Sir Jasper Carew: His Life and Experience. Lever Charles James

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ were considerable, and penetrated every class of society, from the high world of Dublin down to the lowest resorts of the rabble. The needy gentleman, hard pressed for resources, found his dealings with the Grinder wonderfully facilitated by any little communication of backstairs doings at the Castle, or the secrets of the chief secretary’s office; while the humble ballad-singer of the streets, or the ragged newsman, were equally certain of a “tester,” could they only supply some passing incident that bore upon the relations of party.

      If not one of the most brilliant, certainly one of the most assiduous of Fagan’s emissaries was a certain Samuel Cotterell, – a man who held the high and responsible dignity of state trumpeter in the Irish Court. He was a large, fine-looking, though somewhat over-corpulent, personage, with a most imposing dignity of air, and a calm self-possession of manner that well became his functions. Perhaps this was natural to him; but some of it may well be attributed to his sense of the dignity of one who only appeared in public on the very greatest occasions, and was himself the herald of a splendid ceremonial.

      From long association with the Viceregal Court, he had grown to believe himself a part, and by no means an insignificant part, of the Government, and spoke of himself as of one mysteriously but intimately mixed up in all the acts of the State. The pretentious absurdity, the overweening vanity of the man, which afforded so much amusement to others, gave no pleasure to Fagan, – they rather vexed and irritated him; but these were feelings that he cautiously concealed, for he well knew the touchy and irritable nature of the man, and that whatever little information could be derived from him was only come-at-able by indulging his vein of self-esteem.

      It had been for years his custom to pay a visit to Fagan on the eve of any great solemnity, and he was snugly installed in the little bow-window on the evening of the 26th May, with a goodly array of glasses and a very formidable square decanter of whiskey on a table in front of him. Fagan, who never could trust to the indiscreet propensity of Polly to “quizz” his distinguished friend, had sent her to spend the day in the country with some acquaintances; Raper was deep in a difficult passage of Richter, in his own chamber; so that the Grinder was free to communicate with the great official unmolested and undisturbed.

      Most men carry into private life some little trait or habit of their professional career. The lawyer is apt to be pert, interrogative, and dictatorial; the doctor generally distils the tiresomeness of the patient in his own conversation; the soldier is proverbially pipeclay; and so perhaps we may forgive our friend Cotterell if his voice, in speaking, seemed to emulate the proud notes of his favorite instrument, while his utterance came in short, broken, abrupt bursts, – faint, but faithful, imitations of his brazen performances in public. He was naturally not given to talking, so that it is more than probable the habit of staccato was in itself a great relief to him.

      I will not pretend to say that Fagan’s patience was not sorely tried as well by the matter as the manner of his friend. His pursuit of politics was, indeed, under the greatest of difficulties; but he labored on, and, like some patient gold-seeker, was satisfied to wash the sand for hours, rewarded with even a few grains of the precious metal at the end of his toil.

      “Help yourself, Sam. That’s the poteen, – this, here, is Kinahan,” said the Grinder, who well knew that until the finish of the third tumbler, Mr. Cotterell’s oracle gave no sound. “Help yourself, and remember you ‘ll have a fatiguing day to-morrow!”

      “A great day, – say rather a great day for Ireland,” tolled out the trumpeter.

      “That’s to be seen,” replied Fagan, caustically. “I have witnessed a good many of those great days for Ireland, but I ‘d be sorely puzzled to say what has come of them.”

      “There are three great days for Ireland every year. There’s the opening, one; the King’s, two; St. Patrick’s, three – ”

      “I know all that,” muttered Tony, discontentedly.

      “St. Patrick’s, three; and a collar day!” repeated Sam, solemnly.

      “Collars, and curs to wear them,” growled out Tony, under his breath.

      “Ay, a collar day!” and he raised his eyes with a half devotional expression at these imposing words.

      “The Duke will open Parliament in person?” asked Fagan, as a kind of suggestive hint, which chanced to turn the talk.

      “So we mean, sir, – we have always done so. Procession to form in the Upper Castle Yard at twelve; battle-axes in full dress; Ulster in his tabard!”

      “Yes, yes; I have seen it over and over again,” sighed Fagan, wearily.

      “Sounds of trumpet in the court – flourish!”

      “Flourish, indeed!” sighed Tony; “it’s the only thing does flourish in poor Ireland. Tell me, Sam, has the Court been brilliant lately?”

      “We gave two dinners last week – plain dress – bags and swords!”

      “And who were the company?”

      “Loftus, Lodge, and Morris, Skeffington, Langrishe, and others – Boyle Roche, the Usher-in-waiting. On Friday, we had Rowley, Charlemont – ”

      “Lord Charlemont, – did he dine with the Viceroy on Friday last?”

      “Yes, sir; and it was the first time we have asked him since the Mutiny Bill!”

      “This is indeed strange, Sam; I scarcely thought he was on such terms with the Court!”

      “We forgive and forget, sir, – we forgive and forget,” said Sam, waving his hand with dignity.

      “There was young Carew also.”

      “Walter Carew, the member for Wicklow?”

      “The same – took in Lady Charlotte Carteret – sat next to her Grace, and spoken to frequently – French wife – much noticed!”

      “Is he one of the new converts, then?” asked Fagan, slowly; “is he about to change the color of his coat?”

      “A deep claret, with diamond buttons, jabot, and ruffles, Mechlin lace – ”

      “And the Duke, you say, spoke much with him?”

      “Repeatedly.”

      “They talked of politics?”

      “We talked of everything.”

      “And in terms of agreement too?”

      “Not about artichokes. Carew likes them in oil, – we always prefer butter.”

      “That is a most important difference of opinion,” said Tony, with a sneer.

      “We thought nothing of it,” said the other, with an air of dignity; “for shortly after, we accepted an invitation to go down to Castle Carew for a week.”

      “To spend a week at Castle Carew?”

      “A half state visit.”

      “With all the tagrag and bobtail of a Court, – the lazy drones of pageantry, the men of painted coats and patched characters, the women painted too, but beyond the art of patching for a reputation.”

      “No, in half state,” replied Cotterell, calmly, and not either heeding or attending to this passionate outburst, – СКАЧАТЬ