The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago

“Here’s Morris, here’s the Colonel,” was now the cry, and a burst of as merry laughter as ever issued from happy hearts, welcomed the new arrival; “make him get out, boys, make him get out, and show us his legs, that’s the fellow ran away in Flanders,” and before the mirth had subsided, the unhappy Colonel had passed on.

“Who’s this in the hackney-coach?” said one, as the carriage in which Talbot and Mark were seated came up. The window was let down in a moment, and Talbot, leaning his head out, whispered a few words in a low voice; whatever their import, their effect was magical, and a hurra, as wild as the war-cry of an Indian, shook the street.

“What was it you said?” cried Mark.

“Three word in Irish,” said Talbot, laughing; “they are the only three in my vocabulary, and their meaning is ‘wait awhile;’ and somehow, it would seem a very significant intimation to Irishmen.”

The carriage moved on, and the two friends soon alighted in the brilliantly-illuminated vestibule, now lined with battleaxe-guards, and resounding with the clangor of a brass band. Mixing with the crowd that poured up the staircase, they passed into the first drawing-room, without stopping to write their names, as was done by the others, Talbot telling Mark, in a whisper, to move up and follow him closely.

The distressing impression, that he himself would be an object of notice and remark to others, and which had up to that very moment tortured him, gave way at once, as he found himself in that splendid assemblage, where beauty, in all the glare of dress and jewels, abounded, and where, for the first time, the world of fashion and elegance burst upon his astonished senses. The courage that, with dauntless nerve, would have led him to the cannon’s mouth, now actually faltered, and made him feel faint-hearted, to find himself mixing with those among whom he had no right to be present. Talbot’s shrewd intelligence seemed to divine what was passing in Mark’s mind, for he took him by the arm, and as he led him forward, whispered, from time to time, certain particulars of the company, intended to satisfy him, that, however distinguished by rank and personal appearance, in reality, their characters had little claim to his respect. With such success did he demolish reputations – so fatally did his sarcasms depreciate those against whom they were directed – that, ere long, Mark moved along in utter contempt for that gorgeous throng, which at first had impressed him so profoundly. To hear that the proud-looking general, his coat a blaze of orders, was a coward; that the benign and mild-faced judge was a merciless, unrelenting tyrant; that the bishop, whose simple bearing and gentle quietude of manner were most winning, was in reality a crafty place-hunter and a subtle “intrigant” – such were the lessons Talbot poured into his ear, while amid the ranks of beauty still more deadly calumnies pointed all he said.

“Society is rotten to the very core here, Mark,” said he, bitterly. “There never was a land nor an age when profligacy stood so high in the market. It remains to be seen if our friends will do better – for a time, at least, they are almost certain to do so; but now, that I have shown you something of the company, let us separate, lest we be remarked. This pillar can always be our rallying spot. Whenever you want me, come here;” and so saying, and with a slight pressure of his hand, Talbot mixed with the crowd, and soon was lost to Mark’s view.

Talbot’s revelations served at first to impair the pleasure Mark experienced in the brilliant scene around him; but when once more alone, the magnetic influence of a splendour so new, and of beauty so dazzling, appealed to his heart far more powerfully than the cold sarcasms of his companion. Glances which, directed to others, he caught in passing, and felt with a throb of ecstasy within his own bosom; bright eyes, that beamed not for him, sent a glow of delight through his frame. The atmosphere of pleasure which he had never breathed before, now warmed the current of his blood, and his pulse beat high and madly. All the bitter thoughts he had harboured against his country’s enemies could not stand before his admiration of that gorgeous assemblage, and he felt ashamed to think that he, and such as he, should conspire the downfall of a system, whose very externals were so captivating. He wandered thus from room to room in a dream of pleasure – now stopping to gaze at the dancers, then moving towards some of the refreshment-rooms, where parties were seated in familiar circles, all in the full enjoyment of the brilliant festivity. Like a child roaming at will through some beauteous garden, heightening enjoyment by the rapid variety of new pleasures, and making in the quick transition of sensations a source of more fervid delight, so did he pass from place to place, and in this way time stole by, and he utterly forgot the rendezvous he had arranged with Talbot. At last, suddenly remembering this, he endeavoured to find out the place, and in doing so was forced to pass through a card-room, where several parties were now at play. Around one of the tables a greater crowd than usual was assembled. There, as he passed, Mark thought he overheard Talbot’s voice. He stopped and drew near, and, with some little difficulty, making his way through, perceived his friend seated at the table, deeply engaged in what, if he were to judge from the heap of gold before him, seemed very high play. His antagonist was an old, fine-looking man, in the uniform of a general officer; but while Mark looked, he arose, and his place was taken by another – the etiquette being, that the winner should remain until he ceased to win.

“He has passed eleven times,” said a gentleman to his friend, in Mark’s hearing; “he must at least have won four hundred pounds.”

“Do you happen to know who he is?”

“No; nor do I know any one that does. There! – see! – he has won again.”

“He’s a devilish cool player – that’s certain. I never saw a man more collected.”

“He studies his adversary far more than his cards – I remark that.”

“Oh! here’s old Clangoff come to try his luck:” and an opening of the crowd was now made to permit a tall and very old man to approach the table. Very much stooped in the shoulders, and with snow-white hair, Lord Clangoff still preserved the remains of one who in his youth had been the handsomest man of his day. Although simply dressed in the Windsor uniform, the brilliant rings he wore upon his fingers, and the splendour of a gold snuff-box surrounded by enormous diamonds, evinced the taste for magnificence for which he was celebrated. There was an air of dignity with which he took his seat, saluting the acquaintances he recognised about him, very strikingly in contrast with the familiar manners then growing into vogue, while in the courteous urbanity of his bow to Talbot, his whole breeding was revealed.

“It is a proud thing even to encounter such an adversary, sir,” said he, smiling. “They have just told me that you have vanquished our best players.”

“The caprice of Fortune, my lord, that so often favours the undeserving,” said Talbot, with a gesture of extreme humility.

“Your success should be small at play, if the French adage have any truth in it,” said his lordship, alluding to Talbot’s handsome features, which seemed to indicate favour with the softer sex.

“According to that theory, my lord, I have the advantage over you at present.”

This adroit flattery of the other’s earlier reputation as a gallant, seemed to please him highly; for, as he presented his box to one of his friends near, he whispered – “A very well-bred fellow, indeed,” Then turning to Talbot, said, “Do you like a high stake?”

“I am completely at your service, my lord – whatever you please.”

“Shall we say fifty? – or do you prefer a hundred?”

“If the same to you, I like the latter just twice as well.”

The old lord smiled at having found an adversary similarly disposed with himself, and drew out his pocket-book with an air of palpable satisfaction; while in the looks of increased interest among the bystanders could be seen the anxiety they felt in the coming struggle.

“You have the deal, my lord,” said Talbot, presenting the cards. “Still, if any gentleman cares for another fifty on the game – ”

“I’ll take it, sir,” said a voice from behind Lord Clangoff s chair, and Mark, struck by the accent, fixed his eyes on the speaker. The blood rushed to his face at once, for it was Hemsworth who stood before him – the ancient enemy of his house – the tyrant, whose petty oppressions and studied insults had been a theme he was familiar with from boyhood. All fear of his being recognised himself was merged in the savage pleasure he felt in staring fixedly at the man he hated.

He would have given much to be able to whisper the name into Talbot’s ear; but remembering how such an attempt might be attended by a discovery of himself, he desisted, and with a throbbing heart awaited the result of the game. Meanwhile Hemsworth, whose whole attention was concentrated on Talbot, never turned his eyes towards any other quarter. The moment seemed favourable for Mark, and gently retiring through the crowd, he at last disengaged himself, and sat down on a bench near a door-way. His mind was full of its own teeming thoughts, thoughts that the hated presence of his enemy sent madly thronging upon him; he lost all memory of where he was, nor did he remark that two persons had entered, and seated themselves near him, when a word, a single word, fell upon his ear. He turned round, and saw his cousin Kate sitting beside Frederick Travers. The start of surprise he could not restrain attracted her notice. She turned also, and as a deadly pallor came over her features, she uttered the one word, “Mark.” Travers immediately caught the name, and, leaning forward, the two young men’s eyes met, and for some seconds never wandered from each other.

“I should have gone to see you, cousin Kate,” said Mark, after a momentary struggle to seem calm and collected, “but I feared – that is, I did not know – ”

“But, Mark, dear Mark, why are you here?” said she, in a tone of heartfelt terror. “Do you know that none save those presented at the Levees, and known to the Lord Lieutenant, dare to attend these balls?”

“I came with a friend,” said Mark, in a voice where anger and self-reproach were mingled. “If he misled me, he must answer for it.”

“It was imprudent, Mr. O’Donoghue, and that’s all,” said Travers, in a tone of great gentleness; “and your friend should not have misled you. I’ll take care that nothing unpleasant shall arise in consequence. Just remain here for a moment.”

“Stay, sir,” said Mark, as Travers arose from his seat; “I hate accepting favours, even should they release me from a position as awkward as this is. Here comes my friend, Talbot, and he’ll perhaps explain what I cannot.”

“I have lost my money, Mark,” said Talbot, coming forward, and perceiving with much anxiety that his young friend was engaged in a conversation. “Let us move about and see the dancers.”

“Wait a few seconds first,” said Mark, sternly, “and satisfy this gentleman that I am not in fault in coming here, save so far as being induced by you to do so.”

“May I ask how the gentleman feels called on to require the explanation?” said Talbot, proudly.

“I wish him to know the circumstances,” said Mark.

“And I,” said Travers, interrupting, “might claim a right to ask it, as first aide-de-camp to his Excellency.”

“So, then,” whispered Talbot, with a smile, “it is the mere impertinence of office.”

Travers’ face flushed up, and his his quivered, as in an equally low tone of voice he said —

“Where and when, sir, will you dare to repeat these words?”

“To-morrow morning, at seven o’clock, on the strand below Clontarf, and in this gentleman’s presence,” said Talbot into his ear.

A nod from Travers completed the arrangement, and Talbot, placing his arm hurriedly within Mark’s, said —

“Let us get away from this, Mark. It is all settled. We meet tomorrow.”

Mark turned one look towards Kate, who was just in the act of accepting Travers’ arm to return to the ball-room. Their glances met for a second, but with how different a meaning! – in hers, a world of anxiety and interest – in his, the proud and scornful defiance of one who seemed to accept of no compromise with fortune.

“So, then, it is your friend Travers, Mark, with whom I am to have the honour of a rencontre! I’m sorry, for your sake, that it is so.”

“And why so?” asked Mark, sternly, for in his present mood he was as little satisfied with Talbot as with Travers.

“Because if I don’t mistake much, you will not have the opportunity of wiping out your old score with him. I’ll shoot him, Mark!” These last words were uttered between his almost closed teeth, and in a tone of scarce restrained anger. “Are either of us looking very bloody-minded or savage, Mark, I wonder? for see how the people are staring and whispering as we pass!”

The observation was not made without reason, for already the two young men were regarded on all sides as they passed – the different persons in their way retiring as they approached.

“How do you do, my lord? I hope I see you well,” said Talbot, bowing familiarly to a venerable old man who stood near, and who as promptly returned his salute.

“Who is it you bowed to?” said Mark, in a whisper.

“The Chief-Justice, Mark. Not that I know him, or he me; but at this critical moment such a recognition is a certificate of character, which will at least last long enough to see us down stairs. There, let me move on first, and follow me,” and as he spoke, he edged his way through a crowded door, leaving Mark to follow how he could. This was, however a task of more difficulty than it seemed, for already a number of persons blocked up the doorway, eager to hear something which a gentleman was relating to those about him.