Clontarf

*Clontarf, Marino, etc.

Clontaff. - Marino. - Howth Castle. - The Hill of Howth. - The Traditions of the Howth Family. - Miss Stokes.

On the northern side of the City the face of the suburbs is but little changed, except that in some instances they have dropped into the sear and decay of complete old age. This is particularly noticeable after we leave Gloucester Street and pass through the district known as Mud Island, which was reclaimed by the ubiquitous Danish settlers.

From here we soon reach Fairview, the entrance, so to speak, of Clontarf. Dear old Clontarf! you are just as drowsy and as behind the world as you were when I knew you in my days of childhood. I can hardly detect an alteration. Your lanes are the greenest of green leafydom, before which the lanes of beautiful Surrey or Devonshire pale; your rows of little cottages with steep steps (I think they are called Sea View, and have green verandahs) are unchanged; so too the more ambitious Crescent, where the houses are mostly to let your straggling seaboard, where the tide is nearly always out - a circumstance which has suggested a desire on the part of the residents in the neighbourhood that it should be converted into a people’s garden.

We cannot wonder that this wish should be general, for oh! how can these long-suffering Clontarfites support the smell of the rotting seaweed and the sight of the disreputable bathing machines, and the curious habiliments of the bathing women - Herculean women, who have been known to whip up a stout and elderly gentleman, and carry him, *noIens volens, *far out into the sea, dip him three times, and bring him back helpless as a child!

And yet, despite the unpleasant effluvia, the sadness 9f the grey sky, and the general stillness of the surroundings, there is a certain charm in the absence from all the stir and turmoil of busy life which is restful. The very tramcar seems ashamed of disturbing the drowsy seclusion, and glides by as silently as it can.

There was a day, however, when Clontarf had more of life and animation than it now possesses, when people of good condition came to stay at the Brierly Baths, when titled carriage folk drove backwards and forwards, and when the grand gates of Marino stood open to receive the fine company that came and went, visiting the Earl of Charlemont.

Marino is nearer to Dublin than Clontarf, on the Fairview Road. It is an old house, having been once the residence of a Cromwellian Attorney-General, Basil by name. It was a gift to the “great Earl” from his stepfather Thomas Adderley.

The letter in which this gentleman makes this present to his young stepson shows a nice feeling not always existent in the difficult relationship in which they stood to one another. There is, perhaps, rather an over-strained humility in his address, while at the same time he describes his gift as not inferior to any house near Dublin, either with respect to situation, taste, or convenience.

Lord Charlemont accepted the gift, but soon his craze for building and altering asserted itself, and the Lodge, as it was then called, became a sort of hobby, upon which he lavished large sums of money. The first thing was to change its name to Marino, which was undoubtedly appropriate, as the waters of Dublin Bay wash its southern verge.

He likewise altered the entrance, which was formerly on the roadside. He also threw down the stone walls which at this time screened all private property, and gave to the passers-by the refreshing sight of the lovely park with its greensward and ancient trees, where later on the beautiful temple of Sicilian Doric was built as a place for retirement, in which the disappointed and almost heart-broken patriot spent his later days.

Not that he began it with this object. He was in the zenith of his mental activity - an activity which required many channels. Architecture was one of these outlets; and on his return from Italy he was, as it were, possessed with an art fever.

We find him writing to a Neapolitan architect for designs for a casino and entrance gate; but nothing came of this. Then he thought of copying the lantern of Demosthenes erected at Athens by the Greek Lysicrates. It is, we are told, impossible to imagine anything more beautiful. But this was abandoned, probably on account of the expense, a note of warning being raised by good, honest Murphy, who had his former pupil’s interest really at heart.

“Have a care, my Lord,” he writes, “how you undertake such a building. If the lantern costs you more than £200, or at most £250, it will be an extravagant article.”

Mr. Prendergast, commenting on this, says: ” Lord Charlemont’s heirs might pray that Murphy had let their ancestor to pursue his original resolution, for the casino cost thousands instead of the hundreds Murphy objected to as extravagant.”

Lord Charlemont’s attention was momentarily diverted by Murphy’s remonstrance, and in lieu of the casino he built a banqueting-room in the Gothic taste of the day. This room is in the grounds near some ornamental water. For some reason, connected, I believe, with some fair inhabitant, it was called Rosamond’s Bower. It fell later into ruins, and Elizabeth, first wife of the late Lord, made it into a fernery.

Rosamond’s Bower was only a temporary amusement; and when Charlemont House was completed, and its gallery and museum crammed with *objets d’art, *the Earl returned to his original idea of making a retreat for himself in the leafy woods of Marino. In 1757 Sir William Chambers (then Mr. Chambers) drew the design, and a beautiful model was made by Bonomi, which is now in the Irish Academy.

There was no limit to the orders given by the Earl for this child of his fancy. Wilton the sculptor designed the four lions that rest with their four paws stretched out on the base of the casino. The architraves, the entablatures, and the chimney-pieces were all done under Chambers’s supervision; they were elaborately ornamented with the intaglio of Queen Elizabeth [See Chapter 6, onyx of Queen Elizabeth] and the small Venus of Italian design, removed from Charlemont House. Not long since the writer was staying near the pretty village of Rosstrevor, where at the moment considerable excitement prevailed as to a sale of the furniture and house of a certain captain Hughes. The deceased gentleman was known to have been a collector of bric-a-brac and curios, and to have two cabinets and some Chippendale furniture which he had bought at the Charlemont sale. The fame of the Charlemont collection was enough to attract brokers from London and Cheater as well as Dublin. Curiously enough the cabinets went for a mere song. The Chippendale fetched a large price.]

In the entrance hall were placed the beautiful chiaro-oscuros of Cipriani (now at Roxburgh), the same artist also designing the entrance gates. The view from the roof of the Casino ranges over the Bay of Dublin, with the Wicklow Hills for a background, the Hill of Howth and the Phoenix Park all set in a foreground of grass and fine trees. Nothing can be more delightful.

But, alas! it failed to bring much pleasure to its noble owner. The friends of his youth were dead; the country he loved was in danger of being wrecked ; in his own family he had disappointments. It is sad to read of the trials and disillusions that darkened his latter days. His son and successor cared little for Marino, and seldom, if ever, went there.

It had, however, a strong attraction for the late Lady Charlemont (Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Somerville, Bart.) - her very heart was in the place. She often said it was like the love Queen Mary had for Calais, and that she too would die when Marino was no longer hers. Her words came true, for she only survived the sale of her loved retreat a few months. The writer has many pleasant associations connected with Marino, where many of the days of her youth were passed, that golden age when all and everything is tinged with a halo of glory.

The Crescent, close to Marino, was, it is said, built to annoy Lord Charlemont by obstructing his view on the Dublin side. It has never taken as a place of residence.

At the farther end of Clontarf, on the road leading to the green lanes, is Clontarf Castle, which is built on the site of a monastery belonging to the Order of the Knights Templars. The old Castle, which since Queen Elizabeth’s time has been in the possession of the family of Vernon (the same as Admiral Vernon, whose tomb is in Westminster Abbey), was rebuilt in the earlier portion of this century. Its late owner, John Venables Vernon, was for many years a well-known figure in Dublin society.

Another Clontarf mansion is St. Anne’s, formerly the residence of Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness, and now occupied by his son, Lord Ardilaun, one of the most unobtrusive benefactors of his own country, Lady Ardilaun being well known as an accomplished artist. The views here reproduced give a good idea of this fine mansion. **

The Hill of Howth**

Such a mass of tradition and ancient folklore lingers round the Hill of Howth as to give to it and to the Castle of the St. Lawrences a large amount of interest.

The Hill, called in ancient Irish Ben Edar, the Pinnacle of the Captains, is a rugged mass of rock, and, as it is often said, only needs a volcano to give to the surrounding scenery the last touch that would make the Bay of Naples and the Bay of Dublin twin sisters.

The Hill bristles with prehistoric traditions. There is a fine specimen of the Irish Cromlech, called by the peasantry of Ireland “giants’ graves”; and in support of this title it must be said that the word “Cromlech,” meaning “God and a stone,” would suggest that these giant heaps were receptacles for the dead - a theory maintained by the finding of similar heaps in France, where they are called “dolmen,” in Denmark “dyes,” and in Scandinavian “dos”; even in Africa and India they turn up; and wherever they can be examined human remains are said to be found inside. This explanation, however, is not generally accepted, many antiquarians preferring to consider the cromlech as having been an altar used by the Druids for their human sacrifices.

Again, we have the legend of Finnmacool’s [Finnmacool lies asleep on the top of one of the Carlingford Hills (or mountains) He will awake one day: so goes the tale.]** **wife, who loved not wisely, but too well, a certain chief named Diarmed or Dermot, with whom she eloped, and eluded all pursuit for a year and a day by flying through the country.

The peasantry still tell the romantic story of this flight, and point to the cromlechs, which they call the beds of Grace and Diarmed, who, they say, built these stony resting-places whenever the pursuit relaxed and they had a peaceful moment to themselves The Howth Cromlech is considered a fine specimen, the table or covering measuring nineteen feet. The pressure of this mass of stone caused the supporters to incline a little: one of the pillars, too, has been broken. The supporters are nearly seven feet high and Beranger, who visited the Hill more than 100 years ago, stated that the tallest man might stand and walk within the cromlech with ease.

Another ancient monument is to be found on Slieve Martin, the highest point of the Hill; it is the cairn which marks the grave of one of the Kings of Ireland, Crinothan by name, contemporary of Agricola. Crinothan fort or “dan” stood on the site of the present lighthouse, called “the Bailey,” which has in this land of tradition a special tradition of its own for here, on the memorable Good Friday when the Battle of Clontarf was fought, the most obstinate of the conquered Danes retreated, and of this isolated promontory they held possession until the vessels of their country-men came to rescue them.

Another point of interest near the Bailey is the little islet known as *Ireland’s Eye, *or Inis Meic Nessain, the Island of the Sons of Nessan. Ossian calls it Inisfaithleen - now corrupted into Innisfallen. In the early ages Innisfallen was known as the home of three holy men who dwelt there, spending their time in prayer and meditation, and no doubt in their leisure hours they took part in illuminating the Book of the Gospels, known as the Garland of Howth, which is preserved in Trinity College, and which bears all the marks of its great antiquity. [The history of the Innisfallen Gospels was written by the late Dr. Petrie.]

Ireland’s Eye has another and less pleasant association. About forty years ago it was the scene of a cruel murder, which caused a great stir and commotion at the time it took place. It was that of a lady, Mrs. Kirwan, who was not on the best terms with her husband, of whom she was frantically jealous.

They had, however, made up their differences, and on the morning of the deed Kirwan persuaded her to come with him to spend a long and happy day on the Hill of Howth. He took the unfortunate woman out in a boat from the Bailey, and they were seen rowing round Ireland’s Eye.

From this expedition he returned, saying his wife had fallen overboard. Suspicion was, however, aroused, the sea gave up its dead, when it was seen Mrs. Kirwan had been murdered and then thrown into the sea. Kirwan was tried and found guilty; he had, however, powerful friends, and his sentence was commuted to penal servitude for life. [For many years Kirwan’s house in Upper Merrion Street was supposed to he haunted by the ghost of the murdered wife, and so strong was the prejudice against it that it remained long unoccupied. When at last it was taken, the new tenant broke up a portion of the garden that lay at the back, when two skeletons were found. After they were laid in consecrated ground no further trouble occurred.].

Puck’s Rock is a wild and singular precipice, which seems at one time to have formed part of Ireland’s Eye. Apparently in some convulsion of nature it got detached and almost cut in two by the same force.

This curious appearance in shape, like a human figure, but so rudely put together as to be hardly recognized as such, is accounted for by a legend which relates that St. Nessan, one of three holy brothers before mentioned, was busy at his work of illuminating the Garland of Howth when an evil spirit suddenly interrupted his pious labour.

The saint, alarmed at the demon coming to such close quarters, lost no time in hurling the Holy Book of Gospels at the intruder, and with such tremendous force did he project the volume, that the gigantic form was driven against the opposite rock, which he split, impaling himself in the fissure, from out of which he has not been able to extricate himself, although he has been for centuries hard at work. He has managed to disengage his body and arms, but one leg remains firmly wedged in the fissure.

We come now to the Castle of Howth, which stands on the site of the ancient pile called Corr Castle, of which only one tower remains. The present mansion, however, cannot be said to be in its teens it is in truth venerable enough to be full of the ghosts of departed joys and dead and gone sorrows.

It is bursting with family secrets, has chests full of yellow parchments, stores of letters closely written, over which probably oceans of tears were once shed, and family pictures with stories to match their faces. One of these portraits, by Bindon, is of Dean Swift, who was a frequent guest at Howth Castle. The picture was painted in 1735, and represents him in his clerical costume, with his enemy Wood at his feet, writhing in agony. [The efforts to impose Wood’s copper halfpence upon the Irish nation were stoutly resisted by Dean Swift, who -wrote his famous Drapier’s Letters” and numerous ballads upon this subject.].

The traditions attached to the family of St. Lawrence are numerous and interesting. The first has to do with a certain Knight Tristran, who took part in the famous Battle of Clontarf. This Tristran, being a man of pious habits, made a vow, the night before the battle, that if he slew his opponents he would himself change his name and take that of his patron saint, Lawrence, which, as there was no Heralds’ Office in those days, he did without the expense of a deed-poll.

The sword with which the Knight vanquished those opposed to him in the fight hangs in the hail of Howth Castle, which has been in the possession of the St. Lawrence family 600 years. For all this, which is as a matter of fact historical, we have the authority of the great prophet of the Peerage, Burke.

He does not, however, lend his name to some of the legends, one of which has a certain German flavour. This tells how, once upon a time at a dateless period of the Middle Ages, a violent storm broke over Howth in the night-time, and when daylight came a raft was descried floating towards the rocky hillside: upon the raft lay the unconscious form of a woman-needless to say, of extraordinary beauty. The lovely stranger being rescued, was carried up to the Castle and carefully nursed.

She spoke a language no one understood; but she was evidently of noble birth, and her manners were as captivating as was her beauty The Lord of Howth, who was a “bad, bold man, of the type usual in the Middle Ages, fell a victim to the charms of the stranger and married her.

Previous to the marriage she was instructed in the Gaelic tongue; but his Lordship benefited nothing by this step, as the lady resolutely refused to communicate anything concerning her antecedents.

Furthermore she declined to entertain the idea of uniting herself to the Baron until he swore on the Four Gospels to allow her each year to visit her friends for a certain number of days. Such a condition should have alarmed the Baron; but he was deeply in love, and, as is common with men and women in this condition, was blind and deaf to everything but the wishes of his heart.

For the rest, the lady was a charming wife, and the Baron saw no cause to regret his union. Years went by, and each year the lady went on her mysterious visit, returning with strict punctuality at the time specified.

It was curious that no one in the Castle noticed (possibly because such intruders were common) that during the lady’s absence a small and rather peculiar rat attached itself to the Baron, and could not be driven away, even making its entrance into his bed.

Its ways were endearing, and by degrees Lord Howth grew fond of it and missed it when it disappeared, which it did as soon as his wife returned. No one, however, associated its disappearance with her, until on one occasion, when she was on her annual holiday, the Baron was obliged to give a large entertainment to some distinguished strangers who had landed at Howth.

One of the suite in attendance on these guests saw the little rat, and, thinking to do the Baron a service, drew his rapier and killed it. At that moment a fearful shriek was heard, coming from the turret-room generally used by the absent mistress of the Castle. and there on a couch she was found in the last agonies of death, the cause being a wound in her neck, which corresponded with the incision made in the poor rat’s throat by the stranger. [A story is told by Captain Basil Hall in “Schloss Hainfleld ” which bears a strong resemblance to this legend, so far as the mysterious visits. are in question.].

A more authentic tale is connected with Howth Castle - that of Grace O’Malley, the celebrated Gran-a-uile, whose piracies on the high seas made her formidable to the English Government. Grace was the daughter of the Irish chieftain O’Malley, and she was the widow of another chief, O’Flaherty, belonging to the fierce fighting O’Flahertys.

She dwelt at a strong western castle called Carrick-a-uile, where the walls were loopholed for musketry shots. Sidney, the English Lord-Deputy for Ireland, wrote to the Council in London in 1576 that Grace O’ Malley was powerful in galleys and seamen.

Previous to this, however, in J575, Gran-a-uile made her way across the Channel, and had an interview with Queen Elizabeth, who treated her kindly, and peace was concluded between the two ladies.

It was on her return from this expedition that she brought her 10 galleys into the little creek which then did service for a harbour at Howth. The reason why she chose this landing-place instead of coming up the Liffey was no doubt due to the prevalence of the plague in Dublin City.

The rest of the story is well known - how this singular woman walked up to the Castle and found the gates inhospitably closed against her, the household being all at dinner. On her return to the beach she carried off the young heir, who was, some say, playing on the strand, others (and it is believed this is the correct story) that he was out at nurse with one of the cottagers.

Anyhow, she set sail with the child, and refused to return him to his parents until a large ransom was paid for his release; she likewise imposed the condition that the entrance gates and hall doors of the Castle should for all time be left open during mealtimes - a custom carefully observed for 300 years, and only discontinued during the present Earl’s life, he naturally considering that such promises come within the Statute of Limitations. Nevertheless it may be doubted if it is wise to affront a popular superstition.

Another and melancholy tradition attaches to the old stump here reproduced by our artist. It was once a noble tree; but as the male members of the St. Lawrence race died it lost an arm or a branch, until it has shrunk to its present dimensions. The last branch that fell was found lying on the ground the same day that the late heir, the Hon. Kenelm St. Lawrence, expired. These coincidences, if such they be, are strange, and belong to that world of spirits which lies so close to our more material life.

The sea view from the Hill of Howth is exceptionally fine. Nevertheless the making of a harbour for the passenger ships from Park Gate was found to be a mistake. That pleasant writer the “Knight of Innishowen” [“The Knight of Innishowen,” otherwise Mr. J. Sheehan.] makes merry over this port as “a real ould Irish job, badly constructed at the mouth of an estuary, which is for ever throwing up sandbanks.” Th ejob was soon found not to work, and Howth as a harbour was abandoned; it is now only used for fisher-men’s smacks.

Over the harbour upon the very edge of what was once a sea cliff, stands the Abbey, the older portions of which belong to the 13th century. The neighbouring ruin of an old turret has apertures which once held the “bells,” which are now in the Castle, where they keep company with Tristran’s sword and numberless other heirlooms.

Since the railway has brought Howth within easy distance of Dublin, “the Hill” and the neighbouring localities have found much favour; as a place of summer residence it is in many respects more advantageous than Kingstown or Bray, being far less “cockney.”

Lovers of the sea make their home here, and to those who revel in the ever-changing face of the great ocean one can imagine no dwelling more delightful than this sea-girt hill. Amongst the residents is Miss Stokes, whose admirable books on Celtic ornament and early Christian art are well known to students.

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