English slang contrasted with Irish imprecation—The chase of St.
Chrysostom, and his rescue—Meet garnish for an Hibernian
anecdote—Futile attempts at imitation by English dramatists,
&c.—Remarks of a puritan on the author and his book—A caution, and a
shrewd way of observing it—Michael Heney, steward of the author’s
father—His notions concerning swearing—Curious dialogue between him
and the author—New mode of teaching children filial respect.
Though I have more than ordinary cause to be gratified by the reception
the first two volumes of this work so unexpectedly met with, and am
extremely grateful for that reception, yet I am well aware that certain
starched moralists may conceive, and perhaps, _primâ facie_, with
reason, that there is too much “imprecation,” and what the fastidious of
Bond-street call _vulgarity_ introduced into the Irish colloquies. I
admit that a person who has never been in the interior of Ireland, or
accustomed to the Irish people and their peculiarities, might naturally
think so. I therefore feel it a duty to such critics, to give them at
least one or two reasons why they should not consider Irish oaths
immoral, or Irish colloquy vulgar.
The outrageous blasphemy and indecency, so copious in the _slang_ of
England, with neither wit, point, or national humour, to qualify it,
might indeed disgust even the seven hundred imps whom the devil sent
into this world to capture St. Chrysostom.[13] The curses and
imprecations of Ireland are of a nature totally different. They have no
great variety; they are neither premeditated, nor acquired through
habits of dissipation. They are idiomatic, a part and parcel of the
regular language of the country, and repeated in other countries as a
necessary appendage to the humour of an Irish story, though they would
be utterly unadapted to any other people. Walter Scott’s delightful
writings, with all the native simplicity and idiomatic dialect of the
ancient Celtic, would be totally spoiled, for instance, had he mingled
or introduced in them the oaths and idioms indispensable as a seasoning
to Irish colloquy; an observation sufficiently illustrated by the absurd
and stupid attempts to imitate Irish phraseology made by English
dramatic mimics and grimacers.
-----
Footnote 13:
There is a manuscript of great antiquity in the library of the
Vatican, which gives a full and circumstantial account of the chase
and running down of St. Chrysostom by a legion of devils, and of his
recapture by an inconsiderable number of saints, who came from heaven
to the rescue.
-----
Here I am quite prepared for the most severe criticism. “Upon my word
(the lank-haired puritan will say), this is a most dangerous and sinful
writer; holding out that an anecdote, if it be Irish, would lose its
relish if there were neither oaths nor imprecations tacked to it. No man
can, in the opinion of that immoral writer, repeat an innocent Irish
story, unless he at the same time calls down the wrath of Heaven upon
himself; and, moreover, upon such of his auditors as take any pleasure
in hearing him.”
I know two very young ladies who told me that their mammas directed them
to skim over any _improper_ parts of the Sketches;—and that they read
every word, to _find out_ those improper parts. The book, they said, was
extremely diverting; and as to the oaths, they never swore themselves,
and never would, and therefore reading _that part_ could do them no
harm.
My own notions respecting this Irish habit of imprecation were
illustrated many years ago by an actual dialogue with a man of low rank
in that country; and as our conversation bore upon a subject of which
scarce a day passes without reminding me, I have retained its import as
if it had taken place yesterday: and though, after an interval of more
than forty-five years, it is not to be expected I should repeat the
exact _words_ uttered, yet I really think my memory serves as to the
precise _sentences_.
We had got accidentally upon the topic; and I expressed my opinion, as I
have already stated it here, that these objectionable phrases were
merely idiomatic and involuntary—betraying no radical or intentional
vice. His notion went further; he apologised for the practice not only
statistically, but said, with characteristic fervour, that the genuine
Irish people could not “do without it.” “Many,” said he, “would not mind
what was said to them, unless there was a curse tacked on to the
direction. For instance, old Ned Doran, of Cherry Hill, ordered all his
children, male and female, neither to curse nor swear, as they regarded
their father’s orders; and the consequence was, the people all said they
were going to turn _swadlers_, and not a maid or a labourer would do a
farthing’s worth of work—for want of being _forced_ to do it in the
‘owld way.’”
The man I talked with was a character not very general in England, but
frequently met with among the Irish commonalty, whose acuteness of
intellect, naturally exceeding that of English labourers, is rather
increased by the simplicity of their ideas. Self-taught, they turn any
thing they learn to all the purposes that their humble and depressed
state can give room for.
Fortune had denied him the means of emerging from obscurity; and Michael
Heney was for many years the faithful steward of my father, living with
him to the period of his death. His station in life had been previously
very low; his education was correspondent; but he had from Nature a
degree of mental strength which operated in possessing him with a
smattering of every thing likely or proper to be understood by persons
of his grade. He was altogether a singularity, and would not give up one
iota of his opinions. To address him as a casuist, was the greatest
favour you could confer on Mick Heney; and the originality of his ideas,
and promptitude of his replies, often amused me extremely.