A ball, like a battle, has its critical moment: that one short and
subtle point, on which its trembling fate would seem to hesitate, ere it
incline to this side or that. In both, such is the time for generalship
to display itself--and of this my friend O'Grady seemed well aware; for,
calling up his reserve for an attack in force, he ordered strong
negus for the band; and ere many minutes, the increased vigour of the
instruments attested that the order had been attended to.
'Right and left!' 'Hands across!' 'Here we are!' 'This way, Peter!' 'Ah!
Captain, you 're a droll crayture!' 'Move along, alderman!' 'That negus
is mighty strong!' 'The Lord grant the house is-----'
Such and such like phrases broke around me, as, under the orders of
the irresistible Phil, I shuffled down the middle with a dumpy little
school-girl, with red hair and red shoes; which, added to her capering
motion, gave her a most unhappy resemblance to a cork fairy.
'You are a trump, Jack,' said Phil. 'Never give in. I never was in such
spirits in my life. Two bottles of champagne under my belt, and a cheque
for three hundred Paul has just given me without a scrape of my pen; it
might have been five if I had only had presence of mind.'
'Where is Miss Bellew all this time?' inquired I.
'I only saw her a moment; she looks saucy, and won't dance.'
My pride, somewhat stimulated by a fact which I could not help
interpreting in Miss Bellew's favour, I went through the rooms in search
of her, and at length discovered her in a boudoir, where a whist-party
were assembled. She was sitting upon a sofa, beside a tall,
venerable-looking old man, to whom she was listening with a semblance of
the greatest attention as I entered. I had some time to observe her,
and could not help feeling struck how much handsomer she was than I had
formerly supposed. Her figure, slightly above the middle size, and
most graceful in all its proportions, was, perhaps, a little too much
disposed to embonpoint; the character of her features, however, seemed
to suit, if not actually to require as much. Her eyes of deep blue, set
well beneath her brow, had a look of intensity in them that evidenced
thought; but the other features relieved by their graceful softness
this strong expression, and a nose short and slightly, very slightly
_retroussé_, with a mouth, the very perfection of eloquent and winning
softness, made ample amends to those who prefer charms purely feminine
to beauty of a severer character. Her hair, too, was of that deep auburn
through which a golden light seems for ever playing; and this, contrary
to the taste of the day, she wore simply braided upon her temple and
cheeks, marking the oval contour of her face, and displaying, by this
graceful coquetry, the perfect chiselling of her features. Let me add
to this, that her voice was low and soft in all its tones; and, if the
provincialism with which she spoke did at first offend my ear, I learned
afterwards to think that the breathing intonations of the west lent a
charm of their own to all she said, deepening the pathos of a simple
story, or heightening the drollery of a merry one. Yes, laugh if you
will, ye high-bred and high-born denizens of a richer sphere, whose
ears, attuned to the rhythm of Metastasio, softly borne on the strains
of Donizetti, can scarce pardon the intrusion of your native tongue in
the everyday concerns of life--smile if it so please ye; but from the
lips of a lovely woman, a little, _a very little_ of the brogue is
most seductive. Whether the subject be grave or gay, whether mirth or
melancholy be the mood, like the varnish upon a picture, it brings out
all the colour into strong effect, brightening the lights, and deepening
the shadows; and then, somehow, there is an air of _naïveté_, a tone of
simplicity about it, that appeals equally to your heart as your hearing.
Seeing that the conversation in which she was engaged seemed to engross
her entire attention, I was about to retire without addressing her,
when suddenly she turned round and her eyes met mine. I accordingly came
forward, and, after a few of the commonplace civilities of the moment,
asked her to dance.
'Pray, excuse me, Mr. Hinton; I have declined already several times. I
have been fortunate enough to meet with a very old and dear friend of my
father----'
'Who is much too attached to his daughter to permit her to waste an
entire evening upon him. No, sir, if you will allow me, I will resign
Miss Bellew to your care.'
She said something in a low voice, to which he muttered in reply. The
only words which I could catch--'No, no; very different, indeed; this
is a most proper person'--seemed, as they were accompanied by a smile
of much kindness, in some way to concern me; and the next moment Miss
Bellew took my arm and accompanied me to the ball-room.
As I passed the sofa where the duke and Mrs. Rooney were still seated,
his grace nodded familiarly to me, with a gesture of approval; while
Mrs. Paul clasped both her hands before her with a movement of ecstasy,
and seemed about to bestow upon us a maternal blessing. Fearful of
incurring a scene, Miss Bellew hastened on, and, as her arm trembled
within mine, I could perceive how deeply the ridicule of her friend's
position wounded her own pride.
Meanwhile, I could just catch the tones of Mrs. Rooney's voice,
explaining to the duke Miss Bellow's pedigree. 'One of the oldest
families of the land, your grace; came over with Romulus and Remus; and,
if it were not for Oliver Cromwell and the Danes----' The confounded
fiddles lost the rest, and I was left in the dark, to guess what these
strange allies had inflicted upon the Bellew family.
The dancing now began, and only between the intervals of the cotillon
had I an opportunity of conversing with my partner. Few and brief as
these occasions were, I was delighted to find in her a tone and manner
quite different from anything I had ever met before. Although having
seen scarcely anything of the world, her knowledge of character seemed
an instinct, and her quick appreciation of the ludicrous features of
many of the company was accompanied by a naïve expression, and at the
same time a witty terseness of phrase, that showed me how much real
intelligence lay beneath that laughing look. Unlike my fair cousin, Lady
Julia, her raillery never wounded: hers were the fanciful combinations
which a vivid and sparkling imagination conjures up, but never the
barbed and bitter arrows of sarcasm. Catching up in a second any passing
absurdity, she could laugh at the scene, yet seem to spare the actor.
Julia, on the contrary, with what the French call _l'esprit moqueur_,
never felt that her wit had hit its mark till she saw her victim
writhing and quivering beneath her.
There is always something in being the partner of the belle of a
ball-room. The little bit of envy and jealousy, whose limit is to be the
duration of a waltz or quadrille, has somehow its feeling of pleasure.
There is the reflective flattery in the thought of a fancied preference,
that raises one in his own esteem; and, as the muttered compliments and
half-spoken praises of the bystanders fall upon your ears, you seem to
feel that you are a kind of shareholder in the company, and ought to
retire from business with your portion of the profits. Such, I know,
were some of my feelings at the period in question; and, as I pulled up
my stock and adjusted my sash, I looked upon the crowd about me with a
sense of considerable self-satisfaction, and began really for the first
time to enjoy myself.
Scarcely was the dance concluded, when a general movement was
perceptible towards the door, and the word 'supper,' repeated from voice
to voice, announced that the merriest hour in Irish life had sounded.
Delighted to have Miss Bellew for my companion, I edged my way into the
mass, and was borne along on the current.
The view from the top of the staircase was sufficiently amusing: a
waving mass of feathers of every shape and hue, a crowd of spangled
turbans, bald and powdered heads, seemed wedged inextricably together,
swaying backwards and forwards with one impulse, as the crowd at the
door of the supper-room advanced or receded. The crash of plates and
knives, the jingling of glasses, the popping of champagne corks, told
that the attack had begun, had not even the eager faces of those nearer
the door indicated as much. _Nulli oculi retrorsum_, seemed the motto of
the day, save when some anxious mother would turn a backward and
uneasy glance towards the staircase, where her daughter, preferring a
lieutenant to a lobster, was listening with elated look to his tale of
love and glory. 'Eliza, my dear, sit next me.'--'Anna, my love, come
down here.' These brief commands, significantly as they were uttered,
would be lost to those for whom intended, and only served to amuse
the bystanders, and awaken them to a quicker perception of the passing
flirtation. Some philosopher has gravely remarked, that the critical
moments of our life are the transitions from one stage or state of our
existence to another; and that our fate for the future depends in
a great measure upon those hours in which we emerge from infancy to
boyhood, from boyhood to manhood, from manhood to maturer years. Perhaps
the arguments of time might be applied to place, and we might thus
be enabled to show how a staircase is the most dangerous portion of a
building. I speak not here of the insecurity of the architecture,
nor, indeed, of any staircase whose well-tempered light shines down at
noonday through the perfumed foliage of a conservatory; but of the same
place, a blaze of lamplight, about two in the morning, crowded,
crammed, and creaking by an anxious and elated throng pressing towards a
supper-room. Whether it is the supper or the squeeze, the odour of balmy
lips, or the savoury smell of roast ducks--whether it be the approach to
silk tresses, or _sillery mousseux_--whatever the provocation, I cannot
explain it; but the fact remains: one is tremendously given in such a
place, at such a time, to the most barefaced and palpable flirtation. So
strongly do I feel on this point, that, were I a lawgiver, I would never
award damages for a breach of contract, where the promise was made on a
staircase.
As for me, my acquaintance with Miss Bellew was not of more than an
hour's standing. During that time we had contrived to discuss the
ball-room, its guests, its lights, its decorations, the music, the
dancers--in a word, all the commonplaces of an evening party; thence we
wandered on to Dublin, society in general, to Ireland, and Irish habits,
and Irish tastes; quizzed each other a little about our respective
peculiarities, and had just begun to discuss the distinctive features
which characterise the softer emotions in the two nations, when the
announcement of supper brought us on the staircase. _À propos_, or _mal
à propos_', this turn of our conversation, let the reader decide by what
I have already stated; so it was, however, and in a little nook of the
landing I found myself with my fair companion's arm pressed closely to
my side, engaged in a warm controversy on the trite subject of English
coldness of manner. Advocating my country, I deemed that no more fitting
defence could be entered, than by evidencing in myself the utter absence
of the frigidity imputed. Champagne did something for me; Louisa's
bright eyes assisted; but the staircase, the confounded staircase,
crowned all. In fact, the undisguised openness of Miss Bellew's manner,
the fearless simplicity with which she had ventured upon topics a
hardened coquette would not dare to touch upon, led me into the common
error of imputing to flirtation what was only due to the untarnished
freshness of happy girlhood.
Finding my advances well received, I began to feel not a little proud of
my success, and disposed to plume myself upon the charm of my eloquence,
when, as I concluded a high-flown and inflated phrase of sentimental
absurdity, she suddenly turned round, fixed her bright eyes upon me, and
burst out into a fit of laughter.
'There, there! pray don't try that! No one but an Irishman ever succeeds
in blarney. It is our national dish, and can never be seasoned by a
stranger.'
This pull-up, for such it most effectually was, completely unmanned me.
I tried to stammer out an explanation, endeavoured to laugh, coughed,
blundered, and broke down; while, merciless in her triumph, she only
laughed the more, and seemed to enjoy my confusion.
With such a failure hanging over me, I felt happy when we reached the
supper-room; and the crash, din, and confusion about us once more broke
in upon our conversation. It requires far less nerve for the dismounted
jockey, whose gay jacket has been rolled in the mud of a racecourse,
resuming his saddle, to ride in amid the jeers and scoffs of ten
thousand spectators, than for the gallant who has blundered in the full
tide of a flirtation, to recover his lost position, and sustain the
current of his courtship. The sarcasm of our sex is severe enough,
Heaven knows; but no raillery, no ridicule, cuts half so sharp or half
so deep as the bright twinkle of a pretty girl's eye, when, detecting
some exhibition of dramatised passion, some false glitter of pinchbeck
sentiment, she exchanges her look of gratified attention for the merry
mockery of a hearty laugh. No tact, no _savoir faire_, no knowledge of
the world, no old soldierism that ever I heard of, was proof against
this. To go back is bad; to stand still, worse; to go on, impossible.
The best--for I believe it is the only thing to do--is to turn approver
on your own misdeeds, and join in the laughter against yourself.
Now this requires no common self-mastery, and an _aplomb_ few
young gentlemen under twenty possess--hence both my failure and its
punishment.
That staircase which, but a moment before, I wished might be as long as
a journey to Jerusalem, I now escaped from with thankfulness. Concealing
my discomfiture as well as I was able, I bustled about, and finally
secured a place for my companion at one of the side-tables. We were too
far from the head of the table, but the clear ringing of his grace's
laughter informed me of his vicinity; and, as I saw Miss Bellew shrank
from approaching that part of the room, I surrendered my curiosity to
the far more grateful task of cultivating her acquaintance.
All the ardour of my attentions--and I had resumed them with nearly as
much warmth, although less risk of discomfiture, for I began to feel
what before I had only professed--all the preoccupation of my mind,
could not prevent my hearing high above the crash and clatter of the
tables the rich roundness of Mrs. Rooney's brogue, as she recounted to
the duke some interesting trait of the O'Toole family, or adverted to
some classical era in Irish history, when, possibly, Mecænas was mayor
of Cork, or Diogenes an alderman of Skinner's Alley.
'Ah, my dear!--the Lord forgive me! I mean your grace.'
'I shall never forgive you, Mrs. Rooney, if you change the epithet.'
'Ah, your grace's worship, them was fine times; and the husband of an
O'Toole, in them days, spent more of his time harrying the country with
his troops at his back, than driving about in an old gig full of writs
and latitats, with a process-server behind him.'
Had Mr. Rooney, who at that moment was carving a hare in total
ignorance of his wife's sarcasm, only heard the speech, the chances
are ten to one he would have figured in a steel breastplate and an iron
head-piece before the week was over. I was unable to hear more of the
conversation, notwithstanding my great wish to do so, as a movement of
those next the door implied that a large instalment of the guests who
had not supped would wait no longer, but were about to make what Mr.
Rooney called a forcible entry on a summary process, and eject the
tenant in possession.
[Illustration: 1-0092]
We accordingly rose, and all (save the party around the viceroy) along
with us, once more to visit the ball-room, where already dancing had
begun. While I was eagerly endeavouring to persuade Miss Bellew that
there was no cause or just impediment to prevent her dancing the next
set with me, Lord Dudley de Vere lounged affectedly forward, and mumbled
out some broken indistinct phrases, in which the word da-ance was alone
audible. Miss Bellew coloured slightly, turned her eyes towards me,
curtsied, took his arm, and the next moment was lost amid the crowd.
I am not aware of any readier method of forming a notion of perpetual
motion than watching the performance of Sir Roger de Coverley at an
evening party in Dublin. It seems to be a point of honour never to give
in; and thus the same complicated figures, the same mystic movements
that you see in the beginning, continue to succeed each other in a
never-ending series. You endeavour in vain to detect the plan, to
unravel the tangled web of this strange ceremony; but somehow it
would seem as if the whole thing was completely discretionary with the
dancers, there being only one point of agreement among them, which is,
whenever blown out of breath, to join in a vigorous hands-round; and,
the motion being confined to a shuffling of the feet, and a shaking
of the elbows, little fatigue is incurred. To this succeeds a capering
forward movement of a gentleman, which seemingly magnetises an opposite
lady to a similar exhibition; then, after seizing each other rapturously
by the hands, they separate to run the gauntlet in and out down
the whole line of dancers, to meet at the bottom, when, apparently
reconciled, they once more embrace. What follows, the devil himself may
tell. As for me, I heard only laughing, tittering, now and then a slight
scream, and a cry of 'Behave, Mr. Murphy!' etc.; but the movements
themselves were conic sections to me, and I closed my eyes as I sat
alone in my corner, and courted sleep as a short oblivion to the scene.
Unfortunately I succeeded; for, wild and singular as the gestures, the
looks, and the voices were before, they now became to my dreaming senses
something too terrible. I thought myself in the centre of some hobgoblin
orgie, where demons, male and female, were performing their fantastic
antics around me, grinning hideously, and uttering cries of menacing
import. Tarn O'Shanter's vision was a respectable tea-party of Glasgow
matrons compared to my imaginings; for so distorted were the pictures
of my brain, that the leader of the band, a peaceable-looking old man
in shorts and spectacles, seemed to me like a grim-visaged imp, who
flourished his tail across the strings of his instrument in lieu of a
bow.
I must confess that the dancers, without any wish on my part to detract
from their efforts, had not the entire merit of this transmutation.
Fatigue, for the hour was late, chagrin at being robbed of my
partner, added to the heat and the crowd, had all their share in the
mystification. Besides, if I must confess it, Mr. Rooney's champagne
was strong. My friend O'Grady, however, seemed but little of my opinion;
for, like the master-spirit of the scene, he seemed to direct every
movement and dictate every change--no touch of fatigue, no semblance of
exhaustion about him. On the contrary, as the hour grew later, and the
pale grey of morning began to mingle with the glare of wax-lights, the
vigour of his performance only increased, and several new steps were
displayed, which, like a prudent general, he seemed to have kept in
reserve for the end of the engagement. And what a sad thing is a ball as
it draws towards the close! What an emblem of life at a similar period!
How much freshness has faded! how much of beauty has passed away! how
many illusions are dissipated! how many dreams the lamplight and chalk
floors have called into life fly like spirits with the first beam of
sunlight! The eye of proud bearing is humbled now; the cheek, whose
downy softness no painter could have copied, looks pale, and wan, and
haggard; the beaming looks, the graceful bearing, the elastic step,
where are they? Only to be found where youth--bright, joyous, and
elastic youth-unites itself to beauty.
Such were my thoughts as the dancers flew past, and many whom I had
remarked at the beginning of the evening as handsome and attractive,
seemed now without a trace of either--when suddenly Louisa Bellew came
by, her step as light, her every gesture as graceful, her cheek as
blooming, and her liquid eye as deeply beaming as when first I saw
her. The excitement of the dance had slightly flushed her face, and
heightened the expression its ever-varying emotions lent it.
Handsome as I before had thought her, there was a look of pride about
her now that made her lovely to my eyes. As I continued to gaze after
her, I did not perceive for some time that the guests were rapidly
taking their leave, and already the rooms were greatly thinned. Every
moment now, however, bore evidence of the fact: the unceasing roll of
carriages to the door, the clank of the steps, the reiterated cry to
drive on, followed by the call for the next carriage, all betokened
departure. Now and then, too, some cloaked and hooded figure would
appear at the door of the drawing-room, peering anxiously about for
a daughter, a sister, or a friend who still lingered in the dance,
averring it 'was impossible to go, that she was engaged for another
set.' The disconsolate gestures, the impatient menaces of the shawled
spectres--for, in truth, they seemed like creatures of another world
come back to look upon the life they left--are of no avail: the
seductions of the 'major' are stronger than the frowns of mamma, and
though a rowing may come in the morning, she is resolved to have a reel
at night.
An increased noise and tumult below-stairs at the same moment informed
me that the supper-party were at length about to separate. I started
up at once, wishing to see Miss Bellew again ere I took my leave, when
O'Grady seized me by the arm and hurried me away.
'Come along, Hinton! Not a moment to lose; the duke is going.'
'Wait an instant,' said I, 'I wish to speak to----'
'Another time, my dear fellow; another time. The duke is delighted with
the Rooneys, and we are going to have Paul knighted!'
With these words he dragged me along, dashing down the stairs like a
madman. As we reached the door of the dining-room we found his grace,
who, with one hand on Lord Dudley's shoulder, was endeavouring to steady
himself by the other.
'I say, O'Grady, is that you? Very powerful Burgundy this---- It 's not
possible it can be morning!'
'Yes, your grace--half-past seven o'clock.'
'Indeed, upon my word, your friends are very charming people. What did
you say about knighting some one? Oh, I remember: Mr. Rooney, wasn't it?
Of course, nothing could be better!'
'Come, Hinton, have you got a sword?' said O'Grady; 'I 've mislaid mine
somehow. There, that 'll do. Let us try and find Paul now.'
Into the supper-room we rushed; but what a change was there! The
brilliant tables, resplendent with gold plate, candelabras, and flowers,
were now despoiled and dismantled. On the floor, among broken glasses,
cracked decanters, pyramids of jelly, and pagodas of blancmange, lay
scattered in every attitude the sleeping figures of the late guests.
Mrs. Rooney alone maintained her position, seated in a large chair, her
eyes closed, a smile of Elysian happiness playing upon her lips. Her
right arm hung gracefully over the side of the chair, where lately his
grace had kissed her hand at parting. Overcome, in all probability,
by the more than human happiness of such a moment, she had sunk into
slumber, and was murmuring in her dreams such short and broken phrases
as the following:--'Ah, happy day!--What will Mrs. Tait say?--The
lord mayor, indeed!--Oh, my poor head! I hope it won't be turned.--Holy
Agatha, pray for us! your grace, pray for us I--Isn't he a beautiful
man? Hasn't he the darling white teeth?'
[Illustration: 144]
'Where's Paul?' said O'Grady; 'where's Paul, Mrs. Rooney?' as he jogged
her rather rudely by the arm.
'Ah, who cares for Paul?' said she, still sleeping; 'don't be bothering
me about the like of him.'
'Egad! this is conjugal, at any rate,' said Phil
'I have him!' cried I; 'here he is!' as I stumbled over a short, thick
figure, who was propped up in a corner of the room. There he sat, his
head sunk upon his bosom, his hands listlessly resting on the floor.
A large jug stood beside him, in the concoction of whose contents he
appeared to have spent the last moments of his waking state. We shook
him, and called him by his name, but to no purpose; and, as we lifted up
his head, we burst out a-laughing at the droll expression of his face;
for he had fallen asleep in the act of squeezing a lemon in his teeth,
the half of which not only remained there still, but imparted to his
features the twisted and contorted expression that act suggests.
'Are you coming, O'Grady?' now cried the duke impatiently.
'Yes, my lord,' cried Phil, as he rushed towards the door. 'This is too
bad, Hinton: that confounded fellow could not possibly be moved. I'll
try and carry him.' As he spoke, he hurried back towards the sleeping
figure of Mr. Rooney, while I made towards the duke.
As Lord Dudley had gone to order up the carriages, his grace was
standing alone at the foot of the stairs, leaning his back against the
banisters, his eyes opening and shutting alternately as his head nodded
every now and then forward, overcome by sleep and the wine he had drunk.
Exactly in front of him, but crouching in the attitude of an Indian
monster, sat Corny Delany. To keep himself from the cold, he had
wrapped himself up in his master's cloak, and the only part of his face
perceptible was the little wrinkled forehead, and the malicious-looking
fiery eyes beneath it, firmly fixed on the duke's countenance.
'Give me your sword,' said his grace, turning to me, in a tone half
sleeping, half commanding; 'give me your sword, sir!'
Drawing it from the scabbard, I presented it respectfully.
'Stand a little on one side, Hinton. Where is he? Ah! quite right. Kneel
down, sir; kneel down, I say!' These words, addressed to Corny, produced
no other movement in him than a slight change in his attitude, to enable
him to extend his expanded hand above his eyes, and take a clearer view
of the duke.
'Does he hear me, Hinton? Do you hear me, sir?'
'Do you hear his grace?' said I, endeavouring with a sharp kick of my
foot to assist his perceptions.
'To be sure I hear him,' said Corny; 'why wouldn't I hear him?'
'Kneel down, then,' said I.
'Devil a bit of me'll kneel down. Don't I know what he's after well
enough? _Ach na bocklish!_ Sorrow else he ever does nor make fun of
people.'
'Kneel down, sir!' said his grace, in an accent there was no refusing to
obey. 'What is your name?'
'Oh, murther! Oh, heavenly Joseph!' cried Corny, as I hurled him down
upon his knees, 'that I 'd ever live to see the day!'
'What is his d----d name?' said the duke passionately.
'Corny, your grace--Corny Delany.'
'There, that'll do,' as with a hearty slap of the sword, not on his
shoulder, but on his bullet head, he cried out, 'Rise, Sir Corny
Delany!'
'Och, the devil a one of me will ever get up out of this same spot. Oh,
wirra, wirra! how will I ever show myself again after this disgrace?'
[Illustration: 148]
Leaving Corny to his lamentations, the duke walked towards the door.
Here above a hundred people were now assembled, their curiosity excited
in no small degree by a picket of light dragoons, who occupied the
middle of the street, and were lying upon the ground, or leaning on
their saddles, in all the wearied attitudes of a night-watch. In
fact, the duke had forgotten to dismiss his guard of honour, who had
accompanied him to the theatre, and thus had spent the dark hours of the
night keeping watch and ward over the proud dwelling of the Rooneys. A
dark frown settled on the duke's features as he perceived the mistake,
and muttered between his teeth, 'How they will talk of this in England!'
The next moment, bursting into a hearty fit of laughter, he stepped
into the carriage, and amid a loud cheer from the mob, by whom he was
recognised, drove rapidly away.
Seated beside his grace, I saw nothing more of O'Grady, whose efforts to
ennoble the worthy attorney only exposed him to the risk of a black eye;
for no sooner did Paul perceive that he was undergoing rough treatment
than he immediately resisted, and gave open battle.
O'Grady accordingly left him, to seek his home on foot, followed by
Corny, whose cries and heart-rending exclamations induced a considerable
crowd of well-disposed citizens to accompany them to the Castle gate.
And thus ended the great Rooney ball.