I first heard of Maud Gonne while I was researching the history of the tarot. She is one of four women who are the subjects of "The Women of the Golden Dawn," by Mary K. Greer. (It's available on the Internet Archive.)
You always hear about her in connection with W. B. Yeats. They were friends for most of their lives, and she is the subject of many of his poems. She refused his marriage proposals, and she is often referred to only as his muse. Few people know her work in the world, or her legacy.
Recently I heard about a kickstarter campaign raising money for a statue of Maud Gonne in Dublin. The campaign met its first goal in 48 hours.
Orna Ross is the organizer, and if you're interested in Maud Gonne, start here. Orna was on a podcast called What's Her Name, telling Maud's story.
I just finished reading Gonne's memoir, A Servant of the Queen. The "queen" in the title is not the English queen, but the allegorical Sovereignty of Ireland.
Maud Gonne inherited a fortune from her mother's Ascendancy family. When she was a very young woman, her military father was posted to Ireland. She saw how the Irish people lived in the British empire, and she began many campaigns to free Ireland, prevent recruitment of Irish men to British military, and to end evictions of the poor.
Maud Gonne inherited a fortune from her mother's Ascendancy family. When she was a very young woman, her military father was posted to Ireland. She saw how the Irish people lived in the British empire, and she began many campaigns to free Ireland, prevent recruitment of Irish men to British military, and to end evictions of the poor.
She was said to be the most beautiful woman of her age, but even more, she was an effective public speaker, rousing people's emotions and building solidarity. People who heard her speak long remembered her political clarity in the face of authority.
Yeats was not the only man who wanted to marry her, as is shown in the following story from her memoir that takes place in Donegal.
She visited the area of Ireland I live in several times. In the chapters "Evictions" and "Woman of the Sidhe" she describes staying at the priest's house in Dunfanaghy, and organizing to help helping tenants evicted by the Olpherts, the local landlord.(Their house and garden, Ballyconnell, is now a public park where I often walk.)
Gonne helped organize campaigns to build "Land Huts" for families who had been evicted, either for non-payment of rent or because the landlord wanted the land for sheep pasture instead of farms. But it was difficult to find land to build these houses on, and they were very crowded. People who offered their own homes to anyone evicted would be evicted themselves. Maud used her wealth and influence to do what she could.
Gonne helped organize campaigns to build "Land Huts" for families who had been evicted, either for non-payment of rent or because the landlord wanted the land for sheep pasture instead of farms. But it was difficult to find land to build these houses on, and they were very crowded. People who offered their own homes to anyone evicted would be evicted themselves. Maud used her wealth and influence to do what she could.
She collaborated with the local priest, Father McFadden who begins this story.
“Before you go, I want you to come round the farms with me and put some spirit into those who are to shelter the evicted families. They will do anything for Maud Gonne,” and he and Father Stephens laughed. “There are saying you are a woman of the Sidhe who rode into Donegal and a white horse surrounded by birds to bring victory. No one can resist this woman; she confabs with the bishop, she releases prisoners; even the police can’t stand against her.”
For the first time, I heard of the legend that was growing. It has small foundation, but it explained why Irish-speaking women who could not understand a word I said kissed my hand after meetings and boys and old men looked at me with adoration. I had attributed this to their astonishment, seeing on their side, a woman, better dressed, and much more triumphant looking than Olphert’s ladies, and I was always careful to say that Ireland would win; Ireland could not be defeated. Once, when I was going through a mountain glen with young Paddy, we had come upon a group of police guarding for prisoners, arrested for defending their homes; a sergeant was in charge; they were waiting for the police car. I had noted that my good clothes impress the police, always respectful to ascendancy. Even the DI made way for me and sergeants would willingly have helped me on or off my car if I had let them.
I went up to the sergeant and asked him why he had arrested these boys, and speaking in a tone of authority told him it was a stupid mistake as I was interested in them and knew them to be good, honest fellas. “Let them go now; I will take full responsibility,” and I waved to the prisoners to go. They went. The police made no move, and with a careless nod to the sergeant, I walked on as if nothing unusual has happened, followed by the astonished Paddy, while the prisoners disappeared up the mountain. The bluff had worked. How the young sergeant explained matters to his superiors, I do not know. Many of the police were halfhearted and hated eviction duty. Young Paddy had spread this tale, and it had helped the legend; next day, it was to be further illuminated.
… The following day, on Father McFadden‘s car, we made an early start. … The road became worse and worse; the driver got down and led the horse; soon we all had to get down and walk over the bog to the houses. Young Paddy turned up, as by magic he always did, to help me over the hard places. I was exhausted when we got to the first house and gladly sat down by the turf, while the tousled-haired, Ban na Tigh poured me out a strong cup of tea and father McFadden and Pat O’Brien talked to the men outside. In an incredibly short time, the news of our arrival had spread to neighboring farms, and there was quite a crowd outside and children posted as sentries to give warning if the police cars were coming. A scout ran in and announce two cars coming along the road from Gweedore—not police cars. Soon they were visible from the hill we were on. “English sympathizers,” I said wearily. But how have they found us out? They should’ve been attending evictions the other side of Falcarragh. On the first car, beside the driver, there was a strange-looking bundle of fur; on the second two men, one with a wide hat which the winds succeeded in grabbing, and which some of our ragged scouts were dexterously endeavoring to recapture. Some of the men went down the road to help the visitors; I returned to the fire. The woman of the house was showing me an ejectment notice her husband had just received. It was a big house without buildings, which we had hoped would shelter several evicted families.
Father McFadden came in with a tall old gentleman who had unrolled himself from the fur rug on the car, but was still protected by a fur-lined coat with a fur collar. He was explaining that, being a member of parliament, he thought it his duty to see the evictions, which were being so much debated in Westminster. I recognize Sir John —. The boys had evidently recaptured the hat of the man on the other car, for its owner was taking it off, bowing ceremoniously, and presenting me with a letter of introduction from Millevoye. He was a French journalist who could not speak a word of English, but had picked up an interpreter in Dublin and wanted to know all about the eviction campaign. At this juncture, Sir John importantly announced that he wanted to speak with Miss Gonne alone. Tactfully father McFadden withdrew everybody out of the crowded cottage to an impromptu meeting outside at which he said Sir John would speak after he had rested a few moments.
“I went to Dublin to see you and, hearing you were in Donegal, decided to come and follow you here and renew our conversation. I want you to see how, if you listen to me, you will really be able to do far more for Ireland than by wasting your time on the bogs in this impossible climate.” He was pursuing his idea that, as his wife, I would make an ideal hostess for a great liberal salon in London. To show my aptitude as a hostess, I suggested to the tousled-haired hostess of the house that Sir John would enjoy a cup of tea, and I was amused watching his disgusted refusal. He brought out from his pocket a neat little parcel, which he handed to me. Astonished, I unwrapped it and, still more astonished, I disclosed a big diamond pendant. “It is not beautiful enough for you, but I got it in Dublin. I will get you something much more beautiful in London.” My amusement was turning to anger. Did he imagine I could be bought by such a bobble?
“I don’t care for jewelry, Sir John. But I thank you for the gracious thought, and your kindness shall not be wasted. This jewel will save this family from eviction.” And calling to the woman who, with her husband was standing in the doorway, trying to hear what father McFadden was saying and at the same time what the strangers in her home were saying, I put the diamond pendant in her hand: “Sell this and pay your rent. You need not fear of eviction now and you can shelter the others. This kind gentleman has brought it for you.” “Michael, look at it, “ said the woman. “But we can’t take this,” said the man. “It would not be right.”
“Oh, but you can. Have no fear; it will bring you luck. Put it in your pocket and come hear what Father McFadden is saying. Sir John, they are waiting outside for you to speak,” and I went out into the cold. Sir John wouldn’t speak. He left early next morning. The legend had grown. When I returned to Donegal, the people were saying, the woman of the Sidhe scattered jewels, which brought luck and stopped evictions.
Next day, Father McFadden was raging. He had heard the story. “And the mean hound,” he said, “Went back later to the cottage and bought his diamond from Michael for the exact sum he owned for the rent. Michael didn’t know the value and was glad to let it go. Why didn’t you tell me, Miss Gonne? If I had known, he wouldn’t have got it back and we would’ve had money to help all the people.” I laughed. “How can I have thought of that? “
“It is hard to be up to the English.”
A Servant of the Queen, Maud Gonne, 1938.
