LETTER XI.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
The drawing which I made of the castle is finished--the Prince ischarmed with it, and Glorvina insisted on copying it. This was as Iexpected--as I wished; and I took care to finish it so minutely, thather patience (of which she has no great store) should soon be exhaustedin the imitation, and I should have something more of her attention thanshe generally affords me at my drawing-desk.
Yesterday, in the absence of the priest, I read to her as she drew.After a thousand little symptoms of impatience and weariness--“here,” said she, yawning--“here is a straight line I can make nothing of--doyou know, Mr. Mortimer, I never could draw a perpendicular line in mylife. See now my pencil _will_ go into a curve or an angle; so you mustguide my hand, or I shall----”
I “guide her hand to draw a straight line!”
“Nay then,” said I, with the ostentatious gravity of a pedagogue master,“I may as well do the drawing myself.”
“Well then,” said she, playfully, “_do_ it yourself.”
Away she flew to her harp; while I, half lamenting, half triumphing, inmy forbearance, took her pencil and her seat. I perceived, however, thatshe had not even drawn a single line of the picture, and yet her paperwas not a mere _carte-blanche_--for close to the margin was written in afairy hand, ‘_Henry Mortimer_, April 2d, 10 o’clock,’--the very day andhour of my entrance into the castle; and in several places, the halfdefaced features of a face evidently a copy of my own, were stillvisible.
If any thing could have rendered this little circumstance moredeliciously gratifying to my heart, it was, that I had been just readingto her the anecdote of “the _Maid of Corinth_.”
I raised my eyes from the paper to her with a look that must have spokenmy feelings; but she, unconscious of my observation began a favouriteair of her favourite Carolan’s, and supposed me to be busy at the_perpendicular line_.
Wrapt in her charming avocation, she seemed borne away by the magicof her own numbers, and thus inspired and inspiring as she appeared,faithful, as the picture formed was interesting, I took her likeness.Conceive for a moment a form full of character, and full of grace,bending over an instrument singularly picturesque--a profusion of auburnhair fastened up to the top of the finest formed head I ever beheld,with a golden bodkin--an armlet of curious workmanship glittering abovea finely turned elbow, and the loose sleeves of a flowing robe drawn upunusually high, to prevent this drapery from sweeping the chords of theinstrument. The expression of the divinely touching countenance breathedall the fervour of genius under the influence of inspiration, and thecontours of the face, from the peculiar uplifted position of the head,were precisely such, as lends to painting the happiest line of feature,and shade of colouring. Before I had near finished the lovely picture,her song ceased; and turning towards me, who sat opposite her, sheblushed to observe how intensely my eyes were fixed on _her_.
“I am admiring,” said I, carelessly, “the singular elegance of yourcostume: it is indeed to me a never failing source of wonder andadmiration.”
“I am not sorry,” she replied, “to avail myself of my father’sprejudices in favour of our ancient national costume, which, with theexception of the drapery being made of modern materials (on the antiquemodels,) is absolutely drawn from the wardrobes of my great grand dames.This armlet, I have heard my father say, is near four hundred years old,and many of the ornaments and jewels you have seen me wear, are of adate no less ancient.”
“But how,” said I, while she continued to tune her harp, and I to plythe pencil, “how comes it that in so remote a period, we find the richesof Peru and Golconda contributing their splendour to the magnificence ofIrish dress?”
“No!” she replied, smiling, “we too had our Peru and Golconda in the bosomof our country--for it was once thought rich not only in gold and silvermines, but abounded in pearls, * amethysts, and other precious stones:even a few years back, Father John saw some fine pearls taken out ofthe river Ban; ** and Mr. O’Halloran, the celebrated Irish historian,declares that within his memory, amethysts of immense value were foundin Ireland.”! ***
* “It should seem.” says Mr. Walker, in his ingenious and elegant essay on Ancient Irish Dress--“that Ireland teemed with gold and silver, for as well as in the laws recited, we find an act ordained 34th, Henry VIII, ‘that merchant strangers should pay 40 pence custom for every pound of silver they carried out of Ireland; and Lord Stratford, in one of his letters from Dublin to his royal master, says, ‘with this I land you an ingot of silver of 300 oz.’”
** Pearls abounded, and still are found in this country and were of such repute in the 11th century, that a present of them was sent to the famous Bishop Anselm, by a Bishop of Limerick.
*** The author is indebted to Mr. Knox, barrister at law, Dublin, for the sight of some beautiful amethysts, which belonged to his female ancestors, and which many of the lapidaries of London, after a diligent search, found it impossible to match.
“I remember reading in the life of St. Bridget, that the King ofLeinster presented to her father a sword set with precious stones, whichthe pious saint, more charitable than honest, devoutly stole, and soldfor the benefit of the poor; but it should seem that the sources of ournational treasures are now shut up like the gold mines of La Valais,for the public weal, I suppose; for we now hear not of amethysts found,pearls discovered, or gold mines worked; and it is to the caskets ofmy female ancestors that I stand indebted that my dress or hair is notfastened or adorned like those of my humbler countrywomen, with a woodenbodkin.”
“That, indeed,” said I, “is a species of ornament I have observed veryprevalent with your fair ‘_paysannes_; and of whatever materials it ismade, when employed in such a happy service as I _now_ behold it, hasan air of simple, useful elegance, which in my opinion constitutes thegreat art of female dress.”
“It is at least,” replied she, “the most ancient ornament we knowhere--for we are told that the celebrated palace of Emania, * erectedprevious to the Christian era, was sketched by the famous Irish EmpressMacha, with the bodkin.
* The resident palace of the Kings of Ulster, of which Colgan speaks as “rendolens splendorum.”
“I remember a passage from a curious and ancient romance in the Irishlanguage, that fastened wonderfully upon my imagination when I read itto my father in my childhood, and which gives to the bodkin a veryearly origin:--it ran thus, and is called the ‘_Interview between FionnM’Cnmhal and Cannan_.’
“‘Cannan, when he said this, was seated at table; on his right handwas seated his wife, and upon his left his beautiful daughter, soexceedingly fair, that the snow driven by the winter storms surpassednot her in fairness, and her cheeks wore the blood of a young calf; herhair hung in curling ringlets, and her teeth were like pearl--a spaciousveil hung from her lovely head down her delicate form, and the veil wasfastened by a goldenbodkin.’” “The bodkin, you know, is also an ancientGreek ornament, and mentioned by Vulcan, as among the trinkets he wasobliged to forge.” *
* See Iliad, 13, 17.
By the time she had finished this curious quotation in favour of theantiquity of her dress, her harp was tuned, and she began anotherexquisite old Irish air called the “Dream of the Young Man,” which sheaccompanied rather by a plaintive _murmur_, than with her voice’s fullmelodious powers. It is thus this creature winds round the heart, whileshe enlightens the mind, and entrances the senses.
I had finished the sketch in the meantime, and just beneath the figure,and above her flattering inscription of my name, I wrote with mypencil,
“’Twas thus Apelles bask’d in beauty’s blaze,
Nor felt the danger of the steadfast gaze;”
while she, a few minutes after, with that restlessness that seemed togovern all her actions to-day arose, put her harp aside and approachedme with, “Well, Mr. Mortimer, you are very indulgent to my insufferableindolence--let me see what you have done for me;” and looking over myshoulder, she beheld not the ruins of her ca
stle, but a striking likenessof her blooming self; and sending her head close to the paper, read thelines, and that name honoured by the inscription of her own fair hand.
For the world I would not have looked her full in the face; but frombeneath my downcast eye I stole a transient glance: the colour didnot rush to her cheek, (as it usually does under the influence of anypowerful emotion) but rather deserted its beautiful standard, as shestood with her eyes riveted on the picture, as though she dreaded bytheir removal she should encounter those of the artist.
After about three minutes endurance of this mutual confusion, (could youbelieve me such a blockhead?) the priest, to our great relief, enteredthe room.
Glorvina ran and shook hands with him, as though she had not seen him inan age, and flew out of the room; while I effacing the quotation but notthe honoured inscription, asked Father John’s opinion of my effort atportrait painting. He acknowledged it was a most striking resemblance,and added, “Now you will indeed give a _coup de grace_ to the partialityof the Prince in your favour, and you will rank so much the higher inhis estimation, in proportion as his daughter is dearer to him than his_ruins_.”
Thus encouraged, I devoted the rest of the day to copying out thissketch: and I have finished the picture in that light tinting, soeffective in this kind of characteristic drawings. That beautifullypensive expression which touches the countenance of Glorvina, whenbreathing her native strains, I have most happily caught; and hercostume, attitude, and harp, form as happy a combination of traits, as asingle portrait perhaps ever presented.
When it was shown to the Prince, he gazed on it in silence, till tearsobscured his glance; then laying it down he embraced me, but saidnothing. Had he detailed the merits of the picture in all the technicalfarago of _cognoscenti_ phrase, his comments would not have been halfso eloquent as this simple action, and the silence which accompanied it.Adieu,
H. M.