Volume I Part 30 (1/2)
I wonder at myself how I keep my temper, and condescend to argue with you about points on which an old bachelor, or widower (for it's the same), must necessarily be ignorant. Don't you perceive that for you to discourse on family matters is like a deaf man describing music?
And you wind up about the privileges of old friends.h.i.+p, and so on! It's a new notion of friends.h.i.+p that makes a man impudent! Where did you ever hear that knowing people a long time was a reason for insulting them?
As to your kind inquiries for the girls, I 'd have liked them as well if not coupled with those ”natural fears” for the consequences of foreign contamination. Mary Anne and myself got a hearty laugh out of your terrors; and so I forgive your mention of them.
James is quite well; and would, he says, be better, if that remittance you spoke of had arrived.
You tell me that the McCarthy legacy is paid, and the money lodged at Latouche's. But what's the use of that? It's here I want it. Find out a safe hand, if you can, and send it over to me; for I 'm resolved to have nothing to do with bills as long as I live.
And now I believe I have gone through the princ.i.p.al matters in your last, and I hope given you my ideas as clearly as your own. It may save you some time and stationery if I say that my mind is made up about K.I.; and if it was Queen Victoria was interceding for him, I'd not alter my sentiments. It's no use appealing ”to the goodness of my heart, and the feminine sweetness of my nature;” all that you say on that head is only a warning to me not to let my weaknesses get the upper hand of me: a lesson I will endeavor to profit by, so long as I write myself,
Your very obedient to command,
Jemima Dodd.
LETTER XXVII. MRS. DODD TO MRS. MARY GALLAGHER, HOUSEKEEPER, DODSBOROUGH
Dear Molly,--I send you herewith a letter for Tom Pur-cell, which you 'll take care to deliver with your own hands. If you are by when he reads it, you 'll maybe perceive that it's not the ”compliments of the season” I was sending him. He says he likes plain speaking, and I trust he is satisfied now.
You are already aware of the barbarous manner K. I. has behaved. I 've told you how he deserted me and the family, and the disgrace that he has brought down upon us in the face of Europe; for I must observe to you, Molly, that whatever is talked of here goes flying over the whole world, and is the common talk of every Court on the Continent. I could fill chapters if I was to describe his wickedness and inhumanity. Well, my dear, what do you think! but in the face of all this Mr. Tom Purcell takes the opportunity to read me a long lecture on my ”congenial”
duties, and to instruct me in what manner I am to treat K. I. on his return.
Considering what he knows of my character, Molly, I almost suspect that he might have spared himself this trouble. Did he, or did any one else, ever see me posed by a difficulty? When did any event take me unawares?
Am I by nature one of those terrified creatures that get flurried by misfortune; or am I, by the blessing of Providence, gifted in a remarkable manner with great powers of judgment, matured by a deep knowledge of life, and a thorough acquaintance with the wickedness of the human heart? That's the whole question,--which am I? Is it after twenty-six years' studying his disposition and pondering over all his badness, that any one can come and teach me how to manage him? I know K.
I. as I know my old slipper; and, indeed, one is worth about as much as the other! I have n't the patience--it would be too much to expect from any one--to tell you how beautifully Mister Tom discourses to me about the innocent freedoms of the Continent, and the harmless fragilities of female life abroad! Does the old sinner believe in his heart that black is white abroad? and would he have me think that what's murder in Bruff was only a justifiable hom'-a-side at Brussels? If he doesn't meau that, what does he mean? Maybe, to be sure, he 's one of the fas.h.i.+onable set that make out that the husband is always driven to some kind of vice or other by his wife's conduct! For, I must remark to you, Molly, there 's a set of people now in the world--they call themselves ”The Peace Congress,” I think--that say there must be no more wars, no fighting, domestically or nationally!
Their notion is this: everybody is right, and n.o.body need quarrel with his neighbor, but settle any trifling disagreement by means of arbitration. Mister Tom is, perhaps, an arbitrator. Well, I hope he likes the office! Since I knew anything of life myself, I always found that if there was three people mixed up in a s.h.i.+ndy there was no hope of settling it, on any terms.
He says, K. I. is coming home. Let him come, says I. Let him surrender himself, Molly, and justice will take its course. That's all the satisfaction I 'll give either of them.
”Don't be vindictive,” says Mister Tom. Isn't that pretty language to use to me, I ask? Is the Chief Justice ”vindictive,” Molly, when he says, ”Stand forward, and hear your sentence”? Is he behaving ”unlike a Christian” when he says, ”Use the little time that's left you in making your peace”?
The old creature then goes on to quote Scripture to me, and talks about the prodigal son. ”Very well,” says I, ”be it so. K. I. may be that if he likes, but I 'll not be the fatted calf,--that's all!” The fact is, Molly, I'm immutable as the Maids and Prussians. They may talk till they 're black in the face, but I 'll never forgive him!
Would n't it be a nice example, I ask, to the girls, if I was to overlook K. I.'s conduct, and call it a ”venal” offence? And this, too, when the eyes of all Europe is staring at us. ”How will Mrs. D. take it?” says the Prince of this. ”What will Mrs. D. say to him?” says the Duke of that ”Does _she_ know it yet?” asks the Archduke of Moravia.
That's the way they go on from morning till night; so that, in fact, Molly,--as Lord George observes,--”he is less of a private culprit than a great public malefactor.”
There's the way I am forced to look on the case; and think more of the good of society than of my family feelings.
Such are my sentiments, Molly, after giving to the case a most patient and careful consideration; and it's little good in Tom Purcell's trying to oppose and obstruct me.
If it were not for this unhappy event, I must own to you, Molly, that we never enjoyed ourselves anywhere more than we do here. It's a scene of pleasure and gayety all day,--and, indeed, all nightlong; and nothing but the antic.i.p.ation of K. I. 's return could damp the ardor of our happiness. However it's managed, I can't tell; but the most elegant b.a.l.l.s and entertainments are given here free and for nothing! Who keep up the rooms, pays for the lighting, the servants, and the refreshments, is more than I can say. All I know is, that your humble servant never contributed a sixpence to one of them. Lord George says that the Grand Duke is never happy except when the place is crammed; and that he 'd spend his last s.h.i.+lling rather than not see people amuse themselves.
And there's a Frenchman, too,--a Mr. Bega.s.set, or Bena.s.set, or something like that,--who is so wild about amus.e.m.e.nt that he goes to any expense about the place, and even keeps a pack of hounds for the public.
Contrast this, my dear Molly, with one of our little miserable subscription b.a.l.l.s at home, where Dan Ca.s.sidy, the dancing-master, is driving about the country, for maybe three weeks, in his old gig, before he can sc.r.a.pe together a matter of six or seven pounds, to pay for mutton lights, two fiddles, and a dulcimer; and, after all, it's perhaps over the Bridewell we 'd be dancing, and the shouts of the dirty creatures below would be coming up at every pause of the music. Now, here, it's like a royal palace,--elegant l.u.s.tres, with two hundred wax-lights in each of them,--a floor like gla.s.s. Ask Mary Anne if it isn't as slippery! The dress of the company actually magnificent! none of your little shabby-colored muslins, or Limerick lace; none of your gauze petticoats, worn over glazed calico, to look like satin, but everything real, Molly,--the lace, the silk, the satin, the jewels, the gold tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, the feathers,--all the best of the kind, and fresh as they came out of the shop. You don't see the white satin shoes with the mark of a man's foot on them, nor the satin body with four fingers and a thumb on the back of it, as you would at a Patrick's Ball in Dublin!
Everything is new for each night.
How Mary Anne laughs at the Irish notions of dress, of what they call in the ”Evening Post,” ”a beautiful lama petticoat over a white satin slip!”