The Bank And College Green

The Bank And College Green.

The Parliament House. - Vexed Question of the Architect. - House of Imbeciles. - Members of the Old Houses of Parliament. - Daly’s Club. Trinity College. - Princess of Wales. - Irving and the Students. - The Library. - King William’s Statue. - Its Adventures. - Students of Trinity College. - Volunteers on College Green. - Wheatley’s Picture. - The Fourth of November.- ” The Night before Larry was stretched.” - Peace.

Opposite to Trinity College (On Hoggen Green, where Trinity College now stands, was the Nunnery of St. Mary. In the Middle Ages miracle plays were often represented on the Green or in the Nunnery) a hospital was founded by Sir George Carie, or Carew, in 1605, and called in his honour “Carie’s Hospital.”

Carie’s was purchased by one Mr. Edward Chichester for his dwelling-house, and on this site the Bank of Ireland now stands, but not before Chichester House changed hands twice; for Edward Chichester, whose reputation was none of the best, dying deeply in debt, his brother, Sir Arthur Chichester, sold Chichester House, as it was called, to Sir Edward Parry, who died of the plague.

His heirs sold it to Sir John Borlase, Master of the Ordnance and Lord Justice of Ireland; and from him it passed, in the twenty-fifth year of Charles II.’s reign, to the Crown for the use of the Parliament in Ireland.

In the old deed its capabilities are duly set forth a large room for the lords, two committee-rooms, a stairhead-room, a robe-room, a wainscot-room, a conference-room, together with a large garden, with an old banqueting-room therein.

The lease ran for 99 years, the yearly rent being £180.

The first Parliament convened in Chichester House after the accession of William III. assembled in 1692. (It was in honour of King William that the beautiful tapestries representing the Battle of the Boyne were woven in the Coombe, the artist being “John Van Beaver, ye tapestry weaver.” The illustration here represents this tapestry, which is over the chimney-piece in what was the House of Lords.) It soon appeared that the building was quite insufficient for the purpose it had to fulfil, and that it was essential to erect Houses of Parliament on a larger and more important scale. As was usual, the choice of an architect became a party question; in fact, to the present day it remains a vexed one who was the real designer of the plans. Sir Edward Pearce, chief engineer and surveyor, has got the credit, which, it was said, really belonged to Cassels, a German architect of great merit, who always maintained that he sold the plans to Sir E.: Pearce, who never paid him, but appropriated the design.

The erection of the new Houses of Parliament occupied 10 years; but at a later period different alterations for the purpose of enlargement were made, and in 1774 the portico of the House of Lords, which had been consumed by fire, was rebuilt, James Gandon -being the designer. (The Gallery of the House of Lords was originally Ionic. It was in the Gallery of the House of Commons that the second Earl of Charlemont saw and fell in love with Anne Birmingham, one of the Irish beauties.).

The Irish House was a very unruly assembly. In 1748, the courtly, polished Chesterfield, writing to the English Minister, describes the House of Lords as a hospital for incurables; but, he adds, “by what appellation the Irish House of Commons can be described I cannot well conceive. Session after session presents one unwearied waste of provincial imbecility.”

This may have been to a certain extent true in the days when the elegant Stanhope reigned as Viceroy; but later on the character of the Irish Parliament stood very high, in the estimation even of foreign powers, for the ability and eloquence of its members. Such men as Malone, Flood, Grattan, Langrishe, Ponsonby, and Plunket could not have been stigmatized as “provincial imbeciles.”

In the picture here given we have a faithful representation of a night sitting in the House of Commons. The House is crowded from’ floor to ceiling, for Curran is speaking. At the right-hand corner we see Grattan and Flood, who have just come in from some social gathering. They are in all the glory of evening dress-coats braided with gold, white pantaloons, and satin waistcoats. The Ladies’ Gallery is crowded with fair faces. It is altogether a brilliant scene; and as we look at the picture, it is impossible not to give a passing sigh of regret for the change that has come over the spirit of this picturesque temple, now transformed and given over to the money-lenders. (The chandelier of the House of Commons hangs in the Examination Hall, Trinity College. The chair of the Speaker is at the Royal Irish Academy. The mace of the last Speaker is in the possession of his great-grandson, Lord Massereene.)

Here, where old Freedom was wont to wait

Her darling Grattan nightly at the gate,

Now little clerks in halt and colonnade

Tot the poor items of provincial trade;

Lo! round the walls that Bushe and Plunket shook,

The teller’s desk, the runner’s pocket-book.

(There, is a portrait of Grattan in the Hall of Trinity College; He is dressed in the uniform of the Volunteers (scarlet coat, etc.), and is in the act of moving his famous “Bill of Rights,” his attitude being spirited and oratorical. Grattan in private life was of the most engaging character; by even his political enemies he was regarded with a feeling of kindness almost approaching to affection. Rogers, in his poem “Memory,” says:

A walk in Spring, Grattan, like those with thee

By the heath-side - who had not envied me?

In these rambles he would talk with a “pleasant confidential simplicity.” “I should like,” he would say, “to spend my life in a small, neat cottage: I could be content with very little; only cold meat, and bread, and beer, and ” - with a roguish smile - “plenty of claret.”

In Lord Holland’s ever-delightful “Memoirs” we have a lifelike sketch of the first appearance of the Irish Demosthenes in the English House of Commons, when Grattan was advanced in years and broken in health; yet “when he rose curiosity was excited, and one might have heard a pin drop in the crowded House. It required, indeed, intense attention to catch the strange and long-fetched, deep whisper in which he began; and I could see the incipient smile curling on Mr. Pitt’s lips at the brevity and, antithesis” of. his sentences, his grotesque gesticulation, and peculiar and almost foreign accent. As be proceeded, however, the sneers of his opponents were softened into courtesy and attention, and at length settled in delight and admiration. Mr. Pitt beat tune to the artificial but harmonious cadence of his periods. Never was triumph more complete.”)

Hosts of traditions centre round the old Parliament House-of the days when Dublin was a capital which could boast an elegant aristocracy, and the Irish gentleman was as fine as any fine gentleman in Europe, spending his money freely, and had he none to spend, falling back upon the family acres.

At that time near the Parliament House was Daly’s Club, (Now the centre portion of the National Assurance Company’s office. The Club moved to College Green in 1791, from No. 2, Dame Street.) where the members of both Houses would adjourn after the debates, a footpath connecting the Club with the western portico.

Here could be seen Grattan, and Flood with his broken beak; Andy Caidwell, with *his *red nose, and the beetle-browed patriot, Lord Charlemont; as also Curran, and a brilliant crowd of debaters, amongst whom figured; no doubt, that surprising Irishman, Sir Boyle Roche, whose wonderful bird has become historic.

The claret at Daly’s was exceptionally good. The members, excited by copious draughts, were prone to be quarrelsome, and the fracas generally ended by their rushing off to the Park to satisfy their honour by making targets of one another.

Duelling was the order of the day; the most eminent states-men, the most successful lawyers, even the fellows of the University, were experienced duellists. Sheil, Curran, Flood - all fought duels; Curran being a very good shot.

O’Connell, later on, did not escape the duelling frenzy, his unfortunate affair with D’Esterre casting a shadow on the future life of this great orator.

At Daly’s Club, likewise, unlimited gambling was allowed, and estates often changed hands after a night’s sitting. It will be remembered that in the “Knight of Gwynne,” Lever describes the Knight staking every acre he possessed, and rising up from the card-table in the grey of the early morning a beggar! Such occurrences happened frequently at Daly’s.

Facing the Bank, upon the opposite side of College Green, stands the fine Elizabethan building -the Alma Mater which has contributed so many men of learning to the world’s history. An admiring nation has immortalized Goldsmith, Burke, and Moore by three indifferent statues placed in front of the Alma Mater; but Swift, Sterne, Berkeley, Sheil, Curran, and a host of others equally gifted have not been equally complimented.

The skull of Swift is preserved in the College Museum - ” a terrible memento,” says Carlyle, “of senile decay, with the hideous vacant smile on the cavernous mouth.”

The Square of the College impresses visitors, surrounded as it is by buildings of various ages and styles-not much of the Elizabethan, however, remaining. There is an elegant Hall, where the examinations ate held and degrees given. Here Sir Henry Irving received his degree, amidst the acclamations of the students; who insisted upon chairing the genial actor.

But perhaps the most interesting as well as the prettiest sight ever witnessed within the walls of Old Trinity was the conferring of the degree of Musical Doctor on the Princess of Wales on the occasion of her visit to Dublin in 1881. The sweet yet serious air of the Princess, as she listened to the oration of the Chancellor of the University, the charming grace with which she carried her college gown, the very clasp her pretty fingers took of the. college cap-made a picture never to be forgotten by those who had the good fortune to witness it.

In the Examination Hall, likewise, concerts are given by the Musical Society attached to the College. They vary in excellence, according to the musical taste of the collegians, who form the staple element of the chorus. Much too depends up on the Doctor of Music who wields the baton. The late Sir Robert Stuart was eminently suited to the post, being, although by no means a man of genius, a cultured musician.

There is a dim religious Chapel attached to the College, and a noble Library, with a range of many windows, and a fine, madly facade of cut stone. The interior possesses all the requisites of a study place. Its quiet, “booky” air seems to breathe the very spirit of meditation, recollection, and *somnolency. *And here, if we are fortunate enough to come at the right moment, we may enjoy the spectacle of Professor Dowden studying the Elizabethan masques, or Dr. Mabaffy writing his Greek essays.

In the Library will be found the famous Book of’ Kells, which no visitor should neglect to see, although since the famous theft of one of its precious leaves special permission is requisite.

The Story of King William’s Statue

kingwilliam1.gif (15874 bytes)Nearly opposite to where Daly’s Club stood is the statue erected to the pious, glorious, and immortal memory of William of Orange [article and illustration from 1835]. We who live in these piping times of peace have no notion of all the stir and the turmoil, of the uproar and confusion, caused by that silent effigy of his Dutch Majesty. His pious and immortal memory brought nothing but trouble, acting like a red rag does to a bull.

The history of the statue, has, however, certain comic elements. It was inaugurated July 1, 1701. From an early hour the joy-bells rang, and all the shops were closed. The Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and sheriffs assembled at the Tholsel, (situated in Skinners’ Row, and long since taking down. See next chapter) walking thence in procession, preceded by a band of musicians.

As soon as the Corporation of the City had arrived, the Lords Justices came on the scene, and were conducted through a line of military to the statue, round which the entire assembly marched three times.

After the second circuit, the Recorder of the City delivered a eulogy on the King. At the termination of the third circuit, the Lords Justices, the Provost of Trinity College, and a number of noblemen and gentlemen, were conducted by the Lord Mayor to a new house on College Green, where they were entertained, the crowds outside being hospitably treated to cakes *thrown *to them, while “hogsheads of claret, placed upon stilts, were set running.”

November 4, being the anniversary of King William’s landing in England, was annually observed in Dublin with great solemnity; and after 1701** **rendering homage to his Majesty’s statue became an important part of the day’s ceremonies.

In the morning the** **English flag was displayed on Birmingham Tower, the guns in the Park were fired, and answered by volleys from the garrison. At noon the Lord-Lieutenant held a leve. At 3 p.m. a procession was formed, the streets from the Castle being lined with soldiers. The Williamites paraded through Dame Street, College Green, to Stephen’s Green, round which they marched, and then returned in the same order to College Green, where they paraded thrice round the statue.

After the procession had retired, three volleys of musketry were discharged. Sir Constantine Phipps, while Lord Justice, endeavoured to abolish this custom by refusing to take part in the proceedings; but he was frustrated by the High Sheriff, a violent ascendency man, who placed himself at the head of the procession, and led it through the usual circuit, leaving Sir Constantine deserted.

The students of Trinity, insulted by the King’s back being turned to the University, inflicted indignities upon the statue, which was frequently found decorated with green boughs, dedaubed with filth, or dressed up with hay. It was also a common practice to set a straw figure astride behind the King.

On the night of Sunday, June 25, 1710,** **some persons covered the King’s face with mud, and deprived his Majesty of his sword and truncheon. One hundred pounds was offered for the discovery. At the expense of the Corporation the statue was repaired, and a new truncheon placed in his Majesty’s hand. Subsequently, the defacers having been discovered, they were made to stand before the statue for 24 hours with an inscription on their backs, “I stand here for defacing the statue of our glorious deliverer, the late King William III.”

In 1715 the statue was presented by the Corporation with a new stone pedestal of greater elevation than the original. It was at this time surrounded by hackney-chairs and noddies; (The noddy” - a species of cabriolet, with flap and leather curtains. The driver sat in the aperture between the curtains, his driving seat awkwardly protruding into the vehicle.) a cobbler’s stall was fixed, upon its steps; and a watch-house was placed against it on the east side, to protect it from any insults.

In spite of these precautions it was perpetually covered with filth, the citizens generally looking upon it as an obstruction in the narrow passage through the crowdeed street. After the formation of the Volunteers, however, it gained fresh importance from the constant reviewing of this fine body of men in its vicinity.

When their annual musters took place on College Green, all loyal citizens were expected ~to appear adorned with orange ribbons.

Wheatley’s celebrated picture commemorates one of these events, and the portraits of the different personages are excellent as to likeness. Here we have all the men of the time. The popular Duke of Leinster stands in the middle; near him Lords Charlemont and Clare. Luke Gardiner, whose wife, Elizabeth Montgomery, was one of the beauties of the day. Next him David Latouche, son to the staunch old Huguenot, head of the Irish branch of Latouches; and Napper-Tandy, whose name is handed down in the popular ballad “The Wearing of the Green.” Neither was the presence of the fair sex wanting. Every window in Dame Street was crowded on these occasions with lovely faces. - Wheatley has immortalized one - a* *beautiful woman carrying a green umbrella. This is the Princess Dashkoff, then on a visit to Lady Arabella .Denny, a lady of somewhat fast proclivities. The, Princess seems to have had a good time in Dublin.

The worship of the statue grew in favour. On July 12** **and November 4 it was coloured white, and decorated with orange- lilies and a flaming cloak and sash of the same colour. The horse was caparisoned with orange streamers; the railings were likewise painted orange and blue. Every person who passed through College Green was obliged to take off his hat to the statue; on refusing he had to pay £5 or go to prison.

These childish exhibitions caused considerable political and religious acerbity, and provoked reprisals. In 1798 the King’s sword was torn away; and a few days later a gunsmith fired at the monarch’s head, but the figure, being composed of brass, was not injured.

November 4, 1805, was remarkable for a singular outrage. The annual anniversary fell that year on Sunday; and on Saturday at midnight the watchman on duty was disturbed by a painter, who stated he had been sent by the City decorator to prepare the statue for the approaching ceremony, adding that the apprehended violence of the mob had made it desirable to have this done at night.

Having gained access to the monument, the artist worked away through - the night; and on descending left his paints and brushes in the charge of the watchman, while he went to fetch some necessary material.

He never returned; and when-day broke the King’s effigy was found covered beneath a black pigment composed of tar and grease, almost impossible to remove; the vessel containing the mixture was suspended from a halter tied round the monarch’s neck. The author of this trick was never discovered; but the act caused the utmost excitement in the city, all parties joining in condemning it.

A lengthy ballad appeared on the occasion of this insult to his Orange Majesty, of which it is only necessary to quote a couple of verses. It was sung to the old Dublin gaol song. *

The Night Before Larry Was Stretched*

That night before Billy’s birthday

Some friend to the Dutchman came to him;

And though he expected no pay,

He told the policeman he’d do him:

“For,” said he, “I must have him in style-

The job is not wonderful heavy-

And I’d rather sit up for a while,

Than see him undressed at the levée;

For he was the broth of a boy!”

De Orangemen next day gathered round,

And began to indulge in conjecture;

Dey all wished de tief to be found

Who dared to bedaub the King’s pictur’.

But wishing is all in my eye;

Let them bid some reward for attainture,

And then I’ll be bound that some spy

Will lay his hand on the painter;

And Toler will do all de rest.

(Judge Toler, afterwards Lord Norbury, called the “hanging judge”.)

Previous to the visit of George IV. to Ireland, it was agreed that the Catholics and Protestants should lay aside their differences, and assemble at a public banquet in honour of the King. This arrangement nearly fell through in consequence of some malicious persons hissing the statue.

A reconciliation, however, was effected by the Lord Mayor. On November 4, 1822, at four o’clock in the morning, a body of Orangemen began to decorate King William. A crowd assembled, and much excitement prevailed; the lamps round the monument were smashed; a few active young men mounted the pedestal, and flung the orange wreaths into the kennel. (A reservoir of filth at the foot of the pedestal). Several persons were wounded in this tumult; and on the following annual anniversary, the Lord Mayor issued a proclamation forbidding all decoration of the statue, since when the annual processions have ceased.

Not so the persecution of William of pious memory.

In Lord Anglesey’s viceroyalty, the Repealers marched, in imitation of the Orangemen, three times round the statue before presenting an address to Daniel O’Connell. William Cobbett then declared there would be no peace for the nation until the statue was destroyed. This may have suggested the last attack made upon his Dutch Majesty.

On the night of April 7, 1836, the inhabitants of the City were alarmed by a violent explosion, which extinguished every lamp in the vicinity of College Green. When daylight came, the figure of the King was found at a considerable distance from his pedestal, his legs and arms scattered and broken, and his head completely defaced. This scandalous outrage roused the indignation of all parties; but in spite of every effort the perpetrators remained undiscovered. The statue was repaired, and in the July following the King was replaced upon his charger, since when he has remained in peace.

During O’Connell’s term of office as Lord Mayor of Dublin the statue was coloured bronze. Thackeray, who makes great fun out of the King’s misadventures, relates that the colour of his skin changes with the politics of the Lord Mayor. This, however, is only persiflage.

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