Lunch with Robert Emmet

On a recent  trip to Dublin, I bought a sandwich and headed into St Stephen's Green to enjoy a quiet lunch break in the green oasis away from the traffic of central Dublin. Strolling leisurely through the cool, shady paths, looking for an empty bench, observing the business men in smart suits, tourists with expensive cameras, students in scruffy jeans and noisy Spanish visitors, I tried to recall how it felt to be a student in this vibrant city many years ago.

Finding a bench, I sat down in front of the statue of Robert Emmet. For such a well-known Irish patriot, he looked rather inconspicuously short, with a slight frame and  pointed nose. Not a handsome man I thought.  I realised that I knew very little about him, though I suspect something must have been said during history classes. Perhaps I had not listened.

There was little information displayed by his statue, other than that it was made of bronze, a replica of one in Washington DC, by the sculptor Jerome O'Connor. He led an uprising against the British for which he was executed and the statue was erected in 1968 opposite his birthplace ( though the actual house was long since demolished).

On returning home, I was stimulated to find out more about Robert. He was born in 1778 and executed in 1803. The youngest of 18 children, his father was a prominent  Protestant physician and the family were relatively wealthy. Robert attended Trinity College and by all accounts was an extremely clever student, though his studies were cut short when he became politically active.

The Reverend Thomas Elrington ,Senior Dean of Trinity College at the time Robert was a student, described him as having' a dirty-brownish complexion; at a distance looks as if somewhat marked with small-pox; about five feet six inches high, rather thin than fat, but not of an emaciated figure; on the contrary, somewhat broad-made; walks briskly, but does not swing his arms.'

He was a talented speaker, driven by his idealism, organised an uprising against the British which was rapidly put down. He went into hiding , but was eventually caught, tried and sentenced to death. He is remembered particularly for his dramatic speech on the occasion of his sentencing. Witnesses were in tears as he offered the sacrifice of his life to his country.

He said: 'Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times, and other men, can do justice to my character; when my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have done.'

Thank you, Robert , for keeping me company over lunch.