SORROW.”
Accustomed all his life to the flattery which surrounds a position of
some eminence, my father was not a little piqued at the coldness of
his friends during his illness. The inquiries after him were neither
numerous nor hearty. Some had called once or twice to ask how he was;
others had written brief excuses for their absence; and many contented
themselves with hearing that it was a slight attack, which a few days
would see the end of. Perhaps there were not many men in the kingdom
less given to take umbrage at trifles than my father. Naturally disposed
to take the bold and open line of action in every affair of life, he
never suspected the possibility of a covert insult; and that any one
could cherish ill-feeling to another, without a palpable avowal
of hostility, was a thing above his conception. At any other time,
therefore, this negligence, or indifference, or whatever it was,
would not have occasioned him a moment's unpleasantness. He would have
explained it to himself in a dozen ways, if it ever occurred to him to
require explanation. Now, however, he was irritable from the effects of
a malady peculiarly disposed to ruffle nervous susceptibility; while
the chagrin of the late Viceregal visit, and its abrupt termination, was
still over him. There are little eras in the lives of the best-tempered
men, when everything is viewed in wrong and discordant colors, and when,
by a perverse ingenuity, they seek out reasons for their own unhappiness
in events and incidents that have no possible bearing on the question.
Having once persuaded himself that his friends were faithless to him, he
set about accounting for it by every casuistry he could think of. I have
lived too long abroad; I have mixed too much in the great world, thought
he, to be able to conform to this small and narrow circle. I am not
local enough for them. I cannot trade on the petty prejudices they love
to cherish, and which they foolishly think means being national. My
wider views of life are a rebuke to their pettiness; and it 's clear we
do not suit each other. To preserve my popularity I should have lived at
home, and married at home; never soared beyond a topic of Irish growth,
and voted at the tail of those two or three great men who comprise
within themselves all that we know of Irish independence. “Even idolatry
would be dear at that price,” cried he, aloud, at the end of his
reflections,--bitter and unpleasant reveries in which he had been sunk
as he travelled up to town some few days after the events related in the
last chapter.
Matters of business with his law agent had called him to the capital,
where he expected to be detained for a day or two. My mother had not
accompanied him, her state of health at the time requiring rest
and quietude. Alone, an invalid, and in a frame of, to him, unusual
depression, he arrived at his hotel at nightfall. It was not the
“Drogheda Arms,” where he stopped habitually, but the “Clare,” a smaller
and less frequented house in the same street, and where he hoped to
avoid meeting with his ordinary acquaintances.
Vexed with everything, even to the climate, to which he wrongfully
ascribed the return of his malady, he was bent on making immediate
arrangements to leave Ireland, and forever. His pecuniary affairs were,
it is true, in a condition of great difficulty and embarrassment; still,
with every deduction, a very large income, or at least what for the
Continent would be thought so, would remain; and with this he determined
to go abroad and seek out some spot more congenial to his tastes and
likings, and, as he also fancied, more favorable to his health.
The hotel was almost full, and my father with difficulty obtained
a couple of rooms; and even for these he was obliged to await the
departure of the occupant, which he was assured would take place
immediately. In the mean while, he had ordered his supper in the
coffee-room, where now he was seated, in one of those gloomy looking
stalls which in those times were supposed to comprise all that could be
desired of comfort and isolation.
It was, indeed, a new thing for him to find himself thus,--he, the rich,
the flattered, the high-spirited, the centre of so much worship and
adulation, whose word was law upon the turf, and whose caprices gave the
tone to fashion, the solitary occupant of a dimly lighted division in a
public coffee-room, undistinguished and unknown. There was something
in the abrupt indifference of the waiter that actually pleased him,
ministering, as it did, to the self-tormentings of his reflections. All
seemed to say, “This is what you become when stripped of the accidents
of wealth and fortune,--these are your real claims.” There was no
deference to him there. He had asked for the newspaper, and been curtly
informed “that 'Falkner' was engaged by the gentleman in the next box;”
so was he left to his own lucubrations, broken in upon only by the
drowsy, monotonous tone of his neighbor in the adjoining stall, who was
reading out the paper to a friend. Either the reader had warmed into a
more distinct elocution, or my father's ears had become more susceptible
by habit, but at length he found himself enabled to overhear the
contents of the journal, which seemed to be a rather flippant criticism
on a late debate in the Irish House of Commons.
A motion had been made by the Member for Cavan for leave to bring in
a bill to build ships of war for Ireland,--a proposition so palpably
declaring a separate and independent nationality that it not only
incurred the direct opposition of Government, but actually met with the
disapprobation of the chief men of the Liberal party, who saw all the
injury that must accrue to just and reasonable demands, by a course of
policy thus exaggerated. “Falkner” went even further; for he alleged
that the motion was a trick of the Castle party, who were delighted to
see the patriots hastening their own destruction, by a line of action
little short of treason. The arguments of the journalist in support of
this view were numerous and acute. He alleged the utter impossibility
of the measure ever being accepted by the House, or sanctioned by the
Crown. He showed its insufficiency for the objects proposed, were
it even to become law; and, lastly, he proceeded to display all the
advantages the Government might derive from every passing source of
disunion amongst the Irish party,--schisms which, however insignificant
at first, were daily widening into fatal breaches of all confidence. His
last argument was based on the fact that had the Ministry anticipated
any serious trouble by the discussion, they would never have displayed
such utter indifference about mustering their forces. “We saw not,”
said the writer, “the accustomed names of Townley, Tisdale, Loftus,
Skeffington, and fifty more such, on the division. Old Roach did
n't whistle up one of his pack, but hunted down the game with the fat
poodles that waddle after the Viceroy through the Castle-yard.”
“M'Cleary had a caricature of the Portland hunt this morning in his
window,” cried the listener; “and capital likenesses there are of Bob
Uniack and Vandeleur. Morris, too, is represented by a lame dog that
stands on a little eminence and barks vigorously, but makes no effort to
follow the chase.”
“Much they care for all the ridicule and all the obloquy you can throw
on them,” replied the reader. “They well know that the pensions and
peerages that await them will survive newspaper abuse, though every
word of it was true as Gospel. Now, here's a list of them alphabetically
arranged; and will you tell me how many will read or remember one line
of them a dozen years hence? Besides, there is a kind of exaggeration in
these attacks that deprives them of credit; when you read such stories
as that of Carew, for instance, throwing a main with the dice to decide
whether or not he'd vote with the Government.”
“I would not say that it was impossible, however,” broke in the other.
“Carew's a confirmed gambler, and we know what that means; and as to his
having a particle of principle, if Rutledge's story be true, he has done
far worse than this.”
My father tried to arise from his seat; he even attempted to call out,
and impose silence on those whose next words might possibly contain an
insult irreparable forever: but he could not do either; a cold sweat
broke over him, and he sat powerless and almost fainting, while they
continued:--
“I'd be slow to take Master Bob's word, either in praise or dispraise of
any man,” said the first speaker.
“So should I, if he could make it the subject of a wager,” said
the other; “but here is a case quite removed from all chance of the
betting-ring.”
“And what does it amount to, if true?” said the other. “He married
somebody's illegitimate daughter. Look at the peerage; look at one half
the small sovereignties of Europe.”
“That's not the worst of it at all,” broke in the former. “It was the
way he got his wife.”
“Then I suppose I have not heard the story aright. How was it?”
“Rutledge's version is something in this wise: Carew had won such
enormous sums at play from one of the French princes that at last he
actually held in his hands some of the rarest of the crown jewels as
pledges. One of the ministers, having heard of the transaction, went
to the prince and insisted, under threat of a public exposure, on an
immediate settlement of the debt. In this terrible dilemma, the prince
had nothing for it but to offer Carew the valuable paintings and
furniture of his château,--reputed to be the most costly in the whole
kingdom. The report goes that the pictures alone were estimated at
several millions of francs. Carew at once accepts the proposition; but,
as if not to be outdone in generosity, even by a royal prince, he lets
it be known that he will only accept of one solitary article from the
whole collection,--rather, in fact, a souvenir than a ransom. I suppose
the prince, like everybody else, felt that this was very handsome
conduct, for he frankly said: 'The château and all within it are at his
disposal; I reserve nothing.' Armed with this authority, Carew never
waits for morning, but starts that night, by post, for Auvergne,
where the château lies. I believe it is not ascertained whether he was
previously acquainted with the circumstances of the prince's domestic
affairs. The probability, however, is that he must have been; for within
a week he returned to Paris, bringing with him the object selected as
his choice, in the person of a beautiful girl, the natural daughter of
his Royal Highness. Whether he married her then under compulsion, or
subsequently of his own free will, is to this day a secret. One thing,
however, is certain: he was banished from the French territory by a
summary order, which gave him barely time to reach the coast and
embark. Of course, once in England, he had only to select some secluded,
out-of-the-way spot for a while, and there could be no likelihood
of leaving any trace to his adventure. Indeed, the chances are that
Rutledge is about the only man who could have unravelled so tangled a
skein. How he ever contrived to do so, is more than I can tell you!”
My father sat listening to this story more like one whose faculties are
under the dominion of some powerful spell, than of a man in the free
exercise of reason. There was something in the mingled truth and
falsehood of the tale that terrified and confused him. Up to that moment
he had no notion in what a light his conduct could be exhibited, nor
could he see by what means the calumny could be resented. There was,
however, one name he could fix upon. Rutledge at least should be
accountable! There was enough of falsehood in the story to brand him as
a foul slanderer, and he should not escape him.
By an effort that demanded all his strength my father rose, the cold
sweat dropping from his forehead, and every limb trembling, from
weakness and passion. His object was to present himself to the strangers
in the adjoining box, and, by declaring his name, to compel them to
bring home to Rutledge the accusation he had overheard. He had no
time, had he even head, to weigh all the difficulties of such a line
of procedure. It was not at such a moment that he could consider the
question calmly and deliberately. Next to the poignant sense of injury,
the thought of vengeance was uppermost in his mind; and the chances
were that he was ready to wreak his fury on the first object that should
present itself. Fortunately,--might I not rather say unfortunately,
since nothing could be more disastrous than the turn affairs were fated
to take; it seemed, however, at the moment, as though it were good
fortune that when my father by an immense effort succeeded in reaching
the adjoining box, the former occupants had departed. Several persons
were leaving the coffee-room at the same instant; and though my father
tried to hasten after them, and endeavor to recognize the voices he
had overheard, his strength was unequal to the effort, and he sank
back powerless on a bench. He beckoned to a waiter who was passing,
and questioned him eagerly as to their names, and, giving him a guinea,
promised as much more if he should follow them to their residences and
bring back their addresses. But the man soon returned to say that as
the strangers were not remarked by him, he had no clew whatever to Their
detection in the crowded streets of the capital.
It struck my father as though destiny itself pointed out Rutledge as
the only one of whom he could seek reparation; and now he retired to
his room to weigh the whole question in his mind, and see by what means,
while gratifying his thirst for vengeance, he should best avoid that
degree of exposure which would be fatal to the future happiness of my
mother.
In this lay all the difficulty. To demand satisfaction from Rutledge
required that he should specify the nature of the injury, open the whole
history of the slander, and, while giving contradiction to all that was
false, publish to the world a true version of an incident that, up to
that moment, he had never confided to his dearest friend. Terrible as
seemed the task of such a revelation, it was nothing in comparison with
what he judged would be the effect upon my mother when she came to learn
the course of events which preceded her marriage.
And now this must be given to the world, with all that accompaniment
of gossip and scandal such a story would be sure to evoke. Was this
possible?--could he venture to embark upon such a sea of peril as
this?--could he dare to confront difficulties that would rise up against
him at every step and in every relation of life, to assail his political
reputation to-day--to slur his personal honor to-morrow--to cast shame
upon her whose fair fame was dearer to him than life itself twice
told--to be an inheritance of disgrace to his children, if he were to
have children? No, no Î For such an exposure as this nothing short of
downright desperation could give courage.
Far from serving to allay his passion for vengeance, these difficulties
but deepened the channel of his wrath, and made the injury itself appear
more irreparable. Nor did he know whom to consult at such a crisis. To
unbosom himself to MacNaghten was like confessing that he could do, from
personal motives, what he had shrunk from in the full confidence of his
friendship; and such an avowal would, he was well aware, give heartfelt
pain to his best friend in the world. Many other names occurred to him,
but each was accompanied by some especial difficulty. It was a case
which demanded great discretion, and at the same time promptitude and
decision. To have allowed any interval for discussion would have been to
incur that publicity which my father dreaded beyond all.
The indignant energy of his mind had given a kind of power to his
emaciated and wasted frame; and as he paced his room in passionate
emotion, he felt as though all his wonted strength and vigor were
returning to “stand by him” in his hour of peril. He had opened his
window to admit the cool air of the night; and scarcely had he thrown
wide the sash when the cry of a newsvendor met his ear.
“Here's the 'List of the Castle hacks,' to be sold to the highest
bidder, the Government having no further use for them; with the pedigree
and performances set forth in full, and a correct account of the sums
paid for each of them.”
To this succeeded a long catalogue of gentlemen's names, which were
received by the mob that followed the hawker, with shouts and cries of
derision. Groan followed groan as they were announced, and my father
listened with an agonizing suspense lest he should hear his own amidst
the number; but, to his inexpressible relief, the fellow concluded his
muster-roll without alluding to him. Just, however, as he was about to
close the window, the man again broke out with: “On Saturday next will
be published the account of the five bought in by the Crown; and Mark
Brown, Sam Vesey, William Burton, Ross Mahon, and Walter Carew will be
given in full, on a separate sheet, for one halfpenny!”
A wild outburst of derisive laughter from the crowd followed, and my
father heard no more.