The Dodd Family Abroad, Vol. I

LETTER XXXVIII. KENNY JAMES DODD TO THOMAS PURCELL, ESQ., OF THE GRANGE, BRUFF

My dear Tom, – The post hadn't left this five minutes yesterday, when I remembered what I wanted to say to you. Wednesday, the 26th, is fixed for the happy occasion; and if nothing should intervene, you may insert the following paragraph in the "Tipperary Press," under the accustomed heading of "Marriage in High Life": "The Baron Adolf Heinrich Conrad Hapsburg von Wolfenschafer, Lord of the Manors of Hohendeken, Kalbsbratenhausen, and Schweinkraut, to Mary Anne, eldest daughter of Kenny James Dodd, Esq., of Dodsborough, in this county." Faith, Tom, I was near saying "universally regretted by a large circle of afflicted survivors," for I was just wishing myself dead and buried! But you must put it in the usual formula of "beautiful and accomplished," and take care it is not applied to the bridegroom, for, upon my conscience, his claim to the first epithet couldn't be settled by even a Parliamentary title! My heart is heavy about it all, and I wish it was over!

If anything exemplifies the vanity of human wishes, it is our efforts to marry our daughters, and our regrets when the plans succeed. Tom goes to India, and Billy to sea, and there is scarcely a gap in the family circle. "The boys" were seldom at home, – they were shooting in Scotland, or hunting in England, or fishing in Norway. They never, so to say, made part of the effective garrison of the house; they came and went with that rackety good-humor that even in quiet families is pleasurable; but your girls are household gods: lose them, even one of them, and the altar is despoiled. The thousand little unobtrusive duties, noiseless cares, that make home better a hundred-fold than anywhere else, be it ever so rich and splendid, the unasked solicitude, the watchful attention that provides for your little daily wants and habits, are all their province. And just fancy, then, what scheming and intriguing we practise to get rid of them! You 'll say that this shows we are above the selfishness of only considering our own enjoyment, and that we sacrifice all for their happiness. There you mistake; our sole aim is a rich man, – our one notion of a good marriage is that the husband be wealthy. It's not a man like myself, who has sometimes paid fifty, ay, sixty per cent for money, that can afford to sneer at and despise it; but this I will say, that the mere possession of it will not suffice for happiness. I know fellows with fifteen thousand a year that have not the heart to spend five hundred. I know others that, with as much, are always over head and ears in debt, raising cash everywhere and anyhow! What kind of life must a girl lead that marries either of these? And yet would you or I think of refusing such a match for a daughter? Let me tell you, Tom, that for people of small fortune, the nunneries were fine things! What signifies serge and simple diet to the wearisome drudgery of a governess! If I was a woman, I think I'd rather sit in my quiet cell, working an embroidered suit of body clothes for Father O'Leary, than I'd be snubbed by the family of some vulgar citizen, tortured by the brats, and insulted by the servants.

I don't suppose that it signifies a straw one way or other, but I feel some compunctions of conscience at the way I have been assigning imaginary estates, mines, woods, and collieries to Mary Anne for the last three days. I know it's mere greed makes the Baron so eager on the subject, since he is enormously wealthy. James and I rode twelve miles, this morning, through a forest that belongs to the castle, and the arable land stretches more than that distance in another direction; but who knows how he 'll behave when he discovers she has nothing! To be sure, we can always ascribe our ruin to political causes, and, in verification, exhibit ourselves as poor as need be; but still I don't like it And this is one of the blessed results of a false position, – one step in a wrong direction very frequently necessitates a long journey. Yesterday I protested to my affluence; to-day I vouched for the nobility of my family. Heaven only can tell what I won't swear to to-morrow! And again I am interrupted by Mrs. D., who has just come to inform me that though the bride's finery can all be had at Paris, – whither the happy couple are to repair for the honeymoon, – there are certain indispensables must be obtained at once from Baden; and she begs that I will privately write a few lines to Morris, who will, of course, undertake the commission. It is not without shame that I enclose a list of purchases to make, which, to a man who knew what we were in Ireland, will appear preposterous; but the false position we have attained to is surrounded with interminable mortifications of the same kind.

Ah, Tom! I remember the time when, if a bride changed her smart white silk and muslin that she wore at the altar for a good brown or blue satin pelisse to travel in, we thought her a miracle of fashion and finery; but now the millinery of a wedding is the principal thing. There is a stereotyped formula, out of which there is no hope of conjugal happiness; and the bride that begins life without Brussels lace enters upon her career with gloomy omens! Now, a scarf of this alone costs thirty guineas; you may, if you like, go as high as a hundred and fifty. Why can't people wait for the ruin that is so sure to overtake them, without forestalling it in this way? Twenty pounds for clothes, and a trip to Castle Connel or Kilkee for the honeymoon, would have satisfied every wish of Alary Anne's heart in Ireland; and if she drove away in a post-chaise with four horses for the first stage, she 'd have been the envy of all the marriageable girls for miles round.

But now I have had to ask Morris to buy a travelling-carriage, because Mrs. D., in one of those expansions of splendor that occasionally attack her, said to the Baron, "Oh, take one of our carriages, we have left several of them at Baden." The excellent woman cannot be brought to perceive that romance of this kind is a most expensive amusement. I have drawn a bill on you for four hundred at three months, to meet these, and sent it to Morris to "get done." I hope he 'll succeed, and I hope you 'll pay it when it comes due; so that come what will, Tom, my intentions are honorable!

If Mrs. D. and myself had been upon better terms, we might have discussed this marriage question more fully and confidentially, but there are now so many cabinet difficulties that we rarely hold a council, and when we do, we are sure to disagree. This is another blessed result of our continentalizing. Home had its duties, and with them came that spirit of concord and agreement so essential to family happiness; but in this vagabond kind of existence, where every-thing is feigned, unreal, and unnatural, all concert and confidence is completely lost.

Now I have told you frankly and fairly everything about us, and don't take advantage of my candor by giving advice, for there is nothing in this world I have so little taste for. There's no man above the condition of an idiot that is n't thoroughly aware of his failings and shortcomings, but all that knowledge does n't bring him an inch nearer the cure of them. Do you think I 'm not fully alive to everything you could say of my wasteful habits, my improvidence, indolence, irritability, and so forth? I know them all better than you do, – ay, and I feel them acutely, too, for I know them to be incurable! Reformation, indeed! Do you know when a man gives up dancing, Tom? When he's too stiff in the knees for it. There's the whole philosophy of life. When we grow wiser, as they are pleased to call it, it is always in spite of ourselves!

I find that by enclosing this to Morris, he can forward it to you by the bag of the Legation. Once more let me remind you of our want of cash, and believe me, very faithfully your friend,

Kenny I. Dodd.

P. S. Address me "Freyburg, to be forwarded to the Schloss, Wolfenfels."

LETTER XXXIX. BETTY COBB TO MRS. SHUSAN O'SHEA, PRIEST'S HOUSE, BRUFF

Dear Mrs. Shusan, – I was meaning to write to you for the last week, but could n't by reason of the conflagration I was in, for sure any poor girl might feel it, seeing that I was far away among furriners, and had nobody to advise, barrin' the evil counsels of my wicked heart. We cam here two weeks gone, on a visit to the father of the young man that 's going to marry "Mary Anne." It's a great big ould place, like the jail at Limerick, only darker, with little windows, and a flite of stairs out of every corner in it. And the furnishing is n't a bit newer. It's a bit of rag here and a rag there, an ould cabbinet, a hard sofa, and maybe four wooden chairs that would take a ladder to get into! Eatin' and drinkin' likewise the same. Biled beef – biled first for the broth, and sarved afterwards with cow-comers, sliced and steeped in oil – the Heavens preserve us! Then a dish of roast vale, with rasberry jam and musheroons, for they tries the human stomich with every ingradiant they can think of! But the great favorite of all is a salad made out of potatoes, biled bard, sliced and pickled the same way as the cow-comers! A bowl of that, Mrs. Shusan, after a long dinner, makes you feel as full as a tick, and if the house was afire I could n't run! To be sure, when the meal is over everybody sits down to coffee, and does n't distress themselves about anything for a matter of two hours. And, indeed, I must make the remark that "manials" isn't as badly treated anywhere in the whole 'versal globe as in Ireland, and if it was n't that I hear the people is runnin' away o' themselves, I 'd write a letter to the papers about it! 'T is exactly like pigs you are, no better; potatoes and butter-milk all the year round! deny it if you can. Could you offer a pig less wages than four pound a year?

I must say, too, Shusan, that eatin' one's fill molly-fies ther nature, and subdues ther hasty dispositions in a wonderful way; I know it myself; and that after a strong supper now I can bear more from the mistress than I used at home, only giving a sigh now and then out of the fulness of my heart. But it's not them things I wanted to tell you, but of the state of my infections. Don't be angry with me, Mrs. Shusan. I don't forget the iligant lessons you gave me long ago, about thrusting the men; I know well how thrue every word you said is. They 're base, and wicked, and deceatful! Flatterin' us when we 're young and beautiful, and gibin' and jeerin' when we 're ould as yourself! But what's the use of fiting agin the will of Providence? Sure, if he intended us to have better husbands it's not them craytures he'd have left us to! My sentiments is these, Shusy: 'Tis a way of chastezin' us is marriage! The throubles and tumults we have with a man are our crosses, and it's only cowardly to avoid them. Meet your feat, say I, whatever it be, – whether it be a man or the measles, don't be afraid!

I 'm shure and sartain it's nothing but fear makes young girls go and be nuns; they're afraid, and no wonder, of the wickedness of the world; but somehow, Shusan, like everything else in this life, one gets used to it. I know it well, there 's many a thing I see now, without minding, that long ago I dared not look at. "Live and learn," they say, and there's nothing so thrue! And talking of that, you 'd be shocked to see how Mary Anne goes on wid the young Baron. She, that would scarce let poor Doctor Belton spake to her alone. We meet them walk in' in the lonesomest places together; and Taddy and I never goes into the far part of the wood without seeing them! And that's not all of it, my dear, but she must get the mistress to give me a lecture about going off myself with a man.

"Does n't your daughter do it, ma'am?" says I. "Is all the wickedness of this world," says I, "to be kept for one's betters?"

"Do you call marriage wickedness?" says she.

"Sometimes it is, ma'am," says I, with a look she understood well.

"You 're a huzzy," says she; "and I 'll give you warnin' next Saturday."

"I'll take it now," says I, "ma'am, for I'm going to better myself."

If ye saw her face, Shusy, as I said this! She knows in her heart that she could n't get on at all without me. Not a word of a furrin lingo can she say; and I 'm obleeged to traduce her meanin' to all the other sarvants! And, indeed, that's the way I become such an iligant linguist; and it's no differ to me now between talkin' French and Jarman, – I make them just the same!

I was n't in my room when Mary Anne was after me.

"Ain't you a fool, Betty?" says she, puttin' a hand on my shoulder.

"Maybe I am, miss," says I; "but there 's others fools as well as me!"

"But I mean," says she, "isn't it silly to fall out with mamma, – that was always so good, and so kind, and so fond of you?"

I saw at once, Shusy, how the wind was, and so I just went on folding up my collars and settling my things without a word.

"I 'm sure," says she, "you could n't leave her in a faraway country like this!"

"The dearest friends must part, miss," says I.

"Not to speak of your own desolate and deserted condition," says she.

"There's them that won't lave me dissolute and disconsoled, miss," says I. And with that, Shusy, I told her that Taddy Hetzler had made me honorable proposals.

"But you 'd not think of Taddy," says she. "He 's only a herd," says she.

"We must take what we can get, miss," says I, "and be thanklul in this life."

And she blushed red up to the eyes, Shusy; for she knew well what I meant by that!

"But a nice girl, and a purty girl like you, Betty," says she, "slendering" me, "is n't it throwing yourself away? Sure, ye have only to wait a little to make an iligant match here on the Continent. Don't be precipitouous," says she, "but see the effect you'll make with that beautiful pink gownd;" and here, Shusan, she gave me all as one as a bran new silk of the mistress's, with five flounces, and lace trim-mins down the front! It's what they call glassy silk, and shines like it!

"I 'm sorry, miss," says I, "that as I took the mistress's warnin', I'm obleeged to refuse you."

"Nonsense, Betty," says she; "I'll arrange all that."

"But my feelins, miss, – my feelins."

"Well, I'll even engage to smoothe these," says she, laughing.

And so, Shusy, I had to laugh too; for my nature is always to be easy and complyiant; and when anybody means well to me, they can do what they plaze with me. It's a weak part in my character, but I can't help it "I'm not able to be selfish, Miss Mary Anne," says I.

"No, Betty, that you are not," says she, patting my cheek.

But for all that, Shusy, I 'm not going to give up Taddy till I know why, – tho' I did n't say so to her. So I just put up the pink gownd in my drawer, and went up and told the mistress I'd stay; but begged she wouldn't try my nerves that way another time, for my constitution would n't bear repated shocks. I saw she was burstin' to say something, but dar'n't, Shusy, and she tore a lace cuff to tatters while I was talk in'. Well, well, there's no deny in' it, anyhow; manials has many troubles, but they can give a great deal of annoyance and misery if they set about it right You 'd like to hear about Taddy, and I 'll be candid and own that he is n't what would be called handsome in Ireland, though here he is reckoned a fine-looking man. He is six foot four and a half, without shoes, a little bent in the shoulders, has long red hair, and sore eyes; that cums from the snow, for he's out in all weathers – after the pigs. You 're surprised at that, and well you may; for instead of keeping the craytures in a house as we do, and giving them all the filth we can find to eat, they turns them out wild into the woods, to eat beech-nuts, and acorns, and chestnuts; and the beasts grow so wicked that it's not safe for a stranger to go near them; and even the man that guides them they call a "swine-fearer."1 Taddy is one of these; and when he 's dressed in a goat-skin coat and cap, leather gaiters buttoned on his legs, and reachin' to the hips, and a long pole, with an iron hook and a hatchet at the end of it, and a naked knife, two feet long, at his side, you 'd think the pigs would be more likely to be afraid of him! Indeed, the first time I saw him come into the kitchen, with a great hairy dog they call a fang-hound at his heels, I schreeched out with frite, for I thought them – God forgive me! – the ugliest pare I ever set eyes on. To be sure, the green shade he wore over his eyes, and the beard that grew down to his breast, did n't improve him; but I 've trimmed him up since that; and it's only a slight squint, and two teeth that sticks out at the side of his mouth, that I can't remedy at all!

Paddy Byrne spends his time mock in' him, and makin' pictures of him on the servants' hall with a bit of charcoal. It well becomes a dirty little spalpeen like him to make fun of a man four times his size. His notion of manly beauty is four foot eight, short legs, long breeches and gaiters, with a waistcoat over the hips, and a Jim Crow! A monkey is graceful compared to it!

Taddy is not much given to talkin', but he has told me that he has been on the estate, "with the pigs," he calls it, since he was eight years old; and as he said, another time, that "he was nine-and-twenty years a herd," you can put the two together, and it makes him out thirty-three or thirty-four years of age. He never had any father or mother, which is a great advantage, and, as he remarks, "it's the same to him if there came another Flood and drowned all the world to-morrow!"

Our plans is to live here till we can go and take a bit of land for ourselves; and as Taddy has saved something, and has very good idais about his own advantage, I trust, with the blessin' of the Virgin, that we 'll do very well.

This that I tell you now, Shusan, is all in confidence, because to the neighbors, and to Sam Healey, you can say that I am going to be married to a rich farmer that has more pigs – and that's thrue – than ye 'd see in Ballinasloe Fair.

What distresses me most of all is, I can't make out what religion he 's of, if he has any at all! I try him very hard about penance and 'tarnal punishments, but all he says is, "When we 're married I 'll know all about that."

As the mistress writ all about Mary Anne's marriage to Mrs. Galagher, at the house, I don't say anything about it; but he's an ugly crayture, Shusan dear, and there's a hangdog, treach'rous look about him I wonder any young girl could like. The servants, too, knows more of him than they lets on, but, by rayson of their furrin language, there's no coming at it.

Between ourselves, she doesn't take to the marriage at all, for I seen her twice cryin' in her room over some ould letters; but she bundled them up whin she seen me, and tried to laugh.

"I wonder, Betty," says she, "will I ever see Dodsbor-ough again!"

"Who knows, miss?" said I; "but it would be a pity if you did n't, and so many there that's fond of you!"

"I don't believe it," says she, sharp. "I don't believe there's one cares a bit about me!"

"Baithershin!" says I, mocking.

"Who does?" says she; "can ye tell me even one?"

"Sure there 's Miss Davis," says I, "and the Kellys, and there's Miss Kitty Doolan, and ould Molly, not to spake of Dr. Bel – "

"There, do not speak of him," says she, getting red; "the very names of the people make me shudder. I hope I 'll never see one of them."

Now, Shusan dear, I told you all that it's in my mind, and hope you 'll write to me the same. If you could send me the gray cloak with the blue linin', and the bayver bonnet I wore last winter two years, they 'd be useful to me here, and you could tell the neighbors that it was new clothes you were sendin' me for my weddin'. Be sure ye tell me how Sam Healey bears it. Tell him from me, with my regards, that I hope he won't take to drink, and desthroy his constitution.

You can write to me still as before, to your attached and true friend,

Betty Cobb.

LETTER XL. KENNY I. DODD TO THOMAS PURCELL, ESQ., OF THE GRANGE, BRUFF

My dear Tom, – Before passion gets the better of me, and I forget all about it, let me acknowledge the welcome arrival of your post bill for one hundred, but for which, Heaven knows in what additional embarrassment I might now be in. You will see, by the address, that I am in Switzerland. How we came here I 'll try and explain, if Providence grants me patience for the effort; this being the third time I have addressed myself to the task unsuccessfully.

I need not refer to the situation in which my last letter to you left us. You may remember that I told you of the various preparations that were then in progress for a certain auspicious event, whose accomplishment was fixed for the ensuing week. Amongst others, I wrote to Morris for some articles of dress and finery to be procured at Baden, and for, if possible, a comfortable travelling-carriage, with a sufficiency of boxes and imperials.

Of course in doing so it was necessary, or at least it was fitting, that I should make mention of the cause for these extraordinary preparations, and I did so by a very brief allusion to the coming event, and to the rank of my future son-in-law, the youthful Baron and heir of Wolfenfels. I am not aware of having said much more than this, for my letter was so crammed with commissions, and catalogues of purchases, that there was little space disposable for more intelligence. I wrote on a Monday, and on the following Wednesday evening I was taking a stroll with James through the park, chatting over the approaching event in our family, when a mounted postboy galloped up with a letter, which being marked "Most pressing and immediate," the postmaster had very properly forwarded to me with all expedition. It was in Morris's hand, and very brief. I give it to you verbatim: —

"My dear Sir, – For Heaven's sake do not advance another step in this affair. You have been grossly imposed upon. As soon as I can procure horses I will join you, and expose the most scandalous trick that has ever come to the knowledge of yours truly,

"E. Morris.

"Post-House, Tite See. 2 o'clock p.m. Wednesday."

You may imagine – I cannot attempt to describe – the feelings with which James and I read and re-read these lines. I suppose we had passed the letter back and forwards to each other fully a dozen times, ere either of us could summon composure to speak.

"Do you understand it, James?" said I.

"No," said he. "Do you?"

"Not unless the scoundrel is married already," said I.

"That was exactly what had occurred to me," replied he. "'Most scandalous trick,' are the words; and they can only mean that."

"Morris is such a safe fellow, – so invariably sure of whatever he says."

"Precisely the way I take it," cried James. "He is far too cautious to make a grave charge without ample evidence to sustain it! We may rely upon it that he knows what he is about."

"But bigamy is a crime in Germany. They send a fellow to the galleys for it," said I. "Is it likely that he 'd put himself in such peril?"

"Who knows!" said James, "if he thought he was going to get an English girl of high family, and with a pot of money!"

Shall I own to you, Tom, that remark of James's nearly stunned me, – carelessly and casually as it fell from him, it almost overwhelmed me, and I asked myself, Why should he think she was of high family? Why should he suppose she had a large fortune? Who was it that propagated these delusions? and if there really was a "scandalous trick," as Morris said, could I affirm that all the roguery was on one side? Could I come into court with clean hands, and say, "Mrs. Dodd has not been cheating, neither has Kenny James "? Where are these broad acres of arable and pasture, – these verdant forests and swelling lawns, that I have been bestowing with such boundless munificence? How shall we prove these fourteen quarterings that we have been quoting incessantly for the past three weeks? "No matter for that," thought I, at length. "If the fellow has got another wife, I 'll break every bone in his skin!" I must have pondered this sentiment aloud, for James echoed it even more forcibly, adding, by way of sequel, "And kick him from this to Rotterdam!"