The reader has been already told that Joe Nelligan had achieved a great
success in his first case. A disputed point of law had been raised,
in itself insignificant, but involving in its train a vast variety
of momentous interests. Repton, with an ingenuity all his own, had
contrived to draw the discussion beyond its original limits, that he
might entangle and embarrass the ambitious junior who had dared to
confute him. Nelligan accepted the challenge at once, and after a stormy
discussion of some hours came out the victor. For a while his timid
manner, and an overpowering sense of the great odds against him, seemed
to weigh oppressively on him. The very successes he had won elsewhere
were really so many disparagements to him now, giving promise, as it
were, of his ability. But, despite all these disadvantages, he entered
the lists manfully and courageously.
What a many-sided virtue is this same courage, and how prone is the
world to award its praises unequally for it! We are enthusiastic for the
gallant soldier the earliest in the breach, or the glorious sailor who
first jumps upon the enemy's quarter-deck, and yet we never dream of
investing with heroism him who dares to combat with the most powerful
intellects of debate, or enters the field of argument against minds
stored with vast resources of knowledge, and practised in all the
subtleties of disputation.
It is time, existence is not in the issue; but are there not things a
thousand times dearer than life at peril? Think of him who has gone on
from success to success; whose school triumphs have but heralded the
riper glories of college life; who, rising with each new victory,
is hailed by that dearest and best of all testimonies,--the prideful
enthusiasm of his own age. Fancy him, the victor in every struggle,
who has carried all before him,--the vaunted chief of his
contemporaries,--fancy him beaten and worsted on his first real field of
action. Imagine such a man, with all the prestige of his college fame,
rudely encountered and overcome in the contest of public life, and say
if any death ever equalled the suffering!
Happily, our task has not to record any such failure in the present
case. Young Nelligan sat down amidst the buzzing sound of approving
voices, and received a warm eulogy from the Court on the promise of so
conspicuous an opening. And a proud man was Dan Nelligan on that day!
At any other time how deeply honored had he felt by the distinguished
notice of the great dignitaries who now congratulated him on his son's
success! With what pride had he accepted the polite recognition of Chief
Barons and silk-gowned “leaders”! Now, however, his heart had but room
for one thought,--Joe himself,--his own boy,--the little child as it
were of yesterday, now a man of mark and note, already stamped with the
impress of success in what, to every Irishman's heart at least, is the
first of all professions. The High Sheriff shook old Nelligan's hand in
open court, and said, “It is an honor to our county, Nelligan, to
claim him.” The Judge sent a message that he wished to see him in his
robing-room, and spoke his warm praises of the “admirable speech, as
remarkable for its legal soundness as for its eloquence;” and Repton
overtook him in the street, and, catching his hand, said, “Be proud of
him, sir, for we are all proud of him.”
Mayhap the hope is not a too ambitious one, that some one of those who
may glance over these humble lines may himself have once stood in the
position of Joe Nelligan, in so far as regards the hour of his triumph,
and have felt in his heart the ecstasy of covering with his fame the
“dear head” of a father.
If so, I ask him boldly,--whatever may have been the high rewards of
his later fire, whatever honors may have been showered upon him, however
great his career, and however brilliant its recognitions,--has he ever,
in his proudest moments, tasted such a glorious thrill of delight as
when he has fallen into his father's arms overcome by the happiness that
he has made that father proud of him? Oh, ye who have experienced this
thrill of joy within you, cherish and preserve it. The most glowing
eulogies of eloquence, the most ornate paragraphs of a flattering press,
are sorry things in comparison to it. For ourselves, we had rather have
been Joe Nelligan when, with his father's warm tears dimming his eyes,
he said, “God bless you, my boy!” than have gained all the honors that
even talents like his can command!
He could not bear to absent himself from home that day; and although his
father would gladly have celebrated his triumph by gathering his friends
about him, Joe entreated that they might be alone. And they were so. The
great excitement of the day over, a sense of weariness, almost sadness,
stole over the young man; and while his father continued to relate for
his mother's hearing various little incidents of the trial, he listened
with a half-apathetic dreaminess, as though the theme oppressed him. The
old man dwelt with delight on the flattering attention bestowed by the
Court on Joseph's address, the signs of concurrence vouchsafed from time
to time by the Bench, the approving murmur of the Bar while he spoke,
and then the honest outburst of enthusiasm that shook the very walls as
he concluded. “I tried,” continued Dan Nelligan,--“I tried to force my
way through the crowd, and come and tell you that he had gained the day,
but I couldn't; they were all around me, shaking my hands, patting me on
the shoulders, and saying, as if I did n't know it in my own heart, 'He
'll make you a proud man yet, Mr. Nelligan.'”
“I heard it all, five minutes after it was over,” said Mrs. Nelligan;
“and you 'd never guess who told me.”
“Counsellor Walsh,” cried Nelligan.
“No, indeed; I never seen him.”
“It was Hosey Lynch, then, for I saw him running like mad through the
town, spreading the news everywhere.”
“It was not Hosey,” said she, half contemptuously. “I wish, Joe, you'd
give a guess yourself who told me.”
“Guess, mother,--guess who told you what?” said he, suddenly starting
from some deep meditation.
“Who told me that you won the cause, and beat all the great counsellors
from Dublin.”
“I'm sure, mother, it would be hard for me to say,” said Joseph, smiling
faintly; “some of our kind townsfolk, perhaps. Father Neal, old Peter
Hayes, or--”
“I'll just tell you at once,” broke she in, half irritated at the
suggested source of her information. “It was Miss Mary herself, and no
other.”
“Miss Martin!” exclaimed old Nelligan.
“Miss Mary Martin!” echoed Joe; while a sickly paleness crept over his
features, and his lips trembled as he spoke.
“How came you to see her? Where was she?” asked Nelligan, eagerly.
“I 'll tell you,” replied she, with all the methodical preparation by
which she heralded in the least important communications,--“I 'll tell
you. I was sitting here, working at the window, and wondering when the
trial would be over, for the goose that was for dinner was too near the
fire, and I said to myself--”
“Never mind what you said to yourself,--confound the goose,” broke in
old Dan, fiercely.
“Faith, then, I 'd like to know if you 'd be pleased to eat your dinner
on the cold loin of veal--”
“But Miss Martin, mother,--Miss Martin,” urged Joe, impatiently.
“I'm coming to her, if you'll let me; but when you flurry me and
frighten me, I 'm ready to faint. It was last Candlemas you gave me a
start, Dan, about--what was it, now? Lucky Mason's dog, I believe. No,
it was the chimney took fire--”
“Will you just go back to Miss Martin, if you please,” said old
Nelligan, sternly.
“I wish I knew where I was,--what I was saying last,” said she, in a
tone of deep sorrow and contrition.
“You were going to say how Miss Mary told you all about the trial,
mother,” said Joe, taking her hand kindly within his own.
“Yes, darling; now I remember it all. I was sitting here at the window
hemming them handkerchiefs of yours, and I heard a sharp sound of a
horse coming along quick, and, by the way he cantered, I said to myself,
'I know _you_,' and, sure enough, when I opened the window, there she
was, Miss Mary herself, all dripping with wet, and her hat flattened on
her face, at the door.
“'Don't ask me to get down, Mrs. Nelligan,' said she, 'for I'm in a
great hurry. I have to ride out to Kilkieran with this'--and she showed
me a bottle she had in the pocket of her saddle. 'I only called to tell
you that your son has gained another--' What was it she called it?--a
victory, or a battle,--no, it was something else--”
“Never mind--go on,” cried Joe; “and then?”
“'But, my dear Miss Mary,' says I, 'you 're wet through and through.
It's more than your life's worth to go off now another ten miles. I'll
send our gossoon, Mickey Slater, with the medicine, if you 'll just come
in and stay with us.' I did n't say to dinner, for I was ashamed to ask
her to that.
“'I should be delighted, Mrs. Nelligan,' said she, 'but it is impossible
to-day. I 'd have stayed and asked you for my dinner,'--her very
words,--'asked you for my dinner, but I have promised poor Mat Landy to
go back to him. But perhaps it is as well as it is; and my aunt Dorothy
might say, if she heard of it, that it was a strange choice I had made
of a festive occasion,--the day on which we were beaten, and the society
of him that worsted us.'
“'Oh, but, Miss Mary,' says I, 'sure you don't think the worse of poor
Joe--'
“'I never thought more highly of him, my dear Mrs. Nelligan,' said
she, 'than at this moment; and, whatever others may say or think, I'll
maintain my opinion, that he is a credit to us all. Good-bye! good-bye!'
and then she turned short round, and said, 'I can't answer for how
my uncle may feel about what has occurred to-day, but you know _my_
sentiments. Farewell!' And with that she was off; indeed, before I had
time to shut down the window, she was out of sight and away.”
“She ought to know, and she will know, that Joe never said one hard
thing of her family. And though he had in his brief enough to tempt him
to bring the Martins up for judgment, not a word, not a syllable did he
utter.” This old Nelligan spoke with a proud consciousness of his son's
honorable conduct.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Joe, “is it not enough that a man sells his
intellect, pawns his capacity, and makes traffic of his brains, without
being called on to market his very nature, and set up his very emotions
for sale? If my calling demands this at my hands, I have done with
it,--I renounce it.”
“But I said you refrained, Joe. I remarked that you would not suffer the
heat of discussion to draw you into an angry attack--”
“And you praise me for it!” broke in Joe, passionately. “You deem it an
occasion to compliment me, that, in defending the cause of a worthless
debauchee, I did not seize with avidity the happy moment to assail
an honorable gentleman; and not alone you, but a dozen others,
congratulated me on this reserve,--this constraint,--as though the
lawyer were but a bravo, and, his stiletto once paid for, he must
produce the body of his victim. I regard my profession in another and
a higher light; but if even its practice were the noblest that could
engage human faculties, and its rewards the highest that could crown
them, I'd quit it tomorrow, were its price to be the sacrifice of an
honorable self-esteem and the regard of--of those we care for.” And in
the difficult utterance of the last words his cheek became crimson, and
his lip trembled.
“I 'll tell you what you 'll do, Joe,” said his mother, whose kindness
was not invariably distinguished by tact,--“just come over with _me_
to-morrow to Cro' Martin. I 'm going to get slips of the oak-leaf
geranium and the dwarf rose, and we 'll just go together in a friendly
way, and when we 're there you 'll have some opportunity or other to
tell Miss Mary that it wasn't your fault for being against them.”
“He 'll do no such thing,” broke in Nelligan, fiercely. “Miss Mary
Martin wants no apologies,--her family have no right to any. Joe is a
member of a high and powerful profession. If he does n't fill as great a
place now, who knows where he 'll not be this day fifteen years, eh, my
boy? Maybe I 'll not be here to see,--indeed, it's more than likely I
'll not,--but I know it now. I feel as sure of it as I do that my name
's Dan.”
“And if you are not to see it, father,” said Joe, as he pressed his
father's hand between both his own,--“you and my dearest mother,--the
prize will be nigh valueless. If I cannot, when my reward is won, come
home,--to such a home as this,--the victory will be too late.” And so
saying he rose abruptly, and hurried from the room. The moment after he
had locked his door, and, flinging himself upon his bed, buried his face
between his hands.
With all the proud sensations of having achieved a great success, his
heart was heavily oppressed. It seemed to him as though Destiny had
decreed that his duty should ever place him in antagonism to his
affections. Up to a short period before this trial came on he had
frequently been in Miss Martin's company. Now, it was some trifling
message for his mother; now, some book he had himself promised to
fetch her; then visits to the sick--and Joe, latterly, had taken a most
benevolent turn--had constantly brought them together; and often, when
Mary was on foot, Joe had accompanied her to the gates of the demesne.
In these meetings one subject usually occupied them,--the sad condition
of the country, the destitution of the poor,--and on this theme their
sympathies and hopes and fears all agreed. It was not only that they
concurred in their views of the national character, but that they
attributed its traits of good or evil to the very same causes; and while
Nelligan was amazed at finding the daughter of a proud house deeply
conversant with the daily life of the humblest peasant, she, too,
was astonished how sincere in his respect for rank, how loyal in
his devotion to the claims of blood, was one whose birth might have
proclaimed him a democrat and a destroyer.
These daily discussions led them closer and closer to each other, till
at length confidences grew up between them, and Mary owned to many of
the difficulties that her lone and solitary station exposed her to.
Many things were done on the property without--some in direct opposition
to--her concurrence. As she once said herself, “We are so ready to
satisfy our consciences by assuming that whatever we may do legally
we have a right to do morally, and at the same time, in the actual
condition of Ireland, what is just may be practically the very heaviest
of all hardships.” This observation was made with reference to some law
proceedings of Scanlan's instituting, and the day after she chanced to
make it Joe started for Dublin. It was there that Magennis's attorney
had sent him the brief in that cause,--a charge which the etiquette of
his profession precluded his declining.
In what way he discharged the trust we have seen,--what sorrow it cost
him is more than we can describe. “Miss Martin,” thought he, “would know
nothing of the rules which prescribe our practice, and will look upon my
conduct here as a treason. For weeks long she has conversed with me in
candor over the state of the county and its people; we separate for a
few days, and she finds me arrayed with others against the interests of
her family, and actually paid to employ against her the very knowledge
she has imparted to me! What a career have I chosen,” cried he, in his
agony, “if every success is to be purchased at such a price!” With such
men as Magennis he had nothing in common; their society, their habits,
their opinions were all distasteful to him, and yet it was for him and
his he was to sacrifice the dearest hope of his heart,--to lose the good
esteem of one whose praise he had accounted more costly than the highest
distinction a sovereign could bestow on him. “And what a false position
mine!” cried he again. “Associated by the very closest ties with a party
not one of whose objects have my sympathies, I see myself separated by
blood, birth, and station from all that I venerate and respect. I must
either be a traitor to my own or to myself; declare my enmity to all I
think most highly of, or suffer my motives to be impugned and my fame
tarnished.”
There was, indeed, one circumstance in this transaction which displeased
him greatly, and of which he was only aware when too late. The Magennis
defence had been “got up” by a subscription,--a fund to which Joseph's
own father had contributed. Amongst the machinery of attack upon the
landed gentry, Father Neal Rafferty had suggested the expediency
of “putting them on their titles” in cases the most trivial and
insignificant. Forfeiture and confiscation had followed each other so
frequently in Irish history,--grants and revocations were so mixed
up together,--some attested in all formality, others irregular and
imperfect,--that it was currently believed there was scarcely one single
estate of the whole province could establish a clear and indisputable
title. The project was, therefore, a bold one which, while disturbing
the rights of property, should also bring under discussion so many vexed
questions of English rule and tyranny over the Irish. Libraries and
cabinets were ransacked for ancient maps of the counties; and old
records were consulted to ascertain how far the original conditions of
service, and so forth, had been complied with on which these estates
were held.
Joseph had frequently carried home books from the library of Cro'
Martin, rare and curious volumes, which bore upon the ancient history of
the country. And now there crossed him the horrible suspicion that the
whole scheme of this attack might be laid to his charge, the information
to substantiate which he had thus surreptitiously-obtained. It was clear
enough, from what his mother had said, that such was not Miss Martin's
present impression; but who could say what representations might be made
to her, and what change effected in her sentiments? “And this,” cried
he, in indignation--“and this is the great career I used to long
for!--this the broad highway I once fancied was to lead me to honor
and distinction! Or is it, after all, my own fault, for endeavoring
to reconcile two-things which never can have any agreement,--an humble
origin and high aspirings? Were I an Englishman, the difficulty would
not be impassable; but here, in Ireland, the brand of a lowly fortune
and a despised race is upon me. Can I--dare I resist it?”
A long and arduous conflict was that in which he passed the night,--now
inclining to abandon his profession forever, now to leave Ireland
and join the English or some Colonial Bar; and at length, as day was
breaking, and as though the fresh morning air which now blew upon him
from his open window had given fresh energy to his nature, he determined
he would persist in his career in his own country. “_My_ fate shall be
an example or a warning!” cried he. “They who come after me shall know
whether there be rewards within reach of honest toil and steady industry
without the contamination of a mock patriotism! If I _do_ rise, it shall
be from no aid derived from a party or a faction; and if I fail, I bring
no discredit upon 'my order.'”
There are men who can so discipline their minds that they have but to
establish a law to their actions to make their whole lives “a system.”
Such individuals the Germans not inaptly call “self-contained men,” and
of these was Joe Nelligan one.
A certain concentration of his faculties, and the fatigues of a whole
night passed thus in thought, gave a careworn, exhausted look to his
features as he entered the room where Repton sat awaiting him for
breakfast.
“I see what's the matter with you,” said the old lawyer, as he entered.
“You have passed the night after a 'first brief.' This day ten years
you'll speak five hours before the Lords 'in error,' and never lose a
wink of sleep after it's over!”