CHAPTER XXI
I don't know if it was the gill of comforting port, but at any rate Iwas soon enough convinced that there was no reason for speakingharshly to Doctor Chord. It served no purpose; it accomplishednothing. The little old villain was really as innocent as a lamb. Hehad no dream of wronging people. His prattle was the prattle of anunsophisticated maiden lady. He did not know what he was talking.These direful intelligences ran as easily off his tongue as water runsoff the falling wheel. When I had indirectly informed him that he wasmore or less of a dangerous scandal-monger, he had cried: "The man ismad!" Yes; he was an innocent old thing.
But then it is the innocent old scandal-mongers, poor placid-mindedwell-protected hens, who are often the most harmful. The viciousgabblers defeat themselves very often. I remember my father once goingto a fair and kissing some girls there. He kissed them all turn byturn, as was his right and his duty, and then he returned to a girlnear the head of the list and kissed her five times more because shewas the prettiest girl in all Ireland, and there is no shame to himthere. However, there was a great hullabaloo. The girls who had beenkissed only once led a regular crusade against the character of thisother girl, and before long she had a bad name, and the odious slylads with no hair on their throats winked as she passed them, andnumerous mothers thanked God that their daughters were not fancied bythe lord of that region. In time these tales came to the ears of myfather, and he called some of his head men to meet him in thedining-room.
"I'll have no trifling," said he. "The girl is a good girl for all Iknow, and I have never seen her before or since. If I can trace a badword to any man's mouth, I'll flog him till he can't move. 'Tis ashame taking away the girl's name for a few kisses by the squire at afair with everybody looking on and laughing. What do you blackguardsmean?"
Every man in the dining-room took oath he had never said a word, andthey all spoke truth. But the women clamoured on without pausing forwind, and refused to take word of the men-folk, who were gifted withthe power of reason. However, the vicious people defeated themselvesin time. People began to say to a lass who had been kissed only once:"Ah, now, you would be angry because you were not getting the otherfive." Everything seemed to grow quiet, and my father thought no moreabout it, having thought very little about it in the first place saveenough to speak a few sharp words. But, would you believe it, therewas an old woman living in a hovel not a mile from the castle, whokept up the scandal for twelve more months. She had never beenmarried, and, as far as any one knew, she had never wished to be. Shehad never moved beyond Father Donovan's church in one direction and alittle peat-heap in the other direction. All her days she had seennothing but the wind-swept moors, and heard nothing but the sealashing the black rocks. I am mistaken; once she came to the castle,hearing that my mother was ill. She had a remedy with her, poor soul,and they poured it in the ashes when her back was turned. My motherbade them give her some hot porridge and an old cloth gown of her ownto take home. I remember the time distinctly. Well, this poor thingcouldn't tell between a real sin and an alligator. Bony, withered,aged, this crone might have been one of the highest types of humanperfection. She wronged nobody; she had no power to wrong. Nobodywronged her; it was never worth it. She really was at peace with allthe world. This obeys the most exalted injunctions. Every precept iskept here. But this tale of the Squire and the girl took root in herhead. She must have been dazzled by the immensity of the event. Itprobably appealed to her as would a grand picture of the burning ofRome or a vivid statue of Lot's wife turning to look back. It reachedthe dimensions of great history. And so this old woman, who had alwayslived the life of a nun, dreamed of nothing but the colossal wrongwhich had come within her stunted range of vision. Before and afterchurch she talked of no other thing for almost eighteen months.Finally my father in despair rode down to her little cottage.
"Mollie," said he, calling from the road, "Mollie, come out." She cameout.
"Mollie," said my father, "you know me?"
"Ay," said she, "you are The O'Ruddy, and you are a rogue."
"True for you, Mollie," said my father pleasantly. "You know it and Iknow it. I am indeed a grand rogue. But why would you be tearing totatters the name of that poor girl in Ballygoway?"
"'Tis not me that has said more than three words," she cried,astonished, "and before I speak ill of anybody I hope the devil fliesaway with me."
Well, my father palavered on for a long time, telling her that hewould take away the pension of twenty-five shillings a year which hehad given her because he by accident had shot her second cousin in theleg twelve years before that time. She steadfastly answered that shewould never speak ill of anybody; but the girl was a brazen-facedwench, and he was no better. My father came away, and I have no doubtthe scandal would still be alive if the old woman had not died, maythe saints rest her!
And so I was no longer angry with Doctor Chord, but spoke to himpleasantly.
"Come," said I, "I would have you point me out the great swordsmen, ifit pleases you. I am eager to see them, and the talk will be cleanly,also."
"Aye," said my friend. "Nothing could give me more pleasure. And now,look you! The tall, straight, grave young man there is Ponsonby, whoflashes the wisest blade in England unless Reginald Forister isbetter. Any how, Forister is not here to-day. At least I don't seehim. Ponsonby fought his last duel with a gentleman named Vellumbecause Vellum said flatly that Mrs. Catherine Wainescorte was a--"
"Stop there," said I, "and get to the tale of the fighting."
"Well, Ponsonby won without difficulty," said the Doctor; "but it issaid that he took an unfair advantage--"
"Stop again!" I cried. "Stop again! We will talk no more of swordsmen.Somehow I have lost my interest. I am put to it to think of a subjectfor talk, and we may have to do with a period of silence, but thatwill do your jaw no injury at any rate."
But I was mistaken in thinking that the little man could forego hisrecreation for more than a moment. Suddenly he burst out with a greatspleen:
"Titles!" he cried. "Empty titles! husks, husks, husks! 'Tis all theycare for, this mob! Honourable manhood goes a-begging while the worldworships at the feet of pimply lords! Pah! Lovely girls, the making offine wives and mothers, grow old while the world worships at the feetof some old horse-headed duchess! Pah! Look at those pick-thanks andflatterers, cringing at the boots of the people of fashion. Upon mylife, before I would so demean myself, I--" he ceased suddenly, hiseye having caught sight of some people in the crowd. "Ah," said he,while a singularly vain and fatuous smile settled upon hiscountenance. "Ah, the Countess of Westport and her charming daughter,the Lady Mary, have arrived. I must go and speak to them." My eye hadfollowed his glance quickly enough you may be sure. There, trueenough, was the formidable figure of the old Countess, and at her sidewas the beautiful Lady Mary.
With an absent-minded murmur of apology, Doctor Chord went mincingtoward them, his face still spread with its idiotic smile.
He cantered up to them with the grace of a hobbled cow. I expected himto get a rebuff that would stun him into the need of a surgeon, but tomy surprise the Countess received him affably, bending her head to saysome gracious words. However, I had more eyes for Lady Mary than forthe capers of little Chord.
It was a great joy to be able to look at her. I suffered from adelicious trembling, and frequently my vision became dim purely fromthe excitement. But later I was moved by another profound emotion. Iwas looking at her; I must have her look at me. I must learn if hereye would light, if her expression would change, when she saw me. Allthis sounds very boyish, but it is not necessary to leave it out forthat reason, because, as my father often said, every Irishman is a boyuntil he has grandchildren. I do not know if he was perfectly right inthis matter, but it is a certain advantage in a love affair to havethe true boyish ardour which is able to enshrine a woman in one'sheart to the exclusion of everything, believing her to be perfectionand believing life without her a hell of suffering and woe. No man ofmiddle-aged experience can e
ver be in love. He may have his illusions.He may think he is in love. A woman may gain the power to bind himhand and foot and drag him wherever she listeth, but he is not inlove. That is his mistaken idea. He is only misinterpreting hisfeelings. But, as my father said, it is very different with Irishmen,who are able to remain in love to a very great age. If you will note,too, climatic conditions and other unpleasant matters have practicallyno effect upon them; so little, indeed, that you may find streetsnamed after the main Italian cities, and many little German childrenspeak with a slight brogue. My father often said that one great reasonfor an Irishman's successes with the ladies was his perfectwillingness to get married. He was seldom to be seen scouting foradvantages in intrigue. If the girl be willing, be she brown, yellow,or white, he was always for the priest and the solemn words. My fatheralso contended that in every marriage contracted on the face of theearth in which neither maid nor man could understand the other'snational speech, the bridegroom was an Irishman. He was the only manwho was able to make delightful love with the aid of mere signals.
However I must be going on with my story, although it is a greatpleasure to talk of my country-men. They possess a singularfascination for me. I cannot forget that I too am an Irishman.
The little Doctor was still saying agreeable things; Lady Mary wassmiling in gentle amusement. As I moved out to catch Lady Mary's eye,I did not at all lose sight of the fact that if the pugnacious motherof my _innamorata_ took one glimpse of me there might result a scenewhich could end in nothing but my ignominious flight. I edged towardthe group, advancing on the Countess's port quarter as she was talkinganimately over her starboard bow at the entranced little Doctor. Attimes Lady Mary looked about her, still smiling her smile, which nodoubt was born of the ridiculous performances of Chord. Once I thoughtshe looked squarely at me, and my heart beat like a drum so loudlythat I thought people must hear. But her glance wandered on casuallyover the throng, and then I felt truly insignificant, like a man whocould hide behind the nail of his own thumb.
Perceiving that I was so insignificant, I judged it prudent as well asadvantageous to advance much closer. Suddenly Lady Mary's clearvirgin eye met mine,--met it fully.
Now, I don't know what was in this glance we exchanged. I have stoppedmyself just on the verge of a full explanation of the thrills,quivers, hopes, fears, and dreams which assailed me as I looked backinto the beautiful face of Lady Mary. I was also going to explain howthe whole scene appeared. But I can see soon enough that my languagewould not be appropriate to the occasion. But any how we looked eachother point-blank in the eye. It was a moment in which that verycircling of the earth halted, and all the suns of the universe poised,ready to tumble or to rise. Then Lady Mary lowered her glance, and apink blush suffused her neck and cheek.
The Countess, Lady Mary, and Doctor Chord moved slowly on through thethrong, and I followed. The great question now was whether Lady Marywould look back. If she looked back, I would feel that I was makinggrand way with her. If she did not look back, I would know myself as alost man. One can imagine how eagerly I watched her. For a long timeit was plain that she had no intention whatever of looking back. Ilugubriously arranged my complete downfall. Then, at the very momentof my despair, she gazed studiously off to her extreme left for acertain time, and then suddenly cast one short glance behind her. Onlyheaven knows what value I placed upon this brief look. It appeared forthe moment to me that I had won her, won everything. I bravely forgedahead until I was quite insistently under the eye of Lady Mary, andthen she again looked toward me, but it was a look so repelling andfrigid that it went through me as if I had been a paper ring in thecircus. I slunk away through the crowd, my thoughts busy with tryingto find out what had happened to me.
For three minutes I was a miserable human being. At the end of thattime I took heart again. I decided that Lady Mary had frowned at mebecause she was afraid that she had been too good to me with her lookand smile. You know what I mean. I have seen a young girl give a youngman a flower, and at the very next moment be seemingly willing to giveher heart's blood to get that flower back, overcome with panic terrorthat she had passed--in his opinion, mind you--beyond the lines ofbest behaviour. Well I said to myself that Lady Mary had given me thehard look for similar reasons. It was rational to make this judgment,for certainly she had no cause for an active dislike. I had never beeneven so much as a nuisance to her.
Fortified with these philosophic decisions, I again followed the trio,and I was just in time to find Chord handing them into a splendidchariot. I stood out boldly, for I knew if I could not get one morelook from Lady Mary I would die.
Seated beside her mother, her eye wandered eagerly over the crowd. Iwas right, by the saints! She was looking for me.
And now here come the stupid laws of convention. Could I yell? Could Ieven throw my hat in the air to guide her eye aright? No! I was doomedto stand there as still as a bottle on a shelf.
But she saw me! It was at the very last moment. There was no time forcoquetry. She allowed her glance to linger, and God knows what wesaid to each other in this subtle communication through all the noiseand hubbub of the entrance place. Then suddenly the coachman's reinstightened; there were some last bows; the chariot whirled away.