Dublin, at the time we speak of, possessed social attractions of a high
order. Rank, beauty, intellect, and wealth, contributed their several
influences; and while the tone of society had all the charms of a
politeness now bygone, there was an admixture of native kindliness and
cordiality, as distinctive as it was fascinating.
Almost every Irishman of rank travelled in those days. It was regarded
as the last finishing-touch of education, and few nations possess
quicker powers of imitation, or a greater aptitude in adapting foreign
habitudes to home usages, than the Irish; for, while vanity with the
Frenchman--coldness with the Englishman--and stolid indifference with
the German, are insuperable barriers against this acquirement; the
natural gaiety of Irish character, the buoyancy, but still more than
all, perhaps, the inherent desire to please, suggest a quality, which,
when cultivated and improved, becomes that great element of social
success--the most precious of all drawing-room gifts--men call tact.
It would be a most unfair criterion of the tastes and pleasures of that
day, were we to pronounce, from our experience of what Dublin now is.
Provincialism had not then settled down upon the city, with all its
petty attendant evils. The character of a metropolis was upheld by a
splendid Court, a resident Parliament, a great and titled aristocracy.
The foreground figures of the time were men whose names stood high, and
whose station was recognized at every Court of Europe. There was wealth
more than proportioned to the cheapness of the country; and while
ability and talent were the most striking features of every circle, the
taste for gorgeous display exhibited within doors and without, threw a
glare of splendour over the scene, that served to illustrate, but not
eclipse the prouder glories of mind. The comparative narrowness of
the circle, and the total absence of English reserve, produced a more
intimate admixture of all the ranks which constitute good society
here than in London, and the advantages were evident; for while the
aristocrat gained immeasurably, from ready intercourse with men whose
pursuits were purely intellectual, so the latter acquired a greater
expansiveness, and a wider liberality in his views, from being divested
of all the trammels of mere professional habit, and threw off his
pedantry, as a garment unsuited to his position in society. But what
more than all else was the characteristic of the time, was the fact,
that social eminence--the “succès de salon”--was an object to every one.
From the proud peer, who aspired to rank and influence in the councils
of the state, to the rising barrister, ambitious of parliamentary
distinction--from the mere fashionable idler of the squares, to the deep
plotter of political intrigue--this was alike indispensable. The mere
admission into certain circles was nothing--the fact of mixing with the
hundred others who are announced, and bow, and smile, and slip away,
did not then serve to identify a man as belonging to a distinct class in
society; nor would the easy platitudes of the present day, in which the
fool or the fop can always have the ascendant, suffice for the absence
of conversational ability, ready wit, and sharp intelligence, which were
assembled around every dinner-table of the capital.
It is not our duty, still less our inclination, to inquire why have all
these goodly attractions left us, nor wherefore is it, that, Uke the art
of staining glass, social agreeability should be lost for ever. So it
would seem, however; we have fallen upon tiresome times, and he who is
old enough to remember pleasanter ones, has the sad solace of knowing
that he has seen the last of them.
Crowded as the capital was, with rank, wealth, and influence, the
arrival of Sir Marmaduke Travers was not without its “eclat.” His vast
fortune was generally known; besides that, there was a singularity in
the fact of an Englishman, bound to Ireland by the very slender tie of
a small estate, without connexions or friends in the country, coming
to reside in Dublin, which gratified native pride as much as it excited
public curiosity; and the rapidity with which the most splendid mansion
in Stephen's-green was prepared for his reception, vied in interest with
the speculation, as to what possible cause had induced him to come and
live there. The rumours of his intended magnificence, and the splendour
of his equipage, furnished gossip for the town, and paragraphs for the
papers.
It was, indeed, a wondrous change for those two young girls--from the
stillness and solitude of Glenflesk, to the gaiety of the capital--from
a life of reflection and retirement, to the dazzling scenes and
fascinating pleasures of a new world. Upon Sybella the first effect was
to increase her natural timidity--to render her more cautious, as she
found herself surrounded by influences so novel and so strange; and in
this wise there was mingled with her enjoyment, a sense of hesitation
and fear, that tinged all her thoughts, and even impressed themselves
upon her manner. Not so with Kate: the instinct that made her feel
at home in the world, was but the consciousness of her own powers of
pleasing. She loved society as the scene, where, however glossed over by
conventionalities, human passions and feelings were at work, and
where the power of influencing or directing others gave a stimulus to
existence, far higher and nobler than all the pleasures of retirement.
It was life, in fact. Each day had its own separate interests,
dramatizing, as it were, the real, and making of the ordinary events of
the world a romance, of which she felt herself a character. As much an
actor as spectator, she threw herself into the pleasures of society with
a zest which need only have the accompaniments of youth, beauty, and
talents, to make it contagious. Thus differing in character, as in
appearance, these two young girls at once became the acknowledged
beauties of the capital, and each was followed by a troop of admirers,
whose enthusiasm exhibited itself in a hundred different ways. Their
favourite colours at a ball became the fashionable emblems of the next
day on the promenade, and even the ladies caught up the contagion, and
enlisted themselves into parties, whose rivalry amused none so much as
those, in whom it had its origin.
While the galling enmity of Celt to Saxon was then stirring in secret
the hearts of thousands in the country, and fashioning itself into the
elements of open insurrection, the city was divided by a more peaceful
animosity, and the English and the Irish party were arrayed against each
other in the cause of beauty.
It would be impossible to conceive a rivalry from which every ungenerous
or unworthy feeling was more perfectly excluded. So far from any
jealousy obtruding, every little triumph of one was a source of
unalloyed heartfelt pleasure to the other; and while Sybella sympathized
with all the delight of Kate's followers in an Irish success, so Kate,
with characteristic feeling, enjoyed nothing so much as the chagrin of
her own party, when Sybella was unquestionably in the ascendant. Happily
for us, we are not called upon to explain a phenomenon so novel and so
pleasing--enough if we record it. Certain it is, the absence of all envy
enhanced the fascinations of each, and exalted the objects in the eyes
of their admirers. On this point alone opinion was undivided--none
claimed any superiority for their idol, by ascribing to her a greater
share of this good gift; nor could even malice impute a difference in
their mutual affection.
One alone among the circle of their acquaintances stood neutral--unable
to divest himself enough of natural partiality, to be a fair and just
judge. Sir Marmaduke Travers candidly avowed that he felt himself out
of court. The leaders of fashion, the great arbiters of “bon ton,” were
happily divided, and if England could boast of a majority among the
Castle party, Ireland turned the scale with those who, having enjoyed
opportunities of studying foreign manner, pronounced Kate's the very
perfection of French agreeability, united to native loveliness and
attraction.
So much for “the sensation,” to use the phrase appropriated by the
newspapers, their entrance into the fashionable life of Dublin excited.
Let us now return to the parties themselves. In a large and splendidly
furnished apartment of Sir Marmaduke's Dublin residence, sat the
Baronet, his daughter, and Kate, at breakfast, alternately reading from
the morning papers, and discussing the news as they ate.
“Well, but, my dear Kate”--Sir Marmaduke had emancipated himself from
the more formal “Miss” a week before--“turn to another column, and let
us hear if they have any political news.”
“There's not a word, sir, unless an allusion to the rebel colour of my
dress at the Chancellor's ball be such. You see, Sybella, Falkner fights
not under my banner.”
“I think you stole the Chancellor himself from me,” replied Sybella,
laughing, “and I must say most unhandsomely too: he had just given
me his arm, to lead me to a chair, when you said something in a half
whisper--I could not catch it if I would--he dropped my arm, burst out a
laughing, and hurried over to Lord Clonmel--I suppose to repeat it.”
“It was not worth relating, then,” said Kate, with a toss of her head.
“I merely remarked how odd it was Lady Ridgeway couldn't dance in time,
with such beautiful clocks on her stocking.”
“O, Kate dearest!” said Sybella, who, while she could not refrain from a
burst of laughter, became deep scarlet at her friend's hardihood.
“Why Meddlicot told that as his own at supper,” said Sir Marmaduke.
“So he did, sir; but I cautioned him that a license for wholesale
does not permit the retail even of jokes. Isn't the worthy sheriff
a druggist? But what have we here--all manner of changes on the
staff--Lord Sellbridge to join his regiment at Hounslow, vice,
Captain------your brother, Sybella--Captain Frederick Travers”--and
she reddened slightly at the words. “I did not know he was appointed
aid-decamp to the Viceroy.”
“Nor did I, my dear,” said Sir Marmaduke. “I knew, he was most anxious
to make the exchange with Lord Sellbridge; but this is the first I have
heard of the success of his negociation.”
“You see, Kate,” said Sybella, while a sly glance shot beneath her
long-lashed lids, “that even Fred has become a partizan of Ireland.”
“Perhaps the prospect of the revolt he hinted at,” replied Kate, with an
air of scornful pride, “has made the Guardsman prefer this country for
the moment.”
“I incline to a very different reason,” said Sybella, but in a voice so
subdued as to be only audible to Kate herself, who again blushed deeply,
and seemed greatly confused.
“Ha! here it is,” said Sir Marmaduke, reading aloud a long paragraph
from a morning paper, which, descanting on the abortiveness of any
effort to destroy the peace of the realm, by enemies without or within
its frontiers, concluded with a glowing panegyric on the blessings of
the British constitution. “'The government, while confiding implicitly
on the loyalty and bravery of his Majesty's people, have yet neglected
no measures of precaution against the insane and rash attempts of our
'natural enemies,' whose temerity is certain of again receiving the
same severe lesson which every attempt upon our shores has taught them.'
Yes--yes--very prompt and active measures, nothing could be better,”
muttered he to himself.
“'May I ask what they consist in--these precautionary movements?” said
Kate.
“A full organization of the militia and yeomanry,” replied Sir
Marmaduke, proudly, for he commanded a regiment of 'Northamptonshire
fencibles.' “Strengthening the different garrisons in large
towns-mounting guns of heavy calibre on the forts--”
A hearty burst of laughter broke from Kate, which she made no effort to
control whatever.
“I cannot help laughing, because that same word recalls a conversation I
once heard between two French officers in Bruges; one of them who seemed
to know Ireland well, averred that these forts were so placed as only to
be capable of battering down each other. I know he instanced two on the
southern coast, which in three discharges must inevitably make a drawn
battle of it.”
“My dear young lady,” said Sir Marmaduke, with an unusual gravity, “it
is not exactly to our enemies we must look for any warm encomium on our
means of defence, nor has experience yet shown, that British courage can
be justly a subject for a Frenchman's laughter.”
“And as to the militia and yeomanry,” continued Kate, for she seemed
bent on tormenting, and totally indifferent to the consequences
regarding herself, “Colonel Delcamp called them 'arsenals ambulantes,'
admirably contrived to provide an invading army with arms and
ammunition.”
“I heartily wish your friend, Colonel Delcamp, would favour us with a
visit of inspection,” said the Baronet, scarcely able to control his
anger.
“I should not think the occurrence unlikely,” was the cool reply, “and
if so, I may be permitted to assure you, that you will be much pleased
with his manners and agreeability.” Sybella's imploring look was all in
vain; Kate, as she herself said, belonged to a race who neither gave nor
took quarter, and such a controversy was the very conflict she gloried
in. How it was to be carried on any further, is not easy to foresee,
had not the difficulty been solved by the entrance of Frederick Travers,
come to communicate the news of his appointment. While Sir Marmaduke and
Sybella expressed their joy at his success, Kate, half chagrined at the
interruption to a game, where she already deemed herself the winner,
walked towards the window and looked out.
“Have I nothing like congratulation to expect from Miss O'Donoghue,” said
Frederick, as he placed himself at her side.
“I scarcely knew if it were a subject where congratulation would be
suitable. To exchange the glories of London life, the fascinations of
a great Court, and the society of the first people in the land, for
the lesser splendours of a second-rate capital; perhaps you might have
smiled at the simplicity of wishing you joy for all this,” and here her
voice assumed a deeper, fuller accent. “I own that I do not feel Ireland
in a position to bear even a smile of scorn without offence to one of
her children.”
“I was not aware till now, that you could suspect me of such a feeling.”
“You are an Englishman, sir, that's enough,” said Kate hurriedly; “in
_your_ eyes, we are the people you have conquered, and it would be too
much to expect you should entertain great respect for the prejudices
you have laboured to subdue. But after all, there is a distinction worth
making, and you have not made it.”
“And that is, if I dare ask--” “That is, there is a wide difference
between conquering the territory, and gaining the affections of a
people. You have succeeded in one; you'll never, at least by your
present courses, accomplish the other.”
“Speak more plainly to me,” said Travers, who felt a double interest in
a conversation which every moment contained an allusion that bore upon
his own fortune.
“There, there, sir,” said Kate, proudly, “your very request is an answer
to yourself. We, here, who have known each other for some time, have
had opportunities of interchanging opinions and sentiments, cannot
understand a simple matter in the same way, nor regard it in the same
light, how do you suppose, that millions separated by distance, habits
and pursuits, can attain to what we, with our advantages, have failed
in. Can you not see that we are not the same people.
“But need our dissimilitudes sever--may they not be made rather ties to
bind us more closely together,” said he, tenderly.
“Equality for the future, even if we obtained it, cannot eradicate the
memory of the past. The penal laws----”
“Come--come. There is no longer any thing there. See the University
for instance--by-the-bye,” and here Travers caught eagerly at the
opportunity of escape, “what of Herbert, is not this near the time for
his examination?”
“The very day, the 28th of February,” said she, reading from a small
memorandum book. “It is six weeks yesterday since we have seen him--poor
boy!”
“How pale and sickly he looked too. I wish with all my heart, he had not
set his mind so eagerly on College success.”
“It is only for women, to live without ambition of one sort or other;”
replied Kate, sadly, “and a very poor kind of existence it is, I assure
you.”
“What if we were to make a party, and meet him as he comes out? We might
persuade him to join us at dinner, too.”
“Well thought of, Fred,” said Sir Marmaduke. “Herbert seems to have
forgotten us latterly, and knowing his anxiety to succeed, I really
scrupled at the thought of idling him.”
“It is very kind of you all,” said Kate, with one of her sweetest
smiles, “to remember the poor student, and there is nothing I should
like better than the plan you propose.”
“We must find out the hour they leave the Hall,” said Frederick.
“I heard him say it was at four o'clock,” said Sybella, timidly,
venturing for the first time to interpose a word in the conversation.
“You have the best memory in the world, Sybella,” whispered Kate in her
friend's ear, and simple as the words were, they called the blush to her
cheek in an instant.
The morning passed away in the thousand little avocations which
affluence and ease have invented, to banish “ennui,” and render life
always interesting. A few minutes before four o'clock, the splendid
equipage of Sir Marmaduke Travers, in all the massive perfection of its
London appointments, drew up at the outer gate of the University; the
party preferring to enter the courts on foot.
As Frederick Travers, with his two lady companions, appeared within
the walls, the murmur of their names ran through the crowd of gownsmen,
already assembled in the court; for although by College time, it still
wanted fifteen minutes of the hour, a considerable number of students
were gathered together, anxious to hear the result of the day. The
simple but massive style of the buildings; the sudden change from the
tumult and noise of a crowded city, to the silence and quietude of these
spacious quadrangles, the number of youths dressed in their University
costume, and either gazing wistfully, at the door of the Examination
Hall, or conversing eagerly together, were all matters of curious
interest to the Travers' party, who saw themselves in a world so
different from that they daily moved in. Nor were the loungers the
students only; mixed up with them, here and there, might be seen,
some of the leading barristers of the day, and one or two of the most
distinguished members of the House of Commons--men, who themselves had
tasted the sweets of College success, and were fain, even by a passing
moment, to refresh the memory of youthful triumphs, and bring back, by
the sight of familiar objects, the recollection of days, to which all
the glories of after-life, are but poor in comparison. Many of these
were recognized by the students, and saluted by them, with marks of
profound respect; and one, a small mean-looking man with jet black
eyes, and olive complexion, was received with a cheer, which was with
difficulty arrested by a waving motion with his hand, and a gesture
towards the door of the “Hall,” from which with a hollow cavernous
sound, a heavy bolt was now drawn, and the wide portal opened. A general
movement in the crowd showed how intense expectation then was, but it
was destined to a further trial, for it was only the head porter dressed
in his crimson robe, and carrying his cap at arms length before him,
who, followed by the Provost, issued forth; the students removed their
caps, and stood in respectful silence as he passed. Again the door was
closed, and all was still.
“There is something in all this, that stimulates curiosity strongly,”
said Kate; “when I came in here, I could have waited patiently for an
hour or two, but now, the sight of all these anxious faces, these prying
looks, that seem eager to pierce the very door itself; those short
sentences, broken by quick glances at the clock, have worked me up to an
excitement high and fevered as their own.”
“It wants but a minute now,” said Fred.
“I think the hand has not moved, for the last ten,” said Sybella,
smiling faintly.
“I hope he has gained the prize,” muttered Kate, below her breath; and
at the moment, the bell tolled, and the wide doors, as if burst open by
the sound, were flung wide, and the human tide poured forth, and mingled
with that beneath; but what a different aspect did it present. The faces
were mostly flushed and heated, the eyes flashing, the dress disordered,
the cravats awry, the hair tangled--all the signs of mental excitement,
long and arduously sustained, were there, and save a few whose careless
look and unmoved expression showed that their part had no high ambition
at stake, all were impressed with the same character of mingled
eagerness and exhaustion.
Many among these were quickly singled out and surrounded by troops of
eager and anxious friends, and the passing stranger might easily read in
the tone and accent of the speaker his fortune, whether good or evil.
“Where is Herbert?--where can he be?--I don't see him,” said each of
the Travers' party, as, mingling with the crowd, they cast their anxious
looks on every side; but amid the bustle of the scene, the hurrying
forms, and the babble of tongues, they felt bewildered and confused.
“Let us try at his chambers,” said Frederick; “he will, in all
likelihood, be there soon,” and at once they turned their steps towards
the corner of the old square near the library, where Herbert lived his
solitary life; for although nominally linked with a companion--a chum,
in College parlance--he rarely made his appearance within the walls, and
then only for a few days at a time.
When they reached the door, they found it open, and without further
waiting, or any notice of their approach, they entered, but so
noiselessly and quietly withal, that the deep accents of grief--the
heavy sound of broken sobs--struck at once upon their ears. They stopped
and gazed in silence at each other, reading, as it were, their own
heartfelt fears in the face of each.
“Poor fellow,” said Kate, as her proud lip trembled with agitation.
“This is a sad beginning.”
“Let us go back,” whispered Sybella, faintly, and her cheek was pale as
death as she spoke.
“No, no,” cried Frederick, hurriedly; “we must cheer him up, what
signifies the whole affair--a piece of mere boyish ambition, that he'll
only laugh at one of these days.”
“Not so,” said Kate. “The augury of success or failure in the outset of
life is no such trifle as you deem it. If he be faint-hearted, the game
is up with him for ever--if he be made of sterner stuff, as one of his
name and house ought to be, he'll revenge his present fall, by a great
hereafter. Let me see him,” and at once disengaging her arm, she walked
forward, and entered the chamber; while Frederick and his sister retired
to the court to await her return.
When Kate O'Donoghue entered the room, Herbert was seated before a
table, on which his head was leaning, with his hands pressed against his
face. At his feet lay his cap, and the books he carried with him from
the Hall. Unconscious of her presence, lost to every thing, save his
overwhelming affliction, the sobs came with a convulsive shudder that
shook his frame, and made the very table rattle, while at intervals
there broke from him a faint moan of heart-rending sorrow.
[Illustration: 284]
“My dear brother,” said Kate, placing her arm around his neck. The boy
started and looked up, and prepared as she was to see the traces of
suffering there, she started at the ravages long days and nights of
study and deep grief had left behind them: his eyes were sunk, and
surrounded by dark circles, that made them seem quite buried beneath
his brows; his forehead traversed by a net-work of blue veins, had that
transparent thinness mental labour impresses, and his lips were thin and
colourless; while on each cheek a burning spot of red looked like the
mark of hectic. He made no answer; but the tears ran fast from his eyes,
and his mouth quivered as he tried to say something.
She sat down beside him on the same chair, and bending her head, till
the silken curls touched his very cheek, she spoke to him--not in words
of encouragement or good cheer, for such her own instinct told her were
inapplicable, but in the soft accents of affection, neither undervaluing
the source of his grief, nor yet suffering him to be carried away by his
own sense of his calamity. “Remember, my dear brother,” said she, “you
are not less dear to our hearts for all this--remember that for
the casualties of the world, and its chances, we can only do our
utmost--that success is not for us to determine, but to strive for. Had
you won to-day, some other must now have grieved like you, and who can
tell if he could count as many fond and loving hearts to feel for and
console him.”
“Oh, if you knew how I strived and longed--how I prayed for success,”
said he, in a voice almost stifled by convulsive throbs.
“And it will come yet, Herbert. The tree is only the more fruitful when
the knife has cut down to its very heart. Yours is not the nature to be
deterred by one repulse, nor yours the name to be stamped with failure,
because the contest is difficult. Ambitions are only noble when their
path is steep. Who knows how indolent you might have become, had you
found the prize too easily won. Come, come, Herbert, enough for the
past; look forward now, and with good courage and hope. The next
struggle will end differently; but, above all, wear a fair face before
the world. I remember some French prisoners being brought into Courtray,
who amused us so much by their gay and smiling air, and look of ease
and satisfaction--their secret was, that defeat was never disgrace,
save when it lowered the spirit, and made the heart droop. Theirs never
failed, and I promise you we thought all the better of them.”
“But my uncle--who is to tell him----”
“Let _me_ tell him. I see you have begun a letter already--”
“That was written last night,” said the boy, as the tears gushed forth
afresh--“last night, when hope was almost certainty.”
“Then I'll finish it,” said Kate, taking up the half-written letter.
“Say to him--I would wish him to know all--say that I had beaten my
opponents down to one, and that he, too, almost gave up the contest,
when, somehow--I cannot now say exactly how or wherefore--I got into
a dispute with the examiner about the meaning of a word in Terence; he
seemed to enjoy the eagerness with which I defended my opinion for a
time, and actually encouraged my persistence, until at length, my temper
excited, and my brain on fire, I said something--I know not what--but
it was evidently an offence, for he closed the book, and merely
replied--'Enough, sir, I give your opponent the premium; his temper
more than compensates for any deficiency in his scholarship; and I was
beaten.” The last words evoked all his sorrow once more, and the youth
burst into tears.
“That, then, I call unfair,” said Kate, passionately, “unless the
gentleman were the arbiter of temperament, as well as talent. Come,
Herbert, even this should reconcile you to your fortune: you have not
failed unworthily.”
“But my uncle, Kate--my uncle will deem it far otherwise. To guard
against this very error of my temper was almost the last pledge I made
him, and here, in my first trial, see how I have kept my promise.”
“Leave the explanation to me, only promise one thing--and mind,
Herbert, this is a pledge there must be no forgetting--do all in your
power--spare nothing to win the next time. I care not whether you ever
carry away another prize within these walls; but one you must have. Is
this agreed?--give me your hand upon it. There, that's like your own
self, and now don't waste another thought on what's bygone. The Travers
invited you to dine with them to-day.”
“Oh, no--no.”
“No--I have not any intention to press you, only come soon to see us--to
see _me_.” She kissed his forehead tenderly as she spoke the last word,
and glided rapidly from the room.