Volume I Part 43 (1/2)
”I suppose he has a good steward,” said I, for I began to fear that K.
I. would make some blunder, and speak to the Baron about crops, and so forth.
”Them drills are as neat as ever I seen,” said he, half to himself.
”Look now, K. I.,” said I to him, gravely, ”make your own remarks on whatever you like, but remember where we are, and that it's exactly the same as if we were on a visit to the Duke of Leinster at home. If you must ask questions about farming, always say, 'How does your steward do this?' 'What does he think of that?' Keep in mind that the aristocracy does n't dirty its fingers abroad as it does in England, with agricultural pursuits, and that they have neither prizes for cows nor cottagers!”
”Mrs. D.,” said he, turning on me like a tiger, ”are you going to teach me polite breeding and genteel manners?”
”I wish to the saints I could,” said I, ”if the lesson was only good for a week.”
”Look now,” said he, ”if I detect the slightest appearance of any drilling or training of me,--if I ever find out that you want to impose me on the world for anything but what I am,--may I never do any good if I don't disgrace you all by my behavior!”
”Can you be worse?” said I.
”I can,” said he; ”a devilish deal worse.”
And with that he went out of the room with a bang that nearly tore the door off its hinges, and never came back till late in the evening.
We apologized for his not appearing at dinner by saying that he felt fatigued, and requested that he might be permitted to sleep on undisturbed; and as, happily, he did go to bed when he returned, the excuse succeeded.
So that you see, Molly, even in the midst of splendor and greatness, that man's temper, and the mean ways he has, keeps me in perpetual hot water. I know, besides, that when he is downright angry, he never cares for consequences, nor counts the damage of anything. He 'd just go down and tell the Baron that we had n't a sixpence we could call our own; that Dodsborough was mortgaged for three times its value; and that, maybe, to-morrow or next day we 'd be sold out in the c.u.mbered Court.
He 'd expose me and Mary Anne without the slightest compunctuation, and there 's not a family secret he would n't publish in the servants' hall!
Don't I remember well, when the 55th was quartered at Bruff, he used to boast at the mess that he could n't give his daughters a farthing of fortune, when any man with proper feelings, and a respect for his position, would have made it seem that the girls had a snug thing quite at their own disposal. Isn't the world ready enough, Molly, to detect one's little failings and shortcomings, without our going about to put them in the ”Hue and Cry”? But that was always the way with K. I. He used to say, ”It's no disgrace to us if we can't do this;” ”It's no shame if we 're not rich enough for that” But I say, it is both a shame and a disgrace if _it 's found out_, Molly. That's the whole of it!
I used to think that coming abroad might have taught him something,--that he 'd see the way other people lived, and similate himself to their manners and customs. Not a bit of it. He grows worse every day. He's more of a Dodd now than the hour he left home. The consequence is that the whole responsibility of supporting the credit of the family is thrown upon me and Mary Anne. I don't mean to say that we are unequal to the task, but surely the whole burden need n't be laid upon our shoulders. That we are on the spot from which I write these lines is all my own doing. When we first met the young Baron at Bonn, K.
I. tried to prejudice us against him; he used to ridicule him to James and the girls, and went so far as to say that he was sure he was a low fellow!
What an elegant blunder we 'd have made if we 'd took his advice! It's all very fine saying he does n't ”look like this ”--or he has n't an ”air of that;” sure n.o.body can be taken by his appearance abroad. The scrubbiest old snuffy creatures that go shambling about with shoes too big for them, airing their pocket-handkerchiefs in the sun, are dukes or marquises, and the elegantly dressed men in light blue frocks, all frogs and velvet, are just bagmen or watering-place doctors. It takes time, and great powers of discriminality, Molly, to divide the sheep from the goats; but I have got to that point at last, and I 'm proud to say that he must be a really shrewd hand that imposes upon your humble servant.
Long as this letter is, I 'd have made it longer if I had time, for though we 're only a short time here, I have made many remarks to myself about the ways and manners of foreign country life. The post, however, only goes out once a week, and I don't wish to lose the occasion of giving you the first intelligence of where we are, what we are doing, and what's--with the Virgin's help--before us!
Up to this, it has been all hospitalities and the honors of the house, and I suppose, until the old Baron is up and able to see us, we 'll hear no more about the marriage. At all events, you may mention the matter in confidence to Father John and Mrs. Clancey; and if you like to tell the Davises, and Tom Kelly, and Margaret, I 'm sure it will be safe with them. You can state that the Baron is one of the first families in Europe, and the richest. His great-grandfather, or mother, I forget which, was half-sister to the Empress of Poland, and he is related, in some way or other, to either the Grand Turk, or the Grand-Duke of Moravia,--but either will do to speak of.
All the cellars under the castle are, they say, filled with gold, in the rough, as it came out of his mines, and as he lives in what might be called an unostensible manner, his yearly savings is immense. I suppose while the old man lives the young couple will have to conform to his notions, and only keep a moderate establishment; but when the Lord takes him, I don't know Mary Anne if she 'll not make the money fly. That I may be spared to witness that blessed day, and see my darling child in the enjoyment of every happiness, and all the pleasures of wealth, is the constant prayer of your faithful friend,
Jemima Dodd.
P. S. If Mary Anne has finished her sketch of the castle, I'll send it with this. She 'd have done it yesterday, but, unfortunately, she had n't a bit of red she wanted for a fisherman's small-clothes,--for it seems they always wear red in a picture,--and had to send down to the town, eleven miles, for it.
Address me still here when you write, and let it be soon.
LETTER x.x.xVII. KENNY JAMES DODD TO THOMAS PURCELL, ESQ., OF THE GRANGE, BRUFF.
The Castle of Wolfenfels.
My dear Tom,--I 'm glad old Molly has shown you Mrs. D.'s epistle, which, independent of its other claims, saves me all the trouble of explaining where we are, and how we came there. We arrived on Wednesday last, and since that have been living in a very quiet, humdrum kind of monotonous life, which, were it in Ireland, we should call, honestly, tiresome; but as the scene is Germany and the Black Forest, I suppose should be chronicled as highly romantic and interesting. To be plain, Tom, we inhabit a big house--they call it a castle--in the midst of a large expanse of maize and turnips, backed by a dense wood of pines. We eat and drink in a very plain sort of over-abundant and greasy fas.h.i.+on. We sleep in a thing like the drawer of a cabinet, with a large pincus.h.i.+on on our stomachs for covering. We smoke a home-grown weed, that has some of the bad properties of tobacco; and we ponder--at least I do--of how long it would take of an existence like this to make a man wish himself a member of the vegetable creation. Don't fancy that I'm growing exorbitant in my demands for pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt, nor believe that I have forgotten the humdrum uniformity of my life at home. I remember it all, and well. I can recall the lazy hours pa.s.sed in the suns.h.i.+ne of our few summer days; I can bring back to mind the wearisome watching of the rain as it poured down for a spell of two months together, when we asked each other every morning, ”What's to become of the wheat? How are we to get in the turf, if this lasts?” The newspapers, too, only alternated their narratives of outrage with flood, and spoke of bridges, mills, and mail-coaches being carried away in all directions. I mention these to show you that, though ”far from the land,” not a trait of it is n't green in my memory. But still, Tom, there was, so to say, a tone and a keeping in the picture which is wanting here. Our home dulness impressed itself as a matter of necessity, not choice. We looked out of our window at a fine red-brick mansion, two miles away,--where we 've drunk many a bottle of claret, and in younger days danced the ”White c.o.c.kade” till morning,--and we see it a police-station, or mayhap a union. A starved dog dashes past the door with a hen in his mouth; we recognize him as the last remnant of poor Fetherstone's foxhounds, now broken up and gone. The smoke does n't rise from the midst of the little copses of beech and alder, along the river side; no, the cabins are all roofless, and their once inhabitants are now in Australia, or toiling to enrich the commonwealth of America.
There is a stir and a movement going forward, it is true; but, unlike that which betokens the march of prosperity and gain, it only implies transition. Ay, Tom, all is changing around us. The gentry are going, the middle cla.s.ses are going, and the peasant is going,--some of their free will, more from hard necessity. I know that the general opinion is favorable to all this,--in England, at least The cry is ever, ”Ireland is improving,--Ireland will be better.” But my notion is that by Ireland we should understand not alone the soil, the rocks, and the rivers, but the people,--the heart and soul and life-blood that made the island the generous, warm-hearted, social spot we once knew it. Take away these, and I no longer recognize it as my country. What matters it to me if the Scotchman or the Norfolk farmer is to prosper where we only could exist?