The 27th of May, 1782, was the day on which Parliament was to assemble
in Dublin, and under circumstances of more than ordinary interest. The
great question of the independence of the Irish Legislature was then
to be discussed and determined; and never was the national mind so
profoundly excited as when that time drew near. They who have only
known Ireland in a later period, when her political convulsions have
degenerated into low sectarian disputes,--irregular irruptions,
headed by men of inferior ability, and stimulated solely by personal
considerations,--can scarcely form any idea of Dublin in the days of the
Volunteers. It was not alone that the Court of the Viceroy was unusually
splendid, or that the presence of the Parliament crowded the capital
with all the country could boast of wealth, station, and influence,
but that the pomp and parade of a powerful army added brilliancy and
grandeur to a spectacle which, for the magnitude of the interests at
stake, and the genius and capacity of those that controlled them, had
not its superior in Europe.
The position of England at the moment was pregnant with anxiety; at war
with two powerful nations, she had more than ever reason to conciliate
the feelings and consult the wishes of Ireland. The modern theory of
English necessity being Irish opportunity had not the same prevalence
then as in our own day, but still it had some followers, not one of
whom more profoundly believed the adage, or was more prepared to stake
fortune on the issue, than our acquaintance, Anthony Fagan.
If the Grinder was not possessed of very sage and statesmanlike opinions
on politics generally, he was, on Irish questions, fully as far advanced
as the patriots of our own time; his creed of “Ireland for the Irish”
comprising every article of his political belief, with this advantage
over modern patriotism that he was immensely rich, and quite ready to
employ his wealth in the furtherance of his conviction. He was no
needy adventurer, seeking, as the price of a parliamentary display, the
position to which mere professional attainments would never have raised
him, but a hard-working, slow-thinking, determined man, stimulated by
the ambition that is associated with great riches, and stung by the
degradation of low birth and proscribed religion.
Such men are dangerous in proportion as they are single-minded. Fagan,
with all his sincerity of purpose, failed in this respect, for he
was passionate and resentful to an extent which made him often forget
everything else but his desire of a personal reparation. This was his
great fault, and, strange enough, too, he knew it. The working of that
failing, and his iron efforts to control it, made up the whole character
of the man.
The gross corruption which characterized a late period of Irish history
was then comparatively unknown. It is very possible that had it been
attempted, its success had been very inferior to that it was destined to
obtain subsequently, for the whole tone of public feeling was higher
and purer. Public men were both more independent in property, as well as
principle, and no distinction of talent or capacity could have dispensed
with the greater gifts of honesty and good faith. If there were not
venality and low ambition, however, to work upon, there were other
national traits no less open to the seductive arts of a crafty
administration. There was a warm-hearted and generous confidence, and
a gratitude that actually accepted a pledge, and acknowledged it for
performance. These were weaknesses not likely to escape the shrewd
perception of party, and to the utmost were they profited by. The great
game of the government was to sow, if not dissension, at least distrust,
in the ranks of the national party,--to chill the ardor of patriotism,
and, wherever possible, to excite different views, and different roads
to success, amongst the popular leaders of the time. There came a day
when corruption only asked to see a man's rent-roll and the list of his
mortgages, when his price could be estimated as easily as an actuary
can calculate an annuity when given the age and the circumstances of
the individual. Then, however, the investigation demanded nicer and
more delicate treatment, for the question was the more subtle one of the
mixed and often discordant motives of the human heart.
The Duke of Portland was well calculated to carry out a policy of this
kind; but I am far from suspecting that he was himself fully aware of
the drama in which he acted. He was a plain, straightforward man, of
average good sense, but more than average firmness and determination.
He came over to Ireland thoroughly impressed with the favorite English
maxim that whatever Irishmen wish is assuredly bad for them, and
thought, like the old physicians of the sixteenth century, that a
patient's benefit was in the exact proportion to his repugnance for the
remedy. I am not quite sure that this pleasant theory is not even yet
the favorite one as regards Ireland, which, perhaps, after all, might be
permitted the privilege so generally accorded to the incurable, to
take a little medicine of her own prescribing. Be this as it may, I
am convinced that the Duke of Portland was no hypocrite, but firmly
believed in the efficacy of the system he advocated, and only made use
of the blandishments and hospitalities of his station to facilitate
connections which he trusted would at last be concurred in on the
unerring grounds of reason and judgment. Whatever people may say or
think to the contrary, hypocrisy--that is, a really well-sustained and
long-maintained hypocrisy--is one of the rarest things to be met with,
and might even be suspected never to exist at all, since the qualities
and gifts necessary, or indeed indispensable, to its attainment are
exactly of an order which bespeaks some of the first and greatest
traits of human nature, and for that reason would make the game of
dissimulation impossible; and I would be as slow to believe that a
man could search the heart, study the passions, weigh the motives, and
balance the impulses of his fellow-men, for mere purposes of trick or
deception, as that a doctor would devote years of toil and labor in his
art for the sole aim of poisoning and destroying his patients.
Few men out of the lists of party took so great an interest in the great
struggle as Tony Fagan. With the success of the patriotic side his own
ambitions were intimately involved. It was not the section of great
wealth, and there was no saying to what eminence a man of his affluence
might attain amongst them. He not only kept a registry of all the
members, with their peculiar leanings and party connections annexed to
it, but he carefully noted down any circumstance likely to influence
the vote or sway the motives of the principal leaders of the people. His
sources of information were considerable, and penetrated every class of
society, from the high world of Dublin down to the lowest resorts of
the rabble. The needy gentleman, hard pressed for resources, found
his dealings with the Grinder wonderfully facilitated by any little
communication of backstairs doings at the Castle, or the secrets of the
chief secretary's office; while the humble ballad-singer of the streets,
or the ragged newsman, were equally certain of a “tester,” could they
only supply some passing incident that bore upon the relations of party.
If not one of the most brilliant, certainly one of the most assiduous of
Fagan's emissaries was a certain Samuel Cotterell,--a man who held the
high and responsible dignity of state trumpeter in the Irish Court. He
was a large, fine-looking, though somewhat over-corpulent, personage,
with a most imposing dignity of air, and a calm self-possession of
manner that well became his functions. Perhaps this was natural to him;
but some of it may well be attributed to his sense of the dignity of
one who only appeared in public on the very greatest occasions, and was
himself the herald of a splendid ceremonial.
From long association with the Viceregal Court, he had grown to
believe himself a part, and by no means an insignificant part, of the
Government, and spoke of himself as of one mysteriously but intimately
mixed up in all the acts of the State. The pretentious absurdity, the
overweening vanity of the man, which afforded so much amusement to
others, gave no pleasure to Fagan,--they rather vexed and irritated him;
but these were feelings that he cautiously concealed, for he well knew
the touchy and irritable nature of the man, and that whatever little
information could be derived from him was only come-at-able by indulging
his vein of self-esteem.
It had been for years his custom to pay a visit to Fagan on the eve
of any great solemnity, and he was snugly installed in the little
bow-window on the evening of the 26th May, with a goodly array of
glasses and a very formidable square decanter of whiskey on a table in
front of him. Fagan, who never could trust to the indiscreet propensity
of Polly to “quizz” his distinguished friend, had sent her to spend
the day in the country with some acquaintances; Raper was deep in a
difficult passage of Richter, in his own chamber; so that the Grinder
was free to communicate with the great official unmolested and
undisturbed.
Most men carry into private life some little trait or habit of their
professional career. The lawyer is apt to be pert, interrogative,
and dictatorial; the doctor generally distils the tiresomeness of the
patient in his own conversation; the soldier is proverbially pipeclay;
and so perhaps we may forgive our friend Cotterell if his voice, in
speaking, seemed to emulate the proud notes of his favorite instrument,
while his utterance came in short, broken, abrupt bursts,--faint,
but faithful, imitations of his brazen performances in public. He was
naturally not given to talking, so that it is more than probable the
habit of _staccato_ was in itself a great relief to him.
I will not pretend to say that Fagan's patience was not sorely tried as
well by the matter as the manner of his friend. His pursuit of politics
was, indeed, under the greatest of difficulties; but he labored on, and,
like some patient gold-seeker, was satisfied to wash the sand for hours,
rewarded with even a few grains of the precious metal at the end of his
toil.
“Help yourself, Sam. That's the poteen,--this, here, is Kinahan,” said
the Grinder, who well knew that until the finish of the third tumbler,
Mr. Cotterell's oracle gave no sound. “Help yourself, and remember you
'll have a fatiguing day to-morrow!”
“A great day,--say rather a great day for Ireland,” tolled out the
trumpeter.
“That's to be seen,” replied Fagan, caustically. “I have witnessed a
good many of those great days for Ireland, but I 'd be sorely puzzled to
say what has come of them.”
“There are three great days for Ireland every year. There's the opening,
one; the King's, two; St. Patrick's, three--”
“I know all that,” muttered Tony, discontentedly.
“St. Patrick's, three; and a collar day!” repeated Sam, solemnly.
“Collars, and curs to wear them,” growled out Tony, under his breath.
“Ay, a collar day!” and he raised his eyes with a half devotional
expression at these imposing words.
“The Duke will open Parliament in person?” asked Fagan, as a kind of
suggestive hint, which chanced to turn the talk.
“So we mean, sir,--we have always done so. Procession to form in the
Upper Castle Yard at twelve; battle-axes in full dress; Ulster in his
tabard!”
“Yes, yes; I have seen it over and over again,” sighed Fagan, wearily.
“Sounds of trumpet in the court--flourish!”
“Flourish, indeed!” sighed Tony; “it's the only thing does flourish in
poor Ireland. Tell me, Sam, has the Court been brilliant lately?”
“We gave two dinners last week--plain dress--bags and swords!”
“And who were the company?”
“Loftus, Lodge, and Morris, Skeffington, Langrishe, and others--Boyle
Roche, the Usher-in-waiting. On Friday, we had Rowley, Charlemont--”
“Lord Charlemont,--did he dine with the Viceroy on Friday last?”
“Yes, sir; and it was the first time we have asked him since the Mutiny
Bill!”
“This is indeed strange, Sam; I scarcely thought he was on such terms
with the Court!”
“We forgive and forget, sir,--we forgive and forget,” said Sam, waving
his hand with dignity.
“There was young Carew also.”
“Walter Carew, the member for Wicklow?”
“The same--took in Lady Charlotte Carteret--sat next to her Grace, and
spoken to frequently--French wife--much noticed!”
“Is he one of the new converts, then?” asked Fagan, slowly; “is he about
to change the color of his coat?”
“A deep claret, with diamond buttons, jabot, and ruffles, Mechlin
lace--”
“And the Duke, you say, spoke much with him?”
“Repeatedly.”
“They talked of politics?”
“We talked of everything.”
“And in terms of agreement too?”
“Not about artichokes. Carew likes them in oil,--we always prefer
butter.”
“That is a most important difference of opinion,” said Tony, with a
sneer.
“We thought nothing of it,” said the other, with an air of dignity; “for
shortly after, we accepted an invitation to go down to Castle Carew for
a week.”
“To spend a week at Castle Carew?”
“A half state visit.”
“With all the tagrag and bobtail of a Court,--the lazy drones of
pageantry, the men of painted coats and patched characters, the women
painted too, but beyond the art of patching for a reputation.”
“No, in half state,” replied Cotterell, calmly, and not either heeding
or attending to this passionate outburst,--“two aides-de-camp; Mr.
Barrold, private secretary; Sir George Gore; and about thirty servants.”
“Thirty thieves in state livery,--thirty bandits in silk stockings and
powder!”
“We have made mutual concessions, and shall, I doubt not, be good
friends,” continued Sam, only thinking of what he said himself. “Carew
is to give our state policy a fair trial, and we are to taste the
artichokes with oil. His Grace proposed the contract, and then proposed
the visit.”
A deep groan of angry indignation was all that Tony could utter in
reply. “And this same visit,” said he, at last, “when is it to take
place?”
“Next week; for the present we have much on our hands. We open
Parliament to-morrow; Wednesday, grand dinner to peers and peeresses;
Thursday, the judges and law officers; Friday, debate on the
address--small party of friends; Saturday we go to the play in
state,--we like the play.”
“You do, do you?” said the Grinder, with a grin of malice, as some
vindictive feeling worked within him.
“We have commanded 'The Road to Ruin,'” continued Cotterell.
“Out of compliment to your politics, I suppose!”
“Holman's Young Rapid always amused us!”
“Carew's performance of the character is better still,--it is real;
it is palpable.” Then, suddenly carried beyond himself by a burst of
passion, he cried: “Now, is it possible that your heavy browed Duke
fancies a country can be ruled in this wise? Does he believe that a
little flattery here, a little bribery there, some calumny to separate
friends, some gossip to sow dissension amongst intimates, a promise of
place, a title or a pension thrown to the hungry hounds that yelp, and
bark, and fawn about a Court,--that this means government, or that these
men are the nation?”
“You have overturned the sugar-bowl,” observed Cotterell.
“Better than to upset the country,” said the other, with a contemptuous
look at his stolid companion. “I tell you what it is, Cotterell,” added
he, gravely, “these English had might and power on their side, and had
they rested their strength on them, they might defy us, for we are the
weaker party; but they have condescended to try other weapons, and would
encounter us with subtlety, intrigue, and cabal. Now, mark my words: we
may not live to see it, but the time will come when their scheme will
recoil upon themselves; for we are their equals,--ay, more than their
equals,--with such arms as these! Fools that they are, not to see that
if they destroy the influence of the higher classes, the people will
elect leaders from their own ranks; and, instead of having to fight
Popery alone, the day is not distant when they 'll have to combat
democracy too. Will not the tune be changed then?”
“It must always be 'God save the King,' sir, on birthdays,” said
Cotterell, who was satisfied if he either caught or comprehended the
last words of any discourse.
It is difficult to say whether the Grinder's temper could have
much longer endured these assaults of stupidity, but for the sudden
appearance of Raper, who, coming stealthily forward, whispered a few
words in Fagan's ear.
“Did you say here?--here?” asked Fagan, eagerly.
“Yes, sir,” replied Raper; “below in the office.”
“But why there? Why not show him upstairs? No, no, you 're right,” added
he, with a most explanatory glance towards his guest. “I must leave you
for a few minutes, Cotterell. Take care of yourself till I come back;”
and with this apology he arose, and followed Raper downstairs.
The visitor, who sat on one of the high office-stools, dressed in the
first fashion of the day, slapped his boot impatiently with his cane,
and did not even remove his hat as Fagan entered, contenting himself
with a slight touch of the finger to its leaf for salutation.
“Sorry to disturb you, Fagan,” said he, half cavalierly; “but being
in town late this evening, and knowing the value of even five minutes'
personal intercourse, I have dropped in to say,--what I have so often
said in the same place,--I want money.”
“Grieved to hear it, Mr. Carew,” was the grave, sententious reply.
“I don't believe you, Tony. When a man can lend, as you can, on his own
terms, he 's never very sorry to hear of the occasion for his services.”
“Cash is scarce, sir.”
“So I have always found it, Tony; but, like everything else, one gets
it by paying for. I 'm willing to do so, and now, what's the rate,--ten,
fifteen, or are you Patriarch enough to need twenty per cent?”
“I'm not sure that I could oblige you, even on such terms, Mr. Carew.
There is a long outstanding, unsettled account between us. There is
a very considerable balance due to me. There are, in fact, dealings
between us which call for a speedy arrangement.”
“And which are very unlikely to be favored with it, Tony. Now, I have
n't a great deal of time to throw away, for I'm off to the country
to-night, so that pray let us understand each other at once. I shall
need, before Monday next, a sum of not less than eight thousand pounds.
Hacket, my man of law, will show you such securities as I possess. Call
on him, and take your choice of them. I desire that our negotiation
should be strictly a matter between ourselves, because we live in
gossiping times, and I don't care to amuse the town with my private
affairs. Are you satisfied with this?”
“Eight thousand, in bills, of course, sir?”
“If you wish it!”
“At what dates?”
“The longer the better.”
“Shall we say in two sums of four thousand each,--six months and nine?”
“With all my heart. When can I touch the coin?”
“Now, sir; this moment if you desire it.”
“Write the check, then, Tony,” said he, hurriedly.
“There, sir, there are the bills for your signature,” said Fagan. “Will
you have the goodness to give me a line to Hacket about the securities?”
“Of course,” said he; and he at once wrote the note required. “Now for
another point, Tony: I am going to ask a favor of you. Are you in a
gracious mood this evening?”
The appeal was sudden enough to be disconcerting, and so Fagan felt it,
for he looked embarrassed and confused in no ordinary degree.
“Come, I see I shall not be refused,” said my father, who at once saw
that the only course was the bold one. “It is this: we are expecting
some friends to spend a few days with us at Castle Carew, a kind of
house-warming to that new wing; we have done our best to gather around
us whatever our good city boasts of agreeability and beauty, and with
tolerable success. There is, I may say, but one wanting to make our
triumph complete. With her presence I 'd wager a thousand guineas that
no country mansion in Great Britain could contest the palm with us.”
Fagan grew deadly pale as he listened, then flushed deeply, and a second
time a sickly hue crept over his features as, in a voice barely above a
whisper, he said,--
“You mean my daughter, sir?”
“Of course I do, Tony. A man need n't read riddles to know who is the
handsomest girl in Dublin. I hope you 'll not deny us the favor of her
company. My wife will meet her at Bray; she'll come into town, if you
prefer it, and take her up here.”
“Oh, no, sir; not here,” said Fagan, hurriedly, who, whatever plans he
might be forming in his mind, quickly saw the inconvenience of such a
step.
“It shall be as you please in every respect, Fagan. Now, on Tuesday
morning--”
“Not so fast, sir,--not so fast,” said Fagan, calmly. “You have n't
given me time for much reflection now; and the very little thought I
have bestowed on the matter suggests grave doubts to me. Nobody knows
better than Mr. Carew that a wide gulf separates our walk in life from
his; that however contented with our lot in this world, it is a very
humble one--”
“Egad! I like such humility. The man who can draw a check for ten
thousand at sight, and yet never detect any remarkable alteration in
his banker's book, ought to be proud of the philosophy that teaches him
contentment. Tony, my worthy friend, don't try to mystify me. You know,
and you 'd be a fool if you did n't know, that with your wealth and your
daughter's beauty you have only to choose the station she will occupy.
There is but one way you can possibly defeat her success, and that is by
estranging her from the world, and withdrawing her from all intercourse
with society. I can't believe that this is your intention; I can
scarcely credit that it could be her wish. Let us, then, have the honor
of introducing her to that rank, the very highest position in which she
would grace and dignify. I ask it as a favor,--the very greatest you can
bestow on us.”
“No, sir; it cannot be. It's impossible, utterly impossible.”
“I am really curious to know upon what grounds, for I confess they are a
secret to me!”
“So they must remain, then, sir, if you cannot persuade me to open more
of my heart than I am in the habit of doing with comparative strangers.
I can be very grateful for the honor you intend me, Mr. Carew; but the
best way to be so is, probably, not to accompany that feeling with any
sense of personal humiliation!”
“You are certainly not bent on giving me any clew to your motives,
Fagan.”
“I'm sorry for it, sir; but frankness to you might be great unfairness
to myself.”
“More riddles, Tony, and I 'm far too dull to read them.”
“Well, then, sir, perhaps you'd understand me when I say that Anthony
Fagan, low and humble as he is, has no mind to expose his daughter to
the sneers and scoffs of a rank she has no pretension to mix with; that,
miser as he is, he would n't bring a blush of shame to her cheek for all
the wealth of India! and that, rather than sit at home here and brood
over every insult that would be offered to the usurer's daughter by
those beggarly spendthrifts that are at liberty by his bounty, he 'd
earn his name of the Grinder by crushing them to the dust!”
The vehemence of his utterance had gone on increasing as he spoke, till
at the end the last words were given with almost a scream of passion.
“I must say, Fagan,” replied my father, calmly, “that you form a very
humble, I trust a very unfair, estimate of the habits of my house, not
to say of my own feelings. However, we'll not dispute the matter. Good
evening to you.”
“Good evening, sir; I 'm sorry I was so warm; I hope I have said nothing
that could offend you.”
“Not when you did n't mean offence, believe me, Fagan. I repeat my
hope that the friends and acquaintances with whom I live are not the
underbred and ill-mannered class you think them; beyond that I have
nothing to say. Good evening.”
Probably no amount of discussion and argument on the subject could so
palpably have convinced Fagan of the vast superiority of a man of good
manners over one of inferior breeding as did the calm and gentleman-like
quietude of my father's bearing, in contradistinction to his own
passionate outbreak.
“One moment, sir,--one moment,” cried he, laying his hand on my father's
arm; “you really believe that one humbly born as Polly, the daughter of
a man in my condition, would be received amongst the high and titled of
Dublin without a scornful allusion to whence she came,--without a sneer
at her rank in life?”
“If I thought anything else, Fagan, Ï should be dishonored in making
this request of you.”
“She shall go, sir,--she shall go,” cried Fagan.
“Thanks for the confidence, Fagan; I know you 'd rather trust me with
half your fortune without a scratch of my pen in return.”
Fagan turned away his head; but a motion of his hand across his eyes
showed how he felt the speech.
To obviate the awkwardness of the moment, my father entered upon the
details of the journey, for which it was arranged that Fagan was to send
his daughter to Bray, where a carriage from Castle Carew would be in
waiting to convey her the remainder of the way. These points being
settled, my father once again thanked him for his compliance, and
departed.
I should be only mystifying my reader most unjustifiably should I affect
any secrecy as to my father's reasons for this singular invitation;
for although the gossipry of the day could adduce innumerable plots
and plans which were to spring out of it, I sincerely believe his sole
motive was the pleasure that he and my mother were sure to feel in doing
a piece of graceful and generous politeness. MacNaghten's account of
Polly had strongly excited their curiosity, not to speak of a more
worthy feeling, in her behalf; and knowing that Fagan's immense wealth
would one day or other be hers, they felt it was but fair that she
should see, and be seen, by that world of which she was yet to be a
distinguished ornament. Beyond this, I implicitly believe they had no
motive nor plan. Of course, I do not pretend to say that even
amongst his own very guests, the men who travelled down to enjoy his
hospitality, his conduct did not come in for its share of criticism.
Many an artful device was attributed to this seeming stroke of policy,
not one of which, however, did not more redound to my father's craft
than to his character for honorable dealing. But what would become
of “bad tongues” in this world if there were not generous natures to
calumniate and vilify? Of a verity, scandal prefers a high mark and an
unblemished reputation for its assaults, far better than a damaged fame
and a tattered character; it seems more heroic to shy a pebble through a
pane of plate-glass than to pitch a stone through a cracked casement!