Grafton, Dawson Streets, Stephen's Green

SECTION X

Grafton Street, Dawson Street, and Stephen’s Green

Grafton Street, the busiest thoroughfare of modern Dublin, runs southward from College Green, leaving Trinity and the Provost’s House on the left. It owes its present pre-eminence to the building of Carlisle Bridge, to which it forms the natural approach. Before that event it was a quiet semi-rural lane, leading from College Green to Stephen’s Green. About: the end of the seventeenth century it begins to appear in the annals of the city. The incessant alteration and expansion of a commercial centre has changed Grafton Street very much from the appearance it must have presented in the past, when the lamps were hung on iron brackets projecting from the walls, and the shops had small, diamond-paned windows. The alleys and side streets, however, especially on the western side, preserve some relics of the past.

The first turning off Grafton Street to the tight is Suffolk Street, once the home of Lottery Offices. Before the present development of horse-racing the gambling instinct found vent in great lotteries organised by the State. Chancellors of the Exchequer welcomed this device for filling their coffers, knowing it was surer of its welcome than any tax, however scientific in its basis and considerate in its mode of collection. Prizes ranging as high as £20,000 were offered in order to tempt the public cupidity. As the day of the drawing approached, Dublin became one great gambling-den. The poorest of the people bought fractions, eighths, or sixteenths of tickets. The unscrupulous vendors in the Lottery Offices often cleared a great profit by dividing one ticket into more than its legitimate number of fractions, for example, by selling five quarters of a single chance. The offices were open all night, and losers frantically tried to recoup themselves by betting with the proprietors on the fortunes of tickets yet undrawn. Each lottery produced a crop of suicides, disappointed people, who had madly staked their all and lost.

Further along, on the same side of Grafton Street, is Johnston’s Court, a narrow, flagged alley of antique appearance. Here was situated the Grammar School, at which both Richard Brinsley Sheridan and Thomas Moore received their education. They had the good fortune to encounter there not the dully learned type of pedagogue, whose outlook is limited to Greek roots or conic sections, but a man of artistic talent, well qualified to discern and encourage genius in his pupils. Moore relates what pride he took in reciting and acting in the private theatricals performed by the boys under the direction of their master, Samuel Whyte, who frequently was author as well as stage manager of the plays represented. There is here, too, a Catholic church with a fine interior and some beautiful stained glass.

Just where Grafton Street debouches on Stephen’s Green is South King Street, leading to another ancient Dublin institution, Mercer’s Hospital, founded in 1734. It is a good deal modernised, both inside and out. The original “stone house” of Mary Mercer’s donation lies behind the flight of stone steps in the centre. The only relic of antiquity within is the old minute book, which has various references to Handel, and also contains a very early inventory by which it appears that the hospital possessed many sheets and blankets, but hardly any bedsteads. The patients probably lay on straw spread on the floor.

Powerscourt1.gif (53598 bytes)Off South King Street, just opposite Mercer’s, is South William Street, on the eastern side of which is Powerscourt House (pictured on left with hyperlink), the most picturesque of all the great Dublin mansions. The interior is almost as fine as the exterior. It has several fine ceilings and a beautiful staircase of gleaming mahogany. The family who built and named the house did not enjoy it for long. It has been used as a stamp office, and is now the warehouse of Messrs Ferrier, Pollock & Co.

The origins of Stephen’s Green go far back into antiquity. It received its name from a bygone S. Stephen’s church near the present Stephen Street. From time immemorial the citizens grazed their cattle and shot wild fowl on its marshy pastures. In 1664 they set themselves to beautify their neglected possession. The method adopted was the time-honoured one known as “feeding the dog with a bit of his own tail.” A part of the green was sacrificed in order to preserve the rest. Lots were portioned out around its margin to tenants, who were under obligation to plant the common before their holdings with the fastgrowing sycamore tree. Building regulations were, for the first time, enforced by the Corporation. Any house to be erected on the lots was to be at least two stories high, and to be constructed of brick, stone, or timber, not of the perishable mud or wattle “cagework” prevalent in old Dublin.

The green thus became a residential square enclosed by three shaded avenues, of which the “Beaux’ Walk” on the northern side was the most fashionable and frequented by the greatest numbers. The central space was still an open, grassy plain, the grazing of which was now let out by the city to the highest bidder. The statue of George II., which still marks the centre of the modern park, was set up in 1758. Like his fellow-monarch in College Green, this sovereign has been a mark for the indignities of the mob, the insult taking the form of a determined attempt to hack his head off.

Stephen’s Green, as it exists now, is a beautiful piece of landscape gardening, where the art is so well concealed that the spectator hardly realises that the entire scene, lake, waterfall, lawn and woodland is artificial. The munificence of the Guinnesses, as represented in the person of Lord Ardilaun, has conferred this further benefit on the city.

The tall houses all around were mostly the residences of the Irish aristocracy during their period of power. Each was inspired by a desire to excel his fellows in the size and splendour of his mansion. It was a game of “beggar-my-neighbour,” in which many ancient families came to ruin, cursed with the “white elephant” of a great house, which they could neither maintain without extravagance, nor sell without shame. A spirit of reckless audacity, which led to many mad actions, characterised most of the upper classes. For instance, at No.86 Stephen’s Green South, a house adorned with a lion over the door, and now forming part of University College, lived the celebrated Buck Whaley, the hero of several foolish freaks. He injured himself badly by leaping for a wager from the second floor of a house over a passing carriage.

Once, on his return from a trip to the Continent, he was asked where he would go next. On the spur of the moment he answered “Jerusalem.” A discussion arose as to whether such a place existed, and if it did, whether he could get there. Whaley intervened with an undertaking to find his way thither within a year, and, according to one account, to celebrate his arrival by playing ball against the city walls. Bets were registered on either side until he stood to win a small fortune, if he could redeem his promise. In the end he won his wager with some months to spare, after a series of extraordinary adventures en route.

During a reformed old age Whaley wrote memoirs of his life, giving an interesting, but not edifying, picture of the life of his times. A reception room of his house has now been metamorphosed into a college chapel, in which capacity it is very successful, despite the obviously secular tone of its decorations.

On the eastern side is S. Vincent’s Hospital, housed in the former residence of the Earls of Meath. On the northern, at No.36, lived Mrs Hemans, considered a great poetess in her day. Her “Graves of a Household” and one or two other pieces are still remembered.

Dawson Street, the nearest parallel to Grafton Street, running from Nassau Street to Stephen’s Green, was a180 a fashionable neighbourhood, and still contains several picturesque old houses. It is really a link between old and new Dublin. Its width and straightness show the influence of modern ideas, while the curiously-shaped gables, with their single window in the centre of the top story, like a Cyclops’ eye in the middle of his forehead, are survivals of the ancient methods of building.

Dawson Street is associated with a strange duelling story. Here lived a noted swordsman named Mathew, whose fame extended even to London, and provoked two English officers, named Pack and Creed, to come to Dublin to try conclusions with him. A meeting was arranged between Mathew and Pack, seconded respectively by their friends Macnamara and Creed.

Macnamara, however, could not endure to be a mere spectator, and, with the consent of all parties, it was settled that the seconds should fight simultaneously with their principals. The encounter took place in the private room of a tavern. Creed was the first to fall. “Ah, poor Creed,” said Pack, “are you gone!” “Yes,” answered Mathew, making the first and only joke of his life, “and you shall instantly pack after him,” driving his words home with a deadly thrust right through the body. The two Englishmen lay at death’s door for some days, but recovered, to become the close friends of their late opponents. “A mad world, my masters!

Molesworth Street, a turning off Dawson Street almost opposite an old high-gabled house, which bears the date 1684, is also associated with reckless high spirits. Here lived Richard Parsons, first Earl of Rosse, and reputed founder of the Hellfire Club. Down to the very end of his days his life was one long round of revel and frolic. He paid court to the wealthy, but half-crazed, Duchess of Albemarle, but in vain. The lady wished to marry a sovereign prince. Lord Montagu won her affections in the character of the Emperor of China, and carried her off from Parsons. Montagu, too, was a humorist. His poor imbecile wife was always treated as an empress, and served on bended knee. The loser laughed away his defeat in an epigram :-

“Insulting rival, never boast

Thy conquest lately won

No wonder if her heart were lost;

Her senses first were gone.

From one that’s under Bedlam’s laws

What glory can be had?

For love of thee was not the cause;

It proves that she was mad.”

The shadow of death, which sobers most men, could not damp the spirits of this mocker. The good vicar of the neighbouring church of S. Ann’s, hoping for even a deathbed repentance, wrote to Lord Rosse, detailing the manifold offences with which he was charged by popular report, and exhorting him to contrition and confession. Rosse read the letter, and at once ordered it to be sealed and placed in another envelope, addressed to the blameless Earl of Kildare. The vicar’s messenger was then bribed to leave the missive at the earl’s house, saying it had come from his master. Kildare was scandalised at being charged with such enormities. He complained to the archbishop, who sent for the vicar and asked him how he dared accuse an upright nobleman of such crimes. The vicar, still ignorant of the trick, maintained the truth of all that he had written. Kildare served a citation for libel on the clergyman before the real state of things was discovered. In the meantime, Rosse had died, enjoying to his last breath the confusion he had created.

The architecture of Molesworth Street is characteristic of old Dublin. There are some gable-ended houses, others with heavy and elaborate doorways and windows. The general effect is rather sombre, but not without a certain charm. It is strange to think that these stately and severe mansions were the homes of men whose lives were cast in quite a different mould.

In Dawson Street, a little above Molesworth Street, is the parish church of S. Ann, already mentioned. It is cramped by the houses on either side, so that its front is no more than a single grandiose doorway. A steeple was included in the architect’s designs, but, unfortunately, it was never erected. The interior of the church is not very remarkable, except for an extraordinary number of memorial tablets affixed to its walls. Mrs Hemans, the poetess, is buried under the right hand aisle of the nave. Her graceful and delicate verse, now almost completely forgotten, is recalled by the epitaph taken from one of her own dirges. It begins thus :

“Calm on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit, rest thee now!

Even while with us thy footsteps trode,

His seal was on thy brow.”

Beyond S. Ann’s is Northland House, once the residence of Lord Northland, now the home of the Royal Irish Academy. Its interior preserves much of its ancient splendour. The staircase, in particular, is most elaborate. The ceiling is in two colours, red and white, and its decorations are continued in sprays down the walls towards the ground. The Academy is one of the oldest of Irish learned societies. It was originally founded for the study of “Science, Polite Literature and Antiquities.” It is not quite obvious what is meant by the term “Polite Literature,” so the members have devoted themselves mainly to the first and last of the objects enumerated. They have achieved remarkable results in the domain of early Irish antiquity. The Academy possesses an extraordinary number of ancient manuscripts in the old Gaelic tongue. Some of these were found under peculiar circumstances. One was rolled into a ball like a scrap of waste paper. Even now, when it has been carefully unfolded, it is so stained and creased as to be almost undecipherable. Others are mere unintelligible fragments. Many of them, however, despite their great age, are beautifully clear and legible.

Further southwards and standing well back from the road is the picturesque old Mansion House, the residence of the Lord Mayor during his term of office. It was bought by the city for £3,500 from Joshua Dawson, after whom the street is named. Here were held the great municipal festivities of the past. The Lord Mayor and the Lord Lieutenant met on an almost equal footing and entertained each other in turn, and it was a point of honour that the Mansion House should never be outdone by the Castle in the magnificence of its hospitality. The viceregal suite was often fain to confess that the bluff heartiness and good fellowship of a civic ball were more enjoyable than the ceremonious etiquette of their own mimic court.

Peeping out of the gardens to the left is the equestrian statue of King George I., which for long looked down on the Liffey from a recess on Essex, now Grattan, Bridge. It had been removed from that position during a time; of rebuilding and had lain in obscurity until 1798, when the Corporation suddenly took it into their heads to set it up again on this site as an outward and visible sign of their loyalty during that troubled period.

The interior shows some trace of bygone festivities. The two most noted rooms are associated with civic entertainments. The large Round Room, a circular chamber adorned with statuary, was specially built for the reception of George I V. The Oak Room has more of the atmosphere of antiquity. Its walls are sheathed from floor to ceiling with oak, which time has mellowed to a rich reddish brown. The whole is surmounted by a delicately carved cornice. With its subdued tones, due to the softening of daylight by the dark hues all around, this room reproduces the effect of some quiet Dutch domestic picture. Here the old lord mayors used to entertain their fellows of the council. Over the fireplace is a wooden rack for the reception of the official mace and sword. A fine Sir Joshua Reynolds of the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Lieutenant, hangs here.

In the other rooms there are also some good portraits of kings, viceroys and lord mayors, notably a Charles II. by Sir Peter Lely, an Earl of Westmoreland by Romney, and a tall and handsome George IV. by Sir Thomas Lawrence. An old diamond-paned bookcase from the Irish House of Lords and some tapestry screens depicting a bull fight are worthy of note. In the entrance hall are preserved the mace and sword carried by the lord mayor who fought for James II. at the Boyne. In the heat of the pursuit the insignia fell into the hands of the Williamites and were, by them, restored to the Corporation after peace had been established. Neither seems to have been like the present ornamental weapons in the City Hall, mere symbols of an office. The mace would have been well capable of cracking a crown, and the sword, long and grey, is equally well fitted for its duties.

To Chapter 11. To Chart Index.