The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago

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.

“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.

CHAPTER XXIX. FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Kate O’Donoghue was more deeply affected by Herbert’s failure than she had let appear to the youth, or even confessed to herself. It was not that the character of his ambition enlisted her sympathies, or engaged her interest. Far from it: she thought too meanly of such triumphs, and knew not how far they shed an influence on a future career. The habits of her education, all her early prejudices, disposed her to regard the life of a soldier as the only one becoming a gentleman. The passion for military glory, which the great victories of the Republic and the Consulate had spread throughout Europe, penetrated into every remote village of the continent, and even the prison-like walls of the convent did not keep out the spirit-stirring sounds of drum and trumpet, the tramp of marching hosts, and the proud clangor of war. It was a time when the soldier was every thing. There was but one path in life by which to win honour, rank, fame, and fortune. Even the humblest might strive, for the race was open to all; or, in the phrase of the period, every conscript left a spare corner in his knapsack for his future “baton de maréchal.”

All she had ever seen of foreign society, partook of this character. For, strangely enough, on the ruin of an aristocracy, a new and splendid chivalry was founded – a chivalry, whose fascinations covered many a wrong, and made many a bad cause glorious by the heroism it evoked! The peaceful path in life was, then, in her estimate, the inglorious one. Still, her proud nature could not brook defeat in any thing. It was not without its influence upon the hearts and minds of her house, that the eagle figured as their crest. The soaring bird, with outstretched wing, careering high above his compeers, told of a race who once, at least, thought no ambition above their daring; and she was worthy of the haughtiest of her ancestors.

Too proud to enter into any detail of Herbert’s failure, she dismissed the subject as briefly as she could, and made her appearance in the drawing-room without any perceptible change of manner; nor did she appear to take any notice of the announcement made by Sir Marmaduke to his son, that Hemsworth, who had just arrived from Scotland, would join the family circle at dinner. Kate had never seen him, but his name was long associated in her mind with anecdotes of oppression and cruelty to her uncle – of petty insults and annoyances which the letters from Carrig-na-curra used constantly to tell of, and of which her relatives abroad had often descanted in her hearing. The picture she had drawn of him in her own mind was not a flattering one – composed of features and ingredients which represented all that was base, low-minded, and treacherous – a vulgar sycophant, and a merciless tyrant. What was her astonishment, almost her chagrin, to discover, that Hemsworth entered the room a gentleman-like person, of about five-and-forty, tall, and well-formed, with regular features, rather melancholy in their expression than otherwise, and with a voice singularly low, soft, and pleasing, his manner a mixture of well-bred ease, and that excessive deference so often seen in those who have passed a long portion of life about persons of rank superior to their own, but without the slightest trace, that she could discover, of any thing subservient. With all her disposition to be critical, she could find little fault with either his manner or his conversation, nor could she detect any appearance of affectation. On the contrary, he seemed affable, like one who felt himself among friends, and need set no limits to his natural frankness. On the several topics he talked, he spoke with good sense and fairness; and even when the often agitated question of the state of Ireland was alluded to, he surprised Kate by the absence of any violent or exaggerated tone, speaking of the people in terms of kindliness and even affection – lauding the native virtues of their character, and dwelling with pleasure on the traits which advantageously distinguish them from the peasantry of other lands.