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Turning Points of the Irish Revolution
 Previously Published Works
The Irish Experience during the
Second World War: An Oral History
Turning Points of the
Irish Revolution
The British Government,
Intelligence, and the
Cost of Indifference,
1912–1921

Benjamin Grob-Fitzgibbon
TURNING POINTS OF THE IRISH REVOLUTION
© Benjamin Grob-Fitzgibbon, 2007.
Portions of Part 1 of this work were previously published as “Neglected
Intelligence: How the British Government Failed to Quell the Ulster
Volunteer Force, 1912–1914,” Journal of Intelligence History, Volume 6,
Issue 1, Summer 2006, pp. 1–23. Used with permission by the Journal of
Intelligence History.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
First published in 2007 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN™
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Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, England RG21 6XS
Companies and representatives throughout the world.
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave
Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd.
Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom
and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European
Union and other countries.
ISBN-13: 978–1–4039–8003–8
ISBN-10: 1–4039–8003–9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Grob-Fitzgibbon, Benjamin John.
Turning points of the Irish Revolution : the British government,
intelligence, and the cost of indifference, 1912–1921 / Benjamin
Grob-Fitzgibbon.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 1–4039–8003–9 (alk. paper)
1. Ireland—History—1910–1921. 2. Ireland—History—Easter Rising,
1916. 3. Ireland—History—War of Independence, 1919–1921. I. Title.
DA962.G76 2007
941.5082⬘1—dc22 2006052012
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India.
First edition: May 2007
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America.
For Sophia Kristen, born June 2, 2005
This page intentionally left blank
 Contents

Acknowledgments ix
Introduction 1

Part I The Period of Overt Militancy, 1912–1914 13

The Death of Constitutionalism in Ulster 13
The Rise of Militant Unionism 23
An Irish Nationalist Response 43
Enter the Politicians 47
To the Edge of the Abyss 61
A Failure of Governance 68

Part II The Period of Clandestine Organization,

1914–1916 73
The Arming of the Irish Volunteers 73
A War Distracts from Trouble in Ireland 82
The Storm Clouds Gather 91
An Easter Rising and Its Aftermath 98
A Failure of Imagination 112

Part III The Period of Guerrilla War, 1916–1921 115

Business as Usual 115
A New Kind of Politics 120
Ireland’s Fateful Year 130
viii ● Contents

An Unacknowledged Insurgency 149

Intelligence Reorganized 160
A Failure of Action 168

Conclusion 175
Notes 181
Bibliography 229
Index 241
 Acknowledgments

I
t has been said before but it is worth saying again, a book is never the
work of just one person. I am indebted to many for the successful
completion of this project. To those who I neglect to mention below, and
there are no doubt a few, my sincere apologies.
My first thanks must go to God, without whom I would have no ability to
think, let alone write and publish. All that I do is made possible through his
creation. This book began its life as a doctoral dissertation at Duke
University, North Carolina. I must thank the graduate school and the history
department there for their generous financial support. In the history depart-
ment, I owe my gratitude to the various Directors of Graduate Studies who
served while I was there—Professors Ron Witt, Cynthia Herrup, Ed Balleisen,
and Laura Edwards—as well as to the administrative staff, in particular
Revonda Huppert. The late Professor John W. “Jack” Cell first pointed me in
the direction of the Dublin Castle files and suggested I look at British gover-
nance in Ireland. Without his initial direction, it is doubtful I would have
discovered this fascinating project. My dissertation supervisor Professor Alex
Roland encouraged and shaped my understanding of those files, posing
questions that I missed and providing insights that would have gone unnoticed.
His handprint is on every page of this work. The other members of my dis-
sertation committee—Professors Martin Miller, John Thompson, and John
Richards—all provided their own unique reflections. I am particularly grate-
ful to Professor Thompson for his thorough editorial and stylistic suggestions
on several drafts of this work. I must also acknowledge Professor Susan
Thorne for her helpful comments on my Master’s Thesis, which eventually
became Part 1 of this book.
At Duke University’s Perkins Library, I am grateful for the assistance of the
staff, particularly reference librarian Margaret Brill. My thanks also to the
staff of the National Archives in Kew, Richmond-Upon-Thames. In preparing
this book for publication, I am grateful for the staff at Palgrave Macmillan,
x ● Acknowledgments

particularly my editor, Alessandra Bastagli, her editorial assistant Emily

Leithauser, and the production editor Elizabeth Sabo. I must also thank
Maran Elancheran and the other staff at Newgen Publishing & Data Services
for their copyediting and production assistance. My parents, Andy and Jane
Fitz-Gibbon, have always listened to my ideas, and for that I give them
thanks. Deserving of the highest acknowledgment is my wife, Amanda. Her
patience and support has enabled me to complete this work. Finally, I have
dedicated this book to my daughter, Sophia Kristen, born June 2, 2005. She
was kind enough to share her nursery with me, my books, and my computer,
and she listened to every word of this volume without complaint. This book
is for her.
 Introduction

A
t 12:45 p.m. on a sunny Easter Monday afternoon in 1916, Patrick
Pearse, the headmaster of St. Enda’s School in Dublin, appeared from
behind the locked doors of the General Post Office on Lower
Sackville Street. Protected by a lone guard, he paused on the top step and
began to read from a single sheet of paper. An Irish republic had been
proclaimed, he announced, and until legitimate democratic institutions were
erected to represent it, the Irish Republican Brotherhood would act as its
provisional government. This Irish republic was entitled to, and therefore
claimed, the allegiance of all Irish men and women; it was the duty of
Irishmen everywhere to fight for its existence. When he had finished his
statement, Pearse disappeared back into the G.P.O. A perplexed crowd
offered only a spattering of applause.1
Those who watched Pearse had no idea of the events that would unfold in
Dublin in the days to come, nor of the violent guerilla war that would flow
from his declaration. Yet the actions taken on that day were more momentous
than the mere reading of a proclamation by a band of romantic nationalists.2
The Irish Republican Brotherhood to which Pearse referred had come into
existence in 1858. It was a secret, oath-bound society whose primary goal was
to publicize the cause of Irish nationalism and bring about an Irish republic
through the use of violence, not political negotiation.3 It had attempted a
general insurrection in 1867, but was quickly repressed, not to resurface until
the early twentieth century.4 The importance of the I.R.B., however, was not
so much in its actions but in its words, for through its insurrection it had
formulated an ideology of Irish nationalism based not on constitutional pres-
sure exerted from within the British system, but on revolutionary violence
brought to bear from without. Thus, although the I.R.B. as an organization
had gone into decline following the 1867 rising, its ideas remained strong in
the minds of some Irish nationalists. These men were only too happy to
revive the brotherhood from its dormancy in 1907.5
2 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

It was to this new I.R.B. that Patrick Pearse devoted his life, and it was the
I.R.B. that provided the core of volunteers for the rising that began on Easter
Monday, April 24, 1916. Although the British government was taken unaware
by these events, this rising was not the first seditious militancy to intrude
upon Irish society in the early twentieth century. In December 1912, an
illegal paramilitary army, the Ulster Volunteer Force, had formed in the north
of Ireland, its sole purpose being to thwart the implementation of an Irish
Home Rule parliament.6 In response to the rapid growth of the U.V.F., a
Catholic nationalist force, the Irish Volunteers, formed in November 1913.7
Civil war between the increasingly agitated sides seemed inescapable, and
was prevented only by the outbreak of the First World War, to which the
leaders of both the U.V.F. and the Irish Volunteers pledged their service.8 In
September 1914, however, the Irish Volunteers split into two organizations,
the National Volunteers, who supported the war effort, and the much smaller
Irish Volunteers, who continued to agitate for the immediate implementation
of Home Rule.9 Within this latter group, the newly revived I.R.B. found its
resting place, gradually persuading the leadership of the Irish Volunteers to
abandon their calls for Home Rule and instead agitate for a fully independent
Irish republic.10
When Patrick Pearse and his fellow insurrectionists entered the General
Post Office and read their Easter Proclamation, therefore, they were doing so
not as the first flicker of a new flame but as the culmination of a militancy
that had been pervading Irish society for the previous three and a half years.
Nevertheless, the Easter Rising was the first time that any of the militants had
directly attacked the British state, and Easter Monday was the first day that a
member of the British security forces was actually killed by Irish nationalists.
This made the rising a far more real insurrection in the minds of the British
government than the previous spates of armed drilling by the U.V.F. and Irish
Volunteers. The government acted accordingly.
The rising began at about 11:45 a.m., when the combined forces of the
I.R.B., the Irish Volunteers, and James Connolly’s much smaller Citizen’s
Army formed a military column in front of Liberty Hall and marched on
Dublin’s city center.11 They hoped to occupy several important buildings,
including City Hall, Dublin Castle, the Four Courts judicial building, and
the General Post Office, all symbols of the British presence in Ireland.12 As
the column moved off and split into smaller groups, each heading in a differ-
ent direction, it was mocked by passersby.13 Not until the first shot was fired
and the first body dropped did the throngs of people who watched realize
that anything was different from the marching and drilling of the previous
three years.14 The rising ended six days later, with Dublin in flames and
under martial law, 450 people dead, and 1,836 interned. Of those who died,
 Introduction ● 3

250 were civilians and 132 were British soldiers or policemen; only 79 were
rebels, including the 16 who were court-martialed and executed in its
aftermath.15
This failure of the rising notwithstanding, Irish separatists had not issued
their last call for Irish independence. Indeed, rather than being the grand
finale of an overly optimistic insurgency, Easter Week 1916 was a sign of
things to come. Following the rising, those who favored an independent Irish
republic migrated to the Sinn Fein Party, as did the I.R.B., which eventually
changed its name to the Irish Republican Army (I.R.A.).16 Sinn Fein declared
itself the organization best equipped to represent Pearse’s proclaimed Irish
republic, and asserted that the I.R.A. was this republic’s only lawful security
force. The party then participated in British elections, but declared that it
would not take seats in the Westminster Parliament if elected. In the 1918
general election, largely through tactics of intimidation, Sinn Fein took 73 of
the 105 Irish seats in the House of Commons. As promised, however, it did
not send these members to Westminster. Instead, it set up an alternative
parliament, the Dáil Éireann, an institution not recognized by the British
government. From this body, Sinn Fein claimed to hold the rightful allegiance
of the Irish people.17
With such an illegal institution present in Irish society, it was only a
matter of time before a renewed insurgency would erupt. In 1919 a vicious
guerilla war did indeed begin, a conflict that lasted until 1921. A truce was
called when it became apparent to the Irish guerillas that they could not defeat
the British security forces militarily and when it became equally apparent to the
British government that rebellion within Irish society would not cease until
some measure of autonomy was granted. In December 1921, the Anglo-Irish
Treaty was signed between the warring parties. This partitioned Ireland into
two countries, the 6-county Northern Ireland, which remained part of the
United Kingdom, and the 26-county Irish Free State, which gained almost
full independence from Great Britain.18 The Irish separatists had waged a war
against the most powerful empire in the world and, to all intents and purposes,
they had won. The years 1912–1921 represented a colossal security failure for
the British government.
The question this raises, of course, is how the British Empire, with all its
political and military might, was unable to quell the insurgency in Ireland
during these years. There are two parts to the answer currently given, as his-
torians thus far have failed to view the years 1912–1921 as a single historical
period.19 First, they look at the rise of the Ulster Volunteer Force in the years
1912–1914, which they call the Ulster Crisis. Second, they look at the years
1916–1921, analyzing the Easter Rising and the Irish War of Independence,
which together they call the Irish Revolution. Works on the Ulster Crisis do
4 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

not reference the Irish Revolution, and vice versa. For those in the latter
group, the beginning of the era was 1916, not 1912.
When looking at the first of these historiographies, that concerning the
Ulster Crisis, it is important to ask two questions: what is the reason given for
the British inability to quell the Ulster Volunteer Force, and why is the Ulster
Crisis not viewed as part of the Irish Revolution? Historical studies of the
Ulster Crisis are in no short supply. The first true monograph was pub-
lished in 1967 and, still in print, its interpretation has yet to be overturned.
A.T.Q. Stewart’s The Ulster Crisis: Resistance to Home Rule, 1912–1914
provides a step-by-step account of the formation and growth of the Ulster
Volunteer Force. It concludes that had it not been for the outbreak of the
First World War, there would almost certainly have been civil war in Ireland.20
Despite the thoroughness of Stewart’s work, other historians have continued
to publish on the Ulster Crisis. Patricia Jalland has found that the militant
resistance in Ulster brought the British government to “total deadlock” several
months before the First World War began.21 Eunan O’Halpin states that the
U.V.F. was “of immense symbolic importance as the manifestation of Ulster
unionism’s resolution.”22 More recently, D. George Boyce and Alan O’Day
have edited a volume devoted to the unionist defense of the Irish tie with
Great Britain, reaching a general conclusion that Ulster had become its own
nation by 1914, in character if not in name.23
Yet in all these works, an important question remains unanswered. What
was the response of the British government to this paramilitary threat? The
literature thus far suggests by omission that there was very little reaction.
Stewart makes no mention whatsoever of any policing or other governmental
response to the U.V.F.24 Likewise, Patrick Buckland in his seminal work on
Ulster unionism says little of a possible reaction to the Ulster militants.25
Eunan O’Halpin perhaps best sums up the view of most historians. He
writes: “A major problem facing [Augustine] Birrell [the Chief Secretary of
Ireland] in dealing with Ulster was one of information. He simply was not in
a position to give his cabinet colleagues an authoritative estimate of the inten-
tions or the capabilities of the Ulster unionists, because the police were
unable to brief him.”26 Birrell could not be expected to quell the militancy in
Ulster, O’Halpin argues, because he was receiving no intelligence from the
security forces. He had no idea of the extent of the threat. The consensus of
historians who look at the Ulster Crisis, then, is that it occurred due to
negligence on the part of British intelligence. As Turning Points of the Irish
Revolution shows, however, this view is quite false. Furthermore, whilst histo-
rians of the Ulster Crisis tend to ignore its effect on later events in Ireland,
and historians of the Irish Revolution choose not to examine the Ulster
 Introduction ● 5

Crisis, this book demonstrates that the Ulster Crisis was in fact central to the
development of that later violence.
Within the historiography of the Irish Revolution, there are, broadly
speaking, three schools of thought as to why the British failed to contain the
insurgency. These I shall call the colony-to-nation school, the repressive-
reaction school, and the inert-military school.27 The colony-to-nation school
holds that the British were defeated in Ireland because of the inevitability of
a successful Irish nationalist struggle, an effort that had been intensifying for
the previous two centuries. For those in this school, Irish nationalist history
(and there is no other kind) follows a natural progression from the failed
1798 revolution of Wolfe Tone and his United Irishmen,28 through the
Young Irelanders’ insurrection of 184829 and the 1867 rebellion of the I.R.B.,
to the eventual Easter Rising of 1916. Victory came to the Irish separatists in
1921 because revolutionary fervor had reached its pitch and the Irish people
were ready for independence.
This school is largely the preserve of the popular historians (so-called).
George Dangerfield offers the most accurate representation of its interpretation.
In his work, The Damnable Question, he writes, “The Easter Rising of April
1916 rose up from the troubled depths of Irish history; it was even to some
extent a product of the earthy spells of Irish mythology: it was also a bitter, exact
and decisive gloss upon the long unhappy annals of Anglo-Irish relations.”30
Throughout Dangerfield’s work, Irish history rushes inevitably towards an
almost metaphysical state of perfect freedom and independence. The failure
in 1921 to achieve a faultless united Irish republic, completely autonomous
from Great Britain, is seen not as a compromise with reality, but as a disruption
of providence.
Dangerfield himself, of course, would object to this characterization of
inevitability, as is only proper and right for an historian to do. Indeed,
Dangerfield even states (correctly) that the term “inevitability” has “no place” in
history.31 Yet his subsequent words betray him, as he suggests that the Easter
Rising, although preventable, “had to happen.”32 Finally, he asserts, “the
tragedy of the Irish Revolution which the Rising set in motion is that it was not
allowed to complete itself.”33 The united Irish republic that should have been
the perfect culmination of the Irish freedom struggle was never reached, and
thus Irish history has been left unfulfilled. Despite this imperfection, however,
the British security failure in Ireland in the years 1916–1921 was a direct cause
of the seemingly inexorable march of the Irish nation towards independence.34
There is, indeed, some justification for the colony-to-nation school’s
interpretation. Underlying its thesis is the supposition that Ireland was a
colony of England rather than its equal, and therefore could not reach its full
6 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

potential until independence had been achieved. The first part of this argument,
at least, holds water. Although the 1801 Act of Union had constitutionally joined
Great Britain and Ireland together into a single state, there is much evidence
to suggest that in reality Ireland was not as fully integrated into the United
Kingdom as were England, Scotland, and Wales. It was, in fact, in a position
more analogous to Britain’s colonies than to its constituent nations. A number
of key distinctions were made between Ireland and the British mainland.
Of prime importance was the difference in governmental administration.
In Ireland, a Governor General was appointed to act as the king- or queen-in-
person. This role had largely become ceremonial by 1912, but its significance
should be seen not in its relative political power, but in what it represented.
The Governor General, more commonly referred to as the Lord Lieutenant
or Viceroy, was used to symbolize the omnipresence of monarchy throughout
the British Empire.35 He was always a peer, and often one of some standing.
In Ireland, of the 34 Lord Lieutenants appointed between 1801 and 1921,
10 had been former cabinet members, one had previously been Viceroy of
India, and another had commanded the British Army in France.36 Ostensibly,
as constitutional head of the Irish government, the Lord Lieutenant held
wide authority, including full responsibility for the peace and security of the
kingdom and the prerogative of mercy usually reserved for the sovereign. In
reality, however, it was his political officer, the Chief Secretary, who held the
reigns of power. The Lord Lieutenant’s position was reserved as an embodi-
ment of the dignity of the state, and, as such, he was in theory and practice
positioned above partisan politics.37
Most colonies of any import had an equivalent of the Lord Lieutenant.
England, Scotland, and Wales did not, however. This was because, constitu-
tionally, the king or queen was ever-present within these countries, even when
not physically so, since London, as the capital city of Great Britain, functioned
as the seat of power. Under law, therefore, no one but the reigning sovereign
could claim to be the king- or queen-in-person when in Great Britain without
committing treason against the true monarch. Following the 1801 Act of
Union, however, it was no longer Great Britain alone that provided the sover-
eign with his or her seat of power, but the newly created United Kingdom, of
which Ireland was a part. Therefore, constitutionally, the king or queen should
have been ever-present throughout the British Isles. Yet in Ireland, a Lord
Lieutenant was appointed, indicating that the king or queen was somehow less
present there than on the mainland. It seems, therefore, that Ireland held a
lesser position within the union than that of England, Scotland, and Wales.
Ireland also received a Chief Secretary, who was the government’s main
representative in Ireland, often a member of the British cabinet. He was
responsible for the civil administration of Ireland.38 The Chief Secretary was
 Introduction ● 7

in charge of the Irish civil service, which consisted of 29 separate departments

dealing with all aspects of Irish life from revenue collection to agriculture. He
also held direct control over the two Irish police forces, the prisons, and the
judicial system.39 The Chief Secretary was, therefore, essentially a provincial
or colonial prime minister. He reported directly to the British Prime Minister
and the Chancellor of the Exchequer rather than the British cabinet at large.
By comparison, Scotland had a Secretary of State, but this minister held only
an advisory position within the general cabinet; he did not have the sweeping
powers of the Irish Chief Secretary.
The Chief Secretary was supported by an under secretary, who was
responsible for the implementation of policy devised by the Chief Secretary.
Whilst the former was usually based in London, the latter was continuously
resident in Dublin, heading up the headquarters of Irish governmental
administration at Dublin Castle. It was the Chief Secretary who laid out the
blueprint for Irish government, but the under secretary who turned that blue-
print into a tangible structure. In this sense, the under secretary truly ran the
Irish government.40 The under secretaries in the Scottish Office, in contrast,
were usually responsible for only a very select piece of Scottish legislation,
always under the supervision of their Secretary of State.
Not only did Ireland have a separate administrative structure from the rest
of the United Kingdom, it also had different methods of state service, the most
important of which was in policing. In England, Scotland, and Wales, the
police service was under the sole control of local government, divided into
county forces that were each responsible only to their county administration.41
There was no national police force, and the Parliament at Westminster had
no say in local policing matters.42 In contrast, Ireland was policed by a
national force, the Royal Irish Constabulary (R.I.C.), and a smaller city force,
the Dublin Metropolitan Police (D.M.P.), both of which reported directly to
the Chief Secretary’s office, not to local government.
The D.M.P. operated much like London’s Metropolitan Police. It was an
unarmed force, whose officers had all risen through the ranks, starting in
every case as a constable. Its members wore a blue civilian-style uniform
and patrolled on foot.43 The R.I.C., in contrast, had been established as a
paramilitary force, its members wearing green, military-style uniforms and
carrying rifles.44 Unlike the British police forces, officers in the R.I.C. were
commissioned directly rather than rising through the ranks. This had the
result of creating a hierarchical force led by the Protestant gentry but
manned by the Catholic lower classes.45 Although the primary mission of
the R.I.C. was to maintain law and order, it was also given the lead role in
suppressing subversion and political crime. As such, it was closely tied to
the Chief Secretary’s office and the mainland British establishment.46 It is
8 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

perhaps unnecessary to state that such a force did not exist elsewhere in the
United Kingdom.
There is, therefore, some legitimacy in the colony-to-nation school’s
assertion that Ireland was something other than equal to England, Scotland,
and Wales. Ireland was both inside and outside the union, an integral part of
the United Kingdom yet a colony of that same kingdom, a constitutional
enigma that was neither British nor foreign; and where colonial institutions
are placed over a subject people, there will always be the potential for dis-
quiet, if not outright insurrection. The progression of Irish nationalism from
the United Irishmen, to the Young Irelanders, to the I.R.B., and finally to
independence does seem to carry with it a certain sense of inevitability. Yet there
is nevertheless something unsettling for the historian about such seemingly
unalterable progress.
The repressive-reaction school holds a more constricted view, choosing to
focus primarily on the years 1916–1921. For those in this school, the British
were ultimately unsuccessful in Ireland because they lost the battle for hearts
and minds. This happened in the immediate aftermath of the Easter Rising,
when the British security forces acted with undue force towards the rebels,
turning them into popular heroes and swaying public opinion away from the
British government and onto those who had revolted. This school is largely
comprised of historians who study the events surrounding the 1916 Easter
Rising. Sean Farrell Moran perhaps best sums up this interpretation, arguing,
“While many of the public were angry at the rebels initially, the British
execution of most of the leaders of the Rising galvanized public sympathy
behind the rebels, making them into martyrs for Ireland and thereby legiti-
mating the physical-force cause.”47 Hints of this interpretation can be found
in each of the other schools of thought, lending it a certain weight of
consensus. To take a familiar example, George Dangerfield, standard bearer
of the colony-to-nation school, writes that although the rising was initially
greeted with an “unwelcome notoriety,” following courts-martial, executions,
and “rumors of worse things to follow,” public opinion swiftly turned and
“the spirit of Dublin and the country at large underwent a profound and, as
it turned out, a lasting change.”48 The rising, or more specifically the British
response to it, became the catalyst for the violence that was to follow. Thus
the primary reason for the eventual British security failure can be traced to
British repressive reaction.49
Although initially appealing, this interpretation ultimately fails to provide
a complete appraisal of the events that led to the British demise in Ireland.
Indeed, on further examination more questions are raised than answered.
How, for example, is the earlier emergence of the Ulster Volunteer Force to
be accounted for, a paramilitary army that spurred the initial organization of
 Introduction ● 9

the Irish Volunteers out of which the rising was born? If anything, it was
inaction, not overreaction, that allowed the U.V.F. to form and grow. What
sense, also, can be made of the continued service of Irishmen in the British
Army to the end of the First World War, two years after the rising? If public
opinion was so galvanized in 1916 that British failure in Ireland became a
foregone conclusion, why did Irishmen continue to fight and die in droves
for the same empire that they were supposedly rebelling against? Finally, if the
rising and the subsequent British repression were the primary impetus for the
later violence, why was there a period of almost three years between the end
of the rising and the beginning of the guerrilla war? These are questions that
the repressive-reaction school alone cannot answer. Although the British reac-
tion to the rising undoubtedly played a part in the loss of British power, it is
neither the beginning nor the end.
The inert-military school argues that the British suffered defeat in Ireland
because they were unable to adapt their traditional order of battle to the new
reality of a guerilla war. They had been schooled in the tactics of mass engage-
ment and trench warfare, where the individual initiative of men and officers
counted for very little. They were untrained, therefore, for the hit-and-run
tactics of the Irish Republican Army. This school looks past the rising to
the guerrilla war itself. It is best represented by Charles Townshend.
Throughout his works, but most specifically in The British Campaign in
Ireland, 1919–1921, Townshend argues that the British security forces were,
quite simply, ill prepared to meet the new threat in Ireland. He writes: “The
Republican guerrilla campaign proved too determined, too resilient, and too
resourceful to be put down by the military force which was employed against
it.”50 This military force was composed of two elements, the R.I.C. and the
British Army. The former was untrained in military coercion and therefore
proved no match for the newly formed and highly motivated I.R.A. The latter
produced “only a very slow response to the challenge of guerilla warfare,”
delaying the implementation of martial law until November 1920, and even
then imposing it on just a quarter of the country.51 The inert-military school
asserts that the British failed in Ireland because they were not ready for the
guerilla campaign when it began.52
This is, perhaps, the most satisfactory of the three interpretations, yet still
there are inconsistencies. It is true that the British were ill prepared for a
guerilla war in 1919, but were they not equally ill prepared for a world war
in 1914—or in 1939, for that matter? Had the British armed forces of 1982
any more experience in establishing a beachhead, which proved so effective
during the Falklands War? Were the British any more schooled in the tactics
of counterinsurgency when the recent conflict in Northern Ireland began, a
clash that has successfully been brought to a close? To say that the British were
10 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

unprepared at the beginning of the conflict seems, when placed against other
military endeavors, nothing out of the ordinary. Such inexperience cannot in
and of itself account for the failure that occurred, however. Furthermore,
such an interpretation takes into account only the guerilla war of 1919–1921.
It pays little attention to the Easter Rising, or to the Ulster Crisis before it.
Each of these three interpretations, of course, contains an element of truth.
The colony-to-nation historians are correct to point out that each Irish insur-
rection built on the foundations laid by the previous one, and that Ireland was
steadily gaining more and more autonomy. Likewise, the repressive-reaction
historians are accurate when they claim that excessive British subjugation
following the 1916 Easter Rising turned the tide of public opinion away from
the government and towards the rebels. Finally, just as the inert-military
historians argue, the British security forces were ill prepared to fight a guerilla
war after four long years in the trenches of France. Yet each of these arguments
taken alone is not enough to provide a comprehensive account of the security
failure that began in 1912 and lasted until 1921. Furthermore, even if these
three interpretations were merged—they are not mutually exclusive—there is
still something missing from the picture. That something is intelligence. In
none of these interpretations is the question of what the British did or did not
know about the insurgents considered. Intelligence is simply not a variable.
Turning Points of the Irish Revolution makes a fresh examination of the
British security failure in Ireland, looking for the first time at the Ulster Crisis
and the Irish Revolution as a single historical phenomenon. It does not
subscribe to any one of the interpretations outlined above. Indeed, it seeks to
overturn the consensus surrounding the Ulster Crisis. It argues that there
were three stages to this nine-year security failure, and in each stage the
collection, dissemination, and use of intelligence by the British government
contributed to that failure. The nature of intelligence in each of these stages
varied greatly, however, providing for the historian three very different
examples of British governance in Ireland. By conducting a close analysis of
each of these stages, this book is able to evaluate not only the critical role that
intelligence played in the British security failure, but also highlights the three
crucial turning points of the Irish Revolution.
The first stage, the period of overt militancy (1912–1914), saw the rise of
two opposing paramilitary armies, the Protestant Ulster Volunteer Force and
the Catholic Irish Volunteers. Throughout this period, the British security
forces collected precise and thorough intelligence, yet politicians at the highest
levels of government refused to act on this intelligence, thus allowing the
illegal armies to grow. The second stage, the period of clandestine organization
(1914–1916), saw the resurgence and growth of the Irish Republican
Brotherhood. During this stage, in contrast to the first, the British security
 Introduction ● 11

forces collected very little intelligence: their attention was focused on the war
in France rather than insurgency at home. When the I.R.B. led a rising
against the British in 1916, therefore, the government was caught largely
unaware. The third and final stage, the period of guerilla war (1916–1921),
saw the I.R.B. (now known as the Irish Republican Army) launch a successful
guerrilla war against the British forces in Ireland. Throughout this war, the
British security forces once again began to produce sound intelligence and
were able to assemble a working intelligence network. This intelligence came
too late to be of much use to the British government in combating the
insurgents, however. Each of these stages is inextricably linked. The Irish
Volunteers formed in reaction to the threat posed by the Ulster Volunteer
Force; the I.R.B. merged with the Irish Volunteers to lead the Easter Rising;
and the I.R.A. evolved from the I.R.B. to fight the British in the years
1919–1921. In each of these stages, the collection, dissemination, and use of
intelligence played a crucial role in the eventual British security failure, and
provided a key turning point in the Irish Revolution.
Before proceeding further, it is perhaps necessary to explore the nature of
intelligence in Ireland during these years, and to assess which security forces
were most active in acquiring this intelligence for the British government. As
discussed above, the constitutional nature of Ireland was somewhat of an
enigma at this time. Although in theory an integral part of the United
Kingdom, Ireland had always been a thorn in the side of England. Thus,
whilst internal security was a low priority for the police forces in England,
Scotland, and Wales, in Ireland it was placed on par with normal law and
order. The Royal Irish Constabulary, therefore, was organized not as a neigh-
borhood institution controlled by local government, as in Great Britain, but
instead as a national force detached from society and living in closed barracks,
as ready to quell a political riot as to arrest a criminal. It was this force,
the R.I.C., which took the lead in counterinsurgency and in the collection of
intelligence throughout the years 1912–1921.53 Within the R.I.C., the
Crimes Special Branch was most directly involved in the collection of intelli-
gence and combating political insurgency. The Crimes Special Branch had
been formed in 1872 and was housed at the R.I.C. headquarters in Dublin
Castle. Its role was to investigate “crimes and outrages of a political and
treasonable nature and [to be aware of ] any activity which posed a threat to
the security of the country.”54 Crimes Special Branch detectives, operating in
plain clothes, were appointed throughout Ireland, two in each rural county or
city. This number increased to twenty in Belfast following the 1886 riots, and
remained higher in Belfast than other cities until 1921.55
The Crimes Special Branch was assisted in Dublin by the detectives
division of the Dublin Metropolitan Police (G-Division). G-Division had
12 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

been formed in 1843 to investigate violent crime in Dublin, and throughout

most of its history was concerned more with normal, albeit serious, criminal
offenses than with political crime.56 Following the 1867 I.R.B. rising, however,
G-Division was ordered to take a more active role in assisting the Crimes
Special Branch in the collection of political intelligence.57 After the 1916
Easter Rising, G-Division partnered directly with the Crimes Special Branch
to combat insurgents in the capital city, an association that was maintained
until the end of the guerrilla war in 1921. It was this combination of the
Crimes Special Branch and G-Division that collected most of the intelligence
used by the British government during the Irish insurgency. This intelli-
gence was then transmitted to the Crimes Special Branch headquarters
in Dublin. The Inspector General of the R.I.C. received copies of all such
intelligence reports. When evaluating the security failure in Ireland, therefore,
it is the collection of intelligence by these two organizations that is of primary
concern.
This book is structured in three parts, each corresponding to one of the
stages outlined above. A conclusion then offers a counterfactual argument
and suggests that had the British government acted on the intelligence it
received in a prompt and determined fashion, the rise of paramilitarism in
Ireland could have been avoided and Ireland could have experienced a more
peaceful twentieth century. The main source base used in this study is the
Dublin Castle Records (Colonial Office 904), held at the National Archives
in Kew, England. These records contain over 60, 000 pages of police reports,
intelligence files, and judicial proceedings. These sources are supplemented
by the Irish Confidential Print (Colonial Office 903), the Irish Office Records
(Colonial Office 906), the War Office Records of the Army in Ireland
(War Office 35), the Cabinet Papers (Cabinet Office 37), and the Cabinet
Letters in the Royal Archives (Cabinet Office 41), also held at the National
Archives in Kew. Taken together, these sources present an unparalleled insight
into the world of intelligence in Ireland in the years 1912–1921. By viewing
this, the historian can explore not only the causes of the colossal security
failure that occurred in those years, but can gain something of far greater
import. The turning points of the Irish Revolution can be seen, and with
them, the cost of British indifference in the years 1912–1921 becomes clear.
 PART I

The Period of Overt Militancy,

1912–1914

The Death of Constitutionalism in Ulster

On August 10, 1911, the British political landscape changed forever. On
that date, the House of Lords reluctantly passed the Parliament Bill, which
suspended their constitutional veto over the House of Commons.1 Following
passage of the bill, the Lords could only reject a Commons’ bill twice. Upon
a third successful reading, it would be sent to the king for his assent, with or
without the support of the upper house. The British Prime Minister, Herbert
Asquith, had introduced the bill following the Lords’ rejection of his 1909
budget. It was, for him, the ultimate act of political vengeance against a
recalcitrant aristocracy, but he also had more pragmatic motives. He was well
aware that with the late nineteenth-century disintegration of the Whig Party,
the Liberal Unionists had been swept into the ranks of the Conservatives, not
the Liberals. This had resulted in a permanent Conservative majority in the
House of Lords, placing any Commons’ legislation proposed by the Liberals
at the mercy of these Conservative peers. Thus, for the Liberal Party to be
successful in the Commons, it first had to nullify the Lords.2
In order to push the Parliament Bill through the Commons, however,
Asquith had no choice but to rely upon the support of the Irish Nationalist
Party, which held the balance of power.3 In return for their support, he
promised that within the next parliamentary session he would introduce a
new Irish Home Rule Bill. Such a bill had been introduced twice before by
the Liberal Party, in 1886 and 1893. In the first instance, however, it had not
passed the Commons, and in the second it had reached the Lords only to
be vetoed.4 Now though, with the passage of the Parliament Act, a Home
14 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

Rule bill would become law if successfully steered through the Commons
three times, regardless of the Lords’ position. This process would take two
and a half years, as a single bill could be read only once in each parliamentary
session, but with the Liberals reelected in January 1910, a new general election
was not required until January 1915. There was, therefore, plenty of time for
the Prime Minister to fulfill his promise to the Irish Nationalists. With the
new Parliament Act, there was nothing the Conservative Unionists or the
House of Lords could do to prevent it.
In February 1910, sensing the inevitability of the Parliament Act and
fearing its consequences, the Ulster Party (a subset of the larger Conservative
Unionist Party) replaced its elderly leader, Walter Long, with the younger
and more charismatic Sir Edward Carson.5 Carson, at first glance, seemed
an unlikely candidate for the position, particularly at such a crucial time in
unionist history. Only a second-generation Irishman, he had been born in
Dublin and was raised in the Church of Ireland, not the Presbyterian Church
that so dominated the more militant unionists. Whilst at Trinity College,
Dublin, he had enjoyed the recently revived Irish sport of hurling, even
gaining a mention in The Irish Sportsman for distinguished play on the field.6
As a member of the College Historical Society, he had campaigned for the
disestablishment of the Church of Ireland and had publicly denounced
Oliver Cromwell’s seventeenth-century subjugation of Ireland.7 This early
radicalism betrayed no hint of his later life as a unionist leader. Indeed, in
1877, he proudly took his place at the Irish Bar.8
Yet Carson had become a very different man in the 33 years between his call
to the Irish Bar and his election as leader of the Ulster Party. As he had watched
William Gladstone, Charles Stewart Parnell, and the newly formed Irish Home
Rule Party attempt to sever the union with Great Britain, an attachment he
held dear, Carson had become obsessed with preserving the union.9 In 1892,
he was elected to Parliament as the Unionist Member for Dublin University.
That year, he symbolically transferred from the Irish to the English Bar.10
In February 1910, with Carson now at its head, the Ulster Party began to
explore extralegal methods of thwarting Irish Home Rule, fully aware that
with the imminent passage of the Parliament Act and a continuing Liberal
majority in the Commons, all constitutional channels would soon be closed
to them. Carson was joined in this task by several prominent unionists, chief
amongst them Captain James Craig, a Belfast man born and raised. Craig had
taken a commission with the Royal Irish Rifles at the outbreak of the South
African War. Held captive by the Boers following the surrender at Lindley, he
had hidden when the other officers were placed into ox-carts for trans-
portation. He had then marched the 200 miles to the prison camp at
Noightgedacht with his men, before being repatriated and rejoining the army
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 15

at Durban.11 He returned to Ulster a hero, and in 1906 entered Parliament as

the Member for East Down.12 It was Craig who introduced Carson to the
more militant unionist politics in the north of Ireland, and Craig who
suggested that the place to begin a campaign against Irish Home Rule was the
northern province of Ulster.13
Nevertheless, Carson at first hesitated to follow Craig’s advice. He knew
that the Ulster Unionists had declared the will to fight numerous times since
the first Irish Home Rule Bill of 1886. Indeed, the renowned unionist Lord
Randolph Churchill had even declared, “Ulster will fight and Ulster will be
right.”14 As yet, however, Ulster had not fought, and Carson had no interest
in authoring what might become just another chapter of unionist talk with
no action. In July 1911, therefore, he confessed to Craig: “What I am very
anxious about is that the people over there really mean to resist. I am not for
a mere game of bluff, and unless men are prepared to make great sacrifices
which they clearly understand, the talk of resistance is of no use.”15
Craig carefully measured Carson’s concerns and determined that the best
way to alleviate them was to organize a mass display of unionist loyalty to the
cause of Ulster. On September 23, 1911, Craig gathered a crowd of 50,000
men from across the province. They met in Belfast and from the city center
marched to Craig’s estate at Craigavon, on the outskirts of the city. There, on
the lawns that gently rolled from the main house to the shores of Belfast
Lough, they demonstrated to Carson their determination to resist Home
Rule. In such a show Carson found his confidence and pledged himself to
their cause: “I know the responsibility you are putting on me today. In your
presence I cheerfully accept it, grave as it is, and I now enter into a compact
with you, and every one of you, and with the help of God you and I joined
together . . . will yet defeat the most nefarious conspiracy that has ever been
hatched against a free people.” He then articulated what would become
Ulster unionist policy for the next three years: “We must be prepared . . .
the morning Home Rule passes, ourselves to become responsible for the
government of the Protestant Province of Ulster.”16
Of course, Carson’s notion of the Ulster people existing alone, apart from
the rest of Ireland, was not new. It formed the very basis of the political
philosophy known as Orangeism, and it had been talked of in the Orange
Halls and Lodges of the Loyal Orders for two centuries past. Indeed,
Orangeism, a combination of Protestant exceptionalism and conditional
loyalty to the British Crown, was a practice far older than the union itself. It
had its roots in the tumultuous years of the eighteenth century, and it had
been formed to commemorate the Protestant victory of King William III,
Prince of Orange, over the Catholic King James II during the Glorious
Revolution of 1688. To those in Ulster, and throughout the British Isles, this
16 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

revolution was believed to be more religious than political, in large part due
to the centrality of Protestantism to the emerging British national identity.17
There was one nation within the British Isles that did not share this
Protestantism, however. That nation was Ireland. Before the sixteenth century,
of course, there was no such thing as a Protestant Church and a Catholic
Church. There was simply the Church, and all members of the Church swore
allegiance to the Pope in Rome. Christians in England, Scotland, and Wales
were, therefore, part of the same Church as Christians in Ireland. In 1536,
however, King Henry VIII of England ushered in the English Protestant
Reformation. It was as much political as religious, based on Henry’s desire
to annul his marriage, but a new Church of England was nevertheless
established.18 Initially, the Church of England showed few differences from
the Catholic Church that preceded it. In Ireland, where Henry VIII had also
established a Protestant Church of Ireland, the religious rituals and practices
of the people remained largely unchanged.19
Edward VI succeeded Henry VIII in 1547 and attempted to consolidate
many of the reforms that were introduced by the latter.20 In 1553, however,
Edward VI was succeeded by Mary I, who had remained Catholic. Upon
ascension, in what has become known as the English Counter-Reformation,
she attempted to restore ties with Rome and revive the Catholic Church in
Great Britain. This she did through ruthless purges of the Protestant clergy,
so much so that she received the appellation “Bloody Mary” from those
under her rule.21 Her reign created within the English people a loyalty to
Protestantism that they previously did not have, together with a deep resent-
ment of Catholicism. The schism between Rome and Great Britain thus
became a division in practice, not merely in name. When Mary died in 1558,
Elizabeth I restored the Protestant faith and introduced additional reforms,
creating a distinct division between English Protestantism and Catholicism.22
The lasting legacy of Mary’s reign was that Catholicism was transformed from
an accepted irritation to the unacceptable enemy within, and all Catholics
were viewed as traitors. Catholic Ireland was seen as the greatest threat of all.23
Consequently, Elizabeth I sought to convert Ireland to Protestantism
through a series of “plantations,” which were launched in 1584. These sought
to “plant” Protestants into Ireland, where they would form model English
settlements to replace the communities of the Irish Catholic lords. In time, it
was thought, the Irish Catholics would mimic the English, and Protestantism
would spread by its own virtue. If it did not, it could be forcibly spread by the
English settlers.24 The first plantation was attempted in the province of
Munster, but failed, lasting only until the 1590s, when it was violently
expelled by the Irish populace during the Nine Years War (1594–1603).25 In
1607, however, Elizabeth’s successor, King James I, again attempted to plant
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 17

Protestants into Ireland, trying this time in the northern province of Ulster.
Here he had more success than his predecessor, using a systematic regime
of forced evictions to replace the Irish nobility with English and Scottish
settlers.26 In the face of such an onslaught, the chief Catholic earls fled to
France, never to return. They left in their place a Protestant nobility
precariously placed over a large Catholic peasantry.27
James I hoped to spread plantations from Ulster throughout Ireland, but
as he became preoccupied with domestic events in England his interest in the
scheme waned and no more plantations were introduced.28 This resulted in a
Protestant community that constituted a slight majority in the province of
Ulster, but was a small minority in the island as a whole. In 1641, in the
Ulster county of Armagh, the Catholic population rose up to overthrow these
Protestant settlers. The rising quickly spread to the other Ulster counties, and
more than 1,200 settlers were massacred. Rumors of these deaths quickly
spread to England. The exaggerated death toll reached as high as 154,000.29
In response to this rising, the English General Oliver Cromwell led an army
of 12,000 to brutally suppress the Catholic population in Ireland.30
Despite this conquest, the Protestants remained only in Ulster. There they
developed a garrison mentality, believing the Catholic population to be a
constant threat to their safety and a challenge to their place at the upper strata
of society. This fear seemed to be justified when, in 1689, the exiled King
James II invaded Ireland from Catholic France. A year earlier, in 1688, James II
had been forced to abdicate the English throne because of his Catholic
faith, and the English Parliament had invited the Dutch Prince William of
Orange to become King William III.31 James II now returned to Ireland,
hoping to gather support amongst Catholics there for a renewed assault on
England. The newly crowned William crossed the narrow channel and
defeated James II at the Battle of the Boyne, July 12, 1690. In defending his
actions to the Bishop of Meath, he characterized his victory as a religious
triumph, proclaiming, “I am come hither to deliver you from the tyranny of
popery and slavery, to protect the Protestant religion, and restore you in your
liberties and properties; and you may depend upon it.”32 With such words,
William acquired an exalted status amongst the Protestants in Ulster.
In retribution for Catholic support for James II, the English Parliament
passed a series of draconian laws that collectively have become known as the
penal acts. These forbade Catholics from owning a weapon (a right of all
citizens at the time), from gaining any education other than in Protestant
schools, from inheriting or purchasing any property, and from leasing land
for more than 31 years. They also banished all Catholic bishops, monks,
nuns, and friars, and closed all Catholic churches. Finally, all Catholics were
prohibited from entering the professions, taking an apprenticeship, voting, or
18 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

gaining election to Parliament.33 In England, the effect of these acts was

negligible, as the Catholic population was small. In Ireland, however, it placed
the majority in a constitutionally subservient position to the minority. Thus,
the Protestants in Ulster, although constituting just one-eighth of the total
population of Ireland, held complete power over the remaining seven-eighths.
The consequences of these acts were quickly felt. In 1641 Catholics owned
60 percent of Irish land; by 1715 their ownership declined to just 5 percent.34
In 1714, in the aftermath of King William’s victory, the first of the loyal
orders was formed. That year, Colonel John Mitchelburne established the
Apprentice Boys of Derry to honor the apprentice boys who had closed the
gates on the besieging James II at the City of Derry. In so doing, these boys
had demonstrated their loyalty to Protestant Britain over their Catholic
neighbors. Each year, on the anniversary of the siege’s end, the Apprentice
Boys of Derry marched around the city walls, symbolically defeating the
Catholics time and time again.35
The second and more significant of the loyal orders, the Orange Order,
was established some years later, in the aftermath of a skirmish at the small
hamlet of Diamond in 1795. In the years leading up to this scuffle, two secret
societies had formed in Ulster, the Catholic Defenders and the Protestant
Peep O’Day Boys.36 In September 1795, a large contingent of the Defenders
gathered at the crossroads in Diamond, where they marched through the village
in a military formation. They were quickly set upon by the Peep O’Day Boys,
together with other Protestant vigilante groups such as the Orange Boys and
the Bleary Boys, who saw these Catholics as trespassing on Protestant land.
Diamond was burned to the ground, and men on each side lost their lives,
but the final victory was decisive in favor of the Protestants.37 In the immediate
aftermath of this victory, the Orange Order formed to consolidate the
various Protestant groups who had fought. It was initially a vigilante para-
military force, dedicated to further expelling Catholics from land in Ulster,
but this aggressive organization gave way in 1798 to a reformed Orange
Order, led by the Protestant gentry.38
This new Orange Order was a neo-Masonic institution devoted to
remembering the victories of King William of Orange. With the 1801 Act of
Union, the Orange Order expanded its mission to include protecting the
union and ensuring its continuation. The Orange Order continued to grow
throughout the nineteenth century, with the numerous Presbyterians joining
its traditional Church of Ireland base.39 In 1885, when British Prime
Minister William Gladstone publicly declared his commitment to Irish
Home Rule, prominent members of the Orange Order led the opposition.40
Following the second Home Rule Bill of 1893, the Orange Order created a
network throughout the province of Unionist Clubs, whose purpose was to
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 19

systematize the opposition to Home Rule.41 Two years later, in 1895, the
Conservatives defeated the Liberals, thus ending the threat of Home Rule.
Unionist action became dormant. With the Liberal victory ten years later,
however, anti-Home Rule movements emerged once again. In 1905, the
Ulster Unionist Council was established to unite all other unionist associations
and to formulate a cohesive unionist policy against Home Rule. It quickly
became the official voice of Ulster unionism.42
Thus, in September 1911, when Sir Edward Carson accepted leadership
over the anti-Home Rule movement, there were already several prominent
associations in Ulster, all committed to preserving the union with Great
Britain and defeating Irish Home Rule. The primary method these organi-
zations used was the circulation of propaganda to put pressure on the
Parliament at Westminster, particularly the House of Lords, to vote against
any Irish Home Rule Bill. With the passage of the Parliament Act, however,
the Lords could no longer defend the interests of the Ulster Protestants with
a veto. Carson, realizing that constitutional means were now useless, began to
formulate a more aggressive unionist approach.
On September 25, the Monday after Carson’s speech to the crowds at
Craigavon, delegates from the various unionist associations met and formed
the Commission of Five, whose purpose was to draft a constitution for the
provisional government that Carson had called for. Chaired by Captain
Craig, the commission soon found itself in verbal combat with an unlikely
opponent.43 Their adversary, Winston Churchill, had been born in 1874 into
a staunchly Conservative and unionist family, son of Lord Randolph
Churchill, the Member of Parliament best remembered for his infamous
phrase, “Ulster will fight and Ulster will be right.” Winston had initially
followed in his father’s footsteps, entering the Commons as a Conservative
Member in 1900. Four years later, however, he crossed the floor to the Liberal
Party on the issue of free trade and was brought into the cabinet by Asquith in
1908 as President of the Board of Trade. In 1910, he was moved to the Home
Office and promoted to Home Secretary, a position he held for only a year
before becoming First Lord of the Admiralty. It was in this position, as civilian
head of the royal fleet, that he first drew swords against the Ulster Unionists.44
On Tuesday, September 26, 1911, Carson told a crowd at Portrush that
unless they were in a position to take over all elements of the government in
Ulster at the advent of Home Rule, they might be forced to take up arms
against the army and navy. At this, a member of the audience shouted, “They
are on our side,” a charge that Carson did not correct.45 Churchill, as First
Lord of the Admiralty, was answerable for the idea that the navy was “on the
side” of the unionists, and he responded to Carson’s remarks during a
constituency meeting at Dundee on October 3. He spent most of his speech
20 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

discussing the ongoing labor struggles in Britain, recent price increases, and
European unease about Germany. At one point he digressed, however, saying
to the crowd, “I have spoken to you about the stormy outlook abroad and at
home, but what of the squall which Sir Edward Carson is trying to raise
in Ulster—or rather in that half of Ulster of which he has been elected
commander-in-chief?”46 Then, the first government minister to do so, he
confirmed that the government would introduce a Home Rule bill in the next
parliamentary session. Carson, he declared, was attempting to set up a “rebel
government,” but he assured his listeners that the cabinet would “not attach
too much importance to these frothings of Sir Edward Carson.”47
Churchill’s words created an immediate uproar in Protestant Ulster. When
he traveled to Belfast to address the Ulster Liberal Association on February 8,
1912, he was forced to move with a contingent of soldiers to protect him
from unionist demonstrators.48 Nevertheless, he boldly reiterated his claims,
and then to the chagrin of unionists reused the famous words of his father in
a very different context:

Let Ulster fight for the dignity and honor of Ireland. Let her fight for the
reconciliation of races and for the forgiveness of ancient wrongs. Let her
fight for the unity and consolidation of the British Empire. Let her fight
for the spread of charity, tolerance, and enlightenment among men. Then,
indeed, “Ulster will fight and Ulster will be right.”49

Into this charged climate, the parliamentary session opened on February 14,
1912. It did so in a state of bitterness between Conservatives, particularly
those from Ulster, and Liberals. The Prime Minister had hoped to present
his Home Rule Bill immediately, but was delayed from doing so until
April due to labor trouble in England. This allowed the Ulster Unionists
time for a planned response to Churchill’s statement, a response they held
on April 9 at the Agricultural Show Grounds in the Belfast suburb of
Balmoral, just two days before Asquith was due to introduce his bill.
Carson invited Andrew Bonar Law, leader of the Conservative and Unionist
Party, to speak. When Bonar Law addressed the gathered crowd of
80,000, standing on a platform beside 70 British Conservative Members of
Parliament, he officially committed his party to support the Ulster Unionists
in whatever action they deemed necessary to resist Home Rule, and declared
the following:

Once again you hold the pass, the pass for the Empire. You are a
besieged city. . . . The Government have erected by their Parliament Act
a boom against you to shut you off from the help of the British people.
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 21

You will burst that boom. That help will come, and when the crisis is
over men will say to you in words not unlike those used by Pitt—you
have saved yourselves by your exertions, and you will save the Empire by
your example.50

Despite this commitment, the Conservatives did not have the unionist
strength in Parliament to oppose the government’s agenda. On April 11,
Asquith introduced his Home Rule bill at Westminster as planned. Officially
called the Government of Ireland Bill, as the bills in 1886 and 1893 had
been, its passage seemed all but certain. Under the provisions of the 1911
Parliament Act, it was on track to be signed into law in August 1914.51 Thus,
Carson had just two and a half years to organize an Ulster resistance, one he
hoped would be strong enough to coerce the government into abandoning
the bill.
He was given additional support for this task from Bonar Law on July 27.
In a blunt speech delivered at Blenheim Palace, the Conservative leader
declared, “[I]f the attempt be made under present conditions [to pass a Home
Rule Bill] I can imagine no length of resistance to which Ulster will go in
which I shall not be ready to support them and in which they will not be
supported by the overwhelming majority of the British people.”52 As far as
the Conservative Unionists were concerned, it was vital that Ulster remain
British at all costs; constitutionalism be damned.53
Nevertheless, Carson was still concerned about the commitment of the
Ulster people as a whole to such a resistance. Therefore, he discussed with
Craig the possibility of drawing up a contract or oath pledging those who
signed to give loyalty to Protestantism and the union, and promising to resist
Home Rule by any means necessary. Craig consulted with the secretary of the
Ulster Club in Belfast, B.W.D. Montgomery, who suggested that they model
it on the old sixteenth-century Scottish covenant, which he said was “a fine
old document, full of grand phrases, and thoroughly characteristic of the
Ulster tone of mind at this day.”54 The men commissioned a special board to
look at the ancient document and to alter its wording, making it more
appropriate to the present situation. The commission determined, however,
that the entire document was too archaic. One of the commission members,
Thomas Sinclair, therefore drew up an entirely new document, which he
titled Ulster’s Solemn League and Covenant. Revised by Alexander
McDowell, a delegate of the Presbyterian Church, the final document was
ready by the end of the summer.55 On August 17, the commission notified
the Irish press that Saturday, September 28, 1912, would be “Ulster Day,”
when a campaign would begin throughout the province to get loyalists to
sign the Covenant.56
22 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

When Ulster Day finally dawned, it brought with it a sense of great

excitement. At a rally held in Belfast the night before, Colonel R.H. Wallace,
the secretary of the Grand Orange Lodge of Ulster, had presented Carson
with a yellow silk banner that he claimed had been carried before King
William III at the Battle of the Boyne. Carson had unfurled the flag with
great vigor, proclaiming, “May this flag ever float over a people that can boast
of civil and religious liberty.”57 The following day, 218, 206 men signed the
Covenant, together with 228, 991 women, who signed a declaration similar
to the Covenant.58 Carson declared that these signatures had “made a
profound impression throughout the U.K.,” and Bonar Law commented that
the Covenant had “killed Home Rule, as I always felt sure it would.”59
Bonar Law’s contention did indeed seem to be the case. On November 11,
1912, the government held a snap division in the Commons to authorize
payment to a future Irish Exchequer under the Home Rule Bill. When the
House divided, the government was defeated by 227 votes to 206.60 Two days
later, Asquith commented that such a hasty division “did not represent the
considered judgment of the House.” At this, Captain Craig declared,

I believe that my proper place, and the proper place of all other Ulster
members, is among their own trusty friends in the North of Ireland, for
I believe that this Government is not to be treated as a Government, but as
a caucus, led by rebels. The only way to treat it is for us to go back quietly
and assist our loyal friends there to make what preparations are necessary.

He then turned to Asquith and said, “Although you may do your worst here in
the House, thank God the North of Ireland will be more than a match for you.”61
Following this, the Conservative Sir William Bull rose from the benches to
call Asquith a “traitor,” breaking all parliamentary convention.62 When called
upon by the Speaker of the House to withdraw his insult, he refused, instead
preferring to leave the chamber.63 The opposition benches began to taunt
Asquith, chanting “resign, resign,” and “civil war, civil war.” The Speaker felt
compelled to adjourn the House, believing that “grave disorder had arisen.”64
When the Commons reassembled an hour later, the fervor had not
calmed, and the Speaker once again dissolved the House, only ten minutes
into the sitting.65 As the front bench left the chamber, the Ulster Unionist
Ronald McNeill seized a bound copy of the parliamentary orders and threw
it at Churchill, striking him on the head. Churchill had to be forcibly
restrained from retaliating, and when the chamber finally emptied, the
Commons did not meet again until the next morning.66 On that dark
November day, when civility and parliamentary propriety succumbed to
partisan passions, constitutionalism in Ulster died its long awaited death.
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 23

The Rise of Militant Unionism

On September 18, 1912, ten days before the planned Ulster Day, Sir Edward
Carson embarked on a ten-day tour of Ulster to promote the Covenant and
explain its provisions. He decided to begin this excursion in the small town
of Enniskillen, in County Fermanagh.67 When he arrived, he was met at the
train station by a squadron of mounted men carrying lances, who escorted
him through the town. Although Carson did not know it at the time, this
armed band was the beginning of a militancy that would pervade Ulster for
the next two years.
Throughout 1912, an increasing number of trained militias had formed in
Ulster. When Carson had first accepted leadership of the anti-Home Rule
movement at Craigavon in September 1911, a contingent from a County
Tyrone Orange Lodge had impressed those around them with their smart
dress and strict marching routine. Upon investigation, Colonel R.H. Wallace,
the secretary of the Grand Orange Lodge of Ulster, had discovered that for
some months past they had been drilling on their own initiative.68 Wallace
had consulted with a prominent Ulster solicitor, J.H. Campbell, as to the
legality of this. He was informed that an ancient law permitted military drill
by civilian militias in Ireland, provided that it was authorized by two justices
of the peace and was used “to make [the people] more efficient citizens for the
purpose of maintaining and protecting their rights and liberties.”69 Wallace
tested this law on January 5, 1912, before two Belfast magistrates, and found
it to be sound. With few questions asked, he was issued a license for drill, to
commence immediately at the local branch of the Orange Order.70 By the
following autumn, Orange Lodges and Unionist Clubs across Ulster had
adopted this practice and were conducting military drill, all under licenses
approved by law.
When the mounted squadron greeted Carson in Enniskillen, therefore, he
could hardly have been surprised. After all, he had been witnessing such
things for the previous nine months. The British government, however, was
not so well informed. It first became aware of the growing trouble in Ireland
only on October 14, 1912. Just after 2:00 p.m. that day, on an otherwise
quiet Monday afternoon, Robert Harcourt, the Member for Montrose
Burghs, rose from his seat in the Commons to question the Secretary of State
for War, Colonel John Seely. Harcourt asked whether or not the War
Secretary was aware of a political gathering that had occurred at the Ulster
town of Enniskillen in County Fermanagh, where the honorable member for
Dublin University, Sir Edward Carson, had been escorted by two squadrons
of mounted men, each carrying a real lance bearing the pennon of the
Inniskilling Dragoons. Was this not, Harcourt inquired, a formation usually
24 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

known as a traveling escort, which was specifically proscribed for all but the
reigning sovereign? Did “the King’s Regulations permit the use of such escort
by persons other than His Majesty within His Majesty’s Dominions; and, if
not, [would] the Regulations . . . now be altered?”71
Seely, receiving no counsel from his front bench colleagues, replied that
his attention had not been drawn to the matter, but that the dragoons
described did indeed appear to be similar to a traveling escort. As this body of
men “formed no part of the recognized forces of the Crown,” however, the
latter question of whether or not the king’s regulations would be altered was
of no relevance. There was nothing more to be said on the matter.72 Seely
was not overly concerned with the situation that Harcourt described. After
all, his cabinet colleagues, chief amongst them Winston Churchill, had
assured him time and time again that Carson was nothing more than a minor
irritant, his words mere bluff. The Secretary of State waited almost four
months, therefore, until early February 1913, before requesting from the
Irish Office any information about this mounted escort.73
This questioning of Seely in Parliament marked the first time that the
government’s intelligence about events in Ireland was publicly found wanting.
It was a fateful introduction to a topic that would occupy the government
for the better part of the next nine years. Despite what seemed to be clear
evidence of trouble brewing in Ireland, the government seldom made the
effort to investigate what was happening across the Irish Sea. Indeed, had
Seely taken the time to contact the Irish Office earlier than February, he
would have been told that the Royal Irish Constabulary (R.I.C.) was already
keeping a close eye on such drilling, and had been doing so for several months.
When Harcourt raised his question, the Inspector General of the R.I.C.,
Colonel Neville Chamberlain, had already read all about this squadron, known
locally as the Enniskillen Horse. He was also well aware that a man named
W. Copeland Trimble, the editor and owner of an Enniskillen newspaper,
The Impartial Reporter, had distributed printed circulars throughout the county
of Fermanagh claiming to be the commander of this force.74 Yet Seely chose not
to pursue Harcourt’s inquiry. As a result, the War Office, and in turn the Prime
Minister, were not informed of these events for some time to come.
The first hint that the R.I.C. received of such a force was from Sergeant
Patrick Hughes, who submitted a report to his district inspector, J.W. Mahon,
on September 4, 1912. The sergeant informed his superior that Trimble
was attempting to get together a mounted escort for Carson’s visit and was
expected to raise over 150 men. He noted that several of the men being
mobilized in his subdistrict already belonged to the armed forces. Two were
sergeants in the Imperial Yeomanry, two others yeomen.75 Mahon immedi-
ately forwarded this report to the Crimes Special Branch. Following requests
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 25

for further information, Sergeant Henry Conway obtained copies of two

circulars published by Trimble, dated August 30 and September 3 respectively,
which urged men to join the Enniskillen Horse. These were also submitted to
the Crimes Special Branch.76
In these publications, Trimble presented his reasons for forming the
Enniskillen Horse. He said he wanted a “fine turn out” of “smart soldierly-
looking men” and “well-groomed horses” to welcome Carson and to escort
him whilst he was in Enniskillen. To assist in the training of this force,
Trimble named seven volunteers, whom he called sergeants.77 Conway reported
that these drill sergeants were all, or had been at one time, professionally paid
sergeants in the Imperial Yeomanry.78 In his second circular, Trimble promised
potential volunteers that they would be “proud in years to come to look back
on the thought that [they] took part in this display of the young manhood
of Fermanagh.” He ended his pamphlet with a phrase that was common
currency in Ulster: “God Save the King.”79
Sergeant Joseph Ruddock also responded to the Crimes Special Branch’s
request for information about the Enniskillen Horse. On September 7, he
submitted a report to his district inspector, C.E. Armstrong, explaining that a
mounted drill had taken place on the public road at Croaghrim. Twenty-three
men were involved, and Trimble was present.80 Due to the loophole in the
law that allowed two justices of the peace to permit drill, however, there was
nothing Ruddock could do to break up the assembly. Trimble was a justice
of the peace, as were other prominent members of the Enniskillen Horse.
Unless the Royal Irish Constabulary could prove that Trimble’s intentions
were other than protecting the rights and liberties of his fellow Irishmen, the
Enniskillen Horse could not be stopped.
Sergeant Hughes submitted a second report on September 8. He noted
that drill had again taken place, this time with 37 mounted men in the village
of Carrowkeel. Two serving sergeants of the Imperial Yeomanry had been in
charge. Colonel Doran Brookeboro, whom Hughes did not identify further,
was in overall command, and Trimble was again present.81 Another sergeant
of the R.I.C., William Agnew, also witnessed the Carrowkeel drill and
submitted a list of the names and addresses of those involved from his subdis-
trict, Lisbellow. Of the seven names given, five were serving in the Imperial
Yeomanry, and the remaining two had served earlier.82
On September 17, the Fermanagh county inspector submitted a report to
Inspector General Neville Chamberlain. He described the drilling that had
taken place but indicated that Trimble’s men more than likely would be used
only to provide a onetime escort for Carson’s visit. After September 18, he
suspected, the Enniskillen Horse would cease to exist. There was nothing in
the reports of Hughes, Conway, Ruddock, or Agnew to suggest otherwise.
26 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

He confidently informed Chamberlain, therefore, that Trimble’s mounted

escort was in no way a threat to the security of the state or the peace of
the county. The R.I.C. anticipated that the countryside would return to
its normally peaceful state once Carson’s visit passed. The Enniskillen
Horse would be kept under observation but otherwise left to its own
devices.83
As the constabulary expected, September 18 came and went with no great
surprises. Carson spoke to a crowd of 40,000 people. Amongst other things,
he told them that “if this unprovoked and wicked attack [on the union] is
allowed to go on and this Bill [the Home Rule Bill] to become law . . . it is not
only a right but a duty to prepare to resist it.”84 He was then escorted by the
Enniskillen Horse back to the railway station, where he boarded a train bound
for Belfast. For Carson, it was merely the first of a circuit of nightly meetings,
culminating on September 28 with his signing of the Solemn League and
Covenant.85 For Trimble, however, September 18 was a day second to none in
his life. It was on that date that Sir Edward Carson, albeit in an indirect way,
gave him his orders to establish the Enniskillen Horse on a more permanent
basis. Carson had preached that it was every Ulsterman’s duty to prepare to
resist Home Rule. Trimble intended to answer that summons.
Expecting a return to normal following Carson’s visit, J. Cahill, the district
inspector for Kesh, was somewhat surprised on October 27 to receive a note
from Sergeant William McDowell regarding a mounted drill. The sergeant
reported that a unionist troop was being formed at Ballinamallard, and
that a “number of men on horseback” were planning to assemble there on
October 31 to “ride through the town to practice some cavalry movements.”86
This concerned Cahill and he immediately asked if this troop was part of the
supposedly defunct Enniskillen Horse.87
McDowell reported back on November 1, explaining that this squadron
was indeed part of the Enniskillen Horse, with some new recruits added. The
force was being drilled in preparation for a “general review of some kind
which is to take place at Enniskillen on 26th December next,” with Trimble
still “at the head of the whole matter.” According to McDowell, the Enniskillen
Horse was growing quickly, spreading beyond the district lines of Enniskillen
and Linaskea into Kesh. It was also clearly outlasting its stated purpose of a
onetime escort to Carson.88 In light of this new information, the Fermanagh
county inspector wrote the next day to Chamberlain, providing the Inspector
General with a fresh summary.89
Chamberlain took note of the information but decided to wait before
taking further action. By now, Seely had given his reply in the House of
Commons to Harcourt, confirming that this mounted guard was in no way
part of the Crown forces. Nevertheless, Chamberlain was still uncertain
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 27

which of the actions taken by the Enniskillen Horse could be considered illegal.
As yet, the movement drilled without weapons. Furthermore, it was not in any
way disturbing the peace because it paraded in purely unionist strongholds.
Chamberlain therefore instructed the Crimes Special Branch to continue to
watch the Enniskillen Horse and to collate reports, but to delay any proactive
policing measures. Just as the policy had been prior to September 18, after this
date it was thought best to merely observe and take notes, building up a steady
intelligence dossier that could be used if ever the time came when Chamberlain
judged the Enniskillen Horse to have moved beyond the bounds of legality.
Such observation was not difficult for the constabulary. The Enniskillen
Horse paraded openly throughout County Fermanagh. On November 7,
39 turned out to drill in the town of Glassdrummond.90 Two weeks later, they
again drilled, this time with 35 men. Trimble was present and announced that
“all the horsemen would assemble at Enniskillen on Boxing Day [December
26]” for a public display, after which “they would get lunch at the Royal
Hotel.”91 On November 22, 9 men met for drill, under the command
of William Bracken of Drumhack, who was a member of the Imperial
Yeomanry.92 On November 29, these men met again, and this time their
number increased to 13.93 They drilled again on December 2.94 On
December 5, 26 men assembled and drilled at Ballyreagh.95 Thirty-three
horsemen also assembled on that date at Glassdrummond.96 The following
day, 37 men met for drill in a field at Lurganbren, on the property of Colonel
Brookeboro.97 On each of these occasions, members of the R.I.C. witnessed
the drills and submitted reports to their superiors.
The Crimes Special Branch, alarmed at these reports of an increasingly
large and disciplined force, notified the Judicial Division of the Chief
Secretary’s Office. The division reviewed the reports, and, together with the
Irish Attorney General and the Lord Chancellor, prepared a printed memo
containing much needed legal counsel for the constabulary. The Attorney
General advised that Trimble’s role as a justice of the peace should be carefully
considered when examining his conduct, for this added a semblance of
legality to the drill. Furthermore, as no arms had yet been displayed, he did
not think that action should be taken by the prosecution at this time.
Nevertheless, he suggested that observation of the Enniskillen Horse be
continued and all files relating to it be kept together for future reference.
The Lord Chancellor did not share his view, instead spurning the idea of
collating the files. He felt that without the legal means to prosecute, any
police investigation would be “futile” and would do more “to irritate and to
increase the numbers of sympathizers.” The Attorney General’s conviction
superceded the Lord Chancellor’s, however, and a compromise was reached
whereby any information that happened to be collected would be kept, but
28 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

no special effort would be made to gather such information. At this time,

they elected not to provoke the driller.98
The Boxing Day parade, like that of September 18, proceeded smoothly.
A Dublin based newspaper, The Evening Mail, reported that Trimble had
publicly chastised Robert Harcourt for calling into question the loyalty and
good nature of the Enniskillen Horse. Trimble then recited a message from
Buckingham Palace that had been sent in reply to a declaration of his loyalty.
The message read as follows: “I am commanded to assure you that His
Majesty has never had cause to doubt the loyalty and attachment to his
Throne and Person of those on behalf of whom your letter was written.”
Finally, before finishing his speech, Trimble announced that he hoped each
troop of the Enniskillen Horse would be armed and would partake in rifle
practice by the spring.99
The Enniskillen district inspector, C.E. Armstrong, received this newspaper
clipping, along with a report from the police who had been present at the
parade. Taking these two items together, he was provided with evidence that
230 men on horseback had paraded, and that Trimble was sure they would be
“responsive to [his] call whenever it may be thought right to summon [them]
again.” This body of men, clearly now a permanent formation, had been
promised arms, and Trimble had given his guarantee that there would be
“rifle practice in the months of May and June so that each man will be able to
use a rifle as well as ride a horse.”100
Armstrong forwarded these reports to the county inspector, who in turn
wrote to Chamberlain. He confirmed that the Enniskillen Horse was now
meeting regularly, and was being drilled in a professional manner by veterans
of the armed forces and police service. He did not, however, believe that any
of these drill sergeants had any active combat experience. Furthermore,
he chose to ignore Trimble’s promises to arm his men. Instead, he told
Chamberlain that he did not expect the Enniskillen Horse to “meet again this
summer” and reiterated the by-now ludicrous assertion that it had been formed
only to provide an escort for Carson. Indeed, the county inspector even claimed
that the Enniskillen Horse was now in the process of winding down.101
Trimble’s men had drilled and paraded freely for the past four months,
constantly increasing their numbers, yet the county inspector failed to see the
significance of this. The constabulary had painstakingly watched their every
move, yet the Chief Secretary’s Judicial Office had forbidden them from
taking any action to halt these displays of martial preparation. Now, Trimble
was claiming that by the summer his body of men would be transformed
from an unarmed, quasi-legal force into a fully armed, and therefore illegal,
militia. Whilst the Chief Secretary and Prime Minister slept soundly in their
beds, blissfully unaware of the developing threat in Ulster, the year 1912
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 29

ended for the Enniskillen Horse on a high note, with a toast to the sovereign,
the singing of God Save the King, and a promise of guns.
Despite the growth of the Enniskillen Horse, and the continued drilling
of the various Orange Lodges and Unionist Clubs throughout Ulster, there
was still no central organization to the anti-Home Rule movement. There
was also no coordinated plan for how to use these trained militias if and when
an Irish Home Rule parliament was formed. Carson was cognizant of this
fact, and it concerned him. He was well aware that if his followers wished to
successfully resist Home Rule and set up an effective provisional government,
they would need to do more than practice unsystematic and localized
drilling. Serious military preparation was necessary, and such preparation
could be done only by a well-trained, centrally led army.
On December 13, 1912, therefore, Carson called a special meeting of
prominent members of the Ulster Unionist Council, including Captain
James Craig and Ronald McNeill, the man who had hit Churchill with the
parliamentary orders only a month before. There they discussed the possibility
of establishing a more unified movement. Although nothing was immediately
agreed upon, that evening a smaller and more extremist congregation of the
Ulster Unionist Council met, including Colonel R.H. Wallace, the secretary
of the Grand Orange Lodge of Ulster. Behind closed doors, these men agreed
to form a centralized army to resist Home Rule. By December 23, they had
made their decision known to the remainder of the Ulster Unionist Council,
and by December 26, recruitment for the Ulster Volunteer Force (U.V.F.)
had begun.
The R.I.C. became aware of this proposed formation within days of the
council’s meeting. In a five-page report to Belfast’s detective department,
Acting Sergeant Joseph Edwards noted that a “strictly private” meeting had
been held on December 13 between prominent members of the Ulster
Unionist Council, including Sir Edward Carson and Captain James Craig,
both Members of Parliament. They had discussed a proposed deal between
the Ulster Unionists and the Westminster government over the Irish Home
Rule Bill. Two of the men, Carson and Craig, had proposed compromising,
and suggested that a Home Rule bill might be allowed to proceed if Ulster
was excluded and its people represented solely at Westminster. Their senti-
ment had been stoutly opposed by the majority present, however, and nothing
was resolved at the meeting.
That evening, however, a smaller group gathered at the home of Colonel
Wallace. In the safety of his private residence, they discussed the possibility of
procuring and using arms should the Home Rule Bill become law. Although
not all agreed to arm the general unionist population, everyone present agreed
with the necessity to resist, in some way, the government’s policy.102 Although
30 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

the R.I.C. did not know it at the time, Carson and Craig, whilst not present
at this smaller gathering, had given their blessing to its deliberations.
Edwards’ report was immediately forwarded to the Crimes Special Branch
in Dublin. William O’Connell, the R.I.C. Deputy Inspector General, browsed
its contents. Concerned by what he read, he sent Edwards’ report to James
Dougherty, the under secretary of Ireland.103 Dougherty shared the report
with the Chief Secretary, Augustine Birrell, on December 17.104 Thus within
two days of Edwards submitting his report, and four days of the conspiracy
being hatched, the highest politician in Ireland, a man who held a place in the
British cabinet, had been made aware of its existence. The Chief Secretary,
however, did little to respond to the information he received.105 Whilst
acknowledging the sound investigative work of Edwards, he asked only that
the sergeant “keep in touch with his informant and . . . report further from
time to time any matters of importance that come to his knowledge.”106
Birrell gave no order to actually question those who had been named in the
report, nor did he inform the cabinet of what was happening in Ulster.
Such a response in light of detailed intelligence seems startling. It calls into
question the character and qualifications of Augustine Birrell. Who was this
man who, as Ireland’s highest politician, a colonial prime minister of sorts,
failed to inform the British cabinet of such a crucial event occurring on his
watch? Birrell was not an Ulsterman, nor did he have any particular connection
to any other province in Ireland. Like most parliamentary Liberals, he was
“a home ruler by conviction, but was pessimistic about its chances.”107 When
appointed Chief Secretary, he admitted that he knew “little about the country
save as a tourist.”108 It was not a position he had requested—indeed, he
protested against his appointment—but once selected, “he approached his
Irish work with good humored cynicism.”109
For the first four years of his tenure, Birrell was a congenial if lackluster
Chief Secretary. From 1911 onwards, however, just as the crisis in Ulster
was beginning to brew, he came under tremendous stress as his wife was
diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. She died on March 10, 1915.110
Throughout this difficult period, Birrell “suffered intensely from the
demands of a post which forced him to spend months in Ireland, away from
his dying wife. Consequently, the Irish Secretary appeared increasingly inef-
fective and irrelevant as the [Ulster] crisis mounted from 1912 to 1914.”111
Birrell’s private secretary, Andrew Philip Magill, wrote in his memoirs that
this illness prompted a desire by Birrell to retire:

[When I was offered the private secretaryship in 1913] Mr. Birrell was
very insistent that it would only be for a few months, as he was anxious to
retire. . . . I found out very soon after my appointment that Mr. Birrell
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 31

was quite serious when he spoke of his early retirement. Mrs. Birrell was
very ill and died about a year after I joined him from some form of tumor
on the brain. I never met her, but he was very attached to her, and when
she had momentary spells of consciousness, she always asked for him and
he was very often at the Irish Office or at the House, and could not be got
at short notice. He felt this very much and had made up his mind to
retire.112

Consequently, Birrell was loath to be drawn into any long-term dealings with
Irish policy; it was his hope that he would remain Chief Secretary for only a
few months more.
Magill, as the person in closest physical proximity to Birrell, offers other
hints as to his behavior. Magill felt it “a pity” that Birrell had “abandoned
literature for politics, to which he never really gave his heart,” and often “felt
ashamed” to interrupt Birrell, immersed in a book, simply “to distract his
attention to deal with some dull problem connected with Ireland.”113 Birrell,
he thought, continued to be more interested in literature than in politics. He
also found Birrell to be idle at times and wrote,

I learnt very soon that it was hopeless to try and make Mr. Birrell do any
work when he was not in the mood. I would spend half an hour with him
in the morning and I would then see him beginning to yawn, and after
another few minutes when I had got really important things finished,
I would say that the rest of the files could wait until he had more leisure,
when he would jump to his feet, grasp his hat and say to me, “I promise
you, Magill, I’ll come in at 10.30 tomorrow morning and we’ll finish off
these files then.” Needless to say, he did no such thing.114

Such attitude to work, combined with his insistence on spending time each
day with literature and the distraction he suffered due to his wife’s illness,
characterized the latter years of Birrell’s time as Chief Secretary. When he
received the police intelligence from Edwards, therefore, he was not in
command of the situation on the ground in Ireland, and he was inclined to
postpone any decisions to a later date beyond his anticipated retirement, per-
haps hoping that the problems in Ulster would eventually dissipate without
intervention.
Dissipate they did not, however. Edwards was not the only man to report
on the proposed unionist resistance to Home Rule. R.I.C. Sergeant James
English warned on December 23 that he had received reliable information
about the formation of “an organization known as the ‘Ulster Volunteer
Movement.’ ” He explained that within this movement, 12 volunteers would
32 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

form a squad, under the command of a leader. These squads would then be
arranged by town-lands, and two or four squads would form a company. All
correspondence concerning their formation was to be done in the utmost
secrecy, and letters were to be written “in a prearranged code or cipher, and
carried by hand, as the post office would not be trusted.” The sergeant
disclosed that forms had been sent from Belfast to the various Unionist Clubs
throughout County Tyrone to be filled out by the secretary of each club and
then returned to Belfast. The purpose of these forms was to ascertain the
number of vehicles that could be used for troop transport, and the number of
“shot guns, rifles, pistols, revolvers and ammunition in the possession of each
[volunteer].”115 Another sergeant, William James Blair, reported separately on
the distribution of these forms,116 and his district inspector, S.R. Livingstone,
forwarded this report, along with a note of his own, to the Tyrone county
inspector.117
Meanwhile, Deputy Inspector General O’Connell had clipped from the
Northern Whig newspaper an article stating that during a meeting of the
Bangor Unionist Club, Colonel Sharman Crawford, a prominent member of
the Ulster Unionist Council, had asserted that the Ulster Unionists were
“preparing for the whole of Ulster a new organization which all men who had
signed the covenant would be asked to join.” This, Crawford had claimed,
was a “more forward movement than any that had taken place yet” and was
the “only chance” the Ulster Unionists had of defeating Home Rule.118
On January 3, 1913, two reports submitted to Inspector General
Chamberlain confirmed what had been reported in the newspaper. The first,
from Belfast district inspector Robert Dunlop, stated simply, “I have heard
that a movement is on foot to enroll members of a police force to be
employed by the proposed Ulster provisional government. I understand that
attestation forms are or will be provided, and it is proposed to arm this
force with rifles.”119 The second, drafted by Antrim county inspector
N.I. Marrion, included greater detail. It confirmed that the Ulster Unionist
Council had begun to establish an armed volunteer corps, and that this
organization would be “at least 2,000 strong.” Until the passing of the Home
Rule Bill, this force would “unofficially police” the unionist population.
Once the bill passed, however, it would assume sole responsibility for the
Ulster people in defiance of any established Home Rule government.120
The Inspector General immediately sent these two reports to the Chief
Secretary’s Office. Under Secretary Dougherty was neither impressed nor
concerned by their content, however. He advised Birrell that Marrion had
been “constantly alarmist on the Ulster Question,” and added, “I am not
disposed to take too seriously his latest contribution.”121 Although Dunlop
“more or less” confirmed Marrion’s report, Dougherty nevertheless remained
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 33

“skeptical about this Volunteer Corps.”122 Birrell was wary of Dougherty’s

analysis. He had been in cabinet when Churchill had described the enraged
unionist crowds that had protested against his visit to Belfast the previous
February, and he had seen the raw passion of the Ulster Unionists when
Parliament had erupted in November. He therefore wrote to Dougherty,
saying, “It does not admit of doubt that a ‘Force’ is being organized as
reported. . . . The real doubt is, What is behind it [?]—Are they playing
at Treason [?] . . . Are they ready to die [?] If so, When [?]—this year, next
year or the year after [?] It would be a mistake not to continue the closest
observations.”123 Reluctantly, Dougherty did as his superior asked and
requested that the R.I.C. continue its investigations.
Two days later, Birrell’s concerns were justified. District Inspector
Livingstone informed the Tyrone county inspector that on January 2, 50 more
men from his district had enrolled in the Ulster volunteer movement.124 The
following day, Constable Henry Fyfe of Belfast confirmed that the Ulster
Unionist Council had decided “to form a Volunteer Force for Ulster to act as
a Police Force in the event of Home Rule becoming law.”125 Birrell received
copies of both Livingstone’s and Fyfe’s reports on January 6. He could now be
in no doubt that a new force was being formed across Ulster. The only question
was how to deal with it.
Whilst Birrell and his under secretary considered their options, the
constabulary continued to collect intelligence. Antrim County Inspector
Marrion wrote again to Inspector General Chamberlain on January 8. He
confirmed that a body of men was being formed to forcibly act against any
Home Rule government, and that they would be armed with “carbines,
swords, bayonets, and some kind of truncheon.” Furthermore, he claimed,
the Ulster Unionist Council believed that many of the Protestant members of
the R.I.C. would “resign before ‘the appointed day,’ ” which would “not only
seriously reduce its numbers but [would] also render it less representative and
thereby lessen its moral authority in Ulster.” Without Protestants, it would
be extremely difficult for the R.I.C. to police the northeastern counties of
the island. Indeed, Marrion suspected that if the Protestant members of the
force truly did leave, the R.I.C. would be “practically powerless to enforce the
orders of an Irish Executive while confronted with an armed and disciplined
force. . . . [I]ts position would be hopeless unless backed up all over the
Province with an overpowering military force.”126
It was now clear to the R.I.C., and conveyed to the Chief Secretary, that if
the Home Rule Bill passed, the unionists would do all in their power to
subvert the police in their efforts to support the new Irish government. An
unauthorized army would sabotage a legitimate law, passed by a democrati-
cally elected Parliament and given the assent of the king. If the Crown forces
34 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

attempted to uphold the law, they might be resisted with force. Despite this
knowledge, however, the Ulster Volunteer Force was permitted to grow
beyond its infancy. The R.I.C. had precise intelligence showing what was
forming, where it was taking place, and who was in charge, yet Birrell chose
to ignore these threats. Without further instruction from the Chief Secretary’s
Office, all senior constabulary members could do was encourage their men to
keep their eyes and ears open to new developments. No preventative policing
could take place and the U.V.F. could not be shut down.
Such inaction characterized the government’s response to the U.V.F.
over the following ten months, from January to October 1913. The R.I.C.
continued to collect and submit increasingly detailed and compelling
evidence of the illegal nature of the force and the threat that it posed to the
state, yet Birrell, encouraged by his under secretary, Dougherty, did nothing.
Indeed, in the remaining days of January, whilst the movement was still
small in size and stature, constables and sergeants of the R.I.C. submitted no
less than 11 reports to their superiors,127 and the county inspectors and
Belfast commissioner updated the Inspector General of the R.I.C. six
times.128 Most important of these reports was the acquisition by Sergeant
William Hall of a copy of the Ulster Volunteer Force’s “Little Book” from a
“very confidential friend.” Hall made a copy of the book before returning it
and forwarded this copy to the Crimes Special Branch.129 The Little Book
contained a wealth of information, including full descriptions of the objec-
tives of the force, the duties of its volunteers, the qualifications needed to
join, and its organizational structure. It confirmed in a single document, in
words written by the leadership of the Ulster Volunteer Force, what the
R.I.C. had been gradually pulling together from fragmentary reports over
the past three weeks.
The reason that the Ulster Volunteer Force had been formed, according to
the Little Book, was to act “for [the] self preservation and mutual protection
of all Loyalists and generally to keep the peace.” Any man between the ages of
18 and 60 could join. The force was organized on a county-by-county basis,
with a county committee in each county or city in Ulster. That committee was
directly responsible for the organization of the force in that area. The county
was then divided into divisions, and each division nominated a divisional rep-
resentative to sit on the county committee. The county committee also elected
members to be county representatives, who would travel to Belfast whenever a
meeting was summoned at headquarters. The divisional representatives
divided their divisions into subdistricts and appointed district representatives.
Together, the divisional representatives and the district representatives formed
a divisional committee. This committee established separate localities within
the subdistrict, headed by a locality leader.
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 35

It was these localities that enrolled individual volunteers. The locality

leaders then divided their volunteers into squads of 11 men and one squad
leader each. Two squads formed a section, which elected a section leader
(or subleader). Two sections formed a half-company, under a half-company
commander (or subcommander). Two half-companies formed a company,
under the control of a commander. Thus, a company consisted of 3 officers
(one commander and two subcommanders), 4 noncommissioned officers
(the subleaders), and 96 men (including the squad leaders).130 With Sergeant
Hall’s acquisition of the Little Book, the R.I.C. had all this information
in hand.
Also significant was a discovery by District Inspector Vere Richard Gregory.
He found that in addition to the policing component of the volunteer force,
there was a rumor that there was a “sort of military force being started to
include all persons over the age of 18 years of age willing to take up arms.”131
Four days later, he was able to confirm the existence of these distinct police
and military wings. An informant had told him that the police wing was only,
“to use his words, ‘a tuppenny halfpenny thing that everyone was joining.’ ”
The military wing, in contrast, was “much more secret,” and “anyone joining
it had to take an oath of secrecy.”132 Gregory’s discovery confirmed for the
R.I.C. that the U.V.F. was not only concerned with policing its own people
but also had more militant ambitions. The police had this knowledge on
January 26, 1913.
Inspector General Chamberlain was troubled by these new reports. He
collated a file of all the information submitted to him and, on January 30,
sent it to the Chief Secretary, Birrell, along with the usual monthly reports
from the county inspectors. This file, combined with the monthly reports,
showed that since mid-December, when the idea of organizing some form of
Ulster army had first been discussed by the Ulster Unionist Council, the
U.V.F. had grown steadily in strength and numbers. Perhaps more troubling,
the force had gained such influence throughout the Protestant communities
of Ulster that Chamberlain was worried about the loyalty of his own Protestant
officers. He warned Birrell that in the event of the Home Rule Bill becoming
law, “many Protestants [would] resign or retire.”133 If the volunteer force was
allowed to grow, the Inspector General would be faced not only with treason
amongst the people he was policing but also mutiny within his own ranks.
On reading these reports, however, Under Secretary Dougherty again
dismissed the threat, telling the Chief Secretary: “This is the usual thing. . . .
The greater part of this country [is] very peaceable.”134 When asked to clarify
his comments, Dougherty explained to Birrell: “I place little reliance on the
gossip of Orange Lodges and Unionists Clubs which our police officers in
Ulster offer up so plentifully.”135 The Chief Secretary, heeding the advice of
36 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

his under secretary over that of his Inspector General, chose to do nothing
about the growing threat posed by the U.V.F. He failed even to mention it to
the cabinet.
Throughout the months of February and March, the R.I.C. continued to
testify in intelligence reports to the growing strength of the U.V.F. The force
was now conducting military drill in public places throughout the northern
counties of Ireland, some attended by more than 800 people. There were also
rumors of arms importations, including one confirmed report of 10 cases of
arms, containing between 200 and 300 rifles with bayonets. These rifles had
been intercepted in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England, on their way from
Hamburg, Germany, to Belfast.136
Still, Dougherty counseled caution. In a memo to Birrell dated March 10,
he cited numerous reasons for dismissing the police intelligence. He first
claimed that the police constables were inherently biased, holding an “evident
desire” to “impress their superiors with the seriousness and extent of the
Ulster preparations for resistance to Home Rule.” He also questioned their
competence, claiming that many of the officers merely repeated “the gossip of
Orange Lodges and the wild talk of the Unionist Clubs apparently without
any attempt to verify the statements of anonymous informants.” Even those
reports that could be confirmed, he argued, were not representative of the
greater Protestant community. The drill participants were “mostly prominent
members of the Orange Society or Rectors of the late established Church
who are neither the natural leaders of, nor possess any influence with, a large
section of Ulster Protestants.” As to the drilling itself, Dougherty dismissed it
as “nothing but a piece of ‘bluff ’ on the part of the leaders, however serious
may be the intentions of some of their ignorant followers.” Finally, he assured
Birrell, the reports of arms importations were “purely imaginative.”137
Birrell, as he had done before, prioritized the advice of his under secretary
over the advice of the Inspector General. This raises the question of why he
would continue to do so in light of such compelling intelligence. Why would
Birrell accept the advice of a bureaucrat over that of a trained and experienced
police commander? By 1913, the Chief Secretary had become a weak man,
distracted by the illness of his wife. He had neither the time nor the energy to
deal with the worsening situation in Ulster, and he spent increasing amounts
of time in London, rather than Dublin. He was content to allow others to
make the important decisions in his absence. Dougherty, being his closest
colleague and a reliable intermediary between London and Dublin, seems to
have held greater influence with Birrell than the written police reports arriving
daily on his desk. Birrell relied on his under secretary to perform many of his
more mundane duties during his wife’s illness. It is not unreasonable, therefore,
to suspect that just as he relied on Dougherty for practical implementation of
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 37

Irish policy, he also relied on him for interpretation and understanding of the
intelligence he received.
Furthermore, Dougherty’s judgment was supported by other men close to
Birrell. Andrew Magill, the Chief Secretary’s private secretary, blamed Birrell’s
unfortunate position on the Irish Nationalist Party, which he claimed was
“doubly the cause of [Birrell’s] debacle”:

[I]n the first place because they insisted on him staying at his post—they
would have no one else—and secondly by urging him on every occasion
to do nothing, to take no notice of the murmurs of discontent which
they attributed to a small number of Adullamites. I remember well, when
all the members of the Cabinet handed in their resignations to Asquith
during the [First World] war so as to leave him free to reconstitute the
government, Mr. Birrell saying to me, “It’s a curious thing, Magill, I believe
I am the only member of the Cabinet who is really anxious to clear out, and
I am the only one who will not be let go.” This was perfectly true as
Redmond and Dillon refused to consider anyone else. I sometimes made a
feeble remonstrance as to Mr. Birrell’s vis inertiae, but his invariable answer
was “Dillon assures me it is all right and Dillon knows the country.”138

It is easy to understand why John Dillon would have been so keen to discredit
the power of the U.V.F. in his conversations with Birrell. Dillon, as the
deputy leader of the Irish Nationalist Party, had a stake in seeing the imple-
mentation of an Irish Home Rule Parliament. Any acknowledgment by the
Nationalist Party of the growing strength of the Ulster Unionist movement
might have caused the government to reconsider the wisdom of seeking
home rule for all 32 counties of Ireland, including those in Ulster. It was best,
therefore, for the Irish Nationalist Party to downplay the significance of the
U.V.F. and thus ensure the continuation of the government’s Irish policy.
Birrell received such political counsel from Dillon whilst at the same time
relying on Dougherty for his analysis of the police intelligence.
The question remains, however: why would Dougherty fail to communicate
that intelligence to his boss? This is a more difficult question to answer.
When he first took over the post of under secretary in 1908, Dougherty was
64 years old. He was by all accounts a “safe, sensible, level-headed man,”139
not the sort to distort police reports in pursuit of a personal agenda. Unlike
Birrell, he was an Ulsterman, but he was not a career politician and had been
a Presbyterian minister when appointed, and a professor of philosophy at
Magee College in Londonderry before that.140 He was not a typical Ulster
Unionist Protestant, though. Rather, he was a confirmed Liberal and Home
Ruler, even standing (unsuccessfully) for the Derry City House of Commons
38 ● Turning Points of the Irish Revolution

seat as a Liberal in 1895.141 Following his resignation as under secretary in

October 1914, he was elected as Liberal M.P. for Londonderry and sat in the
House throughout the years of the First World War.142
What, then, can be made of this Protestant minister who was in favor of a
Home Rule parliament for Ireland? Why would Dougherty go to such
lengths to persuade the Chief Secretary that the police were exaggerating the
strength of the U.V.F. and that the best course of action was to leave the
paramilitaries alone? Without a diary, journal, or series of personal letters
laying out his innermost thoughts, and without the memoirs of a private
secretary, it is impossible to answer this question with any certainty. Several
points suggest themselves, though. Initially, Dougherty seems to have had
genuine difficultly believing that his fellow Protestant countrymen, usually
law-abiding and upstanding members of the community, could display such
violence towards the government as the police were reporting. It seems to
have been quite inconceivable to him that Protestant Ulstermen could act in
such a treasonable fashion.
As an avid Home Ruler, however, Dougherty was not typical of his Ulster
brethren, and thus perhaps could not judge their character, motivations, or
capabilities. As the months progressed and the intelligence on the U.V.F.
mounted, it became impossible for him to mistake the threat that the force
presented. Why, then, would he continue to persuade the Chief Secretary
otherwise? The answer to this question may again lie with Dougherty’s political
convictions. Dougherty, as a committed Home Ruler, may have arrived at the
same conclusion as Dillon. He may have found it difficult to admit to anything
that could lead the British government to reconsider the implementation of
Irish self-government. Had he concurred with the police reports of a growing
threat in Ulster, and agreed that when the Home Rule Bill passed there would
be a large outbreak of violence in the province, the government may have
stalled a Home Rule parliament until Ulster Unionists could be appeased.
Dougherty, committed to the ideal of an Irish parliament, may not have
wished to provide any evidence that could hinder the process of attaining
such self-government. As a result, it is possible that he continued to cast
doubt on the accuracy of the police intelligence that was being collated in
accordance with his political agenda.
In spite of Dougherty’s doubt, the U.V.F. continued to grow in April 1913.
That month, Inspector General Chamberlain reported to Birrell that the
force was by far the greatest concern of the R.I.C.: there was reason to believe
that many rifles had been smuggled into Ulster for immediate use against
Home Rule.143 In response to this, Birrell convened a meeting with Asquith
and the cabinet on April 22. Rather than relate Chamberlain’s concerns,
 The Period of Overt Militancy ● 39

however, he instead circulated an anonymous document that had been sent to

the king on March 23 with a cover letter stating that it was from “a magistrate
in the north of Ireland who was for many years in the public service.”
This magistrate stated that there were 100,000 Orangemen, in addition
to 100,000 men in 381 Unionist Clubs across Ulster, most of whom owned
revolvers and all of whom were committed to defeating Irish Home Rule. The
leaders had not yet distributed arms, but they had established rifle clubs.
The magistrate had personally witnessed the practice there and reported that
“the accuracy of the shooting came as a great surprise to me.” The unionists
carried out drill across the province, and trained instructors taught signaling
at night, with signals “given and taken from the hill-tops between club
members located 3 or 4 miles apart.” Unionist leaders had also divided each
county in Ulster into military districts and had established a “police force,”
the U.V.F., in each military district.
The magistrate admitted that “for a long time I laughed at all the tall talk
that one heard; I laughed at the same old speeches and harangues; I laughed
at the local newspapers.” He could not now, however, bring himself
“to believe that all these precautions and preparations are mere bluff.” He
explained that it would be impossible “for the leaders to restrain the rank and
file if this Bill becomes law”:

Too many boats have been burnt. The men are being drilled and prepared
very seriously and very completely. It would be very difficult if not an
entirely impossible task to persuade these men that all their shooting
practice, all their drill, and the arms and ammunition and money spent is
all for nothing—merely bluff—and that they must disband and take the
Home Rule Act lying down.144

The U.V.F., he assured the king in his letter, was serious in its intentions.
For many members of the cabinet, it was the first they had heard of the
U.V.F. If they were alarmed by what they read, Birrell soon assuaged their
fear. He assured them that the document “contains nothing new to me; in
fact, it does no more than re-state as confidential information what has been
common talk on Ulster political platforms.” He told them that the claims of
200,000 able-bodied men ready to reject Home Rule were “simply ridicu-
lous,” and that, “as a matter of fact, there is very little evidence to show that
the movement has taken any real hold. . . . [T]hough the more fiery spirits of
the Orange lodges are undoubtedly ready for any extreme measures, they are
in a very substantial minority even of the Protestants in Ulster.” He admitted
that the idea of a provisional government in Ulster was “no doubt discussed
Another random document with
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Out of the wealth of fancies in Nicolas Poussin’s brain an idea grew,
and gathered shape and clearness. He saw in this supernatural being
a complete type of the artist nature, a nature mocking and kindly,
barren and prolific, an erratic spirit intrusted with great and manifold
powers which she too often abuses, leading sober reason, the
Philistine, and sometimes even the amateur forth into a stony
wilderness where they see nothing; but the white-winged maiden
herself, wild as her fancies may be, finds epics there and castles and
works of art. For Poussin, the enthusiast, the old man, was suddenly
transfigured, and became Art incarnate, Art with its mysteries, its
vehement passion and its dreams.
“Yes, my dear Porbus,” Frenhofer continued, “hitherto I have never
found a flawless model, a body with outlines of perfect beauty, the
carnations—Ah! where does she live?” he cried, breaking in upon
himself, “the undiscoverable Venus of the older time, for whom we
have sought so often, only to find the scattered gleams of her
beauty here and there? Oh! to behold once and for one moment,
Nature grown perfect and divine, the Ideal at last, I would give all
that I possess.... Nay, Beauty divine, I would go to seek thee in the
dim land of the dead; like Orpheus, I would go down into the Hades
of Art to bring back the life of art from among the shadows of
death.”
“We can go now,” said Porbus to Poussin. “He neither hears nor sees
us any longer.”
“Let us go to his studio,” said young Poussin, wondering greatly.
“Oh! the old fox takes care that no one shall enter it. His treasures
are so carefully guarded that it is impossible for us to come at them.
I have not waited for your suggestion and your fancy to attempt to
lay hands on this mystery by force.”
“So there is a mystery?”
“Yes,” answered Porbus. “Old Frenhofer is the only pupil Mabuse
would take. Frenhofer became the painter’s friend, deliverer, and
father; he sacrificed the greater part of his fortune to enable Mabuse
to indulge in riotous extravagance, and in return Mabuse
bequeathed to him the secret of relief, the power of giving to his
figures the wonderful life, the flower of Nature, the eternal despair
of art, the secret which Mabuse knew so well that one day when he
had sold the flowered brocade suit in which he should have
appeared at the Entry of Charles V, he accompanied his master in a
suit of paper painted to resemble the brocade. The peculiar richness
and splendor of the stuff struck the Emperor; he complimented the
old drunkard’s patron on the artist’s appearance, and so the trick
was brought to light. Frenhofer is a passionate enthusiast, who sees
above and beyond other painters. He has meditated profoundly on
color, and the absolute truth of line; but by the way of much
research he has come to doubt the very existence of the objects of
his search. He says, in moments of despondency, that there is no
such thing as drawing, and that by means of lines we can only
reproduce geometrical figures; but that is overshooting the mark, for
by outline and shadow you can reproduce form without any color at
all, which shows that our art, like Nature, is composed of an infinite
number of elements. Drawing gives you the skeleton, the anatomical
framework, and color puts the life into it; but life without the
skeleton is even more incomplete than a skeleton without life. But
there is something else truer still, and it is this—for painters, practise
and observation are everything; and when theories and poetical
ideas begin to quarrel with the brushes, the end is doubt, as has
happened with our good friend, who is half crack-brained enthusiast,
half painter. A sublime painter! but unluckily for him, he was born to
riches, and so he has leisure to follow his fancies. Do not you follow
his example! Work! painters have no business to think, except brush
in hand.”
“We will find a way into his studio!” cried Poussin confidently. He had
ceased to heed Porbus’s remarks. The other smiled at the young
painter’s enthusiasm, asked him to come to see him again, and they
parted. Nicholas Poussin went slowly back to the Rue de la Harpe,
and passed the modest hostelry where he was lodging without
noticing it. A feeling of uneasiness prompted him to hurry up the
crazy staircase till he reached a room at the top, a quaint, airy
recess under the steep, high-pitched roof common among houses in
old Paris. In the one dingy window of the place sat a young girl, who
sprang up at once when she heard some one at the door; it was the
prompting of love; she had recognized the painter’s touch on the
latch.
“What is the matter with you?” she asked.
“The matter is ... is.... Oh! I have felt that I am a painter! Until to-
day I have had doubts, but now I believe in myself! There is the
making of a great man in me! Never mind, Gillette, we shall be rich
and happy! There is gold at the tips of those brushes—”
He broke off suddenly. The joy faded from his powerful and earnest
face as he compared his vast hopes with his slender resources. The
walls were covered with sketches in chalk on sheets of common
paper. There were but four canvases in the room. Colors were very
costly, and the young painter’s palette was almost bare. Yet in the
midst of his poverty he possessed and was conscious of the
possession of inexhaustible treasures of the heart, of a devouring
genius equal to all the tasks that lay before him.
He had been brought to Paris by a nobleman among his friends, or
perchance by the consciousness of his powers; and in Paris he had
found a mistress, one of those noble and generous souls who
choose to suffer by a great man’s side, who share his struggles and
strive to understand his fancies, accepting their lot of poverty and
love as bravely and dauntlessly as other women will set themselves
to bear the burden of riches and make a parade of their insensibility.
The smile that stole over Gillette’s lips filled the garret with golden
light, and rivaled the brightness of the sun in heaven. The sun,
moreover, does not always shine in heaven, whereas Gillette was
always in the garret, absorbed in her passion, occupied by Poussin’s
happiness and sorrow, consoling the genius which found an outlet in
love before art engrossed it.
“Listen, Gillette. Come here.”
The girl obeyed joyously, and sprang upon the painter’s knee. Hers
was perfect grace and beauty, and the loveliness of spring; she was
adorned with all luxuriant fairness of outward form, lighted up by the
glow of a fair soul within.
“Oh! God,” he cried; “I shall never dare to tell her—”
“A secret?” she cried; “I must know it!”
Poussin was absorbed in his dreams.
“Do tell it me!”
“Gillette ... poor beloved heart!...”
“Oh! do you want something of me?”
“Yes.”
“If you wish me to sit once more for you as I did the other day,” she
continued with playful petulance, “I will never consent to do such a
thing again, for your eyes say nothing all the while. You do not think
of me at all, and yet you look at me—”
“Would you rather have me draw another woman?”
“Perhaps—if she were very ugly,” she said.
“Well,” said Poussin gravely, “and if, for the sake of my fame to
come, if to make me a great painter, you must sit to some one
else?”
“You may try me,” she said; “you know quite well that I would not.”
Poussin’s head sank on her breast; he seemed to be overpowered by
some intolerable joy or sorrow.
“Listen,” she cried, plucking at the sleeve of Poussin’s threadbare
doublet. “I told you, Nick, that I would lay down my life for you; but
I never promised you that I in my lifetime would lay down my love.”
“Your love?” cried the young artist.
“If I showed myself thus to another, you would love me no longer,
and I should feel myself unworthy of you. Obedience to your fancies
was a natural and simple thing, was it not? Even against my own
will, I am glad and even proud to do thy dear will. But for another,
out upon it!”
“Forgive me, my Gillette,” said the painter, falling upon his knees; “I
would rather be beloved than famous. You are fairer than success
and honors. There, fling the pencils away, and burn these sketches!
I have made a mistake. I was meant to love and not to paint. Perish
art and all its secrets!”
Gillette looked admiringly at him, in an ecstasy of happiness! She
was triumphant; she felt instinctively that art was laid aside for her
sake, and flung like a grain of incense at her feet.
“Yet he is only an old man,” Poussin continued; “for him you would
be a woman, and nothing more. You—so perfect!”
“I must love you indeed!” she cried, ready to sacrifice even love’s
scruples to the lover who had given up so much for her sake; “but I
should bring about my own ruin. Ah! to ruin myself, to lose
everything for you!... It is a very glorious thought! Ah! but you will
forget me. Oh! what evil thought is this that has come to you?”
“I love you, and yet I thought of it,” he said, with something like
remorse. “Am I so base a wretch?”
“Let us consult Père Hardouin,” she said.
“No, no! Let it be a secret between us.”
“Very well; I will do it. But you must not be there,” she said. “Stay at
the door with your dagger in your hand; and if I call, rush in and kill
the painter.”
Poussin forgot everything but art. He held Gillette tightly in his arms.
“He loves me no longer!” thought Gillette when she was alone. She
repented of her resolution already.
But to these misgivings there soon succeeded a sharper pain, and
she strove to banish a hideous thought that arose in her own heart.
It seemed to her that her own love had grown less already, with a
vague suspicion that the painter had fallen somewhat in her eyes.

II
CATHERINE LESCAULT
Three months after Poussin and Porbus met, the latter went to see
Master Frenhofer. The old man had fallen a victim to one of those
profound and spontaneous fits of discouragement that are caused,
according to medical logicians, by indigestion, flatulence, fever, or
enlargement of the spleen; or, if you take the opinion of the
Spiritualists, by the imperfections of our mortal nature. The good
man had simply overworked himself in putting the finishing touches
to his mysterious picture. He was lounging in a huge carved oak
chair, covered with black leather, and did not change his listless
attitude, but glanced at Porbus like a man who has settled down into
low spirits.
“Well, master,” said Porbus, “was the ultramarine bad that you sent
for to Bruges? Is the new white difficult to grind? Is the oil poor, or
are the brushes recalcitrant?”
“Alas!” cried the old man, “for a moment I thought that my work was
finished, but I am sure that I am mistaken in certain details, and I
can not rest until I have cleared my doubts. I am thinking of
traveling. I am going to Turkey, to Greece, to Asia, in quest of a
model, so as to compare my picture with the different living forms of
Nature. Perhaps,” and a smile of contentment stole over his face,
“perhaps I have Nature herself up there. At times I am half afraid
that a breath may waken her, and that she will escape me.”
He rose to his feet as if to set out at once.
“Aha!” said Porbus, “I have come just in time to save you the trouble
and expense of a journey.”
“What?” asked Frenhofer in amazement.
“Young Poussin is loved by a woman of incomparable and flawless
beauty. But, dear master, if he consents to lend her to you, at the
least you ought to let us see your work.”
The old man stood motionless and completely dazed.
“What!” he cried piteously at last, “show you my creation, my bride?
Rend the veil that has kept my happiness sacred? It would be an
infamous profanation. For ten years I have lived with her; she is
mine, mine alone; she loves me. Has she not smiled at me, at each
stroke of the brush upon the canvas? She has a soul—the soul that I
have given her. She would blush if any eyes but mine should rest on
her. To exhibit her! Where is the husband, the lover so vile as to
bring the woman he loves to dishonor? When you paint a picture for
the court, you do not put your whole soul into it; to courtiers you
sell lay figures duly colored. My painting is no painting, it is a
sentiment, a passion. She was born in my studio, there she must
dwell in maiden solitude, and only when clad can she issue thence.
Poetry and women only lay the last veil aside for their lovers. Have
we Rafael’s model, Ariosto’s Angelica, Dante’s Beatrice? Nay, only
their form and semblance. But this picture, locked away above in my
studio, is an exception in our art. It is not a canvas, it is a woman—a
woman with whom I talk. I share her thoughts, her tears, her
laughter. Would you have me fling aside these ten years of
happiness like a cloak? Would you have me cease at once to be
father, lover, and creator? She is not a creature, but a creation.
“Bring your young painter here. I will give him my treasures; I will
give him pictures by Correggio and Michelangelo and Titian; I will
kiss his footprints in the dust; but make him my rival! Shame on me.
Ah! ah! I am a lover first, and then a painter. Yes, with my latest
sigh I could find strength to burn my ‘Belle Noiseuse’; but—compel
her to endure the gaze of a stranger, a young man and a painter!—
Ah! no, no! I would kill him on the morrow who should sully her with
a glance! Nay, you, my friend, I would kill you with my own hands in
a moment if you did not kneel in reverence before her! Now, will you
have me submit my idol to the careless eyes and senseless criticisms
of fools? Ah! love is a mystery; it can only live hidden in the depths
of the heart. You say, even to your friend, ‘Behold her whom I love,’
and there is an end of love.”
The old man seemed to have grown young again; there was light
and life in his eyes, and a faint flush of red in his pale face. His
hands shook. Porbus was so amazed by the passionate vehemence
of Frenhofer’s words that he knew not what to reply to this
utterance of an emotion as strange as it was profound. Was
Frenhofer sane or mad? Had he fallen a victim to some freak of the
artist’s fancy? or were these ideas of his produced by the strange
light-headedness which comes over us during the long travail of a
work of art. Would it be possible to come to terms with this singular
passion?
Harassed by all these doubts, Porbus spoke—“Is it not woman for
woman?” he said. “Does not Poussin submit his mistress to your
gaze?”
“What is she?” retorted the other. “A mistress who will be false to
him sooner or later. Mine will be faithful to me forever.”
“Well, well,” said Porbus, “let us say no more about it. But you may
die before you will find such a flawless beauty as hers, even in Asia,
and then your picture will be left unfinished.
“Oh! it is finished,” said Frenhofer. “Standing before it you would
think that it was a living woman lying on the velvet couch beneath
the shadow of the curtains. Perfumes are burning on a golden tripod
by her side. You would be tempted to lay your hand upon the tassel
of the cord that holds back the curtains; it would seem to you that
you saw her breast rise and fall as she breathed; that you beheld the
living Catherine Lescault, the beautiful courtezan whom men called
‘La Belle Noiseuse,’ And yet—if I could but be sure—”
“Then go to Asia,” returned Porbus, noticing a certain indecision in
Frenhofer’s face. And with that Porbus made a few steps toward the
door.
By that time Gillette and Nicolas Poussin had reached Frenhofer’s
house. The girl drew away her arm from her lover’s as she stood on
the threshold, and shrank back as if some presentiment flashed
through her mind.
“Oh! what have I come to do here?” she asked of her lover in low
vibrating tones, with her eyes fixed on his.
“Gillette, I have left you to decide; I am ready to obey you in
everything. You are my conscience and my glory. Go home again; I
shall be happier, perhaps, if you do not—”
“Am I my own when you speak to me like that? No, no; I am like a
child.—Come,” she added, seemingly with a violent effort; “if our
love dies, if I plant a long regret in my heart, your fame will be the
reward of my obedience to your wishes, will it not? Let us go in. I
shall still live on as a memory on your palette; that shall be life for
me afterward.”
The door opened, and the two lovers encountered Porbus, who was
surprised by the beauty of Gillette, whose eyes were full of tears. He
hurried her, trembling from head to foot, into the presence of the old
painter.
“Here!” he cried, “is she not worth all the masterpieces in the world!”
Frenhofer trembled. There stood Gillette in the artless and childlike
attitude of some timid and innocent Georgian, carried off by
brigands, and confronted with a slave merchant. A shamefaced red
flushed her face, her eyes drooped, her hands hung by her side, her
strength seemed to have failed her, her tears protested against this
outrage. Poussin cursed himself in despair that he should have
brought his fair treasure from its hiding-place. The lover over, came
the artist, and countless doubts assailed Poussin’s heart when he
saw youth dawn in the old man’s eyes, as, like a painter, he
discerned every line of the form hidden beneath the young girl’s
vesture. Then the lover’s savage jealousy awoke.
“Gillette!” he cried, “let us go.”
The girl turned joyously at the cry and the tone in which it was
uttered, raised her eyes to his, looked at him, and fled to his arms.
“Ah! then you love me,” she cried; “you love me!” and she burst into
tears.
She had spirit enough to suffer in silence, but she had no strength to
hide her joy.
“Oh! leave her with me for one moment,” said the old painter, “and
you shall compare her with my Catherine ... yes—I consent.”
Frenhofer’s words likewise came from him like a lover’s cry. His
vanity seemed to be engaged for his semblance of womanhood; he
anticipated the triumph of the beauty of his own creation over the
beauty of the living girl.
“Do not give him time to change his mind!” cried Porbus, striking
Poussin on the shoulder. “The flower of love soon fades, but the
flower of art is immortal.”
“Then am I only a woman now for him?” said Gillette. She was
watching Poussin and Porbus closely.
She raised her head proudly; she glanced at Frenhofer, and her eyes
flashed; then as she saw how her lover had fallen again to gazing at
the portrait which he had taken at first for a Giorgione—
“Ah!” she cried; “let us go up to the studio. He never gave me such a
look.”
The sound of her voice recalled Poussin from his dreams.
“Old man,” he said, “do you see this blade? I will plunge it into your
heart at the first cry from this young girl; I will set fire to your
house, and no one shall leave it alive. Do you understand?”
Nicolas Poussin scowled; every word was a menace. Gillette took
comfort from the young painter’s bearing, and yet more from that
gesture, and almost forgave him for sacrificing her to his art and his
glorious future.
Porbus and Poussin stood at the door of the studio and looked at
each other in silence. At first the painter of the Saint Mary of Egypt
hazarded some exclamations: “Ah! she has taken off her clothes; he
told her to come into the light—he is comparing the two!” but the
sight of the deep distress in Poussin’s face suddenly silenced him;
and though old painters no longer feel these scruples, so petty in the
presence of art, he admired them because they were so natural and
gracious in the lover. The young man kept his hand on the hilt of his
dagger, and his ear was almost glued to the door. The two men
standing in the shadow might have been conspirators waiting for the
hour when they might strike down a tyrant.
“Come in, come in,” cried the old man. He was radiant with delight.
“My work is perfect. I can show her now with pride. Never shall
painter, brushes, colors, light, and canvas produce a rival for
‘Catherine Lescault,’ the beautiful courtezan!”
Porbus and Poussin, burning with eager curiosity, hurried into a vast
studio. Everything was in disorder and covered with dust, but they
saw a few pictures here and there upon the wall. They stopped first
of all in admiration before the life-size figure of a woman partially
draped.
“Oh! never mind that,” said Frenhofer; “that is a rough daub that I
made, a study, a pose, it is nothing. These are my failures,” he went
on, indicating the enchanting compositions upon the walls of the
studio.
This scorn for such works of art struck Porbus and Poussin dumb
with amazement. They looked round for the picture of which he had
spoken, and could not discover it.
“Look here!” said the old man. His hair was disordered, his face
aglow with a more than human exaltation, his eyes glittered, he
breathed hard like a young lover frenzied by love.
“Aha!” he cried, “you did not expect to see such perfection! You are
looking for a picture, and you see a woman before you. There is
such depth in that canvas, the atmosphere is so true that you can
not distinguish it from the air that surrounds us. Where is art? Art
has vanished, it is invisible! It is the form of a living girl that you see
before you. Have I not caught the very hues of life, the spirit of the
living line that defines the figure? Is there not the effect produced
there like that which all natural objects present in the atmosphere
about them, or fishes in the water? Do you see how the figure
stands out against the background? Does it not seem to you that
you pass your hand along the back? But then for seven years I
studied and watched how the daylight blends with the objects on
which it falls. And the hair, the light pours over it like a flood, does it
not?... Ah! she breathed, I am sure that she breathed! Her breast—
ah, see! Who would not fall on his knees before her? Her pulses
throb. She will rise to her feet. Wait!”
“Do you see anything?” Poussin asked of Porbus.
“No ... do you?”
“I see nothing.”
The two painters left the old man to his ecstasy, and tried to
ascertain whether the light that fell full upon the canvas had in some
way neutralized all the effect for them. They moved to the right and
left of the picture; they came in front, bending down and standing
upright by turns.
“Yes, yes, it is really canvas,” said Frenhofer, who mistook the nature
of this minute investigation.
“Look! the canvas is on a stretcher, here is the easel; indeed, here
are my colors, my brushes,” and he took up a brush and held it out
to them, all unsuspicious of their thought.
“The old lansquenet is laughing at us,” said Poussin, coming once
more toward the supposed picture. “I can see nothing there but
confused masses of color and a multitude of fantastical lines that go
to make a dead wall of paint.”
“We are mistaken, look!” said Porbus.
In a corner of the canvas, as they came nearer, they distinguished a
bare foot emerging from the chaos of color, half-tints and vague
shadows that made up a dim, formless fog. Its living delicate beauty
held them spellbound. This fragment that had escaped an
incomprehensible, slow, and gradual destruction seemed to them
like the Parian marble torso of some Venus emerging from the ashes
of a ruined town.
“There is a woman beneath,” exclaimed Porbus, calling Poussin’s
attention to the coats of paint with which the old artist had overlaid
and concealed his work in the quest of perfection.
Both artists turned involuntarily to Frenhofer. They began to have
some understanding, vague though it was, of the ecstasy in which
he lived.
“He believes it in all good faith,” said Porbus.
“Yes, my friend,” said the old man, rousing himself from his dreams,
“it needs faith, faith in art, and you must live for long with your work
to produce such a creation. What toil some of those shadows have
cost me. Look! there is a faint shadow there upon the cheek beneath
the eyes—if you saw that on a human face, it would seem to you
that you could never render it with paint. Do you think that that
effect has not cost unheard-of toil?
“But not only so, dear Porbus. Look closely at my work, and you will
understand more clearly what I was saying as to methods of
modeling and outline. Look at the high lights on the bosom, and see
how by touch on touch, thickly laid on, I have raised the surface so
that it catches the light itself and blends it with the lustrous
whiteness of the high lights, and how by an opposite process, by
flattening the surface of the paint, and leaving no trace of the
passage of the brush, I have succeeded in softening the contours of
my figures and enveloping them in half-tints until the very idea of
drawing, of the means by which the effect is produced, fades away,
and the picture has the roundness and relief of nature. Come closer.
You will see the manner of working better; at a little distance it can
not be seen. There! Just there, it is, I think, very plainly to be seen,”
and with the tip of his brush he pointed out a patch of transparent
color to the two painters.
Porbus, laying a hand on the old artist’s shoulder, turned to Poussin
with a “Do you know that in him we see a very great painter?”
“He is even more of a poet than a painter,” Poussin answered
gravely.
“There,” Porbus continued, as he touched the canvas, “lies the
utmost limit of our art on earth.”
“Beyond that point it loses itself in the skies,” said Poussin.
“What joys lie there on this piece of canvas!” exclaimed Porbus.
The old man, deep in his own musings, smiled at the woman he
alone beheld, and did not hear.
“But sooner or later he will find out that there is nothing there!”
cried Poussin.
“Nothing on my canvas!” said Frenhofer, looking in turn at either
painter and at his picture.
“What have you done?” muttered Porbus, turning to Poussin.
The old man clutched the young painter’s arm and said, “Do you see
nothing? clodpate! Huguenot! varlet! cullion! What brought you here
into my studio?—My good Porbus,” he went on, as he turned to the
painter, “are you also making a fool of me? Answer! I am your
friend. Tell me, have I ruined my picture after all?”
Porbus hesitated and said nothing, but there was such intolerable
anxiety in the old man’s white face that he pointed to the easel.
“Look!” he said.
Frenhofer looked for a moment at his picture, and staggered back.
“Nothing! nothing! After ten years of work....” He sat down and
wept.
“So I am a dotard, a madman, I have neither talent nor power! I am
only a rich man, who works for his own pleasure, and makes no
progress. I have done nothing after all!”
He looked through his tears at his picture. Suddenly he rose and
stood proudly before the two painters.
“By the body and blood of Christ,” he cried with flashing eyes, “you
are jealous! You would have me think that my picture is a failure
because you want to steal her from me! Ah! I see her, I see her,” he
cried “she is marvelously beautiful....”
At that moment Poussin heard the sound of weeping; Gillette was
crouching forgotten in a corner. All at once the painter once more
became the lover. “What is it, my angel?” he asked her.
“Kill me!” she sobbed. “I must be a vile thing if I love you still, for I
despise you.... I admire you, and I hate you! I love you, and I feel
that I hate you even now!”
While Gillette’s words sounded in Poussin’s ears, Frenhofer drew a
green serge covering over his “Catherine” with the sober deliberation
of a jeweler who locks his drawers when he suspects his visitors to
be expert thieves. He gave the two painters a profoundly astute
glance that expressed to the full his suspicions and his contempt for
them, saw them out of his studio with impetuous haste and in
silence, until from the threshold of his house he bade them “Good-
by, my young friends!”
That farewell struck a chill of dread into the two painters. Porbus, in
anxiety, went again on the morrow to see Frenhofer, and learned
that he had died in the night after burning his canvases.
Paris, February, 1832.
 THE PRICE OF A LIFE
BY AUGUSTIN EUGÈNE SCRIBE

Eugène Scribe was born in 1791, at Paris, where he died in 1861.

He soon tired of the law as a profession and between 1820 and
1825 wrote farces and little comedies.
Then begins the second period of his career, during which he
wrote the librettos, masterpieces themselves, of the familiar
operas, “La Dame Blanche,” “Robert Le Diable,” “Les Huguenots,”
“Fra Diavolo,” etc., and the serious comedy “Valerie,” in which he
shows a most delightful and unique genius in prolonging
interestingly his situations. With “Bertrand and Raton,” a five-act
comedy, produced at the Theatre Français in 1833, he
commenced a series of historical and political comedies. In all,
Scribe wrote some three hundred and fifty pieces. In 1836 he was
elected a member of the Academy.
In style, Scribe is delicate and graceful, with an indescribable
“charm,” as in his first manner, or lively and natural, as in his
second; but he is not to be relied upon for the truth.
 THE PRICE OF A LIFE
BY EUGÈNE SCRIBE
Translated by Linda de Kowalewska.
Copyright, 1893, by The Current Literature Publishing Company.

Joseph, opening the door of the salon, came to tell us that the post-
chaise was ready. My mother and my sister threw themselves into
my arms. “There is yet time,” said they. “It is not too late. Give up
this journey and remain with us.” I replied: “My mother, I am a
gentleman. I am twenty years old, my country needs me, I must win
fame and renown; be it in the army, be it at court, I must be heard
of, men must speak of me.”
“And when you are far away, tell me, Bernard, what will become of
me, your old mother?”
“You will be happy and proud to hear of your son’s successes—”
“And if you are killed in some battle?”
“What matters it? What is life? Only a dream. One dreams only of
glory at twenty, and when one is a gentleman; but do not fear, you
will see me return to you in a few years, a colonel, a maréchal-de-
camp, or, better still, with a fine position at Versailles.”
“Indeed! When will that be?”
“It will come, and I shall be respected and envied by all—and then—
every one will take off his hat to me—and then—I will marry my
cousin Henriette, and I will find good husbands for my sisters, and
we shall all live together tranquil and happy on my estates in
Brittany.”
“Why not do all that to-day, my son? Has not your father left you the
finest fortune in the country? Where is there, for ten leagues
around, a richer domain, or a more beautiful château than that of
Roche-Bernard? Are you not loved and respected by your vassals?
When you walk through the village, is there a single one who fails to
salute you and take off his hat? Do not leave us, my son; remain
here with your friends, near your sisters, near your old mother,
whom perhaps you will not find here when you return. Do not waste
in search of vain glory or abridge by cares and torments of all kinds
the days which already go so swiftly. Life is sweet, my child, and the
sun of Brittany is so bright!” So saying she led me to the open
window and pointed to the beautiful avenues of my park; the grand
old chestnut trees were in full bloom, and the air was sweet with the
fragrance of the lilacs and the honeysuckles, whose leaves sparkled
in the sunlight.
All the house-servants awaited me in the anteroom. They were so
sad and quiet that they seemed to say to me: “Do not go, young
master, do not go.” Hortense, my eldest sister, pressed me in her
arms, and my little sister Amélie, who was in one corner of the room
occupied in looking at some engravings in a volume of La Fontaine,
came to me, and, handing me the book, cried: “Read, read, my
brother!” It was the fable of “The Two Pigeons.”
But I repulsed them all and said: “I am twenty years old. Je suis
gentilhomme. I must in honor and glory. Let me go.” And I hastened
to the courtyard, and got into the post-chaise, when a woman
appeared at the landing of the stairs. It was my beautiful cousin
Henriette! She did not weep, she did not say a word—but, pale and
trembling, she could scarcely stand. She waved me an adieu with
her white handkerchief, then fell unconscious. I ran to her, raised
her, put my arms around her, and swore to her eternal love; and the
moment she recovered consciousness, leaving her in my mother’s
care, I ran to the chaise, and, without turning my head, drove away.
If I had looked at Henriette I might have wavered. A few moments
afterward we were rolling along the grand route.
For a long while I thought of nothing but Henriette, my mother, and
my sisters, and all the happiness I had left behind me; but these
thoughts were effaced in the measure that the towers of Roche-
Bernard faded from my view, and soon ambitious dreams of glory
spread over my spirit. What projects! What châteaux en Espagne!
What glorious deeds I performed in that chaise! Riches, honors,
dignities, rewards of all kinds! I refused nothing. I merited them,
and I accepted all; at last, elevating myself as I advanced on my
journey, I was duke—governor of a province—and no less a
personage than a maréchal of France when I arrived in the evening
at my destination. The voice of my valet, who addressed me
modestly as Monsieur le Chevalier, forced me to abdicate for the
time being, and I was obliged to return to the earth and to myself.
The following day I continued my journey and dreamed the same
dreams, for the way was long. At last we arrived at Sédan, where I
expected to visit the Duc de C——, an old friend of our family. He
would (I thought) surely take me with him to Paris, where he was
expected at the end of the month, and then he would present me at
Versailles, and obtain for me, at the very least, a company of
dragoons.
I arrived in Sédan in the evening—too late to present myself at the
château of my friend (which was some distance from the city), so I
delayed my visit until the next day, and put up at the “Armes de
France,” the best hotel in the place.
I supped at the table d’hôte and asked the way to take on the
morrow to the château of the Duc de C——.
“Any one can show you,” said a young officer who sat near me, “for
it is well known the whole country round. It was in this château that
died a great warrior, a very celebrated man—Maréchal Fabert!” Then
the conversation fell, as was natural between young military men, on
the Maréchal Fabert. They spoke of his battles, his exploits, of his
modesty, which caused him to refuse letters of nobility and the collar
of his order offered him by Louis XIV. Above all, they marveled at the
good fortune which comes to some men. What inconceivable
happiness for a simple soldier to rise to the rank of maréchal of
France—he, a man of no family, the son of a printer! They could cite
no other case similar to his, and the masses did not hesitate to
ascribe his elevation to supernatural causes. It was said that he had
employed magic from his childhood, that he was a sorcerer, and that
he had a compact with the devil; and our old landlord, who had all
the credulity of our Breton peasants, swore to us that in this château
of the Duc de C——, where Fabert died, there had frequently been
seen a black man whom no one knew; and that the servants had
seen him enter Fabert’s chamber and disappear, carrying with him
the soul of the maréchal, which he had bought some years before,
and which, therefore, belonged to him; and that even now, in the
month of May, on the anniversary of Fabert’s death, one can see at
night a black man bearing a light, which is Fabert’s soul.
This story amused us at dessert, and we gaily drank a bottle of
champagne to the familiar demon of Fabert, praying for his
patronage, and help to gain victories like those of Collioure and of La
Marfée.
The next day I arose early and set out for the château, which proved
to be an immense Gothic manor house, having nothing very
remarkable about it. At any other time I would not have viewed it
with any great interest; but now I gazed at it with feelings of
curiosity as I recalled the strange story told us by the landlord of the
“Armes de France.”
The door was opened by an old valet, and when I told him I wished
to see the Duc de C——, he replied that he did not know whether his
master was visible or not or if he would receive me. I gave him my
name and he went away, leaving me alone in a very large and
gloomy hall, decorated with trophies of the chase and family
portraits. I waited some time, but he did not return. The silence was
almost oppressive; I began to grow impatient and had already
counted two or three times all the family portraits, and all the beams
in the ceiling, when I heard a noise in the wainscot.
It was a door which the wind had blown open. I looked up, and
perceived a very pretty boudoir lighted by two great casements and
a glass door which opened on a magnificent park. I advanced a few
steps into the apartment, and paused suddenly at a strange
spectacle. A man (his back was turned to the door through which I
had entered) was lying on a couch. He arose, and, without
perceiving me, ran quickly to the window. Tears rolled down his
cheeks and profound despair was imprinted on his features. He
remained some time immovable, his head resting on his hands, then
he commenced to walk with great strides across the room; turning,
he saw me, stopped suddenly, and trembled. As for myself, I was
horror-struck, and dazed in consequence of my indiscretion. I wished
to retire, and murmured some incoherent apologies.
“Who are you? What do you want?” said he, in a deep voice,
catching me by the arm.
I was very much frightened and embarrassed, but replied: “I am the
Chevalier Bernard de la Roche-Bernard, and I have just arrived from
Brittany.”
“I know! I know!” said he, and, throwing his arms around me, he
embraced me warmly, and leading me to the couch made me sit
near him, spoke to me rapidly of my father and of all my family,
whom he knew so well that I concluded that it was the master of the
château.
“You are Monsieur de C——, are you not?” asked I. He arose, looked
at me with a strange glance, and replied: “I was, but I am no longer.
I am no longer anybody.” Then seeing my astonishment he said:
“Not a word, young man, do not question me.”
I replied, blushing: “If, Monsieur, I have witnessed, without wishing
it, your chagrin and your sorrow, perhaps my devotion and my
friendship can assuage your grief?”
“Yes, yes, you are right; not that you can change my condition, but
you can receive, at least, my last wishes and my last vows. It is the
only service that I ask of you.”
He crossed the room, closed the door, then came and sat down
beside me, who, agitated and trembling, awaited his words. They
were somewhat grave and solemn, and his physiognomy, above all,
had an expression that I had never before seen. His lofty brow,
which I examined attentively, seemed marked by fate. His
complexion was very pale, and his eyes were black, bright, and
piercing: and from time to time his features, altered by suffering,
contracted under an ironical and infernal smile.
“That which I am about to relate to you,” said he, “will confound
your reason; you will doubt, you will not believe me, perhaps; even I
often doubt still. I tell myself it can not be; but the proofs are too
real; and are there not in all that surrounds us, in our organization
even, many other mysteries that we are obliged to submit to,
without being able to comprehend?” He paused a moment, as if to
gather together his thoughts, passed his hand over his brow, and
continued: “I was born in this château. I had two elder brothers, to
whom fell the wealth and honors of our house. I had nothing to
expect, nothing to look forward to but an abbé’s mantle;
nevertheless, ambitious dreams of glory and power fermented in my
head and made my heart throb with anticipation. Miserable in my
obscurity, eager for renown, I thought only of means to acquire it at
any price, and these ideas made me insensible to all the pleasures
and all the sweetness of life. To me the present was nothing; I only
existed for the future, and this future presented itself to me under a
most sombre aspect. I reached my thirtieth year without having
accomplished anything;—then there arose in the capital literary
lights whose brilliance penetrated even to our remote province. Ah!
thought I, if I could at least make for myself a name in the world of
letters, that might bring renown, and therein lies true happiness. I
had for a confidant of my chagrins an old servant, an aged negro,
who had served in my family many years before my birth; he was
the oldest person on the estate, or for miles around, for no one
could recall his first appearance, and the country folk said that he
had known the Maréchal Fabert, was present at his death, and that
he was an evil spirit.”
At that name, I started with surprise; the unknown paused and
asked me the cause of my embarrassment.
“Nothing,” said I; but I could not help thinking that the black man
must be the one spoken of by the old landlord of the “Armes de
France” the previous evening.
M. de C—— continued:
“One day in Yago’s presence (that was the old negro’s name) I gave
way to my feelings, bemoaned my obscurity, and bewailed my
useless and monotonous life, and I cried aloud in my despair: ‘I
would willingly give ten years of my life to be placed in the first rank
of our authors!’
“‘Ten years,’ said Yago, coolly; ‘that is much, it is paying very dear
for so little a thing; no matter, I accept your ten years; remember
your promise, I will surely keep mine.’
“I can not describe to you my great surprise on hearing him speak
thus. I believed that his mind had become enfeebled by the weight
of years. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, and took no further
notice of him. Some days afterward I left home for Paris. There I
found myself launched into the society of men of letters; their
example encouraged and stimulated me, and I soon published
several works that were very successful, which I will not now
describe. All Paris rushed to see me, the journals were filled with my
praises. The new name I had taken became celebrated, and even
recently, young man, you have admired my works.”
Here another gesture of surprise on my part interrupted this recital.
“Then you are not the Duc de C——?” cried I.
“No,” replied he, coldly. And I asked myself: “A celebrated man of
letters! Is this Marmontel? is it D’Alembert? is it Voltaire?”
The unknown sighed, a smile of regret and contempt spread over his
lips, and he continued his recital.
“This literary reputation, which had seemed to me so desirable, soon
failed to satisfy a soul so ardent as mine. I aspired to still higher
successes, and I said to Yago (who had followed me to Paris and
who kept close watch over me): ‘This is not real glory, there is no
veritable renown but that which one acquires in the career of arms.
What is an author, a poet? Nothing! Give me a great general, or a
captain in the army! Behold the destiny that I desire, and for a great
military reputation I would willingly give ten more years of my life.’
“‘I accept them,’ replied Yago, quickly. ‘I take them—they belong to
me—do not forget it.’”
At this stage of his recital the unknown paused once more on seeing
the alarm and incredulity that were depicted on my features.
“You remember, I warned you, young man,” said he, “that you could
not believe my story. It must seem to you a dream, a chimera—to
me also;—nevertheless the promotions, the honors that I soon
obtained, were no illusions. Those brave soldiers that I led into the
thickest of the fight! Those brilliant charges! Those captured flags!
Those victories which all France heard of; all that was my work—all
that glory belonged to me!”
While he marched up and down the room with great strides, and
spoke thus with warmth and with enthusiasm, astonishment and
fear had almost paralyzed my senses. “Who then is this person?”
thought I. “Is it Coligny? is it Richelieu? is it the Maréchal de Saxe?”
From his state of exaltation my unknown had fallen again into
deepest dejection, and, approaching me, said with a sombre air:
“Yago kept his promise; and when, later on, disgusted with the vain
smoke of military glory, I aspired to that which is only real and
positive in this world—when at the price of five or six years of
existence I desired great riches, he gladly gave them to me. Yes,
young man, I have possessed vast wealth, far beyond my wildest
dreams—estates, forests, and châteaux. To-day, still, all this is mine,
and in my power; if you doubt me—if you doubt the existence of
Yago—wait here, he is coming, and you can see for yourself that
which would confound your reason and mine were it not
unfortunately too real.”
The unknown approached the fireplace, looked at the timepiece,
made a gesture of alarm, and said to me in a deep voice:
“This morning at daybreak I felt myself so weak and so feeble that I
could scarcely rise. I rang for my valet-de-chambre; it was Yago who
appeared. ‘What is this strange feeling?’ asked I.
“‘Master, nothing but what is perfectly natural. The hour approaches,
the moment arrives.’
“‘And what is it?’ cried I.
“‘Can you not divine it? Heaven has destined you sixty years to live;
you were thirty when I began to obey you.’
“‘Yago!’ cried I in affright, ‘do you speak seriously?’
“‘Yes, master; in five years you have spent in glory twenty-five years
of life. You have sold them to me. They belong to me; and these
years that you have voluntarily given up are now added to mine.’
“‘What! That, then, was the price of your services?’
“‘Yes, and many others—for ages past—have paid more dearly; for
instance, Fabert, whom I protected also.’
“‘Be silent, be silent!’ cried I; ‘this is not possible; it can not be true!’
“‘As you please; but prepare yourself; for there only remains for you
a brief half-hour of life.’
“‘You are mocking me!’
“‘Not, at all. Calculate for yourself. Thirty-five years you have had,
and twenty-five years you have sold to me—total, sixty. It is your
own count; each one takes his own.’ Then he wished to go away,
and I felt my strength diminish. I felt my life leaving me.
“‘Yago! Yago!’ I cried feebly; ‘give me a few hours, a few hours
more!’
“‘No, no,’ replied he, ‘it would be taking away from myself, and I
know better than you the value of life. There is no treasure worth
two hours of existence.’
“I could scarcely speak; my eyes were set in my head, and the chill
of death congealed the blood in my veins. ‘Very well!’ said I with an
effort, ‘take back your gifts, for that which I have sacrificed all. Four
hours more and I renounce my gold, my wealth—all this opulence
that I have so much desired.’
“‘Be it so; you have been a good master, and I am willing to do
something for you. I consent.’
“I felt my strength come back, and I cried: ‘Four hours—that is very
little! Yago! Yago! Four hours more and I renounce all my literary
fame, all my works that have placed me so high in the world’s
esteem.’
“‘Four hours for that!’ cried the negro with disdain; ‘it is too much.
No matter. I can not refuse your last request.’
“‘Not the last!’ cried I, clasping my hands before him. ‘Yago! Yago! I
supplicate you, give me until this evening. The twelve hours, the
entire day, and all my exploits, my victories, all my military renown
may all be effaced from the memory of men. This day, Yago, dear
Yago; this whole day, and I will be content!’
“‘You abuse my kindness,’ said he; ‘no matter, I will give you until
sunset; after that you must not ask me. This evening, then, I will
come for you’—and he is gone,” continued the unknown, in
despairing accents “and this day, in which I see you for the first
time, is my last on earth.” Then going to the glass door, which was
open, and which led to the park, he cried: “Alas! I will no longer
behold the beautiful sky, these green lawns, the sparkling fountains!
I will never again breathe the balmy air of springtime. Fool that I
have been! These gifts that God has given to all of us; these
blessings, to which I was insensible, and of which I can only now,
when it is too late, appreciate and comprehend the sweetness—and
I might have enjoyed them for twenty-five years more!—and I have
used up my life! I have sacrificed it for what? For a vain and sterile
glory, which has not made me happy, and which dies with me!
Look!” said he to me, pointing to some peasants who traversed the
park, singing on their way to work. “What would I not give now to
share their labors and their poverty! But I have no longer anything
to give, or to hope for here below, not even misfortune!”
Just then a ray of sunlight (the sun of the month of May) shone
through the casement and lit up his pale and distracted features. He
seized my arm in a sort of delirium, and said to me: “See! see there!
is it not beautiful? the sun!—and I must leave all this! Ah! at least I
am still alive! I will have this whole day—so pure, so bright, so
radiant—this day which for me has no morrow!” he then ran down
the steps of the open door, and bounded like a deer across the park,
and at a detour of the path he disappeared in the shrubbery, before
I hardly realized that he was gone, or could detain him. To tell the
truth, I would not have had the strength. I lay back on the couch,
stunned, dazed, and weak with the shock of all I had heard. I arose
and walked up and down the room, to assure myself that I was
awake, that I had not been under the influence of a dream. Just
then the door of the boudoir opened and a servant announced:
“Here is my master, the Duc de C——.”
A man of sixty years and of distinguished presence advanced toward
me, and, giving me his hand, apologized for having made me wait so
long.
“I was not in the château. I had gone to seek my younger brother,
the Comte de C——, who is ill.”
“And is he in danger?” interrupted I.
“No, monsieur. Thanks to heaven,” replied my host; “but in his youth
ambitious dreams of glory exalted his imagination, and a serious
illness that he has had recently (and which he deemed fatal) has
upset his mind, and produced a sort of delirium and mental
aberration, by which he persuades himself always that he has but
one day to live. It is insanity.”
All was explained to me.
“Now,” continued the duke, “let us come to you, young man, and
see what can be done for your advancement. We will depart at the
end of the month for Versailles. I will present you at court.”
I blushed and replied: “I appreciate your kindness, Monsieur le Duc,
and I thank you very much; but I will not go to Versailles.”
“What! would you renounce the court and all the advantages and
promotions which certainly await you there?”
“Yes, Monsieur—”
“But do you realize that with my influence you can rise rapidly, and
that with a little assiduity and patience you can become
distinguished in ten years?”
“Ten years lost!” I cried in terror.
“What!” replied he, astonished. “Ten years is not much to pay for
fortune, glory, and honors? Come, come, my young friend. Come
with me to Versailles.”
“No, Monsieur le Duc. I am determined to return to Brittany, and I
beg of you to receive my profound gratitude, and that of my family.”
“What folly!” cried he.
And I, remembering what I had listened to, said: “It is wisdom!”
The next day I was en route, and with what exquisite delight did I
behold my beautiful château of Roche-Bernard, the grand old trees
in my park, and the bright sunshine of Brittany. I found again my
vassals, my mother, my sisters, my fiancée, and my happiness,
which I still retain, for one week later I married Henriette.