Let's start from the start...
(To Harold Preece, ca. March 1929, p.354-355)
"I'm not worrying about my Irish past. What has my Celtic blood ever done for me but give me a restless and unstable mind that gives me no rest in anything I do? Damn the Shan Van Vocht, and the ancestors that went to Sassenach gallows for her, and damn the Irish and damn the black Milesian blood in my veins that makes me like drift-wood fighting the waves and gives me no peace or rest waking or sleeping or riding or dreaming or traveling or wooing, drunken or sober, with hunger or slumber on me. A sighing in the green leaves of all the trees, and a nameless sorrow in the black stars, and the white weeping winds are tugging at my heart forever and the whisper of black sands at night is like a knife in my soul. The branches of the forest creak like the arms of a gallows and an ancient sadness haunts the sunrises and the sunsets, and the shuddering of the rivers. Damn Saint Padraic; he drove the snakes from Eirean but he could not drive the mist from an Irish heart. And the heart of Erin is thin as smoke against the wind and brittle as crystal. The fall of an empire and the slaughter of millions may not shake it, but the drifting of a leaf before the wind or the song of the wild geese, or the moonlight on a still bay may shiver it into a million shining shards."
Compare the last sentence to one from the first submitted draft of The Phoenix on the Sword:
"I have seen the strange madness of futility fall upon them (the Cimmerians) when a little thing like a spinning dust-cloud, or the hollow crying of a bird, or the moan of the wind through bare branches brought to their gloomy minds the emptiness of life and the vainness of existence."
To Harold Preece, ca. early April 1930 (from The Collected Letters of Robert E. Howard, Volume Two: 1930-1932, p.32-33)
"Thanks for the Saint Padraic's card. Were I to name another trio to equal the one there portrayed, I should hesitate. But I believe that I would name Hugh O'Neill, Daniel O'Connell and the great Patrick Sarsfield. Strange the number of great men western Europe has produced compared to eastern Europe."
(Poem posted on the "Poems and Verse of Robert E. Howard" thread)
(...)
"Saint Padraic's Day usually leaves me with a distaste for the whole Celtic Irish race. Simply because my last name isn't Gaelic, the shamrock I wear is sometimes the object of questioning glances. Well, anyhow I notice damn well that none of my tribesmen have tried to uphold Celtic integrity by jerking it off. I'll wear the green if I have to fight every damned Celt in the world. How many of those who wear purely Gaelic surnames don't have the blood of Danes, Welsh, English or Dutch in them? Blasted few. You'll find a locality or town for every one of my names, in Ireland. There's a Robertstown in Kildare, an Irvinestown in Fermanagh, a Patrick -- Hell, anywhere you look -- and a Mt. Howard in Wexford. I'll admit that my blood is more or less mixed up -- but how many people in Europe and America are not of mixed bloods? If nobody but a pure Celt wore the green, it wouldn't be worn except perhaps by a few savages living in the Connaught hills."
REH fans will note that he had two (or three?) of his Irish Gaelic heroes originate from "Connaught".
All for now.












