Ours is a very practical age, and no matter how skilfully a man play the
game of life, there is but one test of his ability,--did he win? If
this condition attend him, his actions meet charitable construction. His
doings are all favorably regarded; and while his capacity is extolled,
even his shortcomings are extenuated. We dread an unlucky man! There
is a kind of contagion in calamity, and we shun him as though he were
plague-stricken. But with what flatteries we greet the successful one!
That he reached the goal is the sure guarantee of his merits; and woe
to him who would canvass the rectitude of his progress! Defeat is such
a leveller! Genius and dulness, courage and pusillanimity, high-hearted
hope and wasting energy, are all confounded together by failure, and
the world would only smile at any effort to discriminate between them.
Perhaps in the main the system works well. Perhaps mankind, incapable
of judging motives, too impatient to investigate causes, is wise in
adopting a short cut for its decisions. Certain it is, the rule is
absolute that proclaims Success to be Desert!
Lady Dorothea was now about to experience this severe lesson, and
not the less heavily that she never anticipated it. After a wearisome
journey the Martins arrived in Dublin. The apartments secured to them,
by a previous letter, at Bilton's, were all in readiness for their
reception. The “Saunders” of the day duly chronicled their arrival;
but there the great event seemed to terminate. No message from
her Ladyship's noble kinsman greeted their coming; no kind note of
welcome,--not even a visit from Mr. Lawrence Belcour, the aide-de-camp
in waiting. The greatest of all moralists warns us against putting
confidence in princes; and how doubly truthful is the adage when
extended to viceroys! Small as was the borough of Oughterard, and
insignificant as seemed the fact who should be its representative, the
result of the election was made a great matter at the “Castle.” His
Excellency was told that the Martins had mismanaged everything. They
had gone to work in the old Tory cut-and-thrust fashion of former
days--conciliated no interest, won over no antagonism; they had acted
“precisely as if there had been no Relief Bill,”--we steal Colonel
Massingbred's words,--and they were beaten--beaten in their own town--in
the person of one of their own family, and by a stranger! The Viceroy
was vexed. They had misconstrued every word of his letter,--a letter
that, as he said, any child might have understood,--and there was a vote
lost to his party. It was in vain that the Chief Secretary assured his
Excellency “Jack was a clever fellow, who 'd put all to rights;” that
with a little time and a little dexterity he 'd be able to vote with the
Ministry on every important division; the great fact remained unatoned
for,--his family, his own connections, “had done nothing for him.”
The first day in town dragged its length slowly over. Martin was
fatigued, and did not go abroad, and no one came to visit him. To do him
justice, he was patient under the neglect; to say more, he was grateful
for it. It was so pleasant “to be let alone;” not even to be obliged
to see Henderson, nor to be consulted about “Road Sessions” or “Police
Reports,” but to have one's day in total unbroken listlessness; to have
simply to say, “We 'll dine at seven,” and “I'm out for every one.” Far
otherwise fared it in my “Lady's chamber.” All her plans had been based
upon the attentions she was so certain of receiving, but of which now
not a sign gave token. She passed the day in a state of almost feverish
excitement, the more painful from her effort to conceal and control it.
Repton dined with them. He came that day “because, of course, he
could not expect to catch them disengaged on any future occasion.” Her
Ladyship was furious at the speech, but smiled concurrence to it; while
Martin carelessly remarked, “From all that I see, we may enjoy the same
pleasure very often.” Never was the old lawyer so disagreeable when
exerting himself to be the opposite. He had come stored with all the
doings of the capital,--its dinners and evening parties, its _mots_ and
its gossip. From the political rumors and the chit-chat of society, he
went on to speak of the viceregal court and its festivities.
“If there be anything I detest,” said her Ladyship, at last, “it is
the small circle of a very small metropolis. So long as you look at it
carelessly, it is not so offensive; but when you stoop to consider and
examine it with attention, it reminds you of the hideous spectacle of
a glass of water as seen through a magnifier,--you detect a miniature
world of monsters and deformities, all warring and worrying each other.”
And with this flattering exposition of her opinion, she arose speedily
after dinner, and, followed by Miss Henderson, retired.
“I perceive that we had not the ear of the Court for our argument,” said
Repton, as he resumed his place after conducting her to the door. Martin
sipped his wine in silence. “I never expected she'd like Dublin; it only
suits those who pass their lives in it; but I fancied that what with
Castle civilities--”
“There 's the rub,” broke in Martin, but in a voice subdued almost to a
whisper. “They 've taken no notice of us. For my own part, I 'm heartily
obliged to them; and if they 'd condescend to feel offended with us, I
'd only be more grateful; but my Lady--”
A long, low whistle from Repton implied that he had fully appreciated
the “situation.”
“Ah, I see it,” cried he; “and this explains the meaning of an article I
read this morning in the 'Evening Post,'--the Government organ,--wherein
it is suggested that country gentlemen would be more efficient
supporters of the administration if they lent themselves heartily to
comprehend the requirements of recent legislation, than by exacting
heavy reprisals on their tenants in moments of defeat and
disappointment.”
“Well, it is rather hard,” said Martin, with more of energy than he
usually spoke in,--“it _is_ hard! They first hounded us on to contest
the borough for them, and they now abuse us that we did not make a
compromise with the opposite party. And as to measures of severity, you
know well I never concurred in them; I never permitted them.”
“But they are mistaken, nevertheless. There are writs in preparation,
and executions about to issue over fourteen town-lands. There will be
a general clearance of the population at Kyle-a-Noe. You 'll not know a
face there when you go back, Martin!”
“Who can say that I 'll ever go back?” said he, mournfully.
“Come, come, I trust you will. I hope to pass some pleasant days with
you there ere I die,” said Repton, cheer-ingly. “Indeed, until you are
there again, I 'll never go farther west than Athlone on my circuit. I
'd not like to, look at the old place without you!”
Martin nodded as he raised his glass, as if to thank him, and then
dropped his head mournfully, and sat without speaking.
“Poor dear Mary!” said he, at last, with a heavy sigh. “Our desertion of
her is too bad. It's not keeping the pledge I made to Barry!”
“Well, well, there's nothing easier than the remedy. A week or so will
see you settled in some city abroad,--Paris, or Brussels, perhaps. Let
her join you; I 'll be her escort. Egad! I'd like the excuse for the
excursion,” replied Repton, gayly.
“Ay, Repton,” said the other, pursuing his own thoughts and not heeding
the interruption, “and _you_ know what a brother he was. By Jove!” cried
he, aloud, “were Barry just to see what we 've done,--how we 've treated
the place, the people, his daughter!--were he only to know how I 've
kept my word with him--Look, Repton,” added he, grasping the other's arm
as he spoke, “there's not as generous a fellow breathing as Barry; this
world has not his equal for an act of noble self-devotion and sacrifice.
His life!--he 'd not think twice of it if I asked him to give it for me;
but if he felt--if he could just awaken to the conviction that he was
unfairly dealt with, that when believing he was sacrificing to affection
and brotherly love he was made a dupe and a fool of--”
“Be cautious, Martin; speak lower--remember where you are,” said Repton,
guardedly.
“I tell you this,” resumed the other, in a tone less loud but not less
forcible: “the very warmth of his nature--that same noble, generous
source that feeds every impulse of his life--would supply the force of a
torrent to his passion; he 'd be a tiger if you aroused him!”
“Don't you perceive, my dear friend,” said Repton, calmly, “how you
are exaggerating everything,--not alone _your own_ culpability, but his
resentment! Grant that you ought not to have left Mary behind you,--I
'm sure I said everything I could against it,--what more easy than to
repair the wrong?”
“No, no, Repton, you 're quite mistaken. Take my word for it, you don't
know that girl. She has taught herself to believe that her place
is there,--that it is her duty to live amongst the people. She may
exaggerate to her own mind the good she does; she may fancy a
thousand things as to the benefit she bestows; but she cannot, by any
self-deception, over-estimate the results upon her own heart, which she
has educated to feel as only they do who live amongst the poor! To take
her away from this would be a cruel sacrifice; and for what?--a world
she would n't care for, couldn't comprehend.”
“Then what was to have been done?”
“I 'll tell you, Repton; if it was _her_ duty to stay there, it was
doubly _ours_ to have remained also. When she married,” added he, after
a pause,--“when she had got a home of her own,--then, of course, it
would have been quite different! Heaven knows,” said he, sighing, “we
have little left to tie us to anything or anywhere; and as to myself, it
is a matter of the most perfect indifference whether I drag out the
year or two that may remain to me on the shores of Galway or beside the
Adriatic!”
“I can't bear this,” cried Repton, angrily. “If ever there was a man
well treated by fortune, you are he.”
“I 'm not complaining.”
“Not complaining! but, hang it, sir, that is not enough! You should be
overflowing with gratitude; your life ought to be active with
benevolence; you should be up and doing, wherever ample means and
handsome encouragement could assist merit or cheer despondency. I like
your notion that you don't complain! Why, if you did, what should be
done by those who really do travel the shady side of existence,--who are
weighted with debt, bowed down with daily difficulties, crippled with
that penury that eats into a man's nature till his very affections grow
sordid, and his very dreams are tormented with his duns! Think of the
poor fellows with ailing wives and sickly children, toiling daily, not
to give them luxuries,--not to supply them with what may alleviate
weariness or distract suffering, but bare sustenance,--coarse diet and
coarser dress! Ah, my dear Martin, that Romanist plan of fasting one day
in the week would n't be a bad institution were we to introduce it into
our social code. If you and I could have, every now and then, our
feelings of privation, just to teach us what others experience all the
week through, we 'd have, if not more sympathy with narrow fortune, at
least more thankfulness for its opposite.”
“Her Ladyship begs you will read this note, sir,” said a servant,
presenting an open letter to Martin. He took it, and having perused it,
handed it to Repton, who slowly read the following lines:--
“'The Lodge, Tuesday.
“'Madam,--I have his Excellency's commands to inquire on
what day it will suit Mr. Martin and your Ladyship to favor
him with your company at dinner? His Excellency would
himself say Saturday, but any intermediate day more
convenient to yourself will be equally agreeable to him.
“'I have the honor to remain, madam,
“'With every consideration, yours,
“'Lawrence Belcour, A.D.C.'”
“'With every consideration'!” repeated Repton. “Confound the puppy,
and his Frenchified phraseology! Why is he not, as he ought to be, your
obedient servant?”
“It is a somewhat cold and formal invitation,” said Martin, slowly. “I
'll just see what she thinks of it;” and he arose and left the room. His
absence was fully of twenty minutes' duration, and when he did return
his face betokened agitation.
“Here's more of it, Repton,” said he, filling and drinking off his
glass. “It 's all _my_ fault, it seems. I ought to have gone out to the
'Lodge' this morning, or called on somebody, or done something; in fact,
I have been remiss, neglectful, deficient in proper respect--”
“So that you decline the invitation?” broke in Repton.
“Not a bit of it; we 're to accept it, man. That's what I cannot
comprehend. We are offended, almost outraged, but still we're to submit.
Ah, Repton, I'll be really rejoiced when we leave this,--get away from
all these petty annoyances and small intriguings, and live amongst
strangers!”
“Most patriotically spoken; but I'm not surprised at what you say. Have
you made any resolve as to whither you mean to go?”
“No; we have so many plans, that the chances are we take none of them. I
'm told--I know nothing of it myself--but I 'm told that we shall easily
find--and in any part of the Continent--the few requirements we
want; which are, an admirable climate, great cheapness, and excellent
society.”
There was a slight twinkle in Martin's eye as he spoke, as if he were in
reality relishing the absurdity of these expectations.
“Was it Kate Henderson who encouraged you to credit this flattering
picture?”
“No; these are my Lady's own experiences, derived from a residence there
'when George the Third was King.' As to Kate, the girl is by no means
deficient in common sense; she has the frivolity of a Frenchwoman, and
that light, superficial tone foreign education imparts; but take my word
for it, Repton, she has very fine faculties!”
“I will take your word for it, Martin. I think you do her no more than
justice,” said the old lawyer, sententiously.
“And I 'll tell you another quality she possesses,” said Martin, in a
lower and more cautious tone, as though dreading to be overheard,--“she
understands my Lady to perfection,--when to yield and when to oppose
her. The girl has an instinct about it, and does it admirably; and there
was poor dear Mary, with all her abilities, and she never could succeed
in this! How strange, for nobody would think of comparing the two
girls!”
“Nobody!” dryly re-echoed Repton.
“I mean, of course, that nobody who knew the world could; for in all
the glitter and show-off of fashionable acquirement, poor Molly is the
inferior.”
Repton looked steadfastly at him for several seconds; he seemed as if
deliberating within himself whether or not he'd undeceive him at once,
or suffer him to dwell on an illusion so pleasant to believe. The latter
feeling prevailed, and he merely nodded slowly, and passed the decanter
across the table.
“Molly,” continued Martin, with all the fluency of a weak man when he
fancies he has got the better of an argument,--“Molly is her father all
over. The same resolution, the same warmth of heart, and that readiness
at an expedient which never failed poor Barry! What a clever fellow he
was! If he _had_ a fault, it was just being too clever.”
“Too speculative, too sanguine,” interposed Repton.
“That, if you like to call it so,--the weakness of genius.”
Repton gave a long sigh, and crossing his arms, fell into a fit of
musing, and so they both sat for a considerable time.
“Harry is coming home, you said?” broke in Repton at last.
“Yes; he is tired of India,--tired of soldiering, I believe. If he can't
manage an exchange into some regiment at home, I think he 'll sell out.”
“By Jove!” said the old lawyer, speaking to himself, but still aloud,
“the world has taken a strange turn of late. The men that used to have
dash and energy have become loungers and idlers, and the energy--the
real energy of the nation--has centred in the women,--the women and the
priests! If I'm not much mistaken, we shall see some rare specimens of
enthusiasm erelong. Such elements as these will not slumber nor sleep!”
While Martin was pondering over this speech, a servant entered to
say that Mr. Crow was without, and begged to know if he might pay his
respects. “Ay, by all means. Tell him to come in,” said Martin. And the
words were scarcely uttered when the artist made his appearance, in
full dinner costume, and with a certain unsteadiness in his gait, and
a restless look in his eyes, that indicated his having indulged freely,
without, however, having passed the barrier of sobriety.
“You heard of our arrival, then?” said Martin, after the other had paid
his respects, and assumed a seat.
“Yes, sir. It was mentioned to-day at dinner, and so I resolved that,
when I could manage to step away, I'd just drop in and ask how her
Ladyship and yourself were.”
“Where did you dine, Crow?”
“At the Chief Secretary's, sir, in the Park,” replied Crow, with a
mixture of pride and bash fulness.
“Ah, indeed. Was your party a large one?”
“There were fourteen of us, sir, but I only knew three or four of the
number.”
“And who were they, Crow?” said Repton, whose curiosity on all such
topics was extreme.
“Young Nelligan was one. Indeed, it was through him I was asked myself.
Colonel Massingbred was good enough to come over and have a look at
my Moses,--a favor I humbly hope you 'll do me, gentlemen, any spare
morning; for it's a new conception altogether, and I make the light come
out of the bulrushes, just as Caravaggio did with his Lazarus.”
“Never mind Lazarus, Crow, but tell us of this dinner. Who were the
others?”
“Well, sir, there was Nelligan and me,--that's one; and Tom
Magennis,--two--”
“Our neighbor of Barnagheela?” exclaimed Martin, in amazement.
“The same, sir. I left him there at the port wine, and my word for it,
but they 'll not get him away easily, though Father Rafferty will do his
best--”
“And was the priest also of the party?”
“He was, sir; and sat at the Colonel's left, and was treated with every
honor and distinction.”
“Eh, Martin, am I a true prophet?--answer me that. Has Val Repton
foretold the course of events we are entering upon, or has he not?”
“But this is a regular outrage,--an open insult to us!” cried Martin.
“Here is a leading member of the Government entertaining the very men
who opposed and defeated us,--actually caressing the very party which
they enlisted us to crush?”
“This game is within every child's comprehension!” said Repton. “If
_you_, and men of your stamp and fortune, could have secured them a
parliamentary majority, they 'd have preferred you. You 'd be pleasanter
to deal with, less exacting, more gentlemanly in fact; but as you failed
to do this,--as it was plain and clear you had not the people with
you,--why, they 've thrown you over without a scruple, and taken into
their favor the men who can and will serve them. I don't mean to say
that the bargain is a good one,--nay, I believe the price of such aid
will be very costly; but what do they care? It is one of the blessings
of a representative government that Tories have to pay Whig debts, and
Whigs are heirs to Tory defalcations.”
“Were politics discussed at table?” asked Martin, half impatiently.
“All manner of subjects. We had law, and the assizes, and the grand-jury
lists, and who ought to be high sheriffs, and who not. And young
Massingbred made a kind of a speech--”
“Was he there also?”
“That he was; and did the honors of the foot of the table, and made
it the pleasantest place too! The way he introduced a toast to the
independent and enlightened electors of Oughterard was as neat a thing
as ever I heard.”
“The devil take the whole batch of them!” cried Martin. “To think that
I 've spent nearly three thousand pounds for such a set of scoundrels
is past endurance. I 'll never set foot amongst them again; as long as I
live I 'll never enter that town.”
“Father Neal's own words,” cried Crow. “'We done with Martin forever,'
said he. 'This election was his Waterloo. He may abdicate now!'”
“And that sentiment was listened to by the Chief Secretary?” exclaimed
Martin.
“If he wasn't deaf he couldn't help hearing it, for we all did; and when
I ventured to observe that a country was never the better for losing the
patrons of art, and the great families that could encourage a genius,
young Massingbred, said, 'Give up Moses, Mr. Crow,--give up Moses, and
paint Daniel O'Connell, and you 'll never want admirers and supporters!'
And they drowned me in a roar of laughter.”
“I wish my Lady could only hear all this,” said Rep ton, in a whisper to
Martin.
“Always provided that I were somewhere else!” answered Martin. “But to
be serious, Repton, I 'll hold no intercourse with men who treat us in
this fashion. It is absurd to suppose that the Secretary could receive
at his table this rabble,--this herd of low, vulgar--”
“Eh--what!” broke in Crow, with an expression of such truly comic misery
as made Repton shake with laughter.
“I didn't mean _you_, Crow--I never thought of including you in such
company,--but if these be Colonel Massingbred's guests, I 'll swear that
Godfrey Martin shall not be my Lord Reckington's!” And with this bold
resolve, uttered in a voice and manner of very unusual firmness, Martin
arose and left the room.
“On the whole, then, your party was a pleasant one?” said Repton,
anxious to lead Crow into some further details of the late dinner.
“Well, indeed it was, and it was not,” said the artist, hesitatingly.
“It was like a picture with some fine bits in it,--a dash of rich color
here and there,--but no keeping! no general effect! You understand? I
myself took no share in the talk. I never understood it; but I could
see that they who did were somehow at cross-purposes,--all standing
in adverse lights,--if I may use the expression. Whenever the Colonel
himself, or one of the 'swells' of the company, came out with a fine
sentiment about regenerated Ireland, happy and prosperous, and so forth,
Magennis was sure to break in with some violent denunciation of the
infernal miscreants, as he called the landlords, or the greatest curse
of the land,--the Law Church!”
“And how did Father Neal behave?”
“With great decorum,--the very greatest. He moderated all Tom's
violence, and repeatedly said that he accepted no participation in such
illiberal opinions. 'We have grievances, it is true,' said he, 'but we
live under a Government able and willing to redress them. It shall never
be said of us that we were either impatient or intolerant.' 'With such
support, no Government was ever weak!' said the Colonel, and they took
wine together.”
“That was very pleasant to see!” said Repton.
“So it was, sir,” rejoined Crow, innocently; “and I thought to myself,
if there was only an end of all their squabbling and fighting, they 'd
have time to cultivate the arts and cherish men of genius,--if they had
them!” added he, after a pause.
“Father Neal, then, made a favorable impression, you 'd say?” asked
Repton, half carelessly.
“I'd say, very favorable,--very favorable, indeed. I remarked that he
always spoke so freely, so liberally. Twice or thrice, too, he said,
'If the Papists do this, that, or t' other;' and when the Colonel asked
whether the Catholics of Ireland submitted implicitly to Rome in all
things, he laughed heartily, and said, 'About as much as we do to the
Cham of Tartary!'
“'I 'd like to examine our friend there before the Committee,' whispered
an old gentleman at the Colonel's right hand.
“'It was the very thing was passing through my own mind at the minute,'
said the Colonel.
“'That's exactly the kind of thing we want,' said the old gentleman
again,--'a bold, straightforward denial; something that would tell
admirably with the House! Present me to your friend, Massingbred!'
And then the Chief Secretary said, 'The Member for Strudeham--Mr.
Crutch-ley--is very desirous of being known to you, Mr. Rafferty.' And
there was great smiling, and bowing, and drinking wine together after
that.”
Martin now re-entered the room, and taking his place at the table, sat
for some minutes in moody silence.
“Well,” said Repton, “what does my Lady think of your tidings?”
“She says she does n't believe it!”
“Does n't believe that these people dined with Massingbred; that Crow
saw them, heard them, dined with them?”
“No, no,--not that,” said Martin, gently, and laying his hand familiarly
on Crow's arm. “Don't mistake me; nor don't let Repton play the lawyer
with us, and pervert the evidence. Lady Dorothea can't believe that her
distinguished relative, the Viceroy, would ever countenance this game;
that--that--in fact, we're to dine there, Repton, and see for ourselves!
Though,” added he, after a brief pause, “what we are to see, or what we
are to do when we 've seen it, I wish anybody would tell me!”
“Then I 'll be that man!” said Repton, with a mock solemnity, and
imitating the tone and manner of a judge delivering sentence. “You 'll
go from this place to the Lodge, where you 'll be fed 'to the neck,'
feasted and flattered, and all your good resolves and high purposes will
be cut down, and your noble indignation buried within the precincts of
your own hearts!”
And, so saying, he arose from the table and extended his hand to take
leave, with all the gravity of a solemn farewell.
“If you could say a word to his Excellency about Moses,” muttered Crow,
as he was leaving the room, “it would be the making of me!” But Martin
never heeded the appeal; perhaps he never heard it.