Volume I Part 31 (1/2)
Now, Molly, this is as true as the Bible, and yet there's people and there's newspapers call the Irish ”Irreclaimable savages.” It is as big a lie as ever was written! The real truth is, they don't know how, if they really wished, to reclaim them! And after all, how little reclaiming they need! To hear English people discuss Ireland, you 'd suppose that it was the worst part of Arabia Felix they were describing.
But I have n't patience to go on; I fly out the moment I hear them, and faith they 're not proud of themselves when I 'm done.
”I wish you were in the House, Mrs. Dodd,” says one of them to me the other night.
”I wish I was,” says I; ”if I would n't make it too hot for s...o...b..ck, my name isn't Jemima! for he's the one that abuses us most of all!” Well, I must say, we are well repaid for all the cruel treatment we receive at home, by the kindness and ”consideration,” as they call it, we meet with abroad! The minute a foreigner hears we 're Irish, he says, ”Oh dear, how sorry we are for your sufferings; we never cease deploring your hard lot;” and to be sure, Molly, ”wicked Old England,” and the ”Harlequin Flag,” as Dan called it, come in for their share of abuse. Besides these advantages, I must remark that Catholics is greatly thought of on the Continent; for it is n't as in Ireland, where 's it's only the common people to ma.s.s. Here you may see royalty at their devotions. They sit in little galleries with gla.s.s windows, which they open every now and then, to take part in the prayers; and indeed, whatever rank and fas.h.i.+on is in the place, you 're sure to see it ”at church;” mind, Molly, at church, for no educated Catholic even says ”at ma.s.s.”
You want to hear ”all about the converts to our holy faith,” you say, but this is n't the place to get you the best information; but as I hope we 'll pa.s.s the winter in Italy, I 'll maybe be able to give you some account of them.
Lord George tells me that the Pope makes Rome delightful to strangers; but whether it's ”dinners” or ”receptions,” I don't know. At any rate, I conclude he doesn't give ”b.a.l.l.s.”
What a fuss they're making all over the world about these ”rapparees,”
or refugees, or whatever they call them. My notion is, Molly, that we who harbor them have the worst of the bargain; and as to our fighting for them, it would be almost as sensible as to take up arms in defence of a flea that got into your bed! Considering how plenty blackguards are at home, I think it's nothing but greediness in us to want to take Russian and Austrian ones! We have our own villains; and any one of moderate desires might be satisfied with them! These are Lord G.'s sentiments, but I 'm sure you like to hear the opinions of the aristocracy on all matters.
What you say about Bony's marriage was the very thought that occurred to myself, and it was just the turn of a pin whether Mary Anne was n't at this moment Empress of France! Well, who knows what's coming, Molly!
There's many a one, now in a private station, and mighty hard up for means, that will maybe turn out a King or a Grand-Duke before long. At any rate, no elevation to rank or dignity will ever make me forget my old friends, and yourself, the first of them. And with this, I subscribe myself,
Yours ever affectionately,
Jemima Dodd McCarthy.
P. S. I 'll make one of the girls write to you next week, for I know I 'll be so much overcome by my feelings when K. I. arrives, that I 'll be quite incapable to take up my pen.
I sometimes think that I 'll take to my bed, and be ”given over.”
against the day of his coming; for you see there 's nothing gives such solemnity and weight to one's reproaches as their being last words. You can say such bitter things, Molly, when you are supposed to be too weak to bear a reply. But I 've done this once or twice before, and K. I. is a hardened creature.
Lord G. says: ”Treat him as if it were nothing at all, as if you saw him yesterday: don't give him the importance of having irritated you. Be a regular woman of fas.h.i.+on.” If my temper would permit, perhaps this would be best of all; but have I a right to acquit a ”great public malefactor”? That's a ”case of conscience,” Molly, that perhaps only the Church could resolve. The saints direct me!
LETTER XXVIII. JAMES DODD TO ROBERT DOOLAN, ESQUIRE, TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.
My dear Bob,--It is quite true, I am a shameful correspondent, and your last three letters now before me, unanswered, comprise a tremendous indictment against me; but reflect for a moment, and you will see that in all complaints of this kind there is a certain amount of injustice, since it is hardly possible ever to find two people whose tastes, habite, and present circ.u.mstances place them on such terms of perfect equality that the interchange of letters is as easy for one as the other. Think over this for a moment, and you will perceive that sitting down at your quiet desk, in ”No. 2, Old Square,” is a different process from s.n.a.t.c.hing a hurried moment amidst the din, the crash, and the conflict of life at Baden; and if _your_ thoughts flow on calmly, tinctured with the solemn influences around you, _mine_ as necessarily reflect an existence checkered by every rainbow hue of good or evil fortune.
Be therefore tolerant of my silence and indulgent to my stupidity, since to transmit one's thoughts requires previously that you should think; and who can, or ever could, in a place like this? Imagine a winding valley, with wooded hills rising in some places to the height of mountains, in the midst of which stands a little village--for it is no more--nearly every house of which is a palace, some splendid hotel of France, Russia, or England. You pa.s.s from these by a shady alley to a little rustic bridge, over what might be, and very possibly is, an excellent trout-stream, and come at once in front of a magnificent structure, frescoed without and gilded and stuccoed within. ”The Rooms,”
the Temple of Fortune, the ordeal of destiny, Bob, is held here; and the rake of the croupier is the distaff of the Fate. Hither come flocking the representatives of every nation of the world, and of almost every cla.s.s in each. Royalty, princely houses, and n.o.bility with twenty quarterings, are jostled in the indiscriminate crowd with houseless adventurers, beggared spendthrifts, and ruined debauchees. All who can contribute the clink of their Louis d'or to the music are welcome to this orchestra! And women, too, fair, delicate, and lovely, the tenderest flowers that ever were nursed within domestic care, mixed up with others, not less handsome perhaps, but whose siren beauty is almost diabolic by comparison. What a babel of tongues, and what confusion of characters! The grandee of Spain, the escaped galley-slave, the Hungarian magnate, the London ”swell,” the old and h.o.a.ry gambler with snow-white moustaches, and the unfledged minor, antic.i.p.ating manhood by ruining himself in his ”teens.” All these are blended and commingled by the influence of play? and, differing as they do in birth, in blood, in lineage, and condition, yet are they members of one guild, a.s.sociates of one society,--the gambling-table. And what a leveller is play! He who whispers in the ear of the Crown Prince yonder is a branded felon from the Bagnes de Brest; the dark-whiskered man yonder, who leans over the lady's chair, is an escaped forger; the Carlist n.o.ble is asking friendly counsel of a Christino spy; the London pickpocket offers his jewelled snuff-box to an Archduke of Austria. ”How goes the game today?” cries a Neapolitan prince of the blood, and the question is addressed to a red-bearded Corsican, whose livelihood is a stiletto. ”Is that the beautiful Countess of Hapsburg?” asks a fresh-looking Oxford man; and his friend laughingly answers: ”Not exactly; it is Mademoiselle Varenne, of the Odon.” The fine-looking man yonder is a Mexican general, who carried off the military chest from Guanaguato; the pompous little fellow beside him is a Lucchese count, who stole part of the Crown jewels of his sovereign; the long-haired, broad-foreheaded man, with open s.h.i.+rt-collar, so violently denouncing the wrongs of injured Italy, is a Russian spy; and the dark Arab behind him is a Swiss valet, more than suspected of having murdered his master in the Mediterranean.
Our English contingent embraces lords of the bedchamber, members of Parliament, railroad magnates, money-lending attorneys, legs, swells, and swindlers, and a small sprinkling of University men, out to read and be ruined,--the fair s.e.x, comprising women of a certain fast set in London, divorced countesses, a long category of the widow cla.s.s, some with daughters, some without. There is an abundance of good looks, splendid dress, and money without limit! The most striking feature of all, however, is the reckless helter-skelter pace at which every one is going, whether his pursuit be play, love, or mere extravagance. There is no such thing as calculation,--no counting the cost of anything. Life takes its tone from the tables, and where, as wealth and beggary succeed each other, so does every possible extreme of joy and misery, people wager their pa.s.sions and their emotions exactly as they do their bank-notes and their gold pieces. Chance, my dear Bob,--chance is ten times a more intoxicating liquor than champagne, and once take to ”dramming” with fortune, and you may bid a long adieu to sobriety! I do not speak here of the terrible infatuation of play, and the almost utter impossibility of resisting it, but I allude to what is infinitely worse, the certainty of your applying play theories and play tactics to every event and circ.u.mstance of real life.
The whole world becomes to you but one great green cloth, and everything in it a question of luck! Will the bad run continue here? Will good fortune stand much longer to you? These are the questions ever rising to your mind. You grow to regard yourself as utterly powerless and impa.s.sive; a football at the toe of Destiny! I think I see your eyebrows upraised in astonishment at these profound reflections of mine. You never suspected me of moralizing, nor, shall I own it, was I aware myself that I had any genius that way. Shall I tell you the secret, Bob,--shall I unlock the mysterious drawer of hidden motives for you? It is this, then: I have been a tremendously heavy loser at Rouge-et-Noir!
As long as luck lasted, which it did for three weeks or more, I enjoyed this place with a zest I cannot describe to you. The moralists tell us that prosperity hardens the heart; I cannot believe it. I know at least, that in my brief experience I never felt such a universal tenderness for everything and everybody. I seemed to live in an atmosphere of beauty, luxury, and splendor; every one was courteous; all were amiable! It was not alone that fortune favored me, but I appeared to have the good wishes of all beholders; words of encouragement murmured around me as I won; soft bewitching glances beamed over at me, as I raked up my gold.
The very banker seemed to shovel out the s.h.i.+ning pieces to me with a sense of satisfaction! Old veterans of the tables peeped over me to watch my game, and exclamations of wonder and admiration broke forth at each new moment of my triumphs! I don't care what it may be that const.i.tutes the subject of display: a great speech in the House, a splendid picture at the Gallery, a novel, a song, a spirited lecture, a wonderful feat of strength or horsemans.h.i.+p; but there is an inward sense of intoxication in being the ”cynosure of all eyes”--the ”one in a thousand”--that comes very nigh to madness! Many a time have I screwed up my hunter to a fence--a regular yawner--that I knew in my heart was touch-and-go with both of us, simply because some one in the crowd said, ”Look how young Dodd will do it” I made some smas.h.i.+ng ventures at the ”tables,” under pretty similar promptings, and, I must say, with splendid success.
”Are you always so fortunate?” asked a royal personage, with a courteous smile towards me.
”And in everything?” sighs a gentle voice, with a look of such bewitching softness that I forgot to take up my stake, and see it remain on the board to double itself the next deal.
Besides all this, there is a grand magnificence in all your notions under the access of sudden wealth. You give orders to your tradespeople with a Jove-like omnipotence. You revel in the unbounded realms of ”I will.” What signifies the cost of anything,--the most gorgeous entertainment? It is only adding twenty Naps, to your next bet! That rich bracelet of rubies--pshaw!--it is to be had for the turn of a card!
In a word, Bob, I felt that I had fallen upon the ”Bendigo Diggins,”
without even the trouble of the search! I wanted fifty Naps, for a caprice, and strolled in to win them, as coolly as though I were changing a check at my banker's!