The Last Heir of Castle Connor

"The Last Heir of Castle Connor" is a haunting novella by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu, centered around the themes of legacy, identity, and the supernatural. The story follows the mysterious happenings at Castle Connor, an ancestral estate, as the last heir grapples with family secrets and the eerie presence of the past. As he uncovers the truth about his lineage, the tale unfolds with elements of gothic horror, illustrating Le Fanu's masterful ability to intertwine psychological depth with chilling atmospheres. The novella explores the weight of heritage and the spectral shadows that linger within the walls of history.

• Fiction

								
Being a third Extract from the legacy of the late Francis Purcell, P. P.
of Drumcoolagh.

There is something in the decay of ancient grandeur to interest even the
most unconcerned spectator--the evidences of greatness, of power, and of
pride that survive the wreck of time, proving, in mournful contrast with
present desolation and decay, what WAS in other days, appeal, with a
resistless power, to the sympathies of our nature. And when, as we gaze
on the scion of some ruined family, the first impulse of nature that
bids us regard his fate with interest and respect is justified by the
recollection of great exertions and self-devotion and sacrifices in
the cause of a lost country and of a despised religion--sacrifices and
efforts made with all the motives of faithfulness and of honour, and
terminating in ruin--in such a case respect becomes veneration, and the
interest we feel amounts almost to a passion.

It is this feeling which has thrown the magic veil of romance over every
roofless castle and ruined turret throughout our country; it is this
feeling that, so long as a tower remains above the level of the soil, so
long as one scion of a prostrate and impoverished family survives,
will never suffer Ireland to yield to the stranger more than the 'mouth
honour' which fear compels.(3) I who have conversed viva voce et propria
persona with those whose recollections could run back so far as the
times previous to the confiscations which followed the Revolution of
1688--whose memory could repeople halls long roofless and desolate, and
point out the places where greatness once had been, may feel all this
more strongly, and with a more vivid interest, than can those whose
sympathies are awakened by the feebler influence of what may be called
the PICTURESQUE effects of ruin and decay.

     (3) This passage serves (mirabile dictu) to corroborate a
     statement of Mr. O'Connell's, which occurs in his evidence
     given before the House of Commons, wherein he affirms that
     the principles of the Irish priesthood 'ARE democratic, and
     were those of Jacobinism.'--See digest of the evidence upon
     the state of Ireland, given before the House of Commons.

There do, indeed, still exist some fragments of the ancient Catholic
families of Ireland; but, alas! what VERY fragments! They linger like
the remnants of her aboriginal forests, reft indeed of their strength
and greatness, but proud even in decay. Every winter thins their ranks,
and strews the ground with the wreck of their loftiest branches; they
are at best but tolerated in the land which gave them birth--objects of
curiosity, perhaps of pity, to one class, but of veneration to another.

The O'Connors, of Castle Connor, were an ancient Irish family. The name
recurs frequently in our history, and is generally to be found in a
prominent place whenever periods of tumult or of peril called forth
the courage and the enterprise of this country. After the accession of
William III., the storm of confiscation which swept over the land
made woeful havoc in their broad domains. Some fragments of property,
however, did remain to them, and with it the building which had for ages
formed the family residence.

About the year 17--, my uncle, a Catholic priest, became acquainted with
the inmates of Castle Connor, and after a time introduced me, then a lad
of about fifteen, full of spirits, and little dreaming that a profession
so grave as his should ever become mine.

The family at that time consisted of but two members, a widow lady and
her only son, a young man aged about eighteen. In our early days the
progress from acquaintance to intimacy, and from intimacy to friendship
is proverbially rapid; and young O'Connor and I became, in less than a
month, close and confidential companions--an intercourse which ripened
gradually into an attachment ardent, deep, and devoted--such as I
believe young hearts only are capable of forming.

He had been left early fatherless, and the representative and heir of
his family. His mother's affection for him was intense in proportion as
there existed no other object to divide it--indeed--such love as that
she bore him I have never seen elsewhere. Her love was better bestowed
than that of mothers generally is, for young O'Connor, not without some
of the faults, had certainly many of the most engaging qualities of
youth. He had all the frankness and gaiety which attract, and the
generosity of heart which confirms friendship; indeed, I never saw a
person so universally popular; his very faults seemed to recommend
him; he was wild, extravagant, thoughtless, and fearlessly
adventurous--defects of character which, among the peasantry of Ireland,
are honoured as virtues. The combination of these qualities, and the
position which O'Connor occupied as representative of an ancient Irish
Catholic family--a peculiarly interesting one to me, one of the old
faith--endeared him to me so much that I have never felt the pangs of
parting more keenly than when it became necessary, for the finishing of
his education, that he should go abroad.

Three years had passed away before I saw him again. During the interval,
however, I had frequently heard from him, so that absence had not abated
the warmth of our attachment. Who could tell of the rejoicings that
marked the evening of his return? The horses were removed from the
chaise at the distance of a mile from the castle, while it and its
contents were borne rapidly onward almost by the pressure of the
multitude, like a log upon a torrent. Bonfires blared far and
near--bagpipes roared and fiddles squeaked; and, amid the thundering
shouts of thousands, the carriage drew up before the castle.

In an instant young O'Connor was upon the ground, crying, 'Thank you,
boys--thank you, boys;' while a thousand hands were stretched out from
all sides to grasp even a finger of his. Still, amid shouts of 'God
bless your honour--long may you reign!' and 'Make room there, boys!
clear the road for the masther!' he reached the threshold of the castle,
where stood his mother weeping for joy.

Oh! who could describe that embrace, or the enthusiasm with which it was
witnessed? 'God bless him to you, my lady--glory to ye both!' and 'Oh,
but he is a fine young gentleman, God bless him!' resounded on all
sides, while hats flew up in volleys that darkened the moon; and when at
length, amid the broad delighted grins of the thronging domestics, whose
sense of decorum precluded any more boisterous evidence of joy, they
reached the parlour, then giving way to the fulness of her joy the
widowed mother kissed and blessed him and wept in turn. Well might
any parent be proud to claim as son the handsome stripling who now
represented the Castle Connor family; but to her his beauty had a
peculiar charm, for it bore a striking resemblance to that of her
husband, the last O'Connor.

I know not whether partiality blinded me, or that I did no more than
justice to my friend in believing that I had never seen so handsome a

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