CHAPTER XXXI.
THE FIRST MONTH.
And now I will beg my readers to suppose a month to have passed bysince Sir Thomas Fitzgerald died. It was a busy month in Ireland.It may probably be said that so large a sum of money had never beencirculated in the country in any one month since money had been knownthere; and yet it may also be said that so frightful a mortality hadnever occurred there from the want of that which money brings. It waswell understood by all men now that the customary food of the countryhad disappeared. There was no longer any difference of opinionbetween rich and poor, between Protestant and Roman Catholic; as tothat, no man dared now to say that the poor, if left to themselves,could feed themselves, or to allege that the sufferings of thecountry arose from the machinations of money-making speculators. Thefamine was an established fact, and all men knew that it was God'sdoing,--all men knew this, though few could recognize as yet with howmuch mercy God's hand was stretched out over the country.
Or may it not perhaps be truer to say that in such matters thereis no such thing as mercy--no special mercies--no other mercy thanthat fatherly, forbearing, all-seeing, perfect goodness by which theCreator is ever adapting this world to the wants of His creatures,and rectifying the evils arising from their faults and follies? _Sedquo Musa tendis?_ Such discourses of the gods as these are not to befitly handled in such small measures.
At any rate, there was the famine, undoubted now by any one; anddeath, who in visiting Castle Richmond may be said to have knocked atthe towers of a king, was busy enough also among the cabins of thepoor. And now the great fault of those who were the most affected wasbecoming one which would not have been at first sight expected. Onewould think that starving men would become violent, taking food byopen theft--feeling, and perhaps not without some truth, that theagony of their want robbed such robberies of its sin. But such was byno means the case. I only remember one instance in which the bakers'shops were attacked; and in that instance the work was done by thosewho were undergoing no real suffering. At Clonmel, in Tipperary,the bread was one morning stripped away from the bakers' shops; butat that time, and in that place, there was nothing approaching tofamine. The fault of the people was apathy. It was the feeling of themultitude that the world and all that was good in it was passing awayfrom them; that exertion was useless, and hope hopeless. "Ah, me!your honour," said a man to me, "there'll never be a bit and a supagain in the county Cork! The life of the world is fairly gone!"
And it was very hard to repress this feeling. The energy of a mandepends so much on the outward circumstances that encumber him! It isso hard to work when work seems hopeless--so hard to trust where thebasis of our faith is so far removed from sight! When large tractsof land went out of cultivation, was it not natural to think thatagriculture was receding from the country, leaving the green hillsonce more to be brown and barren, as hills once green have become inother countries? And when men were falling in the highways, and womenwould sit with their babes in their arms, listless till death shouldcome to them, was it not natural to think that death was making ahuge success--that he, the inexorable one, was now the inexorableindeed?
There were greatly trusting hearts that could withstand the weight ofthis terrible pressure, and thinking minds which saw that good wouldcome out of this great evil; but such hearts and such minds were notto be looked for among the suffering poor; and were not, perhaps,often found even among those who were not poor or suffering. It wasvery hard to be thus trusting and thoughtful while everything aroundwas full of awe and agony.
The people, however, were conscious of God's work, and were becomingdull and apathetic. They clustered about the roads, working lazilywhile their strength lasted them; and afterwards, when strengthfailed them for this, they clustered more largely in the poor-houses.And in every town--in every assemblage of houses which in Englandwould be called a village, there was a poor-house. Any big barrack ofa tenement that could be obtained at a moment's notice, whatever therent, became a poor-house in the course of twelve hours;--in twelve,nay, in two hours. What was necessary but the bare walls, and asupply of yellow meal? Bad provision this for all a man's wants,--aswas said often enough by irrational philanthropists; but betterprovision than no shelter and no yellow meal! It was bad that menshould be locked up at night without any of the appliances ofdecency; bad that they should be herded together for day after daywith no resource but the eating twice a day of enough unsavouryfood to keep life and soul together;--very bad, ye philanthropicalirrationalists! But is not a choice of evils all that is left to usin many a contingency? Was not even this better than that life andsoul should be allowed to part, without any effort at preservingtheir union?
And thus life and soul were kept together, the government of the dayhaving wisely seen what, at so short a notice, was possible for themto do, and what was absolutely impossible. It is in such emergenciesas these that the watching and the wisdom of a government arenecessary; and I shall always think--as I did think then--that thewisdom of its action and the wisdom of its abstinence from actionwere very good. And now again the fields in Ireland are green,and the markets are busy, and money is chucked to and fro like aweathercock which the players do not wish to have abiding with them;and the tardy speculator going over to look for a bit of land comesback muttering angrily that fancy prices are demanded. "They'll runyou up to thirty-three years' purchase," says the tardy speculator,thinking, as it seems, that he is specially ill used. Agriculturalwages have been nearly doubled in Ireland during the last fifteenyears. Think of that, Master Brook. Work for which, at six shillingsa week, there would be a hundred hungry claimants in 1845,--in thegood old days before the famine, when repeal was so immediatelyexpected--will now fetch ten shillings, the claimants being by nomeans numerous. In 1843 and 1844, I knew men to work for fourpencea day--something over the dole on which we are told, being mostlyincredulous as we hear it, that a Coolie labourer can feed himselfwith rice in India;--not one man or two men, the broken downincapables of the parish, but the best labour of the country. One andtwopence is now about the cheapest rate at which a man can be hiredfor agricultural purposes. While this is so, and while the pricesare progressing, there is no cause for fear, let Bishops A and B,and Archbishops C and D fret and fume with never so great vexationtouching the clipped honours of their father the Pope.
But again; Quo Musa tendis? I could write on this subject for a weekwere it not that Rhadamanthus awaits me, Rhadamanthus the critic; andRhadamanthus is, of all things, impatient of an episode.
Life and soul were kept together in those terrible days;--that is,the Irish life and soul generally. There were many slips, in whichthe union was violently dissolved,--many cases in which the yellowmeal allowed was not sufficient, or in which it did not reach thesufferer in time to prevent such dissolution,--cases which whennumbered together amounted to thousands. And then the pestilencecame, taking its victims by tens of thousands,--but that was afterthe time with which we shall have concern here; and immigrationfollowed, taking those who were saved by hundreds of thousands.But the millions are still there, a thriving people; for His mercyendureth for ever.
During this month, the month ensuing upon the death of Sir ThomasFitzgerald, Herbert could of course pay no outward attention to thewants or relief of the people. He could make no offer of assistance,for nothing belonged to him; nor could he aid in the councils ofthe committees, for no one could have defined the position of thespeaker. And during that month nothing was defined about CastleRichmond. Lady Fitzgerald was still always called by her title. Thepeople of the country, including the tradesmen of the neighbouringtowns, addressed the owner of Hap House as Sir Owen; and graduallythe name was working itself into common use, though he had taken nosteps to make himself legally entitled to wear it. But no one spokeof Sir Herbert. The story was so generally known, that none were soignorant as to suppose him to be his father's heir. The servantsabout the place still called him Mr. Herbert, orders to that effecthaving been specially given; and the peasants of the country,
withthat tact which graces them, and with that anxiety to abstain fromgiving pain which always accompanies them unless when angered,carefully called him by no name. They knew that he was not SirHerbert; but they would not believe but what, perchance, he mightbe so yet on some future day. So they took off their old hats tohim, and passed him silently in his sorrow; or if they spoke to him,addressed his honour simply, omitting all mention of that Christianname, which the poor Irishman is generally so fond of using. "MisterBlake" sounds cold and unkindly in his ears. It is the "Masther,"or "His honour," or if possible "Misther Thady." Or if there be anyhandle, that is used with avidity. Pat is a happy man when he canaddress his landlord as "Sir Patrick."
But now the "ould masther's son" could be called by no name. Men knewnot what he was to be, though they knew well that he was not thatwhich he ought to be. And there were some who attempted to worshipOwen as the rising sun; but for such of them as had never worshippedhim before that game was rather hopeless. In those days he was notmuch seen, neither hunting nor entertaining company; but when seen hewas rough enough with those who made any deep attempt to ingratiatethemselves with his coming mightiness. And during this month hewent over to London, having been specially invited so to do by Mr.Prendergast; but very little came of his visit there, except that itwas certified to him that he was beyond all doubt the baronet. "Andthere shall be no unnecessary delay, Sir Owen," said Mr. Prendergast,"in putting you into full possession of all your rights." In answerto which Owen had replied that he was not anxious to be put inpossession of any rights. That as far as any active doing of his ownwas concerned, the title might lie in abeyance, and that regardingthe property he would make known his wish to Mr. Prendergast veryquickly after his return to Ireland. But he intimated at the sametime that there could be no ground for disturbing Lady Fitzgerald,as he had no intention under any circumstances of living at CastleRichmond.
"Had you not better tell Lady Fitzgerald that yourself?" said Mr.Prendergast, catching at the idea that his friend's widow--my readerswill allow me so to call her--might be allowed to live undisturbed atthe family mansion, if not for life, at any rate for a few years. Ifthis young man were so generous, why should it not be so? He wouldnot want the big house, at any rate, till he were married.
"It would be better that you should say so," said Owen. "I haveparticular reasons for not wishing to go there."
"But allow me to say, my dear young friend--and I hope I may call youso, for I greatly admire the way in which you have taken all thesetidings--that I would venture to advise you to drop the remembranceof any unpleasantness that may have existed. You should now feelyourself to be the closest friend of that family."
"So I would if--," and then Owen stopped short, though Mr.Prendergast gave him plenty of time to finish his sentence were heminded to do so.
"In your present position," continued the lawyer, "your influencewill be very great."
"I can't explain it all," said Owen; "but I don't think my influencewill be great at all. And what is more, I do not want any influenceof that sort. I wish Lady Fitzgerald to understand that she is atperfect liberty to stay where she is,--as far as I am concerned. Notas a favour from me, mind; for I do not think that she would take afavour from my hands."
"But, my dear sir!"
"Therefore you had better write to her about remaining there."
Mr. Prendergast did write to her, or rather to Herbert: but in doingso he thought it right to say that the permission to live at CastleRichmond should be regarded as a kindness granted them by theirrelative. "It is a kindness which, under the circumstances, yourmother may, I think, accept without compunction; at any rate, forsome time to come,--till she shall have suited herself withouthurrying her choice; but, nevertheless, it must be regarded as agenerous offer on his part; and I do hope, my dear Herbert, that youand he will be fast friends."
But Mr. Prendergast did not in the least comprehend the workings ofOwen's mind; and Herbert, who knew more of them than any one else,did not understand them altogether. Owen had no idea of granting anyfavour to his relatives, who, as he thought, had never granted any tohim. What Owen wanted,--or what he told himself that he wanted,--wasjustice. It was his duty as a just man to abstain from taking hold ofthose acres, and he was prepared to do his duty. But it was equallyHerbert's duty as a just man to abstain from taking hold of ClaraDesmond, and he was resolved that he would never be Herbert's friendif Herbert did not perform that duty. And then, though he felthimself bound to give up the acres,--though he did regard this as animperative duty, he nevertheless felt also that something was dueto him for his readiness to perform such a duty,--that some rewardshould be conceded to him; what this reward was to be, or rather whathe wished it to be, we all know.
Herbert had utterly refused to engage in any such negotiation; butOwen, nevertheless, would not cease to think that something might yetbe done. Who was so generous as Clara, and would not Clara herselfspeak out if she knew how much her old lover was prepared to do forthis newer lover? Half a dozen times Owen made up his mind to explainthe whole thing to Mr. Prendergast; but when he found himself in thepresence of the lawyer, he could not talk about love. Young men areso apt to think that their seniors in age cannot understand romance,or acknowledge the force of a passion. But here they are wrong, forthere would be as much romance after forty as before, I take it, wereit not checked by the fear of ridicule. So Owen stayed a week inLondon, seeing Mr. Prendergast every day; and then he returned to HapHouse.
In the mean time life went on at a very sad pace at Desmond Court.There was no concord whatever between the two ladies residing there.The mother was silent, gloomy, and sometimes bitter, seldom saying aword about Herbert Fitzgerald or his prospects, but saying that wordwith great fixity of purpose when it was spoken. "No one," she said,"should attribute to her the poverty and misery of her child. Thatmarriage should not take place from her house, or with her consent."And Clara for the most part was silent also. In answer to such wordsas the above she would say nothing; but when, as did happen once ortwice, she was forced to speak, she declared openly enough that noearthly consideration should induce her to give up her engagement.
And then the young earl came home, brought away from his school inorder that his authority might have effect on his sister. To speakthe truth, he was unwilling enough to interfere, and would havedeclined to come at all could he have dared to do so. Eton was nowmore pleasant to him than Desmond Court, which, indeed, had butlittle of pleasantness to offer to a lad such as he was now. Hewas sixteen, and manly for his age; but the question in disputeat Desmond Court offered little attraction even to a manly boy ofsixteen. In that former question as to Owen he had said a word ortwo, knowing that Owen could not be looked upon as a fitting husbandfor his sister; but now he knew not how to counsel her again as toHerbert, seeing that it was but the other day that he had written along letter, congratulating her on that connection.
Towards the end of the month, however, he did arrive, making glad hismother's heart as she looked at his strong limbs and his handsomeopen face. And Clara, too, threw herself so warmly into his arms thathe did feel glad that he had come to her. "Oh, Patrick, it is sosweet to have you here!" she said, before his mother had had time tospeak to him.
"Dearest Clara!"
"But, Patrick, you must not be cruel to me. Look here, Patrick; youare my only brother, and I so love you that I would not offend youor turn you against me for worlds. You are the head of our family,too, and nothing should be done that you do not like. But if so muchdepends on you, you must think well before you decide on anything."
He opened his young eyes and looked intently into her face, for therewas an earnestness in her words that almost frightened him. "You mustthink well of it all before you speak, Patrick; and remember this,you and I must be honest and honourable, whether we be poor or no.You remember about Owen Fitzgerald, how I gave way then because Icould do so without dishonour. But now--"
"But, Clara, I do not understand it all as yet."
/> "No; you cannot,--not as yet--and I will let mamma tell you thestory. All I ask is this, that you will think of my honour before yousay a word that can favour either her or me." And then he promisedher that he would do so; and his mother, when on the followingmorning she told him all the history, found him reserved and silent.
"Look at his position," said the mother, pleading her cause beforeher son. "He is illegitimate, and--"
"Yes, but mother--"
"I know all that, my dear; I know what you would say; and no one canpity Mr. Fitzgerald's position more than I do; but you would not onthat account have your sister ruined. It is romance on her part."
"But what does he say?"
"He is quite willing to give up the match. He has told me so, andsaid as much to his aunt, whom I have seen three times on thesubject."
"Do you mean that he wishes to give it up?"
"No,--at least I don't know. If he does, he cannot express such awish, because Clara is so headstrong. Patrick, in my heart I do notbelieve that she cares for him. I have doubted it for some time."
"But you wanted her to marry him."
"So I did. It was an excellent match, and in a certain way she didlike him; and then, you know, there was that great danger about poorOwen. It was a great danger then. But now she is so determined aboutthis, because she thinks it would be ungenerous to go back from herword; and in this way she will ruin the very man she wishes to serve.Of course he cannot break off the match if she persists in it. WhatI want you to perceive is this, that he, utterly penniless as he is,will have to begin the world with a clog round his neck, because sheis so obstinate. What could possibly be worse for him than a titledwife without a penny?" And in this way the countess pleaded her sideof the question before her son.
It was quite true that she had been three times to Castle Richmond,and had thrice driven Aunt Letty into a state bordering ondistraction. If she could only get the Castle Richmond people to takeit up as they ought to do! It was thus she argued with herself,--andwith Aunt Letty also, endeavouring to persuade her that these twoyoung people would undoubtedly ruin each other, unless those who werereally wise and prudent, and who understood the world--such as AuntLetty, for instance--would interfere to prevent it.
Aunt Letty on the whole did agree with her, though she greatlydisliked her. Miss Fitzgerald had strongly planted within her bosomthe prudent old-world notion, that young gentlefolks should notlove each other unless they have plenty of money; and that, ifunfortunately such did love each other, it was better that theyshould suffer all the pangs of hopeless love than marry and trust toGod and their wits for bread and cheese. To which opinion of AuntLetty's, as well as to some others entertained by that lady with muchpertinacity, I cannot subscribe myself as an adherent.
Lady Desmond had wit enough to discover that Aunt Letty did agreewith her in the main, and on this account she was eager in seekingher assistance. Lady Fitzgerald of course could not be seen, andthere was no one else at Castle Richmond who could be supposed tohave any weight with Herbert. And therefore Lady Desmond was veryeloquent with Aunt Letty, talking much of the future miseries of thetwo young people, till the old lady had promised to use her bestefforts in enlisting Lady Fitzgerald on the same side. "You cannotwonder, Miss Fitzgerald, that I should wish to put an end to thecruel position in which my poor girl is placed. You know how much agirl suffers from that kind of thing."
Aunt Letty did dislike Lady Desmond very much; but, nevertheless, shecould not deny the truth of all this; and therefore it may be saidthat the visits of the countess to Castle Richmond were on the wholesuccessful.
And the month wore itself away also in that sad household, and theFitzgeralds were gradually becoming used to their position. Familydiscussions were held among them as to what they should do, and wherethey should live in future. Mr. Prendergast had written, seeingthat Owen had persisted in refusing to make the offer personallyhimself--saying that there was no hurry for any removal. "Sir Owen,"he said,--having considered deeply whether or no he would call himby the title or no, and having resolved that it would be best to doso at once--"Sir Owen was inclined to behave very generously. LadyFitzgerald could have the house and demesne at any rate for twelvemonths, and by that time the personal property left by Sir Thomaswould be realized, and there would be enough," Mr. Prendergastsaid, "for the three ladies to live 'in decent quiet comfort.'" Mr.Prendergast had taken care before he left Castle Richmond that a willshould be made and duly executed by Sir Thomas, leaving what moneyhe had to his three children by name,--in trust for their mother'suse. Till the girls should be of age that trust would be vested inHerbert.
"Decent quiet comfort!" said Mary to her brother and sister as theyconned the letter over; "how comfortless it sounds!"
And so the first month after the death of Sir Thomas passed by,and the misfortunes of the Fitzgerald family ceased to be the onlysubject spoken of by the inhabitants of county Cork.