Among the members of the Viceregal suite who were to accompany his
Grace on a visit was a certain Barry Rutledge, a gentleman usher, whose
character and doings were well known in the times I speak of. When a
very young man, Rutledge had been stripped of his entire patrimony on
the turf, and was thrown for support upon the kindness of those who
had known him in better days. Whether it was that time had developed or
adversity had sharpened his wits, it is certain that he showed himself
to be a far shrewder and more intelligent being than the world had
heretofore deemed him. If he was not gifted with any very great insight
into politics, for which he was free to own he had no taste, he was well
versed in human nature, at least in all its least favorable aspects,
and thoroughly understood how to detect and profit by the weaknesses of
those with whom he came in contact.
His racing experiences had given him all the training and teaching which
he possessed, and to his own fancied analogy between the turf and the
great race of life did he owe all the shrewd inspirations that guided
him.
His favorite theory was, that however well a horse may gallop, there
is always, if one but knew it, some kind of ground that would throw
him “out of stride;” and so of men: he calculated that every one
is accompanied by some circumstance or other which forms his
stumbling-block through life; and however it may escape notice, that
to its existence will be referrable innumerable turnings and windings,
whose seeming contradictions excite surprise and astonishment.
To learn all these secret defects, to store his mind with every incident
of family and fortune of the chief actors of the time, was the mechanism
by which he worked, and certainly in such inquisitorial pursuits it
would have been hard to find his equal. By keenly watching the lines
of action men pursued, he had taught himself to trace back to their
motives, and by the exercise of these faculties he had at last attained
to a skill in reading character that seemed little short of marvellous.
Nature had been most favorable in fitting him for his career, for his
features were of that cast which bespeaks a soft, easy temperament,
careless and unsuspecting. His large blue eyes and curly golden hair
gave him, even at thirty, a boyish look, and both in voice and manner
was he singularly youthful, while his laugh was like the joyous outburst
of a happy schoolboy.
None could have ever suspected that such a figure as this, arrayed in
the trappings of a courtly usher, could have inclosed within it a whole
network of secret intrigue and plot. My mother had the misfortune to
make a still more fatal blunder; for, seeing him in what she pardonably
enough believed to be a livery, she took him to be a menial, and
actually despatched him to her carriage to fetch her fan! The incident
got abroad, and Rutledge, of course, was well laughed at; but he seemed
to enjoy the mirth so thoroughly, and told the story so well himself,
that it could never be imagined he felt the slightest annoyance on the
subject. By all accounts, however, the great weakness of his character
was the belief that he was decidedly noble-looking and highbred; that
place him where you would, costume him how you might, surround him
with all that might disparage pretension, yet that such was the innate
gentlemanhood of his nature, the least critical of observers would not
fail to acknowledge him. To say that he concealed this weakness most
completely, that he shrouded it in the very depth of his heart, is only
to repeat what I have already mentioned as to his character; for he was
watchful over every trifle that should betray a knowledge of his nature,
and sensitively alive to the terrors of ridicule. From that hour forward
he became my mother's enemy,--not, as many others might, by decrying her
pretensions to beauty, or by any depreciatory remarks on her dress
or manner, but in a far deeper sense, and with more malignant
determination.
To learn who she was, of what family, what were her connections, their
rank, name, and station, were his first objects; and although the
difficulties of the inquiry were considerable, his sources of knowledge
were sufficient to overcome them. He got to hear something at least
of her history, and to trace back her mysterious journey to an
ancient château belonging to the Crown of France. Beyond this, in all
livelihood, he could not go; but even here were materials enough for his
subtlety to make use of.
The Viceregal visit to Castle Carew had been all planned by him. He
had persuaded the Duke that the time was come when, by a little timely
flattering, the whole landed gentry of Ireland were in his hands. The
conciliating tone of the speech which opened Parliament, the affectedly
generous confidence of England in all the acts of the Irish Legislature,
had already succeeded to a miracle. Grattan himself moved the address
in terms of unbounded reliance on the good faith of Government. Flood
followed in the same strain, and others, of lesser note, were ashamed
to utter a sentiment of distrust, in the presence of such splendid
instances of confiding generosity. My father, although not a leading
orator of the House, was, from connection and fortune, possessed of much
influence, and well worth the trouble of gaining over, and, as Rutledge
said, “It was pleasant to have to deal with a man who wanted neither
place, money, nor the peerage, but whose alliance could be ratified at
his own table, and pledged in his own Burgundy.”
Every one knows what happens in the East when a great sovereign makes a
present of an elephant to some inferior chief. The morale of a Viceregal
visit is pretty much in the same category. It is an honor that cannot be
declined, and it is generally sure to ruin the entertainer. Of course
I do not talk of the present times nor of late years. Lord-Lieutenants
have grown to be less stately; the hosts have become less splendid. But
in the days I speak of here, there were great names and great fortunes
in the land. The influence of the country neither flowed from Roman
rescripts nor priestly denunciations. The Lions of Judah and the Doves
of Elphin were as yet unknown to our political zoology; and, with all
their faults and shortcomings, we had at least a national gentry party,
high-spirited, hospitable, and generous, and whose misfortunes were
probably owing to the fact that they gave a too implicit faith to the
adaptiveness of English laws to a people who have not, in their habits,
natures, or feelings, the slightest analogy to Englishmen! and that,
when at length they began to perceive the error, it was already too late
to repair it.
The Viceroy's arrival at Castle Carew was fixed for a Tuesday, and on
Monday evening Mr. Barry Rutledge drove up to the door just as my father
and mother, with Dan Mac-Naghten, were issuing forth for a walk. He
had brought with him a list of those for whom accommodation should be
provided, and the number considerably exceeded all expectation. Nor was
this the only disconcerting event, for my father now learned, for the
first time, that he should have taken his Grace's pleasure with regard
to each of the other guests he had invited to meet him,--a piece of
etiquette he had never so much as thought of. “Of course it's not much
matter,” said Rutledge, laughing easily; “your acquaintances are all
known to his Grace.”
“I'm not so sure of that,” interposed my father, quickly; for he
suddenly remembered that Polly Fagan was not likely to have been
presented at Court, nor was she one to expect to escape notice.
“He never thinks of politics in private life; he has not the smallest
objection to meet every shade of politician.”
“I 'm quite sure of that,” said my father, musing, but by no means
satisfied with the prospect before him.
“Tell Rutledge whom you expect,” broke in Dan, “and he'll be able to
guide you, should there be any difficulty about them.”
“Ma foi!” broke in my mother, half impatiently, in her imperfect
language. “If dey are of la bonne société, what will you have more?”
“Of course,” assented Rutledge. “The names we are all familiar
with,--the good houses of the country.” Carelessly as he spoke,
he contrived to dart a quick glance towards my mother; but, to his
astonishment, she showed no sign of discomfort or uneasiness.
“Egad! I think it somewhat hard that a man's company should not be of
his own choosing!” said MacNaghten, half angrily. “Do you think his
Grace would order the dinner away if there happened to be a dish at
table he didn't like?”
“Not exactly, if he were not compelled to eat of it,” said Rutledge,
good-humoredly; “but I 'm sure, all this time, that we 're only amusing
ourselves fighting shadows. Just tell me who are coming, and I 'll be
able to give you a hint if any of them should be personally displeasing
to his Grace.”
“You remember them all, Dan,” said my father; “try and repeat the
names.”
“Shall we keep the lump of sugar for the last,” said Dan, “as they do
with children when they give them medicine? or shall we begin with your
own friends, Rut-ledge? for we've got Archdall, and Billy Burton, and
Freke, and Barty Hoare, and some others of the same stamp,--fellows that
I call very bad company, but that I'm well aware you Castle folk expect
to see everywhere you go!”
“But you've done things admirably,” cried Rutledge. “These are exactly
the men for us. Have you Townsend?”
“Ay, and his flapper, Tisdall; for without Joe he never remembers what
story to tell next. And then there's Jack Preston! Egad! you 'll fancy
yourselves on the Treasury benches.”
“Well, now for the Opposition,” said Rutledge, gayly.
“To begin: Grattan can't come,--a sick child, the measles, or something
or other wrong in the nursery, which he thinks of more consequence than
'all your houses;' Ponsonby won't come,--he votes you all very dull
company; Hugh O'Donnell is of the same mind, and adds that he 'd rather
see Tom Thumb, in Fishamble Street, than all your court tomfooleries
twice over. But then we've old Bob Ffrench,--Bitter Bob; Joe Curtis--”
“Not the same Curtis that refused his Grace leave to shoot over his bog
at Bally vane?”
“The very man, and just as likely to send another refusal if the request
be repeated.”
“I didn't know of this, Dan,” interposed my father. “This is really
awkward.”
“Perhaps it was a little untoward,” replied MacNaghten, “but there was
no help for it. Joe asked himself; and when I wrote to say that the Duke
was coming, he replied that he 'd certainly not fail to be here, for he
did n't think there was another house in the kingdom likely to harbor
them both at the same time.”
“He was right there,” said Rutledge, gravely.
“He generally is right,” replied MacNaghten, with a dry nod. “Stephen
Blake, too, isn't unlikely to come over, particularly if he finds
out that we 've little room to spare, and that he 'll put us all to
inconvenience.”
“Oh, we'll have room enough for every one,” cried my father.
“I do hope, at least, none will go away for want of--how you say,
place?” said my mother.
“That's exactly the right word for it,” cried MacNaghten, slyly. “'Tis
looking for places the half of them are. I've said nothing of the
ladies, Rutledge; for of course your courtly habits see no party
distinctions amongst the fair sex. We'll astonish your English notions,
I fancy, with such a display of Irish beauty as you 've no idea of.”
“That we can appreciate without the slightest disparagement on the score
of politics.”
“Need you tell him of Polly?” whispered my father in Dan's ear.
“No; it's just as well not.” “I'd tell him, Dan; the thing is done, and
cannot be undone,” continued he, in the same undertone.
“As you please.”
“We mean to show you such a girl, Rutledge, as probably not St. James's
itself could match. When I tell you she 'll have not very far from half
a million sterling, I think it's not too much to say that your English
Court has n't such a prize in the wheel.”
“It 's Westrop's daughter you mean?”
“Not a bit of it, man. Dorothy won't have fifty thousand. I doubt
greatly if she 'll have thirty; and as to look, style, and figure, she's
not to compare with the girl I mean.”
“The Lady Lucy Lighton? and she is very beautiful, I confess.”
“Lucy Lighton! Why, what are you thinking of? Where would she get the
fortune I am speaking of? But you'd never guess the name; you never saw
her,--perhaps never so much as heard of her. She is a Miss Fagan.”
“Polly--Polly Fagan, the Grinder's daughter?”
“So, then, you have heard of her?” said Dan, not a little disconcerted
by this burst of intelligence.
“Heard of her! Nay, more, I've seen and spoken with her. I once made a
descent on the old father, in the hope of doing something with him;
and being accidentally, I believe it was, shown upstairs, I made Miss
Polly's acquaintance, but with just as little profit.”
“You'll have more time to improve the intimacy here, Rutledge,” said my
father, laughingly, “if MacNaghten be not a rival 'near the throne.'”
“I'll not interfere with you, Barry,” cried MacNaghten, carelessly.
Rutledge gave one of his usual unmeaning laughs, and said, “After all,
if we except Ffrench and Curtis, there's nothing to be afraid of; and I
suppose there will be no difficulty in keeping them at a safe distance.”
“Bob Ffrench cares much more for Carew's Burgundy than for his grand
acquaintances,” interposed MacNaghten; “and as for Curtis, he only comes
out of curiosity. Once satisfied that all will go on in the routine
fashion of every other country visit, he'll jog home again, sorely
discontented with himself for the trouble he has taken to come here.”
“I need scarcely tell you,” said Rutledge, taking my father's arm, and
leading him to one side,--“I need scarcely tell you that we 'd better
avoid all discussion about politics and party. You yourself are very
unlikely to commit any error in tact, but of course you cannot answer
for others. Would it not, then, be as well to give some kind of hint?”
“Faith,” broke in my father, hastily, “I will never attempt to curb the
liberty of speech of any one who does me the honor to be my guest; and I
am sure I have not a friend in the world who would tamely submit to such
dictation.”
“Perhaps you are right. Indeed, I'm sure you are,” broke in Rutledge,
and hastened his step till he joined the others.