You do not, to be sure, imagine that there are no other Snobs in Ireland
than those of the amiable party who wish to make pikes of iron railroads
(it's a fine Irish economy), and to cut the throats of the Saxon
invaders. These are of the venomous sort; and had they been invented in
his time, St. Patrick would have banished them out of the kingdom along
with the other dangerous reptiles.
I think it is the Four Masters, or else it's Olaus Magnus, or else
it's certainly O'Neill Daunt, in the 'Catechism of Irish History,' who
relates that when Richard the Second came to Ireland, and the Irish
chiefs did homage to him, going down on their knees--the poor simple
creatures!--and worshipping and wondering before the English king and
the dandies of his court, my lords the English noblemen mocked and
jeered at their uncouth Irish admirers, mimicked their talk and
gestures, pulled their poor old beards, and laughed at the strange
fashion of their garments.
The English Snob rampant always does this to the present day. There is
no Snob in existence, perhaps, that has such an indomitable belief in
himself: that sneers you down all the rest of the world besides, and has
such an insufferable, admirable, stupid contempt for all people but his
own--nay, for all sets but his own. 'Gwacious Gad' what stories about
'the Iwish' these young dandies accompanying King Richard must have had
to tell, when they returned to Pall Mall, and smoked their cigars upon
the steps of 'White's.'
The Irish snobbishness developes itself not in pride so much as in
servility and mean admirations, and trumpery imitations of their
neighbours. And I wonder De Tocqueville and De Beaumont, and THE TIMES'
Commissioner, did not explain the Snobbishness of Ireland as contrasted
with our own. Ours is that of Richard's Norman Knights,--haughty, brutal
stupid, and perfectly self-confident;--theirs, of the poor, wondering,
kneeling, simple chieftains. They are on their knees still before
English fashion--these simple, wild people; and indeed it is hard not to
grin at some of their NAIVE exhibitions.
Some years since, when a certain great orator was Lord Mayor of Dublin,
he used to wear a red gown and a cocked hat, the splendour of which
delighted him as much as a new curtain-ring in her nose or a string of
glass-beads round her neck charms Queen Quasheeneboo. He used to pay
visits to people in this dress; to appear at meetings hundreds of miles
off, in the red velvet gown. And to hear the people crying 'Yes, me
Lard!' and 'No, me Lard!' and to read the prodigious accounts of his
Lordship in the papers: it seemed as if the people and he liked to be
taken in by this twopenny splendour. Twopenny magnificence,
indeed, exists all over Ireland, and may be considered as the great
characteristic of the Snobbishness of that country.
When Mrs. Mulholligan, the grocer's lady, retires to Kingstown, she has
Mulholliganville' painted over the gate of her villa; and receives you
at a door that won't shut or gazes at you out of a window that is glazed
with an old petticoat.
Be it ever so shabby and dismal, nobody ever owns to keeping a shop. A
fellow whose stock in trade is a penny roll or a tumbler of lollipops,
calls his cabin the 'American Flour Stores,' or the 'Depository for
Colonial Produce,' or some such name.
As for Inns, there are none in the country; Hotels abound as well
furnished as Mulholliganville; but again there are no such people as
landlords and land-ladies; the landlord is out with the hounds, and my
lady in the parlour talking with the Captain or playing the piano.
If a gentleman has a hundred a year to leave to his family they all
become gentlemen, all keep a nag, ride to hounds, and swagger about
in the 'Phaynix,' and grow tufts to their chins like so many real
aristocrats.
A friend of mine has taken to be a painter, and lives out of Ireland,
where he is considered to have disgraced the family by choosing such
a profession. His father is a wine-merchant; and his elder brother an
apothecary.
The number of men one meets in London and on the Continent who have a
pretty little property of five-and-twenty hundred a year in Ireland
is prodigious: those who WILL have nine thousand a year in land when
somebody dies are still more numerous. I myself have met as many
descendants from Irish kings as would form a brigade.
And who has not met the Irishman who apes the Englishman, and who
forgets his country and tries to forget his accent, or to smother the
taste of it, as it were? 'Come, dine with me, my boy,' says O'Dowd, of
O'Dowdstown: 'you'll FIND US ALL ENGLISH THERE;' which he tells you with
a brogue as broad as from here to Kingstown Pier. And did you never hear
Mrs. Captain Macmanus talk about 'I-ah-land,' and her account of her
'fawther's esteet?' Very few men have rubbed through the world without
hearing and witnessing some of these Hibernian phenomena--these twopenny
splendours.
And what say you to the summit of society--the Castle--with a sham
king, and sham lords-in-waiting, and sham loyalty, and a sham Haroun
Alraschid, to go about in a sham disguise, making believe to be affable
and splendid? That Castle is the pink and pride of Snobbishness. A COURT
CIRCULAR is bad enough, with two columns of print about a little baby
that's christened--but think of people liking a sham COURT CIRCULAR!
I think the shams of Ireland are more outrageous than those of any
country. A fellow shows you a hill and says, 'That's the highest
mountain in all Ireland;' a gentleman tells you he is descended from
Brian Boroo and has his five-and-thirty hundred a year; or Mrs. Macmanus
describes her fawther's esteet; or ould Dan rises and says the Irish
women are the loveliest, the Irish men the bravest, the Irish land the
most fertile in the world: and nobody believes anybody--the latter does
not believe his story nor the hearer:--but they make-believe to believe,
and solemnly do honour to humbug.
O Ireland! O my country! (for I make little doubt I am descended from
Brian Boroo too) when will you acknowledge that two and two make four,
and call a pikestaff a pikestaff?--that is the very best use you can
make of the latter. Irish snobs will dwindle away then and we shall
never hear tell of Hereditary bondsmen.