My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
On approaching the Abbey by the avenue, you are not aware of it--so
masked is it by trees and ivy--till a sharp turn brings you upon a
gravelled quadrangle, three sides of which are closed in by walls,
while the fourth is marked out by a row of statues (white nymphs with
pitchers), whose background is the chameleon sea. Directly facing
these figures--at the opposite end of the square, that is--a short
wide flight of steps, and a low terrace paved with coloured marbles,
lead to the front entrance. The left side of the quadrangle is the
'Young Men's Wing,' sacred to whips and fishing-tackle, pierced by
separate little doors for convenience on hunting mornings--two sets of
separate chambers, in fact, which may be entered without passing
through the hall; and above them is the armoury, a neglected museum of
rusty swords and matchlocks, an eyrie of ghosts and goblins, which is
never disturbed by household broom. The right side is bounded by a
close-clipped ivied wall, pierced by an archway which gives access to
the stables and the kennels, ended by a mouldering turret, converted
long since into a water-tower.
The grand hall, low and dark as it is with sable oak and stiff
limnings of dead Crosbies, occupies the whole length and width of the
central portion of the house, or rather of the narrow band which
joins the two side blocks together. You may learn, by looking at the
time-discoloured map which hangs over its sculptured mantelpiece, that
the ground-plan of the Abbey is shaped like the letter H, whose left
limb forms the young men's wing, the offices, and dining-room; whose
right limb is made up of my lady's bedroom, the staircase vestibule,
and the reception saloons; while the grand hall, or portrait gallery,
reproduces the connecting bar. Five steps, with a curiously-carved
banister, lead out of the grand hall at either end; that to the left
opening into the dining-room--a finely-proportioned chamber, panelled
from floor to ceiling with trophies of rusty armour breaking its
sombre richness; that to the right communicating with my lady's
bedroom, painted apple-green with arabesques of gold, which is chiefly
remarkable for luxuriously-cushioned window-seats, from whence a fine
view may be obtained of the operations in the stable-yard. The late
lord used to sip his chocolate here in brocaded morning-gown and
nightcap, haranguing his whipper-in and bullying the horse-boys, or
tossing scraps to favourite hounds as they were trotted by for his
inspection; and my lady has continued the practice through her
widowhood, for it gratifies her vanity, as chatelaine, to watch the
numberless grooms and lacqueys, the feudal array of servants and
retainers. An odd nest for a lady, no doubt; but the countess chooses
to inhabit it, she says, till her son brings home a bride, for the
late lord sent for Italian workmen to decorate it according to her
taste, and in it she will remain till the hour for abdication shall
arrive.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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