‘Hell’ was a rather infamous part of Dublin in the eighteenth century,renowned for its drinking culture and taverns, as well as a strange wooden statue of the devil. I first came across ‘Hell’ in the pages of the classic Me Jewel And Darlin’ Dublin, in which it was noted by Éamonn Mac Thomáis that:

‘Hell’ was the site just beyond Christ Church Yard near St. Michael’s Hill. It was a small area of taverns and bed-and-breakfast establishments in the Monto style. Robert Burns, the poet, wrote a few verses about Dublin’s Hell.

He also claimed that the reputation of the area was so bad that “The Provost of Trinity College Dublin told the students on more than one ocasion that ‘Dublin’s Hell’ was out-of-bounds and that he would expel anyone found there at night-time.”

Frank Hopkins writes of the area in his Hidden Dublin, noting that:

In order to gain entry to the old For Courts, one had literally to go through ‘Hell’. Christchurch was at one time surrounded by a warren of narrow lanes and alleyways.One of these passages to the west of the cathedral known as Hell is said to have taken its name from an underground cellar known by the same name. A large wooden statue of the devil adorned the arched entrance to the alley.

Robert Burns alludes to this corner of Dublin in his story of “Death and Doctor Hornbook,” when he wrote –

“But this that I am gaun to tell,

Which lately on a night befell,

Is just as true as the deil’s in hell,

Or Dublin city.”

I recently stumbled across a very interesting account of the area, completely by accident, which was featured in the Dublin Penny Journal dated October 27, 1832. This account was later used by J.T Gilbert in his classic history of Dublin, published first in 1861, which was a groundbreaking study of the city. The 1832 article seems to have been written by someone reflecting back on a former Dublin, and the writer notes about ‘Hell’ that:

This was certainly a very profane and unseemly soubriquet, to give to a place that adjoined a cathedral whose name was Christ Church; and my young mind, when I first entered there, was struck with its unseemliness. Yes; and more especially, when over the arched entrance there was pointed out to me the very image of the devil, carved in oak, and not unlike one of those hideous black figures that are still in Thomas-street, hung over Tobacconists’ doors. This locale of hell, and this representation of his satanic majesty, were famous in those days even beyond the walls of Dublin; I remember well, on returning to my native town after my first visit to Dublin, being asked by all my playfellows, had I been in hell, and had I seen the devil.

He later writes that “As hell has not now any local habitation in our city, neither has the devil – but I can assure you, reader, that there are relics preserved of this very statue to this day; some of it was made into much esteemed snuff-boxes – and I am told there is one antiquarian in our city, who possesses the head and horns, and who prizes the relic as the most valuable in his museum.”

The account can be read in full here, on the brilliant Library Ireland website.