, Cauth ? ” said Bryan, more cheerfully than his wont.

“ No, but she sent for me this mornin’, an’ gave me as much tay and sugar as ’ill do us every day for a month, an’ this bottle for you, Bryan, on account of it’s bein’ the night it is, an’ the lump sugar to sweeten the punch. An’ see here — maybe you don’t call them Hol’eve apples?” as she drew forth a tiny basket of the finest Russetins — or, as she called them, “ rusty coats,” time out of mind the favourite Hallow-eve apple in Ireland.

“ Isn’t God good to us, Cauth ? ” said the old man, drawing his stool once more to the fire, with the cup of punch in his hand (Bryan’s cottage contained nor glass nor goblet), Cauth opposite with another cup containing a small quantity of the same exhilarating beverage — it was seldom either indulged, or cared to indulge, in the dangerous luxury for which mankind is indebted to John Barleycorn. “ Isn’t God good to us, Cauth, to send us such a friend as the young mistress ? An’ see what a fine load of turf we have by us — enough to put us over Christmas, anyhow. It’s Dan O’Connell we may thank for that, an’ a trifle I’ve by me ever since for a sore foot. Ah, then, did I ever tell you, Cauth, of the day I showed him over the Rock?”

Cauth answered in the negative, expressing- a wish at the same time to hear all about it. Turning to a pile of turf, in the

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corner behind her, she replenished the fire, and with a wellworn heather besom swept up the ashes from the hearth.

“You mind the day, Cauth?” — Cautli nodded assent, — “it was one of the brightest and purtiest days that came in September, and I was hard at work scrapin’ the moss out of the letters on King Cormac’s tomb, — you know where it is, Cauth, just in between the wall of his own chapel, God rest his soul ! an’ the cathedral, — well, I was workin’ away as hard as I could, sayin’ a trifle of prayers, too, for the good king’s soul, though thinkin’ to myself that it’s little need he had of them, most like, when somebody says, just right behind me, 4 Hillo, Bryan ! you’re at your old trade still, I see ! ’ an’ I started like, an’ dropped the chisel out of my hand. When I turned about, who should I see but the Counsellor himself, as large as life, looking down at myself with that comical look of his that would make the dead in their graves laugh if they could only see it. He had two gentlemen with him, an’ I knew in a minnit that one of them was Tom Steele, for I seen him with him once afore. So I gets out from my crib as fast as I could, an’ I takes off my hat an’ makes the best bow I was able, an’ says I, 4 You’re welcome back to Cashel, Counsellor ! ’

“ 4 Thank you kindly, Bryan,’ says he. ‘ I see you haven’t forgotten me.’

“ 4 Forgotten you 2’ says I back again. 4 Sure, that’s what no one ever does that once gets an eyeful out of you.’

44 With that the Counsellor laughed again, and the other gentlemen laughed too; and says Dan to me, ‘Well, Bryan, for a man that’s so much alone you keep the use of your tongue to admiration. But come, can you spare time to show us through the place? You know when I was here before I hadn’t time to see half what was to be seen.— It was when I came down to one of those murder trials in Clonmel,’ says he to the strange gentleman, ‘and I was hurrying back at full speed for a general meeting of the Association that was to come off next evening ’ — But what’s the matter with you, Cauth ? ” seeing that she laid down the cup and leaned back against the wall.

44 There’s nothing the matter with me,” said Cauth testily, though her pale lips could scarce articulate the words. The next moment she sat up as before, and motioned for Bryan to go on with his narrative.

HALLOW-EVE IN BRYAN'S COTTAGE. 13

“ Well, I will, Cauth, I will ; but I'm afeard you're not able to sit up — you look as pale as a ghost."

“ Can't you go on with your story an' never mind me ? You were saying the Counsellor asked if you could spare time to take them through the ould place."

“Yis, an' of coorse I said I'd be hard run for time if I couldn't take him over the Rock. * My work,' says I, ‘ can stand — there's no one to hurry me, an' I've my life long to do it.'

“ ‘ Very true, Bryan,' says the Counsellor, as we turned into the ould cathedral. 4 Do you know, Steele,' says he to Tom, ‘ that this is our Irish Old Mortality*?' — let me see, was that the word*? — yis, that was it, Old Mortality, — 4 This, 'says he, nodding his head at myself, ‘this is our Irish Old Mortality.' With that the gentlemen looked at me and smiled at one another, an' though I didn’t know from Adam what Old Mortality meant, I thought it couldn't be anything bad, or he wouldn't say it, so I took off my hat again and made a very low bow. ‘Your honour,' says I, ‘is very kind an' condescendin’ to speak so well of a poor ould crathur like me.'

“ ‘ Not at all, Bryan, not at all,' says he. ‘ You're a great man, and a useful man in your own way, and, moreover, you and I are, to some extent, fellow-labourers.' Them were his very words, Cauth, as I'm a livin' man this night.

“ * Why, dear bless me ! how can that be *? ' says I, lookin' at him close to see if he was makin' fun of me or not.

“ ‘ Because,' says he, ‘ Bryan, you and I are both working for the future of our country — we are both clearing away the rubbish of ages — both working for the honour and glory of the Old Land!"'

“ Wisha, Bryan, did the Counsellor say that*?"

“As true as you're sittin' there, Cauth, he said them words 1 an' don't you think but it made my heart jump with joy ? I declare the tears came into my eyes so that I could hardly see the way before me, an' I 'most forgot what I was about, till the Counsellor says, with that fine hearty laugh of his, ‘ Why, Bryan Cullenan, where are your wits gone? I think I must turn guide myself. Where's this Myler M‘Grath's tomb is?' an' he walked straight to it, an' began to explain the inscription on it to the other gentlemen. I had no need to speak a word there, for they all knew more about the Archbishop than I did

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myself. But they wanted to take a rise out of me , I could see that, an’ so Tom Steele says to me in his big voice, ‘Bryan,’ says he, ‘do you know that Myler M‘Grath was the first Protestant Archbishop of Cashel ? ’

“ ‘ I do, your honour,’ says I ; ‘ I knew it ever since I was the height of your knee.’

“ ‘ How does it happen, then, that you take such good care of his tomb as I am told you do ? ’

“ ‘ For a very good reason, your honour,’ says I, lookin’ him straight in the face, ‘ because he recanted his errors before he left this world, an’ had all the rites of the Church.’

“ ‘Nonsense, man ! how can you be sure of that?’

“ ‘ How can I be sure of it V says I. ‘ Your honour might as well ask how can I be sure that the blessed sun will go back the night to set where he set last night, behind the mountains westward ? Only I’m sure, an’ double sure, that the Archbishop died a good Catholic, do you think I’d sleep many’s the summer night, as I do every year of my life, right here in the choir beside his tomb 1 ’

“ ‘ Bravo, Bryan, bravo ! ’ cried the Counsellor and the other gentleman, clappin’ their hands, and laughin’ till you’d think they’d split their sides. ‘ What do you think of that, friend Tom ? Come, come, now ! look Bryan straight in the face an’ tell him old Myler did right to “ conform ” to the religion prescribed by the Virgin Queen, or wrong to return to Catholic unity when he felt himself at the gates of death ? Speak now, my man of Steel ! or ever hereafter hold your tongue ! ’

“ ‘ Pshaw ! ’ says Tom, turnin’ on his heel an’ walkin’ away down the aisle, ‘ let the old hypocrite lie where he is — be that where it may ! It matters little now to us when he was right, or when wrong ! ’ At this the others laughed again, an’ myself was afeard they’d make him angry ; but they knew him better than I did, for when the Counsellor called after him to come back an’ look at one of the old monuments in the wall before they’d leave the choir, he went back as cheerful as could be, an’ looked just the same as if nothing at all had happened. So I took them all round an’ showed them everything I could think of, an’ by the time we got to the old tribute-stone near the gate, with St. Patrick risin’ up from it on one side, an’ the Crucifixion on the other, they were all purty well tired, I’m

HALLOW-EVE IN LEVAN’S COTTAGE. 15 thinking and down they sat on some big stones that were lyin' a one side on the grass, just where they had a fine view of the whole, an' a beautiful sight it was, too. The sun was beginnin’ to decline westward, an' the shadows of the grand ould walls were all around us, with here and there the shape of a window or a door of clear sunlight shinin' like yallow goold on the green grass. Then the Counsellor pointed out to the others all the fine elegant arches, both round and pointed, as he said, an' the pillars within an' without, an' the beautiful mullions, as he called the stone divisions where the windows used to be, an' he spoke of the carvin' over the doors, an' told the meaning of everything, just all as one, Cauth, as if he was at the buildin' of it all; an' they talked a long while about the ould round tower, an' what it was for, an’ one said one thing an' one another, but the Counsellor said it was easy to see what it was built for, an' that was to keep the rich vessels of silver an' goold belongin' to the church in the ould war-times. ‘Don’t you know,' says he, ‘ that there's an underground passage from the church to the tower — well, doesn't that prove what I'm saying to be true ? Where would be the use of constructing an underground passage,' — that wasn't the word he said, Cauth, but I disremember the other — I know it began with sub — something or another — no matter, anyhow, I suppose it means the same as underground, — ‘where would be the use,' says he, ‘of constructing an underground passage to the tower through the solid rock, if it wasn't for the purpose I have mentioned?' The others seemed to give in to that, an' after discoorsin’ a while longer, ihey stood up to go. They turned to take another look at the Duld walls, an' sure enough I never seen them lookin' so grand or so beautiful. The Counsellor's face would do you good to see it, Cauth, as he watched the sunshine dancin' and glancin' hither and thither among the broken arches, an’ the pillars, an' things, an' says he then, takin’ out a fine elegant white silk handkerchief out of his pocket, an' wipin' the tears from his eyes, says he, as if partly to himself, ‘ And such is Ireland — grand and venerable even in decay — Cashel is Ireland — Ireland is Cashel — royal still, though their greatness be of the past. But their glory shall not fade for ever. Look at the sunbeams on the old walls,' says he, turnin' to the other gentlemen, — ‘ well, even so it is with our native land ; the light of hope has never left her, and

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now the sun of prosperity begins to shine again on her mountaintops. And it will continue to shine — mark my words — when the darkness of night has settled down for ever on haughty England, her oppressor ! ’ Them were the words he said, Cauth ; for I kept sayin’ them over and over to myself, by night an’ by day, ever since, till I’ve got them by heart like a gossoon lamin’ his task. There’s ne’er a time I look up at the ould walls over my head, espaycially when the sun is shinin’, that I don’t think of Dan O’Connell, an’ somehow or another his words keep singin’ in my ears for all the world like one of Columbkill’s prophecies. But the best of it all was what he said to myself at his off-goin’. ‘ Bryan,’ says he, — ‘ Bryan Cullen an ! you have a great name, — your namesake, King Cormac Cullenan, was a good king and a great bishop in his day, — I’m proud to see that you take such care of these noble ruins. It is a good work, Bryan, and a pious work, too — and God will bless you for it, and the Saints of Erin will shield you from all ill. Farewell, Bryan ! if we never meet again on earth, put up a prayer now and then for Dan O’Connell, while you tell your beads here among the tombs of the holy dead.’ With that he slips a bright goold guinea into my hand, to buy my winter’s turf, he said in a whisper. The other gentlemen gave me a half-crown apiece, so I made a good day’s work of it in regard to money ; but I didn’t care for that half so much as I did for the honour of showin’ Cashel to Counsellor O’Connell, an’ hearin’ all the fine beautiful words he said about the ould place that my heart is centred in. I forgot to tell you, Cauth, that he took another grand rise out of Mr. Steele as they were just leavin’ the Rock. I didn’t know till then that he was a Prodestan, which, indeed, is a mighty odd thing to me, an’ him such a darlin’ fine gentleman, and a great friend of the people.