A VISIT TO BLARNEY CASTLE.
Anon we reached the old castle, for when anything gits to be six hundred years old you can well call it old. Why, I should call Josiah dretful old if he wuz over six hundred years old.
It towers up considerable high—a hundred feet, anyway. Some of its walls are eight or ten feet thick. Al Faizi asked what they had sech thick walls for.
And Martin told him it wuz built so to keep enemies from breakin’ in and killin’ the inhabitants of the castle.
He looked dretful thoughtful, and then he asked what made them big holes in the walls.
Martin said that Cromwell made ’em 200 years ago. Sez Martin, “Cromwell made the land red with blood.”
“Was he not a great religious leader among your people?” said Al Faizi—“a Reformer?”
“Yes.”
“Did he not preach the doctrine of peace, love to your enemies, good will?”
“Yes, of course he did,” sez Martin.
“Why did he kill so many men, then?” sez Al Faizi.
“To make the other men behave themselves,” sez Martin.
“Kill them to make them act better?”
“The Catholics and the Protestants both fought in the name of their religion, and tortured and killed and slaughtered thousands and thousands of men and women.”
“For the sake of religion?” sez Al Faizi. And he took out his book and wrote rapidly for awhile, but he didn’t say nothin’.
“It was a case of killing or being killed,” sez Martin. “It was a religious war.”
“A religious war?” sez Al Faizi dreamily. “Where was His teaching, the divine Christ, ‘Love your enemies, do good to them that persecute you’?”
“That won’t work,” sez Martin; “those words are good in peace, but in danger they don’t work worth a cent.”
Al Faizi looked up slowly to Martin’s face; in his eyes wuz a shinin’ light, a softness, a tenderness sech as made his face shine, and underneath it all wuz a sort of a innocent, wonderin’ look, which I spoze would be called primitive and oncivilized.
Martin’s face looked commercial and successful, sharp and shrewd, and what he called civilized.
I had quite a number of thoughts as I looked on the two men, over a dozen and a half, anyway.
Alice and Adrian wuz pickin’ some of the green ivy sprays, and they brung ’em to me and wanted me to look at ’em.
Sez Alice, “Some of this ivy that grows here so wild and luxuriant—acres of it, it seems to me—is just the kind that we see little slips of in our green-houses at home; do you see how beautiful it is?”
And she held up a few of the glossy leaves to Al Faizi.
He glanced at it, and then beyend into her sweet, uplifted face.
“Yes, I see how beautiful it is,” he sez softly, and he ended his words with a deep sithe.
And a shadder settled down over his face, and he turned to his writin’ agin.
As for Alice, she see nothin’, but kep’ a-gatherin’ her ivy sprays and a-singin’ to herself in her low, sweet voice—
“I give thee an ivy leaf,
Only an ivy leaf,
Oh, wear it forever, love, nearest thy heart.”
I knew very well who she wuz aposthrofizin’ in her own heart entirely onbeknown to her as she wuz hummin’ over little snatches of the song and a-pickin’ the glowin’ green sprays. And I knew that the affection and constancy that dwelt in her soul wuz as deathless as that ivy and fur more clingin’ and beautiful.
Martin had climbed up to the elevation where the Blarney Stun hung suspended two feet below the surface, fastened by iron clamps.
But he wouldn’t resk his neck by bein’ lowered down to that place, but he kissed a little chunk that layed on the ground inside the castle, for I see him.
And so did Josiah, though I didn’t advise him to.
Josiah, a-lookin’ up from below, had been makin’ calculations on how he could be lowered down to the big Blarney Stun on the ruff.
Sez he, “It wuz a oversight in me not takin’ a rope; but,” sez he, all rousted up, as his ardent, impulsive way is, sez he, “I might take that mantilly you’ve got on.”
It bein’ a cool day I’d worn it.
“And you, and Martin, and Fazer could hang holt of one end, and tie the other end round my waist. I could be lowered down and kiss it and not git a hair of my head hurt.”
I glanced pityin’ly at his bald head, and sez I coldly—
“How would it be with the tabs?”
“Oh,” sez he, “it might stretch ’em a little, but if a pardner wouldn’t be willin’ to resk a tab for her husband, she can’t think much on him.”
And he prepared to mount the steep, a-holdin’ out his hand for the mantilly.
I stood still, foldin’ my tabs round me more clost.
Sez he, “You talk a sight about your feelin’s for me, and now you put a mantilly ahead of ’em. I hain’t equal in your mind to a tab,” sez he bitterly.
A thought struck aginst me. “No, Josiah,” sez I, “you use my mantilly to-day, and to-morrer we will come back, and I will use the tossels on your dressin’-gown.” (They wuz stout ones—stout as a rope almost.)
He looked dumbfoundered. “Use them tossels?” sez he.
“Yes,” sez I; “you can’t think much of me if you put them tossels ahead of me.”
Sez he, “Them tossels hain’t a-goin’ to be used to lift a ton’s weight. I might as well give ’em up to once as to misuse ’em so.”
“Then I hain’t as much importance in your mind as a tossel?” sez I; and he admitted that I wuzn’t half so good lookin’.
“Wall,” sez I, “less gin up the idee, both on us.”
Sez he, “Didn’t you bring sunthin’ to eat with you? I’m as hungry as a bear.”
So I gladly led him away from the stairs leadin’ to Danger and Blarney, and we found a good, clean spot, and spread out our refreshin’ lunch that we had brung with us to refresh ourselves with, and Josiah did indeed do jestice to it; but that dear man always duz do that, at home or in more foreign climes.
Yes, indeed!
Wall, the day passed away with no particular coincedences.
We went home by another road that led through the valley, by meetin’-housen and horsepitals, jails, etc., and amongst the rest we see Father Mathew’s statute.
And if you’ll believe it—but I don’t spoze you will—all round the statute of that man, who spent his hull life a-fightin’ aginst intemperance, is a hull lot of drinkin’ places. As if they calculate to keep right on a-tormentin’ even his statute.
But they’ve no need to try it, good old creeter! He himself has got beyend the toil and the heart-aches caused by others’ sin and weaknesses.
He has got to the place where he is not plagued and heart-broken by the sight of that sin and folly, for what duz it say—
“There are no drunkards there.”
Good old soul!
Keep on a-sellin’ your accursed stuff right under the marble nose of his statute if you want to, or pour whiskey over it, you can’t git nigh to him, this hero, this martyr, who give his life, and has now found it in glory.
But to resoom.
Wall, the next mornin’ we sot off in a carriage for Killarney.
There wuz some sort of a meetin’ that day, and the bells wuz a-ringin’ as we rode along.
Mebby amongst ’em wuz the Bells of Shandon.
I shouldn’t wonder; I sort o’ listened to the sound of ’em with my soul, but I d’no as I could recognize ’em so’s to tell ’em from the other bells.
Our souls hain’t learnt our mortal ears yet, as it would love to, as it will in the futer.
But it seemed as though I could hear as we rode along the Bells of Shandon.
And thoughts of what I’d seen in a face the day before kinder chimed in with the sweet, melancholy sounds.
As it happened, Al Faizi sot by me, and I, a-feelin’ that I had a duty to do, and a-layin’ out to do it if I got a chance, I kinder brung the conversation round to Alice; and as I spoke of her sweetness and charm, the strangest look come into his eyes you ever see, and he sez to me, jest as though I wuz a-beholdin’ his secret thoughts onbeknown to him—“I have a vow—I am wedded to the cause of truth.”
He said it with a deep shadder settlin’ down over his glowin’ eyes. And then with Duty and Pity a-bolsterin’ me up on both sides, I sez—
“Alice is engaged to another feller.”
He looked full at me as curous a look as I ever see in my life—what did I see in his eyes, or ruther what didn’t I see? I see Religion, Devotion, Deathless Human Love, warm, glowin’, eager Renunciation, Pity for himself (I could see plain that he wuz sorry for himself—sorry as a dog), Eager Zeal, Pity for the hull world layin’ in wickedness.
It wuz a strange look.
And I never said anythin’ to him, only the look I gin him in answer, where deep pity and admiration and respect blended about half and half. And a motherly look of full comprehension and sympathy a-shinin’ out a-tellin’ him that I knew all, and pitied all, and would never tell anybody what I knew.
We had volumes of conversation in jest them two looks, and no one wuz the wiser—I told nobody.
But, indeed, this secret knowledge added a ingregient of as deep curosity as wuz ever carried round by a menagerie as a side show, for me to transport round from place to place, or wherever we pitched our tent on our tower.
Yes, truly, things wuz in as curous a state as I ever see, so fur as the affections and sech wuz concerned.
Alice a-bein’ wropped up in the thoughts of her feller, and her father a-bein’ determined to not let her so much as think on him.
Al Faizi wropped up in Alice, speakin’ to nobody only in the soul language of the eye, anon or oftener, and nobody but me a-knowin’ it, but I a-knowin’ it for certain.
Alice a-bein’ adored by a heathen!
Queer feelin’s it gin me and queerer still to read in that heathen’s eyes the knowledge that she had nothin’ to fear from him—she would never have even an appeal to her pity in futer days.
As she sot by her husband’s side a-holdin’ a baby’s head on her bosom, she would never look down into its sweet eyes and think with pity of lonely, despairin’ eyes that wuz facin’ a lonely, empty futer.
No; that heroic soul kep’ its own secrets. Why, you can be a hero in anything—even boots and galluses, and sech, if you bear pinchin’ from ’em without complaint (Josiah never could, he groaned audibly and frequent unless his galluses wuz jest right).
And Adrian, a happy little soul, pleased with everything, and a-praisin’ himself up jest as calm as he did castles and cathedrals, and jest as innocent.
And Martin a-bearin’ himself up with dignity, near-sighted as ever when it come to recognizin’ American bores and curous tourists.
And Josiah and I in our usual attitude of rapt devotion to each other, which is our two most striking traits (a good deal of the time they be).