: Nietzsche and Other Exponents of Individualism by Carus Paul - Individualism; Nietzsche Friedrich Wilhelm 1844-1900

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CHAPTER

MY LORDS OF STROGUE.

MIRAGE.

'Hurrah! 'tis done--our freedom's won--hurrah for the Volunteers!

Remember still through good and ill how vain were prayers and tears--

How vain were words till flashed the swords of the Irish Volunteers.'

So sang all Dublin in a delirium of triumph on the 9th of November, 1783. From the dawn of day joy-bells had rung jocund peals; rich tapestries and silken folds of green and orange had swayed from every balcony; citizens in military garb, with green cockades, had silently clasped one another's hands as they met in the street. There was no need for speech. One thought engrossed every mind; one common sacrifice of thanksgiving rolled up to heaven. For Ireland had fought her bloodless fight, had shaken off the yoke of England, and was free--at last!

A stranger could perceive at once that some important ceremony was afoot, for all along the leading streets long galleries had been erected, decorated each with sumptuous hangings, crowded since daybreak with a living burthen; while every window showed its freight of faces, every row of housetops its sea of heads. From the Castle to Trinity College the road was lined with troops in brand-new uniforms of every cut and colour--scarlet edged with black, blue lined with buff, white turned up with red, black piped with grey; while the stately colonnades of the Parliament House over against the College were guarded by the Barristers' Grenadiers, a picked body of stalwart fellows who looked in their tall caps like giants, with muskets slung and bright battle-axes on their shoulders. King William's effigy, emblem of bitter feuds, was in gala attire to-day, as if to suggest that rival creeds were met for once in amity. Newly painted white, the Protestant joss towered above the crowd, draped in an orange cloak, crowned with orange lilies; while his horse was muffled thick with orange scarves and streamers, and wore a huge collar of white ribbons tied about his neck. Placards inscribed with legends in large characters were suspended from the pedestal to remind the cits for what they were rejoicing. 'A Glorious Revolution!' 'A Free Country!' One bigger than the rest swung in the breeze, announcing to the few who as yet knew it not, that 'The Volunteers, having overturned a cadaverous Repeal, will now effectuate a Real Representation of the People!' Yes. That was why Dublin was come out into the streets. The victorious Volunteers had untied the Irish Ixion from a torture-wheel of centuries, and, encouraged by their first success, were preparing now to pass a stern judgment on a venal parliament.

From the period of her annexation to England in the twelfth century, down to the close of the seventeenth, Ireland had been barbarous and restless; too feeble and disunited to shake off her shackles, too proud and too exasperated to despair, alternating in dreary sequence between wild exertions of delirious strength and the troubled sleep of exhausted fury. But that was over now. The chain was snapped; and the first vengeance of the sons who had freed her was to be poured on the senate who were pensioners of Britain; who had sold their conscience for a price, their honour for a wage. A grand Convention was to be opened this day at the Rotunda, from which special delegates would be despatched to Lords and Commons, demanding in the name of Ireland an account of a neglected stewardship. No wonder that the populace, dazzled by an unexpected triumph, were come out with joy to see the sight. Light-hearted, despite their sorrows, the Irish are only too ready to be jubilant. But there were some looking down from out the windows who shook their heads in doubt. The scene was bright, though the November day was overcast--pretty and picturesque, vastly engaging to the eye. So also is a skull wreathed with flowers, provided that the blossoms are strewn with lavish hand. These croakers were fain to admit that the Volunteers had done wonders. The prestige of victory was theirs. Yet is it a task hedged round with peril--the wholesale upsetting of powers that be. It was not likely that England would tamely give up her prey. She was ready to take advantage of a slip. Ireland had cause to be aware of this; but Ireland thought fit to forget it. A fig for England! she was a turnip-spectre illumined by a rushlight. A new era was dawning. Even the schisms of party-bigotry had yielded for a moment to the common weal. Catholics and Protestants had exchanged the kiss of Judas; and Dublin resigned herself to sottish conviviality.

Hark! The thunder of artillery. The first procession is on its way. It is that of the Viceroy, who, attended by as many peers as he can muster, will solemnly protest against the new-fledged insolence of a domineering soldiery who dare to set their house in order and sweep away the cobwebs. He will make a pompous progress round the promenade of Stephen's Green; thence by the chief streets and quays to King William's statue, where he will gravely descend from his equipage and bow to the Protestant Juggernaut. This awful ceremony over, he will walk on foot to the House of Lords hard-by, and the holiday-makers will be stricken with repentant terror. He has his private suspicions upon this subject though--a secret dread of the mob and of the College lads of Trinity; for rumour whispers that the wild youths will make a raid on him, and they have an ugly way of running-a-muck with bludgeons and heavy stones sewn in their hanging sleeves. So he has taken his precautions by establishing about the statue a bodyguard--a cordon of trusty troops--whose aggressive band has been braying since daybreak 'Protestant Boys,' 'God save the King,' and 'King William over the water.'

But the undergraduates are too much occupied at present in struggling for seats within the Commons to trouble about the English Viceroy. For the heads of the Convention are to arrive in state, and Colonel Grattan, it is said, will appear in person to impeach the Assembly of which he is a member. Their gallery is crammed to suffocation. Peers' sons with gold-braided gowns occupy the bench in front, silver-braided baronets crowd in behind. Peeresses too there are in their own place opposite, like a bevy of macaws. A sprinkling only; for most of the ladies, caring more for show than politics, prefer a window at Daly's club-house next door, where members drop in from time to time by their private passage to gossip a little and taste a dish of tea, while their wives enjoy the humours of the crowd and ogle the patriot soldiers.

When the cavalcade stops there is a stir among the peeresses, for they cannot see round the corner, and are much disgusted by the fact. A clangour of trumpets wakes the echoes of the corridors. My lords have just finished prayers, and, marvelling at the strange flourish, run in a body to the entrance. The Volunteers present arms, the bishop bows his powdered head, while a smile of triumphant vanity curls the corner of his lip, and he gives the order to proceed. The lords stand shamefaced and uneasy while the people hoot at them, and the bishop's procession--with new shouts and acclamations--crawls slowly on its way.

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