Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

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Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 623

by Maria Edgeworth


  O’Bla. How could I hear, backwards, as you see, from the street, and given up to my business?

  Catty. Business! oh! here is a fine business — the McBrides have driven all before them, and chased the Roonies out of Ballynavogue. (In a tone of deep despair.) Oh! Catty Rooney! that ever you’d live to see this day!

  O’Bla. Then take this glass (offering a glass of whiskey) to comfort your heart, my good Mrs. Rooney.

  Catty. No, thank you, counshillor, it’s past that even! ogh! ogh! — oh! wirrastrew! — oh! wirrastrew, ogh! — (After wringing her hands, and yielding to a burst of sorrow and wailing, she stands up firmly.) Now I’ve ased my heart, I’ll do. I’ve spirit enough left in me yet, you’ll see; and I’ll tell you what I came to you for, counshillor.

  O’Bla. Tell me first, is Randal Rooney in it, and is he hurt?

  Catty. He was in it: he’s not hurt, more shame for him! But, howsomever, he bet one boy handsomely; that’s my only comfort. Our faction’s all going full drive to swear examinations, and get justice.

  O’Bla. Very proper — very proper: swear examinations — that’s the course, and only satisfaction in these cases to get justice.

  Catty. Justice! — revenge sure! Oh! revenge is sweet, and I’ll have it. Counshillor dear, I never went before Mr. Carver — you know him, sir — what sort is he?

  O’Bla. A mighty good sort of gentleman — only mighty tiresome.

  Catty. Ay, that’s what I hard — that he is mighty fond of talking to people for their good. Now that’s what I dread, for I can’t stand being talked to for my good.

  O’Bla. ’Tis little use, I confess. We Irish is wonderful soon tired of goodness, if there’s no spice of fun along with it; and poor Carver’s soft, and between you and I, he’s a little bothered, but, Mrs. Rooney, you won’t repate?

  Catty. Repate! — I! I’m neither watch nor repater — I scorn both; and between you and I, since you say so, counshillor, that’s my chiefest objection to Carver, whom I wouldn’t know from Adam, except by reputation. But it’s the report of the country, that he has common informers in his pay and favour; now that’s mane, and I don’t like it.

  O’Bla. Nor I, Mrs. Rooney. I had experience of informers in the distillery line once. The worst varmin that is ever encouraged in any house or country. The very mintion of them makes me creep all over still.

  Catty. Then ’tis Carver, they say, that has the oil of Rhodium for them; for they follow and fawn on him, like rats on the rat catcher — of all sorts and sizes, he has ‘em. They say, he sets them over and after one another; and has lations of them that he lets out on the craturs’ cabins, to larn how many grains of salt every man takes with his little prates, and bring information if a straw would be stirring.

  O’Bla. Ay, and if it would, then, it’s Carver that would quake like the aspin leaf — I know that. It’s no malice at all in him; only just he’s a mighty great poltroon.

  Catty. Is that all? Then I’d pity and laugh at him, and I go to him preferably to any other magistrate.

  O’Bla. You may, Mrs. Rooney — for it’s in terror of his life he lives, continually draming day and night, and croaking of carders and thrashers, and oak boys, and white boys, and peep-o’-day boys, and united boys, and riband-men, and men and boys of all sorts that have, and that have not, been up and down the country since the rebellion.

  Catty. The poor cratur! But in case he’d prove refractory, and would not take my examinations, can’t I persecute my shute again the McBrides for the bit of the bog of Ballynascraw, counshillor? — Can’t I harash ’em at law?

  O’Bla. You can, ma’am, harash them properly. I’ve looked over your papers, and I’m happy to tell you, you may go on at law as soon and as long as you plase.

  Catty. (speaking very rapidly) Bless you for that word, counshillor; and by the first light to-morrow, I’ll drive all the grazing cattle, every four-footed baast off the land, and pound ’em in Ballynavogue; and if they replevy, why I’ll distrain again, if it be forty times, I will go. I’ll go on distraining, and I’ll advertise, and I’ll cant, and I’ll sell the distress at the end of the eight days. And if they dare for to go for to put a plough in that bit of reclaimed bog, I’ll come down upon ’em with an injunction, and I would not value the expinse of bringing down a record a pin’s pint; and if that went again me, I’d remove it to the courts above and wilcome; and after that, I’d go into equity, and if the chancillor would not be my friend, I’d take it over to the House of Lords in London, so I would as soon as look at ‘em; for I’d wear my feet to the knees for justice — so I would.

  O’Bla. That you would! You’re an iligant lawyer, Mrs. Rooney; but have you the sinews of war?

  Catty. Is it money, dear? — I have, and while ever I’ve one shilling to throw down to ould Matthew McBride’s guinea, I’ll go on; and every guinea he parts will twinge his vitals: so I’ll keep on while ever I’ve a fiv’-penny bit to rub on another — for my spirit is up.

  O’Bla. Ay, ay, so you say. Catty, my dear, your back’s asy up, but it’s asy down again.

  Catty. Not when I’ve been trod on as now, counshillor: it’s then I’d turn and fly at a body, gentle or simple, like mad.

  O’Bla. Well done, Catty (patting her on the back). There’s my own pet mad cat — and there’s a legal venom in her claws, that every scratch they’ll give shall fester so no plaister in law can heal it.

  Catty. Oh, counshillor, now, if you wouldn’t be flattering a wake woman.

  O’Bla. Wake woman! — not a bit of woman’s wakeness in ye. Oh, my cat-o’-cats! let any man throw her from him, which way he will, she’s on her legs and at him again, tooth and claw.

  Catty. With nine lives, renewable for ever.

  {Exit CATTY.

  O’Bla. (alone) There’s a demon in woman’s form set to work for me! Oh, this works well — and no fear that the Roonies and McBrides should ever come to an understanding to cut me out. Young Mr. Randal Rooney, my humble compliments to you, and I hope you’ll become the willow which you’ll soon have to wear for Miss Honor McBride’s pretty sake. But I wonder the brother a’n’t come up yet with the rist of her fortune. (Calls behind the scenes.) Mick! Jack! Jenny! Where’s Pat? — Then why don’t you know? run down a piece of the road towards Ballynascraw, see would you see any body coming, and bring me word would you see Phil McBride — you know, flourishing Phil. — Now I’m prepared every way for the shupervishor, only I wish to have something genteel in my fist for him, and a show of cash flying about — nothing like it, to dazzle the eyes.

  {Exit O’BLANEY.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I.

  An Apartment in Mr. CARVER’S House. Mr. CARVER seated: a table, pens, ink, paper, and law-books. A cleric, pen in hand. — On the right-hand side of Mr. CARVER stands Mrs. CATTY ROONEY. — RANDAL ROONEY beside her, leaning against a pillar, his arms folded. — Behind Mrs. ROONEY, three men — one remarkably tall, one remarkably little. — On the left-hand of Mr. CARVER stand Old MATTHEW McBRIDE, leaning on his stick; beside him, PHILIP McBRIDE, with his silver-hilted whip in his hand. — A Constable at some distance behind Mr. CARVER’S chair. — Mr. CARVER looking over and placing his books, and seeming to speak to his clerk.

  Catty. (aside to her son) See I’ll take it asy, and be very shivel and sweet wid him, till I’ll see which side he’ll lane, and how it will go with us Roonies — (Mr. CARVER rising, leans forward with both his hands on the table, as if going to speak, looks round, and clears his throat loudly.) — Will I spake now, plase your honour?

  Old McB. Dacency, when you see his honour preparing his throat.

  {Mr. CARVER clears his throat again.

  Catty. (curtsying between each sentence) Then I ixpect his honour will do me justice. I got a great character of his honour. I’d sooner come before your honour than any jantleman in all Ireland. I’m sure your honour will stand my frind.

  Clerk. Silence!

  Mr. Carv. Misguided people of Ballynavogue and Ballynascraw —<
br />
  {At the instant Mr. CARVER pronounces the word “Ballynavogue,” CATTY curtsies, and all the ROONIES, behind her, bow, and answer —

  Here, plase your honour.

  {And when Mr. CARVER says “Ballynascraw,” all the McBRIDES bow, and reply —

  Here, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. (speaking with pomposity, but embarrassment, and clearing his throat frequently) When I consider and look round me, gentlemen, and when I look round me and consider, how long a period of time I have had the honour to bear his majesty’s commission of the peace for this county —

  Catty. (curtsying) Your honour’s a good warrant, no doubt.

  Mr. Carv. Hem! — hem! — also being a residentiary gentleman at Bob’s Fort — hem! — hem! — hem! — (Coughs, and blows his nose.)

  Catty. (aside to her son) Choking the cratur is with the words he can’t get out. (Aloud) Will I spake now, plase your honour?

  Clerk. Silence! silence!

  Mr. Carv. And when I consider all the ineffectual attempts I have made by eloquence and otherwise, to moralize and civilize you gentlemen, and to eradicate all your heterogeneous or rebellious passions —

  Catty. Not a rebel, good or bad, among us, plase your honour.

  Clerk. Silence!

  Mr. Carv. I say, my good people of Ballynavogue and Ballynascraw, I stand here really in unspeakable concern and astonishment, to notice at this fair-time in my barony, these symptoms of a riot, gentlemen, and features of a tumult.

  Catty. True, your honour, see — scarce a symptom of a fature lift in the face here of little Charley of Killaspugbrone, with the b’ating he got from them McBrides, who bred the riot, entirely under Flourishing Phil, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. (turning to PHIL McBRIDE.) Mr. Philip McBride, son of old Matthew, quite a substantial man, — I am really concerned, Philip, to see you, whom I looked upon as a sort of, I had almost said, gentleman —

  Catty. Gentleman! what sort? Is it because of the new topped boots, or by virtue of the silver-topped whip, and the bit of a red rag tied about the throat? — Then a gentleman’s asy made, now-a-days.

  Young McB. It seems ’tis not so asy any way, now-a-days, to make a gentlewoman, Mrs. Rooney.

  Catty. (springing forward angrily) And is it me you mane, young man?

  Randal. Oh! mother, dear, don’t be aggravating.

  Mr. Carv. Clerk, why don’t you maintain silence?

  Catty. (pressing before her son) Stand back, then, Randal Rooney — don’t you hear silence? — don’t be brawling before his honour. Go back wid yourself to your pillar, or post, and fould your arms, and stand like a fool that’s in love, as you are. — I beg your honour’s pardon, but he’s my son, and I can’t help it. — But about our examinations, plase your honour, we’re all come to swear — here’s myself, and little Charley of Killaspugbrone, and big Briny of Cloon, and Ulick of Eliogarty — all ready to swear.

  Mr. Carv. But have these gentlemen no tongues of their own, madam?

  Catty. No, plase your honour, little Charley has no English tongue; he has none but the native Irish.

  Mr. Carv. Clerk, make out their examinations, with a translation; and interpret for Killaspugbrone.

  Catty. Plase your honour, I being the lady, expicted I’d get lave to swear first.

  Mr. Carv. And what would you swear, madam, if you got leave, pray? — be careful, now.

  Catty. I’ll tell you how it was out o’ the face, plase your honour. The whole Rooney faction —

  Mr. Carv. Faction! — No such word in my presence, madam.

  Catty. Oh, but I’m ready to swear to it, plase your honour, in or out of the presence: — the whole Rooney faction — every Rooney, big or little, that was in it, was bet, and banished the town and fair of Ballynavogue, for no rason in life, by them McBrides there, them scum o’ the earth.

  Mr. Carv. Gently, gently, my good lady; no such thing in my presence, as scum o’ the earth.

  Catty. Well, Scotchmen, if your honour prefars. But before a Scotchman, myself would prefar the poorest spalpeen — barring it be Phil, the buckeen — I ax pardon (curtsying), if a buckeen’s the more honourable.

  Mr. Carv. Irrelevant in toto, madam; for buckeens and spalpeens are manners or species of men unknown to or not cognizable by the eye of the law; against them, therefore, you cannot swear: but if you have any thing against Philip McBride —

  Catty. Oh, I have plinty, and will swear, plase your honour, that he put me in bodily fear, and tore my jock, my blue jock, to tatters. Oh, by the vartue of this book (snatching up a book), and all the books that ever were shut or opened, I’ll swear to the damage of five pounds, be the same more or less.

  Mr. Carv. My good lady, more or less will never do.

  Catty. Forty shillings, any way, I’ll swear to; and that’s a felony, your honour, I hope?

  Mr. Carv. Take time, and consult your conscience conscientiously, my good lady, while I swear these other men —

  {She examines the coat, holding it up to view — Mr. CARVER beckons to the Rooney party.

  Mr. Carv. Beaten men! come forward.

  Big Briny. Not beaten, plase your honour, only bet.

  Ulick of Eliogarty. Only black eyes, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. You, Mr. Charley or Charles Rooney, of Killaspugbrone; you have read these examinations, and are you scrupulously ready to swear?

  Catty. He is, and will, plase your honour; only he’s the boy that has got no English tongue.

  Mr. Carv. I wish you had none, madam, ha! ha! ha! (The two McBRIDES laugh — the ROONIES look grave.) You, Ulick Rooney, of Eliogarty, are these your examinations?

  Catty. He can’t write, nor rade writing from his cradle, plase your honour; but can make his mark equal to another, sir. It has been read to him any way, sir, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. And you, sir, who style yourself big Briny of Cloon — you think yourself a great man, I suppose?

  Catty. It’s what many does that has got less rason, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. Understand, my honest friend, that there is a vast difference between looking big and being great.

  Big Briny. I see — I know, your honour.

  Mr. Carv. Now, gentlemen, all of you, before I hand you the book to swear these examinations, there is one thing of which I must warn and apprize you — that I am most remarkably clear-sighted; consequently there can be no thumb kissing with me, gentlemen.

  Big Briny. We’ll not ax it, plase your honour.

  Catty. No Rooney, living or dead, was ever guilty or taxed with the like! (Aside to her son) Oh, they’ll swear iligant! We’ll flog the world, and have it all our own way! Oh, I knew we’d get justice — or I’d know why.

  Clerk. Here’s the book, sir, to swear complainants.

  {Mr. CARVER comes forward.

  Mr. Carv. Wait — wait; I must hear both sides.

  Catty. Both sides! Oh, plase your honour — only bother you.

  Mr. Carv. Madam, it is my duty to have ears for all men. — Mr. Philip, now for your defence.

  Catty. He has none in nature, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. Madam, you have had my ear long enough — be silent, at your peril.

  Catty. Ogh — ogh! — silent!

  {She groans piteously.

  Mr. Carv. Sir, your defence, without any preamble or pre-ambulation.

  Phil. I’ve no defence to make, plase your honour, but that I’m innocent.

  Mr. Carv. (shaking his head) The worst defence in law, my good friend, unless you’ve witnesses.

  Phil. All present that time in the fair was too busy fighting for themselves to witness for me that I was not; except I’d call upon one that would clear me entirely, which is that there young man on the opposite side.

  Catty. Oh, the impudent fellow! Is it my son?

  Old McB. Is it Randal Rooney? Why, Phil, are you turned innocent?

  Phil. I am not, father, at all. But with your lave, I call on Randal Rooney, for he is an
undeniable honourable man — I refer all to his evidence.

  Randal. Thank you, Phil. I’ll witness the truth, on whatever side.

  Catty rushes in between them, exclaiming, in a tremendous tone,

  If you do, Catty Rooney’s curse be upon —

  Randal stops her mouth, and struggles to hold his mother back.

  Oh, mother, you couldn’t curse! —

  {All the ROONIES get about her and exclaim,

  Oh, Catty, your son you couldn’t curse!

  Mr. Carv. Silence, and let me be heard. Leave this lady to me; I know how to manage these feminine vixens. Mrs. Catherine Rooney, listen to me — you are a reasonable woman.

  Catty. I am not, nor don’t pretend to it, plase your honour.

  Mr. Carv. But you can hear reason, madam, I presume, from the voice of authority.

  Catty. No, plase your honour — I’m deaf, stone deaf.

  Mr. Carv. No trifling with me, madam; give me leave to advise you a little for your good.

  Catty. Plase your honour, it’s of no use — from a child up I never could stand to be advised for my good. See, I’d get hot and hotter, plase your honour, till I’d bounce! I’d fly! I’d burst! and myself does not know what mischief I mightn’t do.

  Mr. Carv. Constable! take charge of this cursing and cursed woman, who has not respect for man or magistrate. Away with her out of my presence! — I commit her for a contempt.

  Randal (eagerly) Oh! plase your honour, I beg your honour’s pardon for her — my mother — entirely. When she is in her rason, she has the greatest respect for the whole bench, and your honour above all. Oh! your honour, be plasing this once! Excuse her, and I’ll go bail for her she won’t say another word till she’d get the nod from your honour.

  Mr. Carv. On that condition, and on that condition only, I am willing to pass over the past. Fall back, constable.

  Catty. (aside) Why then, Gerald O’Blaney mislet me. This Carver is a fauterer of the Scotch. Bad luck to every bone in his body! (As CATTY says this her son draws her back, and tries to pacify her.)

 

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