While the “Morning Post” of a certain day, some twenty years ago,
was chronicling the illustrious guests who partook of his Majesty's
hospitalities at Windsor, the “Dublin Evening Mail,” under the less
pretentious heading of “Viceregal Court,” gave a list of those who had
dined with his Excellency at the Lodge.
There was not anything very striking or very new in the announcement.
Our _dramatis personæ,_ in this wise, are limited; and after the
accustomed names of the Lord Chancellor and Mrs. Dobbs, the Master of
the Rolls and Mrs. Wiggins, Colonel Somebody of the 105th, Sir Felix
and Miss Slasher, you invariably find the catalogue close with an
un-der-secretary, a king-at-arms, and the inevitable Captain Lawrence
Belcour, the aide-de-camp in waiting!--these latter recorded somewhat in
the same spirit that the manager of a provincial theatre swells the roll
of his company, by the names of the machinist, the scene-painter, and
the leader of the band! We have no peculiar concern, however, with this
fact, save that on the day in question our old friend Joseph Nelligan
figured as a vice-regal guest. It was the first time he had been so
honored, and, although not of a stamp to attach any great prize to the
distinction, he was well aware that the recognition was intended as an
honor; the more, when an aide-de-camp signified to him that his place at
table was on one side of his Excellency.
When this veracious history first displayed young Nelligan at a
dinner-party, his manner was shy and constrained; his secluded,
student-like habits had given him none of that hardihood so essential in
society. If he knew little of passing topics, he knew less of the tone
men used in discussing them; and now, although more conversant with
the world and its ways, daily brought into contact with the business of
life, his social manner remained pretty nearly the same cold, awkward,
and diffident thing it had been at first. Enlist him in a great subject,
or call upon him on a great occasion, and he could rise above it; place
him in a position to escape notice, and you never heard more of him.
The dinner company on this day contained nothing very formidable, either
on the score of station or ability,--a few bar celebrities with their
wives, an eccentric dean with a daughter, a garrison colonel or two,
three country squires, and a doctor from Merrion Square. It was that
interregnal period between the time when the castle parties included
the first gentry of the land, and that later era when the priest and
the agitator became the favored guests of vice-royalty. It is scarce
necessary to say it was, as regards agreeability, inferior to either.
There was not the courtly urbanity and polished pleasantry of a very
accomplished class; nor was there the shrewd and coarse but racy
intelligence of Mr. O'Connell's followers.
The Marquis of Reckington had come over to Ireland to “inaugurate,” as
the newspapers called it, a new policy; that is, he was to give to the
working of the relief bill an extension and a significance which few
either of its supporters or opposers in Parliament ever contemplated.
The inequality of the Romanist before the law he might have borne;
social depreciation was a heavier evil, and one quite intolerable. Now,
as the change to the new system required considerable tact and address,
they intrusted the task to a most accomplished and well-bred gentleman;
and were Ireland only to be won by dinner-parties, Lord Reckington must
have been its victor.
To very high rank and great personal advantages he united a manner of
the most perfect kind. Dignified enough always to mark his station and
his own consciousness of it, it was cordial without effort, frank
and easy without display. If he could speak with all the weight of
authority, he knew how to listen with actual deference; and there
was that amount of change and “play” in his demeanor that made his
companion, whoever for the moment he might be, believe that his views
and arguments had made a deep impression on the Viceroy. To those
unacquainted with such men, and the school to which they belong, there
might have appeared something unreal, almost dramatic, in the elegant
gracefulness of his bow, the gentle affability of his smile, the
undeviating courtesy which he bestowed on all around him; but they were
all of the man himself,--his very instincts,--his nature.
It had apparently been amongst his Excellency's instructions from his
government to seek out such rising men of the Roman Catholic party as
might be elevated and promoted on the just claims of their individual
merits,--men, in fact, whose conduct and bearing would be certain to
justify their selection for high office. It could not be supposed that
a party long proscribed, long estranged from all participation in power,
could be rich in such qualifications. At the bar, the ablest men usually
threw themselves into the career of politics, and of course by strong
partisanship more or less prejudiced their claims to office. It was
rare indeed to find one who, with the highest order of abilities, was
satisfied to follow a profession whose best rewards were denied him.
Such was Joseph Nelligan when he was first “called,” and such he
continued to the very hour we now see him. Great as had been his
college successes, his triumphs at the bar overtopped them all. They who
remembered his shy and reserved manner wondered whence he came by his
dignity; they who knew his youth could not imagine how he came by his
“law.”
Mr. M'Casky, the castle law-adviser, an old recruiting-serjeant of
capacities, who had “tipped the shilling” to men of every party, had
whispered his name to the Under-Secretary, who had again repeated it to
the Viceroy. He was, as M'Casky said, “the man they wanted, with talent
enough to confront the best of the opposite party, and wealthy enough to
want nothing that can figure in a budget.” Hence was he, then, there a
favored guest, and seated on his Excellency's left hand.
For the magic influence of that manner which we have mentioned as
pertaining to the Viceroy, we ask for no better evidence than the sense
of perfect ease which Joe Nelligan now enjoyed. The _suave_ dignity
of the Marquis was blended with a something like personal regard, a
mysterious intimation that seemed to say, “This is the sort of man I
have long been looking for; how gratifying that I should have found him
at last!” They concurred in so many points, too, not merely in opinions,
but actually in the very expressions by which they characterized them;
and when at last his Excellency, having occasion to quote something he
had said, called him “Nelligan,” the spell was complete.
Oh dear! when we torture our brains to legislate for apothecaries,
endeavoring in some way or other to restrict the sale of those subtle
ingredients on every grain or drop of which a human life may hang,
why do we never think of those far more subtle elements of which great
people are the dispensers,--flatteries more soothing than chloroform,
smiles more lulling than poppy-juice! Imagine poor Nelligan under a
course of this treatment, dear reader; fancy the delicious poison as
it insinuates itself through his veins, and if you have ever been so
drugged yourself, picture to your mind all the enjoyment he experienced.
By one of those adroit turns your social magician is master of, the
Viceroy had drawn the conversation towards Nelligan's county and his
native town.
“I was to have paid a visit to poor Martin there,” said he, “and I
certainly should have looked in upon _you_.”
Nelligan's cheek was in a flame; pride and shame were both there,
warring for the mastery.
“Poor fellow!” said his Excellency, who saw the necessity of a
diversion, “I fear that he has left that immense estate greatly
embarrassed. Some one mentioned to me, the other day, that the heir will
not succeed to even a fourth of the old property.”
“I have heard even worse, my Lord,” said Nelligan. “There is a rumor
that he is left without a shilling.”
“How very shocking! They are connections of my own!” said the Viceroy;
as though what he said made the misery attain its climax.
“I am aware, my Lord, that Lady Dorothea is related to your Excellency,
and I am surprised you have not heard the stories I allude to.”
“But perhaps I am incorrect,” said the Marquis. “It may be that I _have_
heard them; so many things pass through one's ears every day. But here
is Colonel Mas-singbred; he 's sure to know it. Massingbred, we want
some news of the Martins--the Martins of--what is it called?”
“Cro' Martin, my Lord,” said Nelligan, reddening.
“I hold the very latest news of that county in my hand, my Lord,”
replied the Secretary. “It is an express from my son, who writes from
Oughterard.”
Nelligan stood, scarcely breathing, with impatience to hear the tidings.
Colonel Massingbred ran his eyes over the first page of the letter,
murmuring to himself the words; then turning over, he said: “Yes, here
it is,--'While I write this, the whole town is in a state of intense
excitement; the magistrates have sent in for an increased force of
police, and even soldiery, to repress some very serious disturbances on
the Martin property. It would appear that Merl--the man who assumes
to claim the property, as having purchased the reversion from young
Martin--was set upon by a large mob, and pursued, himself and his
friends, for several miles across the country. They escaped with their
lives, but have arrived here in a lamentable plight. There is really no
understanding these people. It was but the other day, and there was no
surer road to their favor than to abuse and vilify these same Martins,
and now they are quite ready to murder any one who aspires to take
their place. If one was to credit the stories afloat, they have already
wreaked a fatal vengeance on some fellows employed by Merl to serve
notices on the tenantry; but I believe that the outrages have really
gone no further than such maltreatment as Irishmen like to give, and are
accustomed to take.'”
Here his Excellency laughed heartily, and Joe Nelligan looked grave.
Massingbred read on: “'Without being myself a witness to it, I never
could have credited the almost feudal attachment of these people to
an “Old House.” The Radical party in the borough are, for the moment,
proscribed, and dare not show themselves in the streets; and even
Magennis, who so lately figured as an enemy to the Martins, passed
through the town this morning with his wife, with a great banner flying
over his jaunting-car, inscribed “The Martins for Ever!” This burst of
sentiment on his part, I ought to mention, was owing to a most devoted
piece of heroism performed by Miss Martin, who sought out the lost one
and brought her safely back, through a night of such storm and hurricane
as few ever remember. Such an act, amidst such a people, is sure of its
reward. The peasantry would, to a man, lay down their lives for her; and
coming critically, as the incident did, just when a new proprietor
was about to enforce his claim, you can fancy the added bitterness
it imparted to their spirit of resistance. I sincerely trust that the
magistrates will not accede to the demand for an increased force. A
terrible collision is sure to be the result, and I know enough of
these people to be aware of what can be done by a little diplomacy,
particularly when the right negotiator is employed. I mean, therefore,
to go over and speak to Mr. Nelligan, who is the only man of brains
amongst the magistrates here.'”
“A relative, I presume,” said his Excellency.
“My father, my Lord,” replied Joe, blushing.
“Oh! here is the result of his interview,” said Massing-bred, turning to
the foot of the page. “'Nelligan quite agreed in the view I had taken,
and said the people would assuredly disarm and perhaps destroy any force
we could send against them. He is greatly puzzled what course to adopt;
and when I suggested the propriety of invoking Miss Martin's aid, told
me that this is out of the question, since she is on a sick-bed. While
we were speaking, a Dublin physician passed through on his way to visit
her. This really does add to the complication, for she is, perhaps, the
only one who could exert a great influence over the excited populace. In
any other country it might read strangely, that it was to a young lady
men should have recourse in a moment of such peril; but this is like no
other country, the people like no other people, the young lady herself,
perhaps, like no other young lady!'”
By a scarcely perceptible movement of his head, and a very slight change
of voice, Colonel Massingbred intimated to the Viceroy that there was
something for his private ear, and Lord Reckington stepped back to hear
it. Nelligan, too deeply occupied in his own thoughts to remark the
circumstance, stood in the same place, silent and motionless.
“It is to this passage,” whispered the Secretary, “I want to direct your
Excellency's attention: 'All that I see here,' my son writes,--'all that
I see here is a type of what is going on, at large, over the island. Old
families uprooted, old ties severed; the people, with no other instinct
than lawlessness, hesitating which side to take. Their old leaders, only
bent upon the political, have forgotten the social struggle, and
thus the masses are left without guidance or direction. It is my firm
conviction that the Church of Rome will seize the happy moment to usurp
an authority thus unclaimed, and the priest step in between the landlord
and the demagogue; and it is equally my belief that you can only retard,
not prevent, this consummation. If you should be of _my_ opinion, and
be able to induce his Excellency to think with us, act promptly and
decisively. Enlist the Roman Catholic laity in your cause before you
be driven to the harder compact of having to deal with the clergy. And
first of all, make--for fortunately you have the vacancy,--make young
Nelligan your solicitor-general.'”
The Viceroy gave a slight start, and smiled. He had not, as yet,
accustomed his mind to such bold exercise of his patronage. He lived,
however, to get over this sensation.
“My son,” resumed Massingbred, “argues this at some length. If you
permit, I 'll leave the letter in your Excellency's hands. In fact, I
read it very hurriedly, and came over here the moment I glanced my eyes
over this passage.”
His Excellency took the letter, and turned to address a word to Joe
Nelligan, but he had left the spot.
“Belcour,” said the Viceroy, “tell Mr. Nelligan I wish to speak to
him. I shall be in the small drawing-room. I 'll talk with him alone.
Massingbred, be ready to come when I shall send for you.”
The Viceroy sat alone by the fire, pondering over all he had heard.
There was, indeed, that to ponder over, even in the brief, vague
description of the writer. “The difficulties of Ireland,” as it was the
fashion of the day to call them, were not such as government commissions
discover, or blue books describe; they lay deeper than the legislative
lead-line ever reaches,--many a fathom down below statutes and Acts
of Parliament. They were in the instincts, the natures, the blood of a
people who had never acknowledged themselves a conquered nation. Perhaps
his Excellency lost himself in speculations, mazy and confused enough to
addle deeper heads. Perhaps he was puzzled to think how he could bring
the Cabinet to see these things, or the importance that pertained to
them; who knows? At all events, time glided on, and still he was alone.
At length the aide-de-camp appeared, and with an air of some confusion,
said,--“It would appear, my Lord, that Mr. Nelligan has gone away.”
“Why, he never said good-night; he did n't take leave of me!” said the
Viceroy, smiling.
The aide-de-camp slightly elevated his brows, as though to imply his
sense of what it might not have become him to characterize in words.
“Very strange, indeed!” repeated his Excellency; “is n't it, Belcour?”
“Very strange, indeed, your Excellency,” said the other, bowing.
“There could have been no disrespect in it,” said his Lordship,
good-humoredly; “of _that_ I'm quite certain. Send Colonel Massingbred
here.”
“He's gone off, Massingbred,” said the Viceroy, as the other appeared.
“So I have just learned, my Lord. I conclude he was not aware--that he
was unacquainted with--”
“Oh, of course, Massingbred,” broke in the Viceroy, laughing, “the fault
is all with my predecessors in office; they never invited these men
as they ought to have done. Have you sounded M'Casky as to the
appointment?”
“Yes, my Lord; he thinks 'we might do worse.'”
“A qualified approval, certainly. Perhaps he meant we might select
himself!”
“I rather opine, my Lord, that he regards Nelligan's promotion as likely
to give offence to Mr. O'Connell, unless that he be himself consulted
upon it.”
“Then comes the question, Who is it governs this country, Colonel
Massingbred?” said the Marquis; and for the first time a flash of
angry meaning darkened his cheeks. “If I be here,”--he stopped and
hesitated,--“if you and I be here only to ratify appointments made by
irresponsible individuals,--if we hold the reins of power only to
be told where we 're to drive to,--I must own the office is not very
dignified, nor am I patient enough to think it endurable.”
“M'Casky only suggested that it might be advisable to see O'Connell
on the subject, not, as it were, to pass him over in conferring the
appointment.”
“I cannot at all concur in this view, Massingbred,” said the Marquis,
proudly; “there could be no such humiliation in the world as a patronage
administered in this wise. Write to Nelligan; write to him to-night. Say
that his abrupt departure alone prevented my making to him personally
the offer of the solicitorship; add that you have my directions to place
the office in his hands, and express a strong wish, on your own part,
that he may not decline it.”
Massingbred bowed in acquiescence, and after a pause his Excellency went
on:--
“There would be no objection to your adding something to the effect that
my selection of him was prompted by motives in which party has no share;
that his acknowledged eminence at the bar,--a character to which even
political opponents bear honorable testimony,--in fact, Massingbred,”
added he, impatiently, “if the appointment should come to be questioned
in the House, let us have it on record that we made it solely on motives
directed to the public service. You understand me?”
“I think so, my Lord,” said Massingbred, and withdrew.
If it were not that other cares and other interests call us away,
we would gladly linger a little longer to speculate on the Viceroy's
thoughts as he reseated himself by the fire. His brow was overcast and
his features clouded. Was it that he felt he had entered the lists, and
thrown down the glove to a strong and resolute opponent? Had he before
him a vista of the terrible conflict between expediency and honor that
was soon to be his fate? Had he his doubts as to the support his own
Cabinet would afford him? Was his pride the ruling sentiment of the
moment, or did there enter into his calculations the subtle hope of all
the eager expectancy this appointment would create, all the disposable
venality it would lay at his discretion? Who can answer these questions?
who solve these doubts? Is it not very possible that his mind wandered
amidst them all? Is it not more than likely that they passed in review
before him? for when he rejoined his company his manner was more absent,
his courtesy less easy than usual.
At length Mr. M'Casky came forward to say goodnight.
“Colonel Massingbred has told you of those disturbances in the West, has
he not?” asked the Viceroy.
“Yes, my Lord,” replied the other.
“And what opinion--what advice did you give?”
“To let matters alone, my Lord; to be always a little behind time,
particularly in sending a force. 'Never despatch the police to quell
a riot,' said John Toler, 'unless one of the factions be completely
beaten, otherwise you 'll have them both on your back;' and I assure
your Excellency, Ireland has been very successfully governed under that
maxim for years past.”
“Thank you, M'Casky; thank you for the advice,” said his Excellency,
laughing, and wished him good-night.