Part 1

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

NUMBER 41. SATURDAY, APRIL 10, 1841. VOLUME I.

The subject which we have chosen as an embellishment to our present number, is a view of one of the most aristocratic residences in the province of Ulster, or, as we might perhaps say, in all Ireland. It is therefore deserving of a place in our topographical illustrations from its own importance; but we confess that it is not on that account only that we have thus selected it for illustration, and that, even if its attraction had been less, it would still have paramount claims on our notice, as the residence, when delicate health permits, of one of the best of landlords, and most estimable and accomplished gentlemen in his native province. Such, at least, is the impression made on our mind from all that we have ever heard of Colonel Stewart’s private character; and it is only, therefore, in harmony with what might be expected of such a proprietor, that the enjoyment of the beauty and magnificence which nature and art have conjointly contributed to create at Killymoon should not be restricted to himself or friends, but be freely extended without solicitation to all ranks of the community, whom indeed he may justly and proudly class under the same denomination.

Killymoon House, or Castle, as it is popularly called, is situated in the immediate vicinity of Cookstown, and on the north bank of the Ballinderry or Kildress river, a beautiful stream which winds through the demesne. It was erected for the father of the present proprietor by the celebrated English architect Mr Nash, and cost, it is said, no less a sum than £80,000.

Like that of most architectural compositions of Mr Nash, the general effect of Killymoon is at once imposing and picturesque. Its form is that of a parallelogram; the north and east sides, which are the principal architectural fronts, and contain the chief apartments, being but little broken in their surfaces, and forming two sides of the square; while the remaining sides, which contain the offices, are of an irregular ground-plan, and are much hidden by trees. The east, or principal front, which is that represented in our wood-cut, has a large circular tower nearly at its centre, and is terminated at its northern angle by an octagon tower of inferior height, but otherwise equal dimensions; and the north front, extending from the octagon tower above mentioned, has a square tower at its west extremity, with which is connected, in a nearly continuous line, a structure in the style of a Gothic chapel, having stained glass windows, and buttresses intervening, and a belfry at its western termination: this portion of the building, however, is used as a library, and is the only part remaining of the original mansion which existed on the estate when the ancestor of Colonel Stewart purchased it from the Earl of Tyrone, and which was subsequently destroyed by an accidental fire. The north or entrance front is adorned with a porch leading into a small vestibule, and thence into the hall, which is of great size, and is terminated by a stone staircase having two return flights leading to a corridor which communicates with the bed-chambers. This hall also communicates by doors with the several portions of the building below, those on the west side leading to the servants’ rooms, and those on the east to the state apartments, which consist of a breakfast parlour, dining-room, ante-room, and drawing-room, all of which are of noble proportions, and their woodwork of polished oak.

It will be seen from the preceding description that the general character of this building is that of a castle; and we may add, that the details of its architecture are for the most part those popularly but erroneously called Saxon. But, like most modern structures of this kind, it has but little accurate resemblance to an ancient military fortress, and its architectural details present that capricious medley of styles of various ages, ecclesiastical, domestic, and military, so commonly found in modern buildings of this description. Such an incongruous amalgamation of styles, however, in an architectural composition, is, it must be confessed, not very consistent with refined taste, and cannot be too strongly reprobated; but it has existed for a considerable time, and will unfortunately continue till architects become skilful antiquaries as well as tasteful artists, and their employers acquire such an accurate judgment and knowledge of art as will enable them to form a correct opinion of the capabilities of those they employ, and not take their estimate of them, as now, from fashion or popular reputation.

The demesne attached to this noble residence ranks second to none in Tyrone in extent, the beauty of many of its features, and the fineness of its timber. The Kildress river, which passes through it, is crossed about the centre of the demesne by a picturesque bridge of five arches; and from this point the most favourable views of the surrounding scenery are to be had. Looking northwards, the sloping banks of the river, at the opposite sides of an extensive meadow, are thickly planted with larch, fir, beech, and ash, from the midst of which, an aged oak is here and there seen to rise above its younger and less aspiring companions; and, looking westward, the turrets of the castle overtop the deep masses of foliage which cluster round it on every side. In like manner, to the east, the river winds its way through a tract of rich meadow land, the banks of which are fringed with sallows and thorn trees; and to the south, the grounds slope gently up from the river, and present detached groups of elms and oaks of the most luxuriant character. The views in this demesne are indeed such as might naturally be expected in conjunction with a mansion of such magnificence, and will, as we are persuaded, not create a feeling of disappointment in the minds of any, whether artist or pleasure tourist, who may be led by our remarks to visit them.

P.

THE SPANISH MOTHER.

During that dark and ill-recorded period in which Spain was little more than a field of battle between the Moors and the Christians, the Sanchos of Navarre held the most conspicuous rank among the peninsular potentates, and Sanchez “el Mayor” was the most conspicuous of the Sanchos. Besides the throne of Navarre, he had succeeded to the royalty of Arragon, and the sovereignty of Castile was the dower of his queen. He had married the beauteous Elvira Muna early in life; and before he had reached the full prime of manhood, two of his sons, Garcia and Gonsalo, were able to bear the panoply of a knight; and a third, Fernando, a boy of thirteen, was sighing for the day to come when he too should have the spur upon his heel and the sword upon his thigh. Another son, also, King Sancho boasted of, but not by Donna Elvira. In his very first battle he had been taken prisoner by a Moorish captain of high rank, and confined in a dreary dungeon many days and nights, until at length his escape was effected by means of the daughter of his conqueror, a maiden of exquisite beauty named Caya, who had seen him, and fallen in love with him. This Moorish girl the generous young prince would gladly have married, if the political or religious laws of Navarre would have permitted him; but he tried to persuade himself and her, that, under such circumstances, the tie which bound them together after their flight from her father’s fortress would be nearly as sacred as if it were a conjugal one. The offspring of their love was a boy, whom Sancho named Ramiro, and who grew up with the king’s legitimate children. Caya too--it was the custom of those days--lived at court, and was paid respect and honour besides, as the deliverer of the country’s hope. She had abjured, at least outwardly, her Moslem creed, and, for the sake of her son, whom she tenderly loved, conformed in all respects to the customs of her adopted one. In truth, however, she was a quiet, unpretending creature, who never said or did anything to the injury of anyone with malice prepense, and not being feared, was not hated. Even Elvira herself, hateful to Caya for giving her no reasonable cause for jealousy since her marriage with Sancho (which was a mere matter of state policy), made the Moorish woman the confidante of most of her joys and sorrows. And many were the sorrows of that gentle queen. Sancho had ever been indifferent towards her, though she repaid his coldness with devoted attachment. He was, besides, continually away at the wars, in imminent danger from the chances of battle, while she, at home, was ever mourning over the neglect of her lord and the disobedience of her children. Garcia had made, before his twentieth year, no fewer than three different attempts to excite a revolt in Ribagorza during the absence of the king, impatient as he was to seize the reins of command. Gonsalo, cunning as a fox, and darkly-working as a mole, was continually endeavouring, by secret machinations, to render the people of Navarre discontented with the government of his mother and her councillors; and even the child Fernando had exhibited signs of a rebellious nature, and was but too apt to listen to the dangerous instructions of his brothers. Elvira, therefore, was greatly to be pitied, debarred, as she thus found herself, from all the joys which she naturally yearned for as a wife and a mother. If Caya was an ambitious woman, as most of her nation were, or if she had cherished, under an outward show of meekness and contentedness, thoughts and purposes of bringing about by means of her opportunities the establishment of the Moorish dynasty in Christian Spain, she might have drawn hope of success in her schemes from the dissensions of the royal family; at least she might have sought in them some excuse for making her darling Ramiro a sharer in one of those arbitrary partitions of the Spanish kingdoms which the barbarous notions of the times rendered of frequent recurrence. But Caya was gifted with too noble a mind to seek any advantage, however tempting, by unworthy means. She still fondly loved the chivalrous prince with whom she fled from a cruel father’s roof, and with whom, for a few happy, happy years, she had forgotten the pleasant olive groves of Grenada, under the wild pine forests and glaciers of the Pyrenees. She sincerely compassionated the sorrows of Elvira, and therefore the afflicted queen had a safe and steady friend in her generous rival. Let the reader “judge with knowledge” these two women in their affection for one another--

In those old, romantic days, Mighty were the soul’s commandments To support, restrain, or raise!

Their rivalry was of the forbearing kind which existed between the two wives of that old crusader mentioned in the Orlandus of Kenelin Henry Digby, and which the first poet of our day[1] has thought it worth his while to embalm for all eternity in his “Armenian Lady’s Love.” But Elvira had another trusty friend in Sancho’s “master of the horse,” whom he was wont to leave behind him as deputy when he went to the wars. Don Pedro Sesse was a faithful minister and a merciful viceroy. A gallant soldier in his youth, he was an enemy to treachery and to everything that tended to infringe the laws of chivalry. He it was who had frustrated the designs of Garcia and Gonsalo, and had therefore earned their hatred. Elvira looked to him as her best guide and protector amidst the sorrows of her lot.

In this state was the kingdom of Navarre, when the news came of a great victory gained by Sancho over the Moors of Corduba, a place at that time the metropolis of Moorish Spain. As this event was considered a decisive blow to the hopes entertained by the Moors of obtaining possession of Castile, which was their principal object, Sancho’s speedy return, after an absence of several years, was anticipated at home, and great were the preparations made for his triumphal entry to the fortress of Najara, where was the royal palace and the residence of the chief nobility. In the midst of these preparations, however, matters took place which turned the palace into a scene of mourning and dismay.

Don Pedro had a beautiful daughter named Blanca, whom the unprincipled Garcia had long but vainly tried to influence by his dishonourable proposals. The virtuous Blanca repelled his advances with proper scorn; and when at length he found that he could not obtain her willing consent, he determined to carry her off by violence. An opportunity soon arrived. Blanca was sitting alone one day in her garden, enjoying the loveliness of the prospect that stretched from the terrace-foot to the summits of the distant mountains, when Garcia, who had been waiting for a favourable moment, seized her in his arms, and bore her away towards a spot where he had horses and attendants ready for the accomplishment of his villanous project. Before the maiden was out of the reach of aid from such as might be disposed to assist her, her shrieks were heard by Ramiro, who happened to be sauntering near the place. He was at her side in an instant with his drawn sword in his hand.

“Ruffian, desist!” exclaimed he, with wrath in his voice and eye, as, passing his left arm round the waist of Blanca, he waved his armed right hand before the ravisher’s face; “though thou bearest my father’s blood in thy degenerate veins, it shall dye the turf at our feet, if thou loosest not hold of this maiden.”

“Away! base-born hound--half-Spaniard, away! and dare not to thwart me in my pleasure,” cried Garcia, foaming with rage and disappointment.

Ramiro answered not, but, freeing the frighted girl by a dexterous manœuvre from the grasp of Garcia, and placing himself between them, he struck the latter with the flat side of his weapon, as if he thought him unworthy of a severer blow, though the fire of his royal blood tingled in his cheeks at the insult.

Garcia quailed before the lofty scorn of Ramiro, and he shouted to his attendants to come to his aid.

“Now, for my father’s kingdom I would not let thee escape, dastard as thou art!” said Ramiro, as he strode up to Garcia and forced him to defend himself. In a moment Ramiro was standing over his prostrate and bleeding antagonist with his sword lifted for the death-blow. As he was about to strike in self-defence, hearing the rapid step of Garcia’s assistants, he saw that they were already panic-struck at the sight of their fallen master, and were turning back in flight. Staying his hand, he said,

“Rise, Garcia--for thy father’s sake I spare thee. Thou wilt henceforth avoid the son of the Moorish Caya.” Then taking the lady Blanca, who was fainting with the effects of her terror, once again in his arms, he bore her into the house of Don Pedro, and left the vanquished ravisher in pain of body and mortification of heart.

“Tell me, lady,” said Ramiro, as he leant over the form of the reviving Blanca, “how art thou? Assure me that I leave thee well and happy.”

“Leave me not yet, noble Ramiro,” said Blanca sweetly. “How can I sufficiently repay thee for thy valiant protection?--all I can imagine would be too poor a recompense!”

“Oh, not too poor, dear Blanca,” said Ramiro passionately, “is the gift thou canst bestow: give me thy love, if one who hath the stain of Moorish lineage may hope to deserve it, and I will bless the opportunity that gave thee to my arms.”

Blanca only blushed in answer. She knew Ramiro had loved her long before, and that he was honoured and esteemed by her father. The lovers plighted their troth to each other that hour, and felt themselves worthy of one another.

The ferocious temper and evil heart of Garcia left him no repose until he had matured a scheme of vengeance to effect the ruin of Ramiro, if possible, before the return of his father. All the more violent means he rejected, as he was unwilling to compass so important an event except by plausible pretexts. He therefore determined to work upon the fears of Elvira, and as far as possible to arouse her jealousies. Having first simulated a show of repentance for his past ill treatment, which he did so well as effectually to deceive the unsuspicious queen, he next informed her that a secret correspondence had been carried on between Caya and the king during the whole period of the last expedition, forged proofs of which he showed her; and insinuated that Caya had succeeded in making the king promise to put Ramiro in possession of the fairest portion of his dominions, to the exclusion of Elvira’s offspring. This latter stratagem did not succeed so well with Elvira, and she openly told him she had too great faith in Caya’s friendship for her to believe she would seek to deprive her of her queenly prerogative, or her children of their just rights. Garcia for a long time continued to follow up his plan by these insinuations and others of a similar kind, but when he found he was playing a wrong game, he could no longer conceal his rage, and he warned Elvira not to oppose him in his attempts to get rid of Ramiro, with a sincerity which the unhappy woman well knew was unaffected.

Garcia’s first step was a demand that a council of the nobility should be held to determine upon a matter to be brought forward by him, at which council the queen should preside in person. This being granted, he formally accused Ramiro of having attempted his assassination, exhibited his wound, and produced his attendants, who had been suborned by him, to testify to the truth of the accusation. Ramiro was then summoned to answer to the grave charge of having attempted the life of the heir to the crown--a crime for which death by torture was the punishment in Navarre. Ramiro defended himself by narrating the circumstance of his encounter with Garcia simply as it occurred, along with the cause which led to it; and the beautiful Blanca shrank not from appearing before the court and the nobles, to bear witness for her betrothed. Several of the nobles, however, who were in the interest of Garcia and the abettors of his projects, declared that the testimony of Blanca was not sufficient to clear Ramiro of the imputation, and demanded that judgment should be given against him. Don Pedro, who had been aware of the true facts of the case, burning as he was with resentment against Garcia, besought of the queen, for the sake of justice, and as a punishment due to a rebellious and unnatural son, that Garcia, on the contrary, should be made to plead against the charge of having offered violence to the daughter of the king’s vicegerent. Elvira was about to decree that Garcia’s charge had not been substantiated, when she caught the eye of the accusant fixed upon her with a look of demoniac malignity which chased the blood from her cheek, and made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth. Her fortitude was nearly deserting her, and her love of justice giving way to her fear of Garcia’s cruel revenge, when a stir was heard at the entrance of the court, and Caya, with disordered dress, dishevelled hair, and eyes of fire, rushed up to the foot of the tribunal, and throwing herself on her knees on the marble step, clasped the feet of Elvira, and looked up into the queen’s face without speaking a word.

“What does this Moorish devil in our hall of justice?” said Garcia, in a stern voice: “remove her.”

No one stirred, for all were intently watching the scene. Caya still knelt without speaking, looking up to the queen’s face; but now the large tears were gathering in her eyes, under their jet-black lashes, and now they rolled down upon her dark cheek, which was no longer lustrous with the hue which Sancho in his youthful years had loved to look upon.

Elvira gently stooped her head towards the suppliant, and was about to speak to her, when Garcia, with increased vehemence in his tone, again demanded her removal, and Elvira, shudderingly, drew back.

“Oh, listen not to him!” at length gasped Caya; “heed not his cruel voice. Thou wilt not give my boy to his bloody vengeance; thou wilt not put his precious limbs upon the wheel; thou wilt not tear his manly sinews with red-hot pincers! Oh, queen, give me back my Ramiro!”

“Nay, Caya, what will become of me?--there is misery before me whichever way I turn!” said Elvira, as she saw Garcia approaching.

“Stand back!” shouted Caya, springing to her feet, and speaking to Garcia; then turning to Elvira,

“I charge thee let him not touch me--if thou valuest the life of thy son, admonish him to beware of hurting a hair of the Moorish woman’s head, or of that of her child: and not of _my_ child alone--of the child of Sancho of Navarre. And thee, too, Elvira. I charge to beware how thou givest over to judgment the offspring of thy lord! Hast thou no pity, Elvira? Look not to Garcia--look to _me_. Dear Elvira (and here Caya ventured to take the queen’s hand), pity thy poor Caya, thy servant, and Sancho’s servant, who never willingly offended thee. Thou wilt--I see thou wilt. I am thy friend once more--thy _sister_!” she whispered, as her tears flowed upon the neck of the subdued Elvira, and she clasped her to her bosom.

The queen, then, confirmed in her decision by the assenting looks and murmurs of the lord deputy and the majority of the council, declared Ramiro guiltless of the crime imputed to him, and the assembly broke up.

“Caya,” said Elvira, as they retired together, “I have done much for thee this day. I have leaned towards thy child against my own. I have made an enemy of the fruit of my own womb for the sake of a rival in my husband’s love.”

“For the sake of truth and justice thou hast done it,” replied Caya, “and thou shalt have thy reward.”

“Thou knowest not what it is to fight against the temptations which nature puts in our path--pray that thou mayest not know them.”

“I have had a victory many times over such,” said Caya, “or thou wouldst not now be queen. Perchance other such temptations may arise--and oh, Elvira, be sure they shall not overcome me.”

Caya spoke prophetically, but even _she_ could not have guessed how soon or to what an extent her constancy was to be tried.

Garcia left the council maddened with rage, and burning with thoughts of vengeance, not only against Ramiro, who had supplanted him in his love, and Pedro, who had been made deputy, principally with the intent that he should watch and counteract his villanies, but against Elvira and Caya, and even Blanca. Some faint outlines of a design either to cut off Sancho himself, and usurp the whole of his father’s possessions, or at least compel him to share the sovereignty with him, began also to connect themselves together in his thoughts. In short, he was determined that he should accomplish the ruin of all, and that some blow should be struck instantly, for Sancho was already on his way to Navarre.

A circumstance, of trifling moment in itself, furnished him with sufficiently plausible means of entering at once upon his plan. Sancho had taken in fight from a Moorish chieftain a most beautiful horse, which in a short time became such a favourite with him, that, fearing some accident would deprive him of the noble steed amidst the perils of war, he had sent him home to Elvira, with strict injunctions that no one should be suffered to mount him in his absence. These injunctions were forgotten by the queen, who suffered Don Pedro to use the animal occasionally. This fact Garcia laid hold of to sustain him in accusing the queen of adultery with Don Pedro, and he announced to the nobles his intention of so doing on the arrival of his father.