in about three years from that day he found himself in Maynooth, and
in three years more was an active curate, to whom that very teacher
appeared as slavishly submissive as if he had never ridiculed his
vulgarity or ungainly dimensions. Poor Frank, however, in consequence of
the rapid progress he made, and of the very short interval which elapsed
from the period of his commencing Latin until that of his ordination,
was assigned by the people the lowest grade in learning. The term used
to designate the rank which they supposed him to hold, was both humorous
and expressive.
“Franky,” they would say, “is no finished priest in the larnin'; he's
but a _scowdher_.”
Now a _scowdher_ is an oaten cake laid upon a pair of tongs placed over
the greeshaugh, or embers, that are spread out for the purpose of baking
it. In a few minutes the side first laid down is scorched: it is
then turned, and the other side is also scorched; so that it has the
appearance of being baked, though it is actually quite raw within. It is
a homely, but an exceedingly apt illustration, when applied to such men
as Frank.
“Poor Frank,” they would observe, “is but a _scowdher_--the sign of the
tongs--No. 11, is upon him; so that it is asy known he never was laid
to the _muddha arran_,” *--that is to say, properly baked--or duly and
thoroughly educated.
* The _Muddha Arran_ is literally “the bread stick,” a term in
opposition to the _scowdher_. It is a forked stick with three legs, that
stands opposite the fire, and supports the cake, which is placed on the
edge until it is gradually baked. The Scowdher is, for the most part,
made in cases of hurry.
Denis, however, to resume more directly the thread of our narrative, on
finding himself mounted, took an inveterate prejudice against walking.
There was something, he thought, far more dignified in riding than
in pacing slowly upon the earth, like a common man who had not the
justification of Latin and Greek for becoming an equestrian. Besides
this accomplishment, there were also many other habits to be broken
off, and more genteel ones to be adopted in their place. These were all
suggested by his rising pride; and, in sooth, they smacked strongly of
that adroitness with which the Irish priest, and every priest, contrives
to accomplish the purpose of feeding well through the ostensible medium
of a different motive.
He accordingly took his father aside one morning, after he had eaten a
more meagre breakfast that usual, and, after licking his lips, addressed
him in these words:--
“I think, father, that upon considerating the consequence to which I
am now entitled, and the degree of respectability which, in my own
person--_in propria persona_--I communicate to the vulgarians with whom
I am connected--I call them vulgarians from no derogatory motive;
but you will concede yourself, that they are ignorant of the larned
languages, an' consequently, though dacent enough, still, in reference
to Latin and Greek, but vulgarians. Well! _Quid multis?_--I say, that
taking all these things into speculation, looking at them--_veluti in
speculum_--it is neither dacent nor becoming that I should ate in the
manner I have done, as vulgarly as themselves--that I should ate, I
say, any longer, without knife and fork. Neither, I announce, shall I
in future drink my milk any longer, as I have with all humility done
hitherto, out of a noggin; nor continue to disrobe, my potatoes any
longer without a becoming instrument. I must also have better viands
to consume. You are not to be ininformed that I am in that situation of
life, in which, from my education and other accomplishments, I must be
estimated as duly qualified to ate beef and mutton instead of bacon,
an' to have my _tay_ breakfast instead of stirabout, which, in
polite society, is designated porridge. You know yourself, and must
acknowledge, that I'm soon likely to confer distinction and preeminence
upon the poor illiterate, but honest creatures, with whom I am
associated in the bonds of blood-relationship. If I were a dunce, or a
booby, or a leather head, the case might be different; but you yourself
are well acquainted with my talents of logic and conthroversy; an' I
have sound rasons and good authority, which I could quote, if necessary,
for proving that nothing increases the weight of the brain, and
accelerates to gravity and solidity more than good feeding. Pay
attention, therefore, to my words, for I expect that they will be duly
observed:--buy me a knife and fork; and when I get them, it's not to lay
them past to rust, you consave. The beef and mutton must follow; and
in future I'm resolved to have my _tay_ breakfast. There are geese,
and turkeys, and pullets enough about the yard, and I am bent on
accomplishing myself in the art of carving them. I'm not the man now
to be placed among the other riff-raff' of the family over a basket of
potatoes, wid a black clerical coat upon me, and a noggin of milk under
my arm! I tell you the system must be changed: the schoolmaster is
abroad, and I'll tolerate such vulgarity no longer. Now saddle the horse
till I ride across the bog to Pether Rafferty's Station, where I'm to
sarve mass; plase heaven, I'll soon be able to say one myself, and give
you all a lift in spirituals--ehem!”
“Throth, Dinny, I b'lieve you're right, avick; and----”
“Vick me no longer, father--that's another thing I forgot. It's full
time that I should be sirred; and if my own relations won't call me Sir
instead of Dinny, it's hardly to be expected that strangers will do it.
I wish to goodness you had never stigmatized me wid so vulgar an epithet
as Dinny. The proper word is Dionysius; and, in future, I'll expect to
be called Misther Dionysius.”
“Sure, I or your mother needn't be sirrin' you, Dinny?”
“I haven't made up my mind as to whether I'll demand that proof of
my respectability from you and my mother, or not; but on this I'm
immovable, that instead of Dinny, you must, as I said, designate me
Dionysius.”
“Well, well, avourneen, I suppose only it's right you wouldn't be axin'
us; but I'm sure your poor mother will never be able to get her tongue
about Dionnisis, it's so long and larned a word.”
“It is a larned word, no doubt; but she must persevere until she's able
to masther it. I wouldn't for three tenpennies that the priest would
hear one of you call me Dinny; it would degradate me very much in his
estimation. At all events, if my mother cannot manage the orthography of
Dionysius, let it be Denis, or anything but that signature of vulgarity,
Dinny. Now, father, you won't neglect to revale what I've ordered to the
family?”
“No, indeed, I will not, avick--I mane--Dionnisis, avourneen--I'll tell
them everything as you ordhered; but as to Dionnisis, I'm cock sure that
poor Mave will never be able to get her ould tongue about so newfangled
a piece of larnin' as that is. Well, well, this knowledge bates the
world!”
When the horse was saddled, and Dionysius on his way with all due pomp
to the Station, old Denis broke the matter to his wife.
“Mave, achora,” said,he, “I have sthrange news to tell you: sure
Dionnisis is goin' to make himself a gintleman.”
“Sure what?”
“Dionnisis, our son Dionnisis, is goin' to make himself a gintleman;
he'll ate no longer widout a knife and fork.”
“Saints about us!” exclaimed Mave, rising and looking with alarm into
her husband's face--“saints about us, Denis, what is it ails you? Sure
there would be nothin' wrong wid you about the head, Denis? or maybe
it's a touch of a faver you've got, out riddling that corn bare-headed,
yistherday? I remimber the time my Aunt Bridget tuck the scarlet faver,
she begun to rave and spake foolish in the same way.”
“Why, woman, if your Aunt Bridget had a faver made up of all the colors
in the rainbow, I tell you I'm spakin' sinse! Our son Dionnisis proved
himself a gintleman out in the garden wid me about an hour ago.”
“I suppose so, Denis,” she replied, humoring' him, for she was still
doubly convinced that he labored under some incipient malady, if not
under actual insanity; “an' what son is this, Dinny? I've never heard of
him before.”
“Our son Denis, woman alive! You must know he's not to be called Dinny
or Dinis any more, but Dionnisis; he's to begin atin' wid a knife an'
fork to-morrow; we must get him beef and mutton, and a _tay_ breakfast.
He say's it's not fair play in any one that's so deep read in the
larnin' as he is, to ate like a vulgarian, or to peel his phaties wid
his fingers, an' him knows so much Latin an' Greek; an' my sowl to
happiness but he'll stick to the gintlemanly way of livin', so far as
the beef, an' mutton, and tay is consamed.”
“He will! An', Dinis O'Shaughnessy, who has a betther right to turn
gintleman, nor the gorsoon that studied for that! Isn't it proud you
ought to be that he has the spirit to think of sich things?”
“I'll engage, Mave, on that point you'll find him spirited enough; for
my part, I don't begrudge him what he wants; but I heard the people say,
that no man's a gintleman who's not College-bred; and you know he's not
that yet.”
“You forget that he has gentle blood in his veins, Denis. There was a
day when my family, the Magennises, held their heads up; and Kolumkill
says that the same time is to come back agin to all the ould families.
Who knows if it's altogether from himself he's takin' to the beef an'
mutton, but from prophecy; he knows what he's about, I'll warrant him.
For our part, it's not right for us to cross him in it; it's for the
good of the church, no doubt, an' we might lose more by a blast upon the
corn or the cattle, than he'd ate the other way. That's my dhrame out
that I had last night about him. I thought we were all gother somewhere
that I can't rightly remimber; but anyhow there was a great sight of
people in it, an' high doin's goin' an in the atin' way. I looked
about me, an' seen ever so many priests dressed all like the Protestant
clargy; our Dinis was at the head of them, wid a three-cocked hat, an'
a wig upon him; he was cuttin' up beef an' mutton at the rate of a
weddin', an' dhrinkin' wine in metherfuls.”
“'Musha, Dinis,' says myself, 'what's all this for?'
“'Why,' says he, 'it's all for the good of the church an' the faithful.
I'm now Archbishop of the county,' says he; 'the Protestants are all
banished, an' we are in their place.'
“The sorra one o' myself all this time but thought he was a priest
still; so says I, 'Dinny, you're a wantin' to anoint Paddy Diarmud,
who's given over, an' if you don't I make haste, you won't overtake
him?'
“'He must wait then till mornin',' says Dinny; 'or if he chooses to
die against my will, an' the will o' the church, let him take the
quensequences. Were wealthy now.'
“I was so much frightened at the kind of voice that he spoke to me in,
that I awoke; an' sure enough, the first thing I heard was the fizzin'
o' bacon on the pan. I wondered! who could be up so early, an' puttin'
my head through the door, there was Dinny busy at it, wid an ould knife
in one hand, an' an iron skiver in the other imitatin' a fork.
“'What are you doin' so early, Dinny?' says I.
“'I'm practisin',' says he.
“'What for?' says I.
“'Oh, I'm practisin',' says he, back again, 'go to bed; I'm practisin'
for the church, an' the Station that's to be in Pether Rafferty's
to-day.'
“Now, Dinny, between you an' me, that dhrame didn't come for nothin'. So
give the gorsoon his way, an' if he chooses to be a gintleman, why let
him; he'll be the more honor to thim that reared him.”
“Thrue for you, indeed,--Mave; he always had a high spirit ever since
he was intinded for the robes, and would have his own way and will in
whatever he took into his head, right or wrong, as cleverly as if he had
the authority for it.”
“An' so he ought, seein' he wasn't to be slavin' at the spade, like the
rest o' the family. The ways o' them that have great larnin' as he has,
isn't like other people's ways--they must be humored, and have their own
will, otherwise what 'ud they be betther than their neighbors?”
The other arrangements laid down by Denis, touching his determination
not to be addressed so familiarly by his brothers and sisters, were next
discussed in this conversation, and, of course, the same prejudice in
his favor was manifested by his indulgent parents. The whole code of his
injunctions was subsequently disclosed to the family in all its extent
and rigor. Some of them heard it with surprise, and other with that kind
of dogged indignation evinced by those who are in some degree prepared
for the nature of the communication about to be laid before them.
Altogether, the circumstances in which it placed them were peculiar and
embarrassing. The Irish peasant can seldom bear to have the tenderness
of domestic affection tampered with, whether from pride, caprice, or
any other motive not related to his prejudices. In this instance the
strongest feelings of the O'Shaughnessys were brunted, as it were, in
hostile array against each other; and although the moral force on each
side was nearly equal, still the painful revulsion produced by Denis's
pride, as undervaluing their affection, and substituting the cold forms
of artificial life for the warmth of honest hearts like theirs, was, in
the first burst of natural fervor, strongly, and somewhat indignantly
expressed.
Denis had been their pride, the privileged person among them--the
individual whose talents were to throw lustre upon a nameless and
unknown family; the future priest--the embryo preacher of eminence--the
resistless controversialist--the holy father confessor--and, perhaps,
for with that vivacity of imagination peculiar to the Irish, they could
scarcely limit his exaltation--perhaps the bishop of a whole diocese.
Had not the Lord Primate himself been the son of as humble a man? “And
who knows,” said his youngest and fairest sister, who of all the family
was most devoted to him, “but Dinny might yet be a primate?” And as she
spoke, the tear of affection, pride, and enthusiasm glistened in her
eye. Denis, therefore, had been much, even in his youth, to their simple
hearts, and far more to their hopes and expectations, than he was in all
the pride of his petty polemics; but when he, before whose merits, both
real and imaginary, every heart among them bowed as before the shrine of
a tutelar saint, turned round, ere the destined eminence he aimed at was
half attained, and laid upon their fervent affection the icy chain of
pride and worldly etiquette--the act was felt keenly and unexpectedly as
the acute spasm of some sudden malady. The father and mother, however,
both, defended him with great warmth; and by placing his motives in that
point of view which agreed best with their children's prejudices, they
eventually succeeded in reconciling his brothers and sisters in some
degree to the necessity of adopting the phraseology he proposed--that
they might treat him with suitable respect in the eye of the world.
“It's proud of him we ought to be,” said his father, “and delighted that
he has sich a risin' spirit; an' sure the more respect is paid to him
the greater credit he will be to ourselves.”
“But, sure he has no right,” said his eldest brother, “to be settin' up
for a gentleman till he's priested. I'm willin' enough to sir him, only
that it cuts me more than I'll say, to think that I must be callin' the
boy that I'd spill the dhrop of my blood for, afther I the manner of a
sthranger; and besides,” he added, “I'm not clear but the neighbors
will be passin' remarks upon us, as they did when you and he used to be
arguin'.”
“I'd like to see them that 'ud turn it into a joke,” said his father;
“I would let them know that Dinis O'Shaughnessy's dog is neither to be
made or meddled wid in a disrespectful manner, let alone his son. We are
not widout friends and connections that 'ud take our quarrel upon them
in his defince, if there was a needcessity for it; but there will not,
for didn't my heart lep the other day to my throat wid delight, when I
saw Larry Neil put his hand to his hat to him, comin' up the Esker upon
the mare; and may I never do an ill turn, if he didn't answer the bow to
Larry, as if he was the priest of the parish already. It's the wondher
of the world how he picks up a jinteel thing any how, an' ever did,
since he was the hoith o' that.”
“Why,” said the mother, “what a norration yez rise about thratin' the
boy as every one like him ought to be thrated. Wait till ye see him a
parish priest, and then yell be comin' round him to get your daughters
to keep house for him, and your sons edicated and made priests of; but
now that the child takes a ginteel relish for beef and mutton, and wants
to be respected, ye are mane an' low spirited enough to grumble about
it.”
“No mother,” said his youngest sister, bursting into tears, “I'd beg it
for him, sooner nor he should want; but I can't bear to be callin' my
brother Dinny--sir--like a stranger. It looks as if I didn't love him,
or as if he was forgettin' us, or carin' less about us nor he used to
do.”
This, in fact, was the root and ground of the opposition which Denis's
plan received at the hands of his relations; it repressed the cordial
and affectionate intercourse which had hitherto subsisted between them;
but the pride of life, and, what is more, the pride of an office which
ought always to be associated with humility, had got into his heart; the
vanity of learning, too, thin and shallow though it was, inflated him;
and the effect of both was a gradual induration of feeling--an habitual
sense of his own importance, and a notion of supreme contempt for all
who were more ignorant than himself.
After the first impression of pain and mortification had passed away
from the minds of his brothers and sisters, it was, however, unanimously
admitted that he was right; and ere long, no other feeling than one of
good-humor, mingled with drollery, could be perceived among them. They
were clearly convinced, that he claimed no more from strangers than was
due to him; but they certainly were not prepared to hear that he had
brought the exactions of personal respect so completely and unexpectedly
home to themselves as he had done. The thing, too, along with being
unreasonable, was awkward and embarrassing in the extreme; for there is
a kind of feeling among brothers and sisters, which, though it cannot
be described, is very trying to their delicacy and shamefacedness under
circumstances of a similar nature. In humble life you will see a
married woman who cannot call her husband after his Christian name; or
a husband, who, from some extraordinary restraint, cannot address his
wife, except in that distant manner which the principle I allude to
dictates, and habit confirms.
Denis, however, had overcome this modesty, and felt not a whit too
shamefaced to arrogate to his own learning and character the most
unhesitating manifestation of their deference and respect, and they soon
scrupled not to pay it.
The night of that evening was pretty far advanced, when a neighbor's
son, named Condy Callaghan, came to inform the family, that Denis, when
crossing the bog on his way home, had rode into a swamp, from which he
found much difficulty in extricating himself, but added, “the mare is
sunk to the saddle-skirts, and cannot get out widout men and ropes,”
In a short time a sufficient number of the neighbors were summoned
together, and proceeded to the animal's relief. Denny's importance, as
well as his black dress, was miserably tarnished; he stood, however,
with as dignified an air as possible, and, in a bombastic style,
proceeded to direct the men as to the best manner of relieving her.
“Asy, Dinny,” said his brother, with a good-humored but significant
smile--“larning may be very good in its place; in the mane time, lave
the business in our hands rather than in your own head--or if you have
e'er a scrap of Greek or Latin that 'ud charm ould Sobersides out, where
was the use of sendin' for help?”
“I say,” replied Dennis, highly offended, “I'll not tolerate vulgarity
any longer; you must larn to address me in a more polite style. If the
animal--that purblind quadruped--walked into the mire, by what logic
can you produce an association between her blindness and my knowledge of
Latin and Greek? But why do I degradate my own consequence by declaiming
to you an eulogium upon logic? It's only throwing pearls before swine.”
“I didn't mane to offind you,” replied the warm-hearted brother; “I
meant you no offince in what I said, so don't take it ill--we'll have
Sobersides out in no time--and barrin' an extra rubbin' down to both of
you, neither will be the worse, I hope.”
“As to what you hope or despair, Brian, it could produce no other
impression on the subtility of my fancy than pity for the man who could
compare me--considering the brilliancy of my career, and the extent of
my future speculations--to a quadruped like Sobersides, by asserting
that I, as well as she, ought to be rubbed down! And were it not that I
confront the offince with your own ignorance, I would expose you before
the townland in which we stand; ay, to the whole parish--but I spare
you, out of respect to my own consequence.”
“I ax your pardon,” said the brother, “I won't offind you in the same
way again. What I said, I said to you as I thought a brother might--I ax
your pardon!”
There was a slight agitation approaching to a tremor in his brother's
voice, that betokened sorrow for his own impropriety in too familiarly
addressing Denis, and perhaps regret that so slight and inoffensive a
jest should have been so harshly received in the presence of strangers,
by a brother who in reality had been his idol. He reflected upon the
conversation held on that morning in the family, touching Denny's
prerogative in claiming a new and more deferential deportment from them
all; and he could not help feeling that there was in it a violation of
some natural principle long sacred to his heart. But the all-prevading
and indefinite awe felt for that sacerdotal character into which his
brother was about to enter, subdued all, and reconciled him to those
inroads upon violated Nature, despite her own voice, loudly expressed as
it was in his bosom.
When the family was once more assembled that night, Denis addressed them
in a tone, which implied that the _odium theologicum_ had not prevented
the contrition expressed by his brother from altogether effacing from
his mind the traces of his offence.
“Unworthy of respect,” he proceeded, “as it appears by some of my
relations I am held,” and he glanced at his brother, “yet I beg
permission to state, that our worthy parochial priest, or I should
rather say, the Catholic Rector of this parish, is of a somewhat
different habit of thought or contemplation. I dined with him
to-day--ehem--dined with him upon an excellent joint of mutton--I say,
father--the mutton was good--and with his proud, pertinacious curate,
whom I do not at all relish; whether, as Homer says--I enumerate his
scurrilous satire, or his derogatory insinuations. His parochial pastor
and spiritual superior is a gentleman, or, as Horace says, _homo factus
ad unguem_--which is paraphrastically--every inch a gentleman--or more
literally, a gentleman to the tops of his fingers--ehem--hem--down to
the very nails--as it were.
“Well--having discussed that--_observatis observandis, quoad
sacerdolem_--having passed my eulogium upon Father Finnerty--upon my
word and credit though, punch is _prima facie_ drink--and father, that
brings me to remember an omission which I committed in my dialogue with
you this morning. I forgot to say, that after my dinner, in the manner I
expounded to you, it will be necessary to have a tumbler of punch--for,
as Father Finnerty says, there is nothing which so effectually promotes
the organs of digestion. Now, my introduction of this, in the middle
of my narrative, is what the hypercritics call a Parenthesis, which
certainly betrays no superficial portion of literary perusal on my part,
if you could at all but understand it as well as Father Finnerty, our
Worthy parochial incumbent, does. As for the curate, should I ever come
to authority in the Irish hierarchy, I shall be strongly disposed to
discountenance him; if it were only for his general superciliousness of
conduct. So there's another clause disposed of.