Charles Lever - Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)

If we should appear, of late, to have forgotten some of those friends with whom we first made our readers acquainted in this veracious history, we beg to plead against any charge of caprice or neglect. The cause is simply this: a story, like a stream, has one main current; and he who would follow the broad river must eschew being led away by every rivulet which may separate from the great flood to follow its own vagrant fancy elsewhere. Now, the Kennyfecks had been meandering after this fashion for some time back. The elder had commenced a very vigorous flirtation with the dashing Captain Jennings, while the younger sister was coyly dallying under the attentions of his brother hussar, – less, be it remembered, with any direct intention of surrender, than with the faint hope that Cashel, perceiving the siege, should think fit to rescue the fortress; “Aunt Fanny” hovering near, as “an army of observation,” and ready, like the Prussians in the last war, to take part with the victorious side, whichever that might be.

And now, we ask in shame and sorrow, is it not humiliating to think, that of a party of some thirty or more, met together to enjoy in careless freedom the hospitality of a country house, all should have been animated with the same spirit of intrigue, – each bent on his own deep game, and, in some one guise or other of deceitfulness, each following out some scheme of selfish advantage?

Some may say these things are forced and unnatural; that pleasure proclaims a truce in the great war of life, where combatants lay down their weapons, and mix like friends and allies. We fear this is not the case; our own brief experiences would certainly tend to a different conclusion. Less a player than a looker-on in the great game, we have seen, through all the excitements of dissipation, all the fascinating pleasures of the most brilliant circles, the steady onward pursuit of self-interest; and, instead of the occasions of social enjoyment being like the palm-shaded wells in the desert, where men meet to taste the peacefulness of perfect rest, they are rather the arena where, in all the glitter of the most splendid armor, the combatants have come to tilt, with more than life upon the issue.

For this, the beauty wreathes herself in all the winning smiles of loveliness; for this, the courtier puts forth his most captivating address and his most seductive manner; for this, the wit sharpens the keen edge of his fancy, and the statesman matures the deep resolve of his judgment. The diamond coronets that deck the hair and add lustre to the eyes; the war-won medals that glitter on the coat of some hardy veteran; the proud insignia of merit that a sovereign’s favor grants, – all are worn to this end! Each brings to the game whatever he may possess of superiority, for the contest is ever a severe one.

And now to go back to our company. From Lady Janet, intent upon everything which might minister to her own comfort or mortify her neighbor, to the smooth and soft-voiced Downie Meek, – with the kindest of wishes and the coldest of hearts, – they were, we grieve to own it, far more imposing to look at, full dressed at dinner, than to investigate by the searching anatomy that discloses the vices and foibles of humanity; and it is, therefore, with less regret we turn from the great house, in all the pomp of its splendor, to the humble cottage where Mr. Corrigan dwelt with his granddaughter.

In wide contrast to the magnificence and profusion of the costly household, where each seemed bent on giving way to every caprice that extravagance could suggest, was the simple quietude of that unpretending family. The efforts by which Corrigan had overcome his difficulties not only cost him all the little capital he possessed in the world, but had also necessitated a mode of living more restricted than he had ever known before. The little luxuries that his station, as well as his age and long use, had made necessaries, the refinements that adorn even the very simplest lives, had all to be, one by one, surrendered. Some of these he gave up manfully, others cost him deeply; and when the day came that he had to take leave of his old gray pony, the faithful companion of so many a lonely ramble, the creature he had reared and petted like a dog, the struggle was almost too much for him.

He walked along beside the man who led the beast to the gate, telling him to be sure and seek out some one who would treat her kindly. “Some there are would do so for my sake; but she deserves it better for her own. – Yes, Nora, I ‘m speaking of you,” said he, caressing her, as she laid her nose over his arm. “I’m sure I never thought we’d have to part.”

“She’s good as goold this minit,” said the man; “an’ it’ll go hard but ‘ll get six pounds for her, any way.”

“Tell whoever buys her that Mr. Corrigan will give him a crown-piece every Christmas-day that he sees her looking well and in good heart. To be sure, it’s no great bribe, we’re both so old,” said he, smiling; “but my blessing goes with the man that’s a friend to her.” He sat down as he said this, and held his hand over his face till she was gone. “God forgive me, if I set my heart too much on such things, but it’s like parting with an old friend. Poor Mary’s harp must go next. But here comes Tiernay. Well, doctor, what news?”

The doctor shook his head twice or thrice despondingly, but said nothing; at last, he muttered, in a grumbling voice, —

“I was twice at the Hall, but there’s no seeing Cashel himself; an insolent puppy of a valet turned away contemptuously as I asked for him, and said, —

“Mr. Linton, perhaps, might hear what you have to say.’”

“Is Kennyfeck to be found?”

“Yes, I saw him for a few minutes; but he’s like the rest of them. The old fool fancies he ‘s a man of fashion here, and told me he had left ‘the attorney’ behind, in Merrion Square. He half confessed to me, however, what I feared. Cashel has either given a promise to give this farm of yours to Linton – ”

“Well, the new landlord will not be less kind than the old one.”

“You think so,” said Tiernay, sternly. “Is your knowledge of life no better than this? Have you lived till now without being able to read that man? Come, come, Corrigan, don’t treat this as a prejudice of mine; I have watched him closely, and he sees it. I tell you again, the fellow is a villain.”

“Ay, ay,” said Corrigan, laughing; “your doctor’s craft has made you always on the look-out for some hidden mischief.”

“My doctor’s craft has taught me to know that symptoms are never without a meaning. But enough of him. The question is simply this: we have, then, merely to propose to Cashel the purchase of your interest in the cottage, on which you will cede the possession.”

“Yes; and give up, besides, all claim at law; for you know we are supported by the highest opinions.”

“Pooh! nonsense, man; don’t embarrass the case by a pretension they ‘re sure to sneer at. The cottage and the little fields behind it are tangible and palpable; don’t weaken your case by a plea you could not press.”

“Have your own way, then,” said the old man, mildly.

“It is an annuity, you say, you ‘d wish?”

“On Mary’s life, not on mine, doctor.”

“It will be a poor thing,” said Tiernay, with a sigh.

“They say we could live in some of the towns in Flanders very cheaply,” said Corrigan, cheerfully.

“You don’t know how to live cheaply,” rejoined Tiernay, crankily. “You think, if you don’t see a man in black behind your chair, and that you eat off delf instead of silver, that you are a miracle of simplicity. I saw you last Sunday put by the decanter with half a glass of sherry at the bottom of it, and you were as proud of your thrift as if you had reformed your whole household.”