CHAPTER XXXIV. A CHARACTER OF OLD DUBLIN
It was about nine o'clock of a calm summer evening as I enteredDublin,--nearly the same hour at which, some ten years before, I hadapproached that city, poor, houseless, friendless; and still was I thesame. In that great capital of my country I had not one to welcomeme; not one who would rejoice at my coming, or feel any interest in myfortunes. This indeed was loneliness,--utter solitude. Still, if therebe something which weighs heavily on the heart in the isolation ofone like me, there is a proportionate sense of independence of hisfellow-man that sustains the courage and gives energy to the will. Ifelt this as I mixed with the crowds that thronged the streets, andshrank not from the inquisitive glances which my questionable appearanceexcited as I passed.
Though considerable changes had taken place in the outskirts of thecapital since I had seen it last, the leading thoroughfares were justas I remembered them; and as I walked along Dame Street, and one by oneeach familiar object caught my eye, I could almost have fancied thelong interval since I had been there before like a mere dream. Nationalphysiognomy, too, has a strange effect on him who has been long absentfrom his country. Each face you meet seems well known. The traits offeatures, to which the eye was once so well accustomed, awake a memoryof individuals, and it is sometimes a moat difficult task to distinguishbetween the acquaintance and the passing stranger.
This I experienced at every moment; and at length, as I stood gazingon the space before the Bank, and calling to mind the last scene Iwitnessed there, a tall, strongly-built man brushed close past me,and then turning round, fixed a steady and searching look on me. As Ireturned his stare, a sudden thought flashed upon me that I had seenthe face before; but where, how, and when, I could not call to mind. Andthus we stood silently confronting each other for some minutes.
"I see you are a stranger here, sir," said he, touching his hatcourteously; "can I be of service to you with any information as to thecity?"
"I was curious to know, sir," said I, still more puzzled by the voicethan I had been by the features of the stranger, "if Miley's Hotel,which was somewhere in the neighborhood, exists still?"
"It does, sir; but it has changed proprietors several times since youknew it," replied he, significantly. "The house is yonder, where yousee that large lamp. I perceive, sir, I was mistaken in supposing you aforeigner. I wish you good-evening." And again saluting me, he resumedhis way.
As I crossed the street towards the hotel, I remarked that he turned asif to watch me, and became more than ever embarrassed as to who he mightbe.
The doorway of the hotel was crowded with loungers and idlers of everyclass, from the loitering man about town to the ragged newsvendor,between whom, whatever disparity of condition existed, a tone of themost free-and-easy condition prevailed; the newsmen interpolating, amidthe loud announcements of the latest intelligence, the reply to theobservation beside him.
One figure was conspicuous in the group. He was a short, dwarfishcreature, with an enormous head, covered with a fell of black hair,falling in masses down his back and on his shoulders. A pair offierce, fiery black eyes glared beneath his heavy brows; and a large,thick-lipped mouth moved with all the glib eloquence of his class andcalling. Fearfully distorted legs and club feet gave to his gait arolling motion, which added to the singularity of his whole appearance.
Terry Regan was then at the head of his walk in Dublin; and to hiscapacious lungs and voluble tongue were committed the announcement ofthose great events which, from time to time, were given to the Irishpublic through the columns of the "Correspondent" and the "DublinJournal."
I soon found myself in the crowd around this celebrated character,who was, as usual, extolling the great value of that night's paper bycertain brief suggestions regarding its contents.
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"Here's the whole, full, and true account (bad luck to the less!) of thegreat and sanguinary battle between Boney and the Roosians; with all theparticklars about the killed, wounded, and missing; with what Boney saidwhen it was over."
"What was that, Terry?"
"Hould yer peace, ye spalpeen! Is it to the likes of yez I 'd be tellingcabinet sacrets? (Here, yer honor),--'Falkner,' is it, or 'The Saunders'.With the report of Mr. O'Gogorman's grand speech in Ennis on theCatholic claims. There's, yer sowl, there's fippence worth any day aythe week. More be token, the letter from Jemmy O'Brien to his wife, widan elegant epic poem called 'The Gauger.' Bloody news, gentlemen! bloodynews! Won't yez sport a tester for a sight of a real battle, andten thousand kilt; with 'The Whole Duty of an Informer, in two easylessons.' The price of stocks and shares--Ay, Mr. O'Hara, and whatboroughs is bringing in the market."
This last sally was directed towards a large, red-faced man, whogood-humoredly joined in the laugh against himself.
"And who's this, boys?" cried the fellow, turning suddenly his piercingeyes on me, as I endeavored, step by step, to reach the door of thehotel. "Hurrool look at his beard, acushla! On my conscience, I wouldn'twonder if it was General Hoche himself. 'Tis late yer come, sir," saidhe, addressing me directly; "there's no fun here now at all, barrin'what Beresford has in the riding-house."
"Get away, you ruffian!" said a well-dressed and respectable-lookingman, somewhat past the middle of life; "how dare you permit your tongueto take liberties with a stranger? Allow me to make room for you, sir,"continued he, as he politely made an opening in the crowd, and sufferedme to enter the house.
"Ah, counsellor, dear, don't be cross," whined out the newsvendor;"sure, isn't it wid the bad tongue we both make our bread. And here,"vociferated he once more,--"and here ye have the grand dinner at theLord Mayor's, wid all the speeches and toasts; wid the glorious, pious,and immortial memory of King William, who delivered us from Popery (bypitched caps), from slavery (by whipping), from brass money (by badha'pence), and from wooden shoes (by bare feet). Haven't we reason tobless his--? Ay, the heavens be his bed! 'Tis like Molly Crownahon'shusband he was."
"How was that, Terry?" asked a gentleman near.
"Take a 'Saunders,' yer honor, and I 'll tell you."
"Here, then, here's fippence; and now for the explanation."
"Molly Crownahon, yer honor, was, like us poor craytures, alwaysgrateful and contented wid the Lord's goodness to us, even in takingaway our chief comfort and blessing,--the darling up there on the horse!(Ah, 'tis an elegant sate ye have, without stirrups!) And she wentone day to say a handful of prayers oyer his grave,--the husband's, yemind,--and sure if she did, when she knelt down on the grass she sprungup again as quick as she went down, for the nettles was all over theplace entirely. 'Bad scran to ye, Peter!' says she, as she rubbed herlegs,--'bad scran to ye! living or dead, there was always a sting inye.'"
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As the latter part of this speech was addressed in a tone of apostropheto the statue of King William, it was received by the assembled crowdwith a roar of laughter.
By this time I had entered the house, and only bethought me how littlesuited was the great hotel of the city to pretensions as humble as mine.It was now, however, too late to retreat, and I entered the coffee-room,carrying my knapsack in my hand. As I passed up the room in search ofa vacant table, the looks of astonishment my appearance excited on eachside were most palpable evidences that the company considered me asan interloper. While some contented themselves with a stare of steadysurprise, others, less guarded in their impertinence, whispered with,and even winked at their neighbors, to attract attention towards me.
Offensive as this unquestionably was, it amazed even more than itannoyed me. In France, such a display of feeling would have beenimpossible; and the humblest soldier of the army would not have been soreceived had he deemed fit to enter Beauvilliers' or Very's.
Whether hurt at this conduct, and consequently more alive to affrontfrom any quarter, or that the waiters participated in the sentimentsof their betters, I cannot exactly say; but I certainly thought theirmanner even less equivocally betrayed the same desire of impertinence.This was not l
ong a mere suspicion on my part; for on inquiring whetherI could have a room for the night, the waiter, touching my knapsack,which lay on the ground beside me, with his foot, replied,--
"Is this your luggage, sir?"
Amazement so completely mastered my indignation at this insolence, thatI could make no answer but by a look. This had its effect, however; andthe fellow, without further delay, bustled off to make the inquiry.He returned in a few minutes with a civil message, that I could beaccommodated, and having placed before me the simple meal I ordered,retired.
As I sat over my supper, I could not help feeling that unless memoryplayed me false, the company were little like the former frequentersof this house. I remembered it of old, when Bubbleton and his brotherofficers came there; and when the rooms were thronged with membersof both Houses of Parliament,--when peers and gentlemen of the firstfamilies were grouped about the windows and fireplaces, and the highestnames of the land were heard in the din of recognition; handsomeequipages and led horses stood before the doors. But now the ragged mobwithout was scarce a less worthy successor to the brilliant display thanwere the company within to the former visitants. A tone of pretentiousimpertinence, an air of swagger and mock defiance,--the most opposite tothe polished urbanity which once prevailed,--was now conspicuous; andin their loud speech and violent gesticulation, it was easy to markhow they had degenerated from that high standard which made the Irishgentleman of his day the most polished man of Europe.
If in appearance and manner they fell far short of those my memoryrecalled, their conversation more markedly still displayed the longinterval between them. Here, of old, were retailed the latest news ofthe debate,--the last brilliant thing of Grattan, or the last bitingretort of Flood; here came, hot from debate, the great champions ofeither party to relax and recruit for fresh efforts; and in the groupsthat gathered around them you might learn how great genius can diffuseits influence and scatter intelligence around it,--as the Nilewaters spread plenty and abundance wherever they flow: high and noblesentiments, holy aspirations and eloquent thoughts, made an atmosphere,to breathe which was to feel an altered nature. But now a vapid mixtureof conceit and slang had usurped the place of these, and a tone ofvulgar self-sufficiency unhappily too much in keeping with the externalsof those who displayed it: the miserable contentions of differentfactions had replaced the bolder strife of opposite parties, andprovincialism had put its stamp on everything. The nation, too, if Imight trust my ears with what fell around me, had lost all memory of itsonce great names, and new candidates for popular favor figured in theirplaces.
Such were some of the changes I could mark, even as I sat. But myattention was speedily drawn from them by a circumstance more nearlyconcerning myself. This was the appearance in the coffee-room of thegentleman who first addressed me in the street.
As he passed round the room, followed by a person whose inferiority wasevident, he was recognized by most of those present, many of whom shookhim warmly by the hand, and pressed him to join their parties. But thishe declined, as he continued to walk slowly on, scrutinizing each faceas he went. At last I saw his eyes turn towards me. It was scarcely aglance, so rapid was it, and so quickly were his looks directed to adifferent quarter; but I could mark that he whispered something to aperson who followed, and then, after carelessly turning over a newspaperon the table, sauntered from the room. As he did so, the shaggy head ofthe dwarf newsvendor peeped in, and the great black eyes took a surveyof the coffee-room, till finally they settled on me.
"Ah!" cried the fellow, with a strange blending of irony and compassionin his voice; "be gorra, I knew how it would be,--the major has ye!" Atthis a general laugh broke out from all present, and every eye was fixedon me.
Meanwhile the follower had taken his place nearly opposite me at thetable, and was busily engaged examining a paper which he had taken fromhis pocket.
"May I ask, sir, if your name be Burke?" said he, in a low voice, acrossthe table.
I started with amazement to hear my name pronounced where I believedmyself so completely a stranger, and in my astonishment, forgot toanswer.
"I was asking, sir--" repeated he.
"Yes, you are quite correct," interrupted I; "that is my name. May I begto know, in return, for what purpose you make the inquiry?"
"Thomas Burke, sir?" continued he, inattentive to my observation, andapparently about to write the name on the paper before him.
I nodded, and he wrote down the words.
"That saves a deal of trouble to all of us, sir," said he, as hefinished writing. "This is a warrant for your arrest; but the major isquite satisfied if you can give bail for your appearance."
"Arrest!" repeated I; "on what charge am I arrested?"
"You'll hear in the morning, I suppose," said he, quietly. "What shallwe say about the bail? Have you any acquaintance or friend in town?"
"Neither; I am a perfect stranger here. But if you are authorized toarrest me, I here surrender myself at once."
By this time, several persons of the coffee-room had approached thetable, and among the rest the gentleman who so politely made way for mein the crowd to reach the door.
"What is it, Roche?" said he, addressing the man at the table; "awarrant?"
"Yes, sir; for this gentleman here. But we can take bail, if he has it."
"I have told you already that I am a stranger, and know no one here."
The gentleman threw his eyes over the warrant, and then looking mesteadily in the face, muttered in a whisper to the officer, "Why, hemust have been a boy, a mere child, at the time."
"Very true, sir; but the major says it must be done. Maybe you'd bailhim yourself."
These words were added in a tone of half irony, as the fellow gave a slylook beneath his eyelashes.
"I tell you, again," said I, impatient at the whole scene, "I am quiteready to accompany you."
"Is this your name, sir?" said the strange gentleman, addressing me, ashe pointed to the warrant.
"Yes," interposed the officer, "there's no doubt about that; he gave ithimself."
"Come, come, then, Roche," said he, cajolingly; "these are not timesfor undue strictness. Let the gentleman remain where he is to-night,and to-morrow he will attend you. You can remain here, if you like, withhim."
"If you say so, I suppose we may do it," replied the officer, as hefolded up the paper, and arose from the table.
"Yes, yes; that's the proper course. And now," said he, addressing me,"will you permit me to join you while I finish this bottle of claret?"
I could have no objection to so pleasant a proposal; and thus, for thetime at least, ended this disagreeable affair.
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume II Page 34