I can--surely you won't blame me for it; you all know the kind husband
he was to me, and the good right I have to be sorry for him! Oh!” she
added, “is it thrue at all?--is he, my own Denis, the young husband of
my early--and my first love, in good airnest, dead, and going to leave
me here--me, Denis, that you loved so tindherly, and our childher, that
your brow was never clouded aginst? Can I believe myself or is it a
dhrame? Denis, _avick machree! avick machree!_* your hand was dreaded,
and a good right it had, for it was the manly hand, that was ever and
always raised in defence of them that wanted a friend; abroad, in
the faction-fight, against the oppressor, your name was ever feared,
acushla?--but at home--at home--where was your fellow Denis, agrah, do
you know the lips that's spaking to you?--your young bride--your heart's
light--Oh! I remimber the day you war married to me like yesterday. Oh!
avourneen, then and since wasn't the heart of your own Honor bound up
in you--yet not a word even to me. Well, agrah, machree, 'tisn't your
fault, it's the first time you ever refused to spake to your own Honor.
But you're dead, avourneen, or it wouldn't be so--you're dead before my
eyes--husband of my heart, and all my hopes and happiness goes into the
coffin and the grave along wid you, forever!”
* Son of my heart! Son of my heart!
All this time she was rocking herself from side to side, her complexion
pale and ghastly as could be conceived, and the tears streaming from her
eyes. When the coffin was about to be closed, she retired until it was
nailed down, after which she returned with her bonnet and cloak on her,
ready to accompany it to the grave. I was astonished--for I thought
she could not have walked two steps without assistance; but it was the
custom, and to neglect it, I found, would have thrown the imputation
of insincerity upon her grief. While they were preparing to bring the
coffin out, I could hear the chat and conversation of those who were
standing in crowds before the door, and occasionally a loud, vacant
laugh, and sometimes a volley of them, responsive to the jokes of some
rustic wit, probably the same person who acted master of the revels at
the wake.
Before the coffin was finally closed, Ned Corrigan, whom I had put to
flight the preceding night, came up, and repeated the De Profundis, in
very strange Latin, over the corpse. When this was finished, he got a
jug of holy water, and after dipping his thumb in it, first made the
sign of the cross upon his own forehead, and afterwards sprinkled it
upon all present, giving my brother and myself an extra compliment,
supposing, probably, that we stood most in need, of it. When this
was over, he sprinkled the corpse and the coffin in particular most
profusely. He then placed two pebbles from Lough Derg* and a bit of holy
candle, upon the breast of the corpse, and having said a Pater and Ave,
in which he was joined by the people, he closed the lid and nailed it
down.
* Those who make a station at Lough Derg are in the
habit of bringing home some of its pebbles, which are
considered to be sacred and possessed of many virtues.
“Ned,” said his brother, “are his feet and toes loose?”
“Musha, but that's more than myself knows,” replied Ned--“Are they,
Katty?” said he, inquiring from the sister of the deceased.
“Arrah, to be sure, avourneen!” answered Katty--“do you think we would
lave him to be tied that way, when he'd be risin' out of his last bed at
the day of judgment? Wouldn't it be too bad to have his toes tied thin,
avourneen?”
The coffin was then brought out and placed upon four chairs before the
door, to be keened; and, in the mean time, the friends and well-wishers
of the deceased were brought into the room to get each a glass of
whiskey, as a token of respect. I observed also, that such as had not
seen any of Kelly's relations until then, came up, and shaking
hands with them, said--“I'm sorry for your loss!” This expression of
condolence was uniform, and the usual reply was, “Thank you, Mat, or
Jim!” with a pluck of the skirt, accompanied by a significant nod, to
follow. They then got a due share of whiskey; and it was curious, after
they came out, their faces a little flushed, and their eyes watery with
the strong, ardent spirits, to hear with what heartiness and alacrity
they entered into Denis's praises.
When he had been keened in the street, there being no hoarse, the coffin
was placed upon two handspikes, which were fixed across, but parallel
to each other under it. These were borne by four men, one at the end of
each, with the point of it crossing his body a little below his stomach;
in other parts of Ireland, the coffin is borne upon a bier on the
shoulders, but this is more convenient and less distressing.
When we got out upon the road, the funeral was of great extent--for
Kelly had been highly respected. On arriving at the merin which bounded
the land he had owned, the coffin was laid down, and a loud and wailing
keene took place over it. It was again raised, and the funeral proceeded
in a direction which I was surprised to see it take, and it was not
until an acquaintance of my brother's had explained the matter that I
understood the cause of it. In Ireland when a murder is perpetrated, it
is sometimes usual, as the funeral proceeds to the grave-yard, to bring
the corpse to the house of him who committed the crime, and lay it down
at his door, while the relations of the deceased kneel down, and, with
an appaling solemnity, utter the deepest, imprecations, and invoke
the justice of heaven on the head of the murderer. This, however, is
generally omitted if the residence of the criminal be completely out
of the line of the funeral, but if it be possible, by any circuit, to
approach it, this dark ceremony is never omitted. In cases where the
crime is doubtful, or unjustly imputed, those who are thus visited
come out, and laying their right hand upon the coffin, protest their
innocence of the blood of the deceased, calling God to witness the truth
of their asseverations; but, in cases where the crime is clearly proved
against the murderer, the door is either closed, the ceremony repelled
by violence, or the house abandoned by the inmates until the funeral
passes.*
* Many of these striking and startling old customs have
nearly disappeared, and indeed it is better that they
should.
The death of Kelly, however, could not be actually, or, at least,
directly considered a murder, for it was probable that Grimes did
not inflict the stroke with an intention to take away his life, and,
besides, Kelly survived it four months. Grimes's house was not more
than fifteen perches from the road: and when the corpse was opposite the
little bridleway that led up to it, they laid it down for a moment, and
the relations of Kelly surrounded it, offering up a short prayer, with
uncovered heads. It was then borne toward the house, whilst the keening
commenced in a loud and wailing cry, accompanied with clapping of hands,
and every other symptom of external sorrow. But, independent of their
compliance with this ceremony, as an old usage, there is little doubt
that the appearance of anything connected with the man who certainly
occasioned Kelly's death, awoke a keener and more intense sorrow for his
loss. The wailing was thus continued until the coffin was laid opposite
Ghimes's door; nor did it cease then, but, on the contrary, was renewed
with louder and more bitter lamentations.
As the multitude stood compassionating the affliction of the widow and
orphans, it was the most impressive and solemn spectacle that could be
witnessed. The very house seemed to have a condemned look; and, as a
single wintry breeze waved a tuft of long grass that grew on a seat
of turf at the side of the door, it brought the vanity of human enmity
before my mind with melancholy force. When the keening ceased, Kelly's
wife, with her children, knelt, their faces towards the house of their
enemy, and invoked, in the strong language of excited passion, the
justice of heaven upon the head of the man who had left her a widow, and
her children fatherless. I was anxious to know if Grimes would appear
to disclaim the intention of murder; but I understood that he was at
market--for it happened to be market-day.
“Come out!” said the widow--“come out, and look at the sight that's
here before you! Come and view your own work! Lay but your hand upon the
coffin, and the blood of him you murdhered will spout, before God and
these Christian people, in your guilty face! But, oh! may the Almighty
God bring this home to you!--May you never lave this life, John Grimes,
till worse nor has overtaken me and mine fall upon you and yours! May
our curse light upon you this day!--the curse, I say, of the widow and
the orphans, that your bloody hand has made us, may it blast you! May
you, and all belonging to you wither off of the 'airth! Night and day,
sleeping and waking--like snow off the ditch, may you melt, until your
name and your place be disremimbered, except to be cursed by them
that will hear of you and your hand of murdher! Amin, we pray God this
day!--and the widow and orphans' prayer will not fall to the ground
while your guilty head is above it! Childhre, do you all say it?”
At this moment a deep, terrific murmur, or rather ejaculation,
corroborative of assent to this dreadful imprecation, pervaded the crowd
in a fearful manner; their countenances darkened, their eyes gleamed,
and their scowling visages stiffened into an expression of determined
vengeance.
When these awful words were uttered, Grimes's wife and daughters
approached the window in tears, sobbing, at the same time, loudly and
bitterly.
“You're wrong,” said the wife--“you're wrong, Widow Kelly, in saying
that my husband murdhered him:--he did not murdher him; for when you
and yours were far from him, I heard John Grimes declare before the God
who's to judge him, that he had no thought or intention of taking his
life; he struck him in anger, and the blow did him an injury that was
not intended. Don't curse him, Honor Kelly,” said she, “don't curse him
so fearfully; but, above all, don't curse me and my innocent childher,
for we never harmed you, nor wished you ill! But it was this party
work did it! Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands in utter
bitterness of spirit, “when will it be ended between friends and
neighbors, that ought to live in love and kindness together instead of
fighting in this bloodthirsty manner!”
She then wept more violently, as did her daughters.
“May God give me mercy in the last day, Mrs. Kelly, as I pity from my
heart and soul you and your orphans,” she continued; “but don't curse
us, for the love of God--for you know we should forgive our enemies, as
we ourselves, that are the enemies of God, hope to be forgiven.”
“May God forgive me, then, if I have wronged you or your husband,” said
the widow, softened by their distress; “but you know, that whether he
intended his life or not, the stroke he gave him has left my childher
without a father, and myself dissolate. Oh, heavens above me!” she
exclaimed, in a scream of distraction and despair, “is it possible--is
it thrue--that my manly husband--the best father that ever breathed the
breath of life--my own Denis, is lying dead--murdhered before my eyes?
Put your hands on my head, some of you--put your hands on my head, or
it will go to pieces. Where are you, Denis--where are you, the strong
of hand, and the tender of heart? Come to me, darling, I want you in
my distress. I want comfort, Denis; and I'll take it from none but
yourself, for kind was your word to me in all my afflictions!”
All present were affected; and, indeed, it was difficult to say, whether
Kelly's wife or Grimes's was more to be pitied at the moment. The
affliction of the latter and of her daughters was really pitiable; their
sobs were loud, and the tears streamed down their cheeks like rain. When
the widow's exclamations had ceased, or rather were lost in the loud
cry of sorrow which were uttered by the keeners and friends of the
deceased--they, too, standing somewhat apart from the rest, joined in it
bitterly; and the solitary wail of Mrs. Grimes, differing in character
from that of those who had been trained to modulate the most profound
grief into strains of a melancholy nature, was particularly wild
and impressive. At all events, her Christian demeanor, joined to the
sincerity of her grief, appeased the enmity of many; so true is it that
a soft answer turneth away wrath. I could perceive, however, that the
resentment of Kelly's male relations did not appear to be in any degree
moderated.
The funeral again proceeded, and I remarked that whenever a strange
passenger happened to meet it, he always turned back, and accompanied
it for a short distance, after which he resumed his journey, it being
considered unlucky to omit this visage on meeting a funeral. Denis's
residence was not more than two miles from the churchyard, which was
situated in the town where he had received the fatal blow. As soon as we
had got on about the half of this way, the priest of the parish met
us, and the funeral, after proceeding a few perches more, turned into a
green field, in the corner of which stood a table with the apparatus for
saying mass spread upon it.
The coffin was then laid down once more, immediately before this
temporary altar; and the priest, after having robed himself, the wrong
or the sable side of the vestments out, as is usual in the case of
death, began to celebrate mass for the dead, the congregation all
kneeling. When this was finished, the friends of the deceased approached
the altar, and after some private conversation, the priest turned round,
and inquired aloud--
“Who will give Offerings?”
The people were acquainted with the manner in which this matter is
conducted, and accordingly knew what to do. When the priest put the
question, Denis's brother, who Was a wealthy man, came forward, and laid
down two guineas on the altar; the priest took this up, and putting it
on a plate, set out among the multitude, accompanied by two or three of
those who were best acquainted with the inhabitants of the parish. He
thus continued putting the question, distinctly, after each man had
paid; and according as the money was laid down, those who accompanied
the priest pronounced the name of the person who gave it, so that all
present might hear it. This is also done to enable the friends of the
deceased to know not only those who show them this mark of respect,
but those who neglect it, in order that they may treat them in the same
manner on similar occasions. The amount of money so received is very
great; for there is a kind of emulation among the people, as to who will
act with most decency and spirit, that is exceedingly beneficial to
the priest. In such instances the difference of religion is judiciously
overlooked; for although the prayers of Protestants are declined on
those occasions, yet it seems the same objection does not hold good
against their money, and accordingly they pay as well as the rest. When
the priest came round to where I stood, he shook hands with my brother,
with whom he appeared to be on very friendly and familiar terms; he and
I were then introduced to each other.
“Come,” said he, with a very droll expression of countenance, shaking
the plate at the same time up near my brother's nose,--“Come, Mr.
D'Arcy, down with your offerings, if you wish to have a friend with St.
Peter when you go as far as the gates; down with your money, sir, and
you shall be remembered, depend upon it.”
“Ah,” said my brother, pulling out a guinea, “I would with the greatest
pleasure; but I fear this guinea is not orthodox. I'm afraid it has a
heretical mark upon it.”
“In that case,” replied his Reverence laughing heartily, “your only plan
is to return it to the bosom of the church, by laying it on the plate
here--it will then be within the pale, you know.”
This reply produced a great deal of good-humor among that part of the
crowd which immediately surrounded them--not excepting his nearest
relations, who laughed heartily--
“Well,” said my brother, as he laid it on the plate, “how many prayers
will you offer up in my favor for this?”
“Leave that to myself,” said his Reverence, looking at the money; “it
will be before you, I say, when you go to St. Peter.”
He then held the plate over to me in a droll manner; and I added another
guinea to my brother's gift; for which I had the satisfaction of having
my name called out so loud, that it might be heard a quarter of a mile
off.
“God bless you, sir,” said the priest, “and I thank you.”
“John,” said I, when he left us, “I think that is a pleasant and rather
a sensible man?”
“He's as jovial a soul,” replied my brother, “as ever gave birth to a
jest, and he sings a right good song. Many a convivial hour have he and
I spent together; and a more hospitable man besides, never yet existed.
Although firmly attached to his own religion, he is no bigot; but, on
the contrary, an excellent, liberal, and benevolent man.”
When the offerings were all collected, he returned to the altar,
repeated a few additional prayers in prime style--as rapid as lightning;
and after hastily shaking the holy water on the crowd, the funeral
moved oh. It was now two o'clock, the day clear and frosty, and the sun
unusually bright for the season. During mass, many were added to those
who formed the funeral train at the outset; so that, when we got out
upon the road, the procession appeared very large. After this, few or
none joined it; for it is esteemed by no means “dacent” to do so after
mass, because, in that case, the matter is ascribed to an evasion of the
offerings; but those whose delay has not really been occasioned by this
motive, make it a point to pay them at the grave-yard, or after the
interment, and sometimes even on the following day--so jealous are
the peasantry of having any degrading suspicion attached to their
generosity.
The order of the funeral now was as follows:--Foremost the women--next
to them the corpse, surrounded by the relations--the eldest son, in deep
affliction, “led the coffin,” as chief mourner, holding in his hand the
corner of a sheet or piece of linen, fastened to the mort-cloth, called
moor-cloth. After the coffin came those who were on foot, and in the
rear were the equestrians. When we were a quarter of a mile from the
churchyard, the funeral was met by a dozen of singing-boys, belonging to
a chapel choir, which the priest, who was fond of music, had some time
before formed. They fell in, two by two, immediately behind the corpse,
and commenced singing the Requiem, or Latin hymn for the dead.
The scene through which we passed at this time, though not clothed with
the verdure and luxuriant beauty of summer, was, nevertheless, marked
by that solemn and decaying splendor which characterizes a fine
country, lit up by the melancholy light of a winter setting sun. It was,
therefore, much more in character with the occasion. Indeed--I felt it
altogether beautiful; and, as the “dying day-hymn stole aloft,” the
dim sunbeams fell, through a vista of naked, motionless trees, upon
the coffin, which was borne with a slower and more funereal pace than
before, in a manner that threw a solemn and visionary light upon the
whole procession, this, however, was raised to something dreadfully
impressive, when the long train, thus proceeding with a motion so
mournful, as seen, each, or at least the majority of them, covered
with a profusion of crimson ribbons, to indicate that the corpse they
bore--owed, his death to a deed of murder. The circumstance of the sun
glancing his rays upon the coffin was not unobserved by the peasantry,
who considered it as a good omen to the spirit of the departed.
As we went up the street which had been the scene of the quarrel that
proved so fatal to Kelly, the coffin was again laid down on the spot
where he received his death-blow; and, as was usual, the wild and
melancholy keene was raised. My brother saw many of Grimes's friends
among the spectators, but he himself was not visible. Whether Kelly's
party saw then or not, we could not say; if they did, they seemed not to
notice them, for no expression of revenge or indignation escaped them.
At length we entered the last receptacle of the dead. The coffin was now
placed upon the shoulders of the son and brothers of the deceased, and
borne round the church-yard; whilst the priest, with his stole upon him,
preceded it, reading prayers for the eternal repose of the soul. Being
then laid beside the grave, a “De profundis” was repeated by the priest
and the mass-server; after which a portion of fresh clay, carried from
the fields, was brought to his Reverence, who read a prayer over it,
and consecrated it. This is a ceremony which is never omitted at the
interment of a Roman Catholic. When it was over, the coffin was laid
into the grave, and the blessed clay shaken over it. The priest now
took the shovel in his own hands, and threw in the three first
shovelfuls--one in the name of the Father, one in the name of the Son,
and one in the name of the Holy Ghost. The sexton then took it, and in a
short time Denis Kelly was fixed for ever in his narrow bed.
While these ceremonies were going forward, the churchyard presented a
characteristic picture. Beside the usual groups who straggle through the
place, to amuse themselves by reading the inscriptions on the tombs,
you might see many individuals kneeling on particular graves, where
some relation lay--for the benefit of whose soul they offered up their
prayers with an attachment and devotion which one cannot but admire.
Sometimes all the surviving members of the family would assemble, and
repeat a Rosary for the same purpose. Again, you might see an unhappy
woman beside a newly-made grave, giving way to lamentation and sorrow
for the loss of a husband, or of some beloved child. Here, you might
observe the “last bed” ornamented with hoops, decked in white paper,
emblematic of the virgin innocence of the individual who slept
below;--there, a little board-cross informing you that “this monument
was erected by a disconsolate husband to the memory of his beloved
wife.” But that which excited greatest curiosity was a sycamore-tree,
which grow in the middle of the burying-ground.
It is necessary to inform the reader, that in Ireland many of the
church-yards are exclusively appropriated to the interment of Roman
Catholics, and, consequently, the corpse of no one who had been a
Protestant would be permitted to pollute or desecrate them. This was
one of them: but it appears that by some means or other, the body of a
Protestant had been interred in it--and hear the consequence! The next
morning heaven marked its disapprobation of this awful visitation by a
miracle; for, ere the sun rose from the east, a full-grown sycamore
had shot up out of the heretical grave, and stands there to this day,
a monument at once of the profanation and its consequence. Crowds wore
looking at this tree, feeling a kind of awe, mingled with wonder, at
the deed which drew down such a visible and lasting mark of God's
displeasure. On the tombstones near Kelly's grave, men and women were
seated, smoking tobacco to their very heart's content; for, with that
profusion which characterizes the Irish in everything, they had brought
out large quantities of tobacco, whiskey, and bunches of pipes. On such
occasions it is the custom for those who attend the wake or the funeral
to bring a full pipe home with them; and it is expected that, as often
as it is used, they will remember to say “God be merciful to the soul of
him that this pipe was over.”
The crowd, however, now began to disperse; and the immediate friends of
the deceased sent the priest, accompanied by Kelly's brother, to request
that we would come in, as the last mark of respect to poor Denis's
memory, and take a glass of wine and a cake.
“Come, Toby,” said my brother, “we may as well go in, as it will gratify
them; we need not make much delay, and we will still be at home in
sufficient time for dinner.”
“Certainly you will,” said the Priest; “for you shall both come and dine
with me to-day.”
“With all my heart,” said my brother; “I have no objection, for I know
you give it good.”
When we went in, the punch was already reeking from immense white jugs,
that couldn't hold less than a gallon each.