Being Blind, Great Raftery Knew More than He Heard
The Story. Strong and dark and young—and all blind—Great Raftery went the length and breadth of Ireland in Queen Anne's day. He made songs for the people and songs for himself of his love for them and for Ireland. Before usurers and poverty had fallen upon the country, the Rafterys had been fine folk. No man lived to call Great Raftery other than an Irish gentleman. No taphouse, farm cottage, hall or castle 'but hailed him as Ireland's dar ling and had bed, board and homage for him at any hour.
Great Raftery came upon Hilaria, a small Spanish woman, and he making a poem at the Galway dockside one sun down. The Welshman Daffyd Evans of Claregalway passed like another shadow between Raftery and the sun when Hilaria, who one night sang a song of the harlots of Cadiz, said she was of the Welshman's house. Being blind, Raftery knew more than she sang.
Raftery and Hilaria were married, with a street woman and a beggar to witness; and Raftery spared the Welshman of his dagger when the cringing misshapen scoundrel would have spread the past like a blight over the newly wed couple. They went out upon the open roads to County Mayo; and when she made her confessional, telling of her eagle heart and her childhood's hard usage, Great Raftery laid aside his harp and caught her to him.
A frayed but punctilious sergeant; a rough highland boy, with teeth like a trap and a knife, a yellow tunic and yellow kilt; a harp with "I am the Queen of Harps" graved on its front pillar, the Red Hand of Ulster beneath and the maker's and singers' boasts beneath that—these are also in the story.
The Significance. To read this latest of Donn Byrne's books is to walk a quiet way by the sea in Ireland and among greening hills and over the wide ends of the earth, with a kindly, brave man whose talk is chiefly mellow reminiscence. Because he thinks of gone days and people that live no longer, he thinks simply. His telling is not confused with detail. Because he is kindly and brave, he tells wistfully and with honesty of emphasis, without false pity for dead glories nor false praise for ancient virtues. Being Irish and a mellow man, he tells with rich gusto and whimsy, so restrained that their bursts give pleasure like that of finding a wild bird's nest or bathing alone in the sea or fully remembering an old, old song.
The Critics. The Literary Review. "In these parlous times of realism, Donn Byrne is the blade of green, romantic grass in a long, long stretch of sand. Baptize him 'Oasis' if you will."
The Bookman: "Byrne's prose has the languorous beat of a Keats sonnet."
The Author. Brian Oswald Donn-Byrne was born in Manhattan, with a long north-of-Ireland genealogy. From three on, he grew up on the family estate in Ireland, where he heard Gaelic and faery lore. His college learning he got at Dublin, Paris and Leipzig. In 1911, he began an editorial apprenticeship in the U. S. Until he wrote Messer Marco Polo, few guessed his genius. Lately Changeling, The Wind Bloweth and Blind Raftery have marked him as of the high company of true romanticists.
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