Part 12

* This anecdote has been told by Dr Fitzpatrick and by Mr W. B. Le Fanu. The above version is Lever’s, given in a private letter.--E.D.

Yet another reminiscence of this period,--the scene, however, not being Templeogue but Still-organ, where Lever rented a cottage (“Oatlands”) for the season. Dr Fitzpatrick relates the anecdote.

“A fat German who acted as cook, valet, and sometimes as coachman, served Lever at Oatlands. One evening the subsequent Sir W. Wilde arrived in his green gig; and while he and other friends were sitting together enjoying his sallies, another gig, driven by Kildahl, the house-agent, came to the door. The Teutonic man-of-all-work was at once deputed to mind his gig, while Kildahl joined the group within. In a few minutes the fat German entered the room, and, making a profound obeisance, said impassively, ‘Das Pferd ist durchgeganger’ [‘The horse has run away’). Lever laughed immoderately, so did Wilde; and so infectious was the merriment that Kildahl laughed immoderately too, though without the remotest idea that the laugh had been at his own expense. His dismay at discovering the real facts may be conceived. The runaway horse and gig dashed down the steep hill of Stillorgan until all came to a dead smash at Galloping Green, the fragments being there gathered up and sent back to Dublin on a float.”

Towards the end of the year Mr Samuel Carter Hall was aggrieved at the tone of a paper which appeared in the Magazine--“Modern Conciliation: Mr Hall’s Letter to the Temperance Societies.” Lever was not the writer of the objectionable article, but though he did not desire to stand by it he accepted the responsibility of it. Hall then proceeded to attack the novelist savagely in print. He charged him with slandering his native country and its people. This stung Lever to the quick, and without further ado he packed his valise, travelled over to London, and sent a challenge in due form to Hall. A meeting was arranged to take place at Chalk Farm, but before the principals arrived upon the ground, Hall was asked if he would withdraw his offensive letter. He consented to do so, and then Lever gave him his assurance that, personally, he had never cast any imputation on Hall’s honour. Lord Ranelagh, who was the arbitrator in this “affair,” said: “I suppose this is the first time four Irishmen met to shoot an Englishman and didn’t do it.”

This trip to London in the month of December did not do any service to Lever’s health or spirits. He complained on his return of being fagged and sea-sick, and “railroaded” nigh unto death, and of suffering from crushing headaches.

At the close of 1843 the novelist is to be found making one of his queer confessions--half-jest, half-earnest--to Canon Hayman. “No man, barring a dog, could live under the heap of abuse the daily post opens upon me, every letter of the alphabet indignantly asking why I haven’t published this or that tale, essay, poem, puff, song, review, or satire, and why I haven’t had the common politeness to reply,... while I labour on with fruitless apologies to rejected addresses. I have no time to write to my friends and disarm their disgust of the atrocities of my silent system. If I were an industrious fellow all would be well; but my rule of never doing to-day what can possibly be deferred till to-morrow is occasionally the source of some confusion. Latterly I have taken a fit of dining out, chiefly because I happen to have a new coat; and I really do nothing but grumble over the work before me, and wonder what I am to do for a new plot. I believe, however, that books write themselves; and that sitting down with a title before me and a well-nibbed pen are the only essentials. And on this I rely for the performance of my pledges for the year of grace 1844.”

The strain of writing, the increasing worries of editorship, and the attacks made upon him by writers politically opposed to him, were affecting Lever so much that he feared he would break down completely. Thackeray’s dedication to him of ‘The Irish Sketch-Book’ did not tend to advance his popularity in his own land. It was rashly assumed that he had prompted or suggested many things in the ‘Sketch-Book’ which gave offence to Lorrequer’s sensitive fellow-countrymen. He had always been a heavy sleeper, but he was beginning to feel that one may have too much of a good thing. Early in 1843 he complained that he slept for twenty hours a-day and yawned through the remaining four. As the summer approached he could neither write nor read. His doctor ordered him to take a trip on the Continent--not a business visit. Still uneasy, he called in Surgeon Cusack, who warned him against railroads and steamboats. This physician informed Lever that he was suffering from apoplectic threatenings. The diagnosis caused him horrible dismay, but he begged that his wife should not be told. As August approached he found himself unable to fill a space in a proof, and he made up his mind that, as a holiday was essential, and as he had been warned against railroads, he would take a driving tour through Ireland. Accompanied by his wife, and acting as his own coachman, he drove through the counties of Wicklow and Wexford. At New Ross he ignored his friend Cusack’s advice, and putting his horse and vehicle on board, he travelled to Waterford by steamboat. The journey agreed with him, and by the time he reached Lismore he imagined that he was fit for work again. In Lismore he made an effort to finish ‘Tom Burke,’ but the effort was a failure. He was fond of ‘Tom Burke,’ but he feared that there was a vast gulf between his conception of the story and the manner of his working it out. “I intended,” he says, “to have exhibited a picture of France at a period when the prestige of a monarch had given way to the feudalism of a military state, and where the great prizes, long limited to birth and station, were thrown open for the competition of all. To depict this, and to show the lights and shadows of French military life and the contrast of our own, was also my object. I forgot my plan sometimes; sometimes my characters had a will of their own, and would go their own way.” And oftener again, he modestly adds, he found himself endeavouring to accomplish something beyond his powers. He continued the journey through Cork to Killarney, and here he was able to complete ‘Tom Burke’ and to project a new novel, ‘The O’Donoghue.’ His spirits were now reviving rapidly. Chickens and salmon were the staple fare at the various inns at which he put up; and he declared his wife and he had consumed so much fowl and fish, that they found it difficult to prevent themselves from flying and swimming. It afforded him intense delight to revisit Clare and Galway. Here he describes himself “climbing mountains, fording rivers, crossing bays, tramping along roads” with such assiduity, that pen and ink were out of the question. At Gort he was serenaded by a temperance band--the band playing all the songs in ‘Charles O’Malley.’ Its author made a speech by moonlight, and invited the serenaders to tea in the parlour of his inn. He continued his now joyous career through Mayo, refreshing himself with glimpses of the scenery of a country which was for ever associated in his memory with his earliest encourager, Maxwell.*

* Maxwell had left Ireland by this time. He is said to have died (in poverty) in Scotland in 1850, but there is some dispute as to the date of his death.--E. D.

This pleasant outing refreshed and reinvigorated him, and the symptoms of the brain trouble, of which he had been warned, disappeared. But he was determined to lead a more quiet life.**

During the autumn of 1844 he was visited by Mr Stephen Pearce, the portrait-painter, who had arrived in Ireland in order to execute a commission. A feeling of mutual regard seems to have sprung up at once between the artist and the novelist. Lever invited Pearce on a visit, and this visit was prolonged into a sojourn of two years. During these two years Mr Pearce painted his host’s portrait. He also made a sketch of his study--described as a little room with quaint sideboard of carved oak, dark-brown cabinet, curiously sculptured, and heavy brocade curtains across the door. Into this sketch the artist introduced a back view of Lever sitting at the fireplace bending over the fire. He made a sketch of the house, too, bringing into the picture a view of the old cascade,*** portrayed by Lever as “none of your rollicking harum-scarum things called waterfalls, but a solid, steady, discreet fall, coming heavily down, step by step, some hundred yards in the midst of a large meadow.”

** Major Leech informed Dr Fitzpatrick that Lever “lived at the rate of £3000 a-year at Templeogue.”

*** I have endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to trace these pictures. In 1896 Mr Pearce told me that he was unable to throw any light upon their whereabouts. He also informed me that, in addition to the pictures mentioned above, he had made at Bagni di Lucca a chalk drawing of Lever’s head.--E. D.

Mr Pearce enjoyed the society of his host so keenly that he was only a short time under his roof when he offered to become his amanuensis, and Lever, who was always hearing of growls about the illegibility of his “copy,” readily accepted the artist’s proposal. To Dr Fitzpatrick Mr Pearce furnished a most interesting account of life at Templeogue. On fine afternoons Lever and he rode into the office of ‘The Dublin University’ at a rattling pace. Sometimes the three children accompanied them on their ponies. A party of urchins were in the habit of meeting the equestrians on the outskirts of Dublin city--at Portobello Bridge. This motley crowd--known as “Lever’s pack”--followed the chase right up to the office of the Magazine in Sackville Street, sometimes yelping like hounds. At the door of Messrs Curry & Co.’s shop there was generally a fierce struggle amongst the youths for the honour of holding Lever’s horse. It is needless to add that “the pack” was treated liberally by its master.

If the weather was wet, Lever did not venture into the city. One of his favourite pastimes was to ride about the grounds with his children, encouraging them to gallop, or to jump over trunks of fallen trees, giving a wild “hurroo” whenever they took a jump together.

Lever’s hospitality, generous and open-hearted as it was, had none of the wildness with which it was the habit to credit it in these days. Mr Pearce says that his manner was to make the house and everything in it seem to belong to his guests, but his residence in Brussels had made him “quite foreign in his dinners and his wines”; and much as he had written about whisky, it was a beverage not to be found in Templeogue House. The children dined at two o’clock, and Lever and his wife made this their luncheon. He usually slept for an hour after this meal, and then he would wake up, good-humoured and brisk, and ready for a bout of work.

“Though he was full of energy in anything he took up,” says Mr Pearce, “he was sometimes very indolently inclined. Often and often I used to try to tempt him to dictate. Sometimes I succeeded, and at other times he would vote it a bore.... I have known him to be so dissatisfied with his morning’s or evening’s work that he destroyed it. At other times his flashing and brilliant thoughts carried him on for a great length of time, pacing the room excitedly, while his delivery of words was so rapid that it was impossible to keep pace with them.... But he never allowed too slow absorption on paper of his thick-coming fancies, rapidly dictated, to elicit an exclamation of impatience. He was always genial, gentle, good-humoured; and at times as playful as a child.”

Life at Templeogue during the days of Mr Pearce’s sojourn was singularly peaceful. The only “outbreaks” were occasional dinner-parties,--generally assemblages of brilliant men; and when the more staid amongst the guests had left for the city, it was Lever’s custom to wind up the night with whist. The host was always overflowing with good stories: frequently his guests forgot that time was running away, and were startled by observing the daylight peeping in through the chinks of the window-shutters. Mr Pearce relates one of these card-table anecdotes.

“When the 11th Hussars arrived in Dublin, their notoriety made them a great attraction, owing to the Earl of Cardigan being their colonel, and the numerous duels and quarrels that had occurred in the regiment. One of their officers, after a _levée_, was walking along Sackville Street, on a sunny afternoon, in full dress, and was met by two Irishmen fresh from the country. Staggered at the glittering and gorgeous apparition clanking towards them, they riveted their eyes on the blazing gold, blue, and crimson figure, and, with a wondering gaze, the one exclaimed to the other, with a sharp nudge in the ribs and a look of exquisite fun--‘Begorra, wouldn’t I like to have the chance of pawning him!’”

Lever could hardly avoid falling into traps such as he would set for his own characters. One of these accidents has its amusing and its pleasant side. He wished to get some contributions for the Magazine from the Rev. Edward Johnson, and in writing to him he not only asked him for contributions, but he invited him to pay a visit to Templeogue. He addressed this letter to G. P. R. James, and James answered to the call. Lever saw no way out of the difficulty except to arrange with the prodigious romancist* for a serial story.

Major Dwyer recalls another dinner-party at Templeogue,** the guests being himself, G. P. R James, Captain Siborne, and Dr Anster. James took the lead in the conversation, discussing, with an air of authority, horsemanship and military tactics. He entangled his host in the equestrian discussion, and Lever proved to be more than a match for him, for he had a genuine knowledge of horses, and though he was not a correct or a graceful rider,*** he knew all the points of a horse, and could, according to Major Dwyer, “knock as much out of the veriest screw” as any man he had ever known. The author of a hundred and eighty-nine volumes was not a bad judge of horseflesh, but his ideas of warfare were developed from his inner consciousness, and Dwyer recognised some of the military theories which James had expounded at Lever’s dinner-table in a novel entitled ‘Arrah Neil’ (which ran through ‘The Dublin University’ in 1844--doubtless the serial which was commissioned in order to cover a blunder), “where a highly scientific imaginary battle is fought in a corner of a field leading to a ford.”

* G. P. R James is said to have been the author of one hundred and eighby-nine volumes. He was “Historiographer to Great Britain” daring the reign of William IV. Subsequently he entered the consular service. He was at Garlsruhe in 1846 when Lever was visiting the Grand Duchy of Baden, and he was British Consul at Richmond from 1862 to 1868, and at Venice from 1868 until his death, in 1800.--E. D.

** “Reminiscences of Lever and Thackeray,” by Major D------. From “The Portfolio” (Appendix to ‘life of Lever,’ by Dr Fitzpatrick).

*** He galloped his horse on the hardest road, says one authority. Though the boldest of riders, says another, he had a loose rolling seat Yet another authority declares that in riding his face wore an expression of the utmost enjoyment. Even on horseback he dressed himself almost as negligently as if he were in his “snuggery,” displaying a wide expanse of shirt-front, the lowest button on his waistcoat being the only one in its button-hole.--E. D.

The Major tells an anecdote of another dinnerparty--one at the house of Remy Sheehan, a well-known Dublin journalist of the period. Sheehan was the leading member of the staff of ‘The Evening Mail’.* (to which paper Lever was an occasional contributor). In the hall of Sheehan’s house were certain wooden figures partly clad in armour. The lady whom Lever took in to dinner asked him if he could tell her who the wooden figures were intended to represent. “They are the staff of ‘The Mail,’” replied the humourist.

* Sheridan Le Fanu subsequently owned and edited this journal--E.D.

Before he had got halfway through ‘The O’Donoghue’ its light-hearted author grew weary: he feared he was becoming too serious. He appealed to his publisher for advice, asking him how he would prefer to have the story: was he to wind it up amid the lightning and thunder which scattered the French fleet in Bantry Bay? or was he to end it “in Colburn-and-Bentley fashion, with love and marriage licences?” He considered that the scheme of the story required a tragic ending. M’Glashan objected to tragedy--“the ladies wouldn’t like it,”--and Lever at last consented to make a more or less happy ending to his ‘Tale of Ireland, Fifty Years Ago.’

When ‘The O’Donoghue’ was completed, Lever wrote a short novel which he entitled ‘St Patrick’s Eve.’ He dedicated this book to his children. Being aware that his relations with the Magazine (and consequently with the publishers of his books) were none too pleasant, Mr Pearce volunteered to take the manuscript of ‘St Patrick’s Eve’ to London. He went straight to Chapman & Hall, and read the greater portion of the story to the brothers Chapman, who promptly purchased it.* Mr Pearce is under the impression that at the same time he made an agreement on Lever’s behalf with the Chapmans for a new novel--‘The Knight of Gwynne.’

* ‘St Patrick’s Eve’ was illustrated by Phiz. Chapman & Hall paid the author £200 on account to cover royalties on the sale of 5000 copies.--E. D.

The year 1844 furnished Lorrequer with another challenge from a testy man of letters. In the January number of his Magazine a memoir of Dr Maginn appeared. It was written by Dr Kenealy. The article was of considerable length, and Lever informed his publishers that eighteen persons, ranging from the Duke of Wellington to Sam Lover, were insulted, and that there were at least four distinct libels in the memoir.

Lever cut out most of the matter which he considered to be offensive or dangerous, and the result was that Dr Kenealy sent his editor a challenge. But the matter was somehow arranged without a hostile meeting.

Lorrequer was growing heartily weary of editorial worries. Throughout his career he suffered from hyper-sensitiveness,--the complaint stuck to him in every clime as persistently as his gouty attacks. While he held the reins at the office of ‘The Dublin University,’ Ireland was in an acutely nervous condition. O’Connell was struggling for repeal of the Act of Union; the Young Irelanders were urging the people to adopt methods more drastic than O’Connell would countenance; the political sect to which Lever belonged was antagonistic to O’Connell and to the Young Irelanders. Party feeling ran high, party rancour flourished, and many a hard blow was struck. William Carleton fell foul of Lever at an early stage, and attacked him at every opportunity. ‘The Nation’--that unique Irish paper, founded in 1842--published in 1843 an article about the editor of ‘The Dublin University,’ accusing him of every literary vice. This article was written by Carleton, who lived in a glass house, but was not afraid to hurl stones at his brother novelist. It became the fashion for every Dublin print which was not of the same way of thinking, politically, as Lever, to abuse him. He complains, early in 1845, of being racked by annoyances from every quarter, “sick of falsehood, pretension, bad faith, covert insolence, senile flattery.” He thought Ireland would have welcomed him with open arms, and would have encouraged him to reside in it, and the incense that was offered to him, he says bitterly, was misrepresentation and abuse. He did not make sufficient allowance for the intense acerbity which distinguishes political bickerings. He speaks also of “vile headaches not leaving him night or day for months.” He was plainly the victim of overwork. Five novels and numerous short papers had been written in less than three years, and during these years the editorship of ‘The Dublin University’ used up a considerable portion of his time, and played havoc with his nerves.

He made up his mind to bid good-bye to Templeogue,--“to seek out a tranquil place in a foreign land,” he writes, “and to work away among my children”; and in February 1845 he set out once more for Brussels, Mr Pearce accompanying him.

It was whispered at the time of his departure that he was in serious money difficulties, but two of his intimate Mends, Judge Longfield and Major Dwyer, vouch that when leaving Ireland he left no debt behind him. Lever’s own statement to Canon Hayman was that Dublin people were telling one another he was about to take “French leave.” “The truth is,” he continued, “I came to Dublin so poor a man that I cannot be much poorer leaving it. But no one suffers by my poverty, except me and mine.” Though he ceased to be the editor of ‘The Dublin University’ he did not sever his connection with the Magazine until a much later period.*

* The average circulation of the Magazine (which, it must be remembered, was published at half-a-crown) was 4000 during Lever’s editorship. The circulation gradually fell away, and early in the ‘Eighties the periodical died.--E. D.

And here, as we see the last of Charles Lever as a resident on Irish soil, it may be suggested that it has been the fashion to contemplate his novels which have Irishmen for their heroes--‘Harry Lorrequer’ being rather a series of stories of desultory adventures than an ordinary novel--from points of view which indicate some obliquity or narrowness of vision. In Great Britain Lever is recognised merely as the humorsome delineator of the rollicking, mule-cart-topping, bullet-proof dragoon: in Ireland he is regarded by a considerable section of his countrymen as a farce-writer, or else as that abomination, the Anti-Irish Irishman.** Many of his critics--English, Irish, American--assert that his sketches of Hibernian life are hopelessly out of drawing, that his gross exaggeration smudges the picture. William Carle-ton went so far as to accuse him of deliberately giving to the public “disgusting and debasing caricatures” of Irish life and character. This class of criticism is born either of ignorance or of jealousy or of crassness.

** Some of his Irish traducers--meaning to be scornful-- speak of him as an Englishman, and imply that he was unable to view men and affairs with an Irish eye. Thomas Davis, like Lever, was the son of an English father and of a mother who was of Cromwellian-Irish stock, yet no Irishman dreams of referring to Davis as “a foreigner.”--E. D.