CHAPTER XXXII.
PREPARATIONS FOR GOING.
At the end of the month, Herbert began to prepare himself for facingthe world. The first question to be answered was that one which isso frequently asked in most families, but which had never yet beennecessary in this--What profession would he follow? All manners ofways by which an educated man can earn his bread had been turned overin his mind, and in the minds of those who loved him, beginning withthe revenues of the Archbishop of Armagh, which was Aunt Letty'sidea, and ending with a seat at a government desk, which was his own.Mr. Prendergast had counselled the law; not his own lower branch ofthe profession, but a barrister's full-blown wig, adding, in hisletter to Lady Fitzgerald, that if Herbert would come to London, andsettle in chambers, he, Mr. Prendergast, would see that his lifewas made agreeable to him. But Mr. Somers gave other advice. Inthose days Assistant Poor-Law Commissioners were being appointed inIreland, almost by the score, and Mr. Somers declared that Herberthad only to signify his wish for such a position, and he would getit. The interest which he had taken in the welfare of the poor aroundhim was well known, and as his own story was well known also, therecould be no doubt that the government would be willing to assist oneso circumstanced, and who when assisted would make himself so useful.Such was the advice of Mr. Somers; and he might have been right butfor this, that both Herbert and Lady Fitzgerald felt that it wouldbe well for them to move out of that neighbourhood,--out of Irelandaltogether, if such could be possible.
Aunt Letty was strong for the Church. A young man who haddistinguished himself at the University so signally as her nephewhad done, taking his degree at the very first attempt, and that inso high a class of honour as the fourth, would not fail to succeedin the Church. He might not perhaps succeed as to Armagh; that sheadmitted, but there were some thirty other bishoprics to be had, andit would be odd if, with his talents, he did not get one of them.Think what it would be if he were to return to his own country asBishop of Cork, Cloyne, and Ross, as to which amalgamation of sees,however, Aunt Letty had her own ideas. He was slightly tainted withthe venom of Puseyism, Aunt Letty said to herself; but nothingwould dispel this with so much certainty as the theological studiesnecessary for ordination. And then Aunt Letty talked it over by thehour together with Mrs. Townsend, and both those ladies were agreedthat Herbert should get himself ordained as quickly as possible;--notin England, where there might be danger even in ordination, butin good, wholesome, Protestant Ireland, where a Church of Englandclergyman was a clergyman of the Church of England, and not a priest,slipping about in the mud half way between England and Rome.
Herbert himself was anxious to get some employment by which he mightimmediately earn his bread, but not unnaturally wished that Londonshould be the scene of his work. Anywhere in Ireland he would beknown as the Fitzgerald who ought to have been Fitzgerald of CastleRichmond. And then too, he, as other young men, had an undefinedidea, that as he must earn his bread London should be his ground.He had at first been not ill inclined to that Church project, andhad thus given a sort of ground on which Aunt Letty was able tostand,--had, as it were, given her some authority for carrying on anagitation in furtherance of her own views; but Herbert himself soongave up this idea. A man, he thought, to be a clergyman should havea very strong predilection in favour of that profession; and so hegradually abandoned that idea,--actuated, as poor Aunt Letty feared,by the agency of the evil one, working through the means of Puseyism.
His mother and sisters were in favour of Mr. Prendergast's views, andas it was gradually found by them all that there would not be anyimmediate pressure as regarded pecuniary means, that seemed at lastto be their decision. Herbert would remain yet for three or fourweeks at Castle Richmond, till matters there were somewhat morethoroughly settled, and would then put himself into the hands of Mr.Prendergast in London. Mr. Prendergast would select a legal tutorfor him, and proper legal chambers; and then not long afterwards hismother and sisters should follow, and they would live together atsome small villa residence near St. John's Wood Road, or perhaps outat Brompton.
It is astonishing how quickly in this world of ours chaos will settleitself into decent and graceful order, when it is properly lookedin the face, and handled with a steady hand which is not sparing ofthe broom. Some three months since, everything at Castle Richmondwas ruin; such ruin, indeed, that the very power of living under itseemed to be doubtful. When first Mr. Prendergast arrived there, afeeling came upon them all as though they might hardly dare to livein a world which would look at them as so thoroughly degraded. Asregards means, they would be beggars! and as regards position, somuch worse than beggars! A broken world was in truth falling abouttheir ears, and it was felt to be impossible that they should endureits convulsions and yet live.
But now the world had fallen, the ruin had come, and they werealready strong in future hopes. They had dared to look at theirchaos, and found that it still contained the elements of order.There was much still that marred their happiness, and forbade thejoyousness of other days. Their poor father had gone from them intheir misery, and the house was still a house of mourning; and theirmother too, though she bore up so wonderfully against her fate, andfor their sakes hoped and planned and listened to their wishes, was astricken woman. That she would never smile again with any heartfeltjoy they were all sure. But, nevertheless, their chaos was conquered,and there was hope that the fields of life would again showthemselves green and fruitful.
On one subject their mother never spoke to them, nor had even Herbertdared to speak to her: not a word had been said in that house sinceMr. Prendergast left it as to the future whereabouts or future doingsof that man to whom she had once given her hand at the altar. Butshe had ventured to ask by letter a question of Mr. Prendergast. Herquestion had been this: What must I do that he may not come to me orto my children? In answer to this Mr. Prendergast had told her, aftersome delay, that he believed she need fear nothing. He had seen theman, and he thought that he might assure her that she would not betroubled in that respect.
"It is possible," said Mr. Prendergast, "that he may apply to you byletter for money. If so, give him no answer whatever, but send hisletters to me."
"And are you all going?" asked Mrs. Townsend of Aunt Letty, with alachrymose voice soon after the fate of the family was decided.They were sitting together with their knees over the fire in Mrs.Townsend's dining-parlour, in which the perilous state of the countryhad been discussed by them for many a pleasant hour together.
"Well, I think we shall; you see, my sister would never be happyhere."
"No, no; the shock and the change would be too great for her. PoorLady Fitzgerald! And when is that man coming into the house?"
"What, Owen?"
"Yes! Sir Owen I suppose he is now."
"Well, I don't know; he does not seem to be in any hurry. I believethat he has said that my sister may continue to live there if shepleases. But of course she cannot do that."
"They do say about the country," whispered Mrs. Townsend, "that herefuses to be the heir at all. He certainly has not had any cardsprinted with the title on them--I know that as a fact."
"He is a very singular man, very. You know I never could bear him,"said Aunt Letty.
"No, nor I either. He has not been to our church once these sixmonths. But it's very odd, isn't it? Of course you know the story?"
"What story?" asked Aunt Letty.
"About Lady Clara. Owen Fitzgerald was dreadfully in love with herbefore your Herbert had ever seen her. And they do say that he hassworn his cousin shall never live if he marries her."
"They can never marry now, you know. Only think of it. There would bethree hundred a year between them.--Not at present, that is," addedAunt Letty, looking forward to a future period after her own death.
"That is very little, very little indeed," said Mrs. Townsend,remembering, however, that she herself had married on less. "But,Miss Fitzgerald, if Herbert does not marry her do you think this Owenwill?"
"I don't think s
he'd have him. I am quite sure she would not."
"Not when he has all the property, and the title too?"
"No, nor double as much. What would people say of her if she did?But, however, there is no fear, for she declares that nothing shallinduce her to give up her engagement with our Herbert."
And so they discussed it backward and forward in every way, eachhaving her own theory as to that singular rumour which was goingabout the country, signifying that Owen had declined to accept thetitle. Aunt Letty, however, would not believe that any good couldcome from so polluted a source, and declared that he had his ownreasons for the delay. "It's not for any love of us," she said, "ifhe refuses to take either that or the estate." And in this she wasright. But she would have been more surprised still had she learnedthat Owen's forbearance arose from a strong anxiety to do what wasjust in the matter.
"And so Herbert won't go into the Church?"
And Letty shook her head sorrowing.
"Aeneas would have been so glad to have taken him for a twelvemonth'sreading," said Mrs. Townsend. "He could have come here, you know,when you went away, and been ordained at Cork, and got a curacy closein the neighbourhood, where he was known. It would have been so nice;wouldn't it?"
Aunt Letty would not exactly have advised the scheme as suggested byMrs. Townsend. Her ideas as to Herbert's clerical studies would havebeen higher than this. Trinity College, Dublin, was in her estimationthe only place left for good Church of England ecclesiasticalteaching. But as Herbert was obstinately bent on declining sacerdotallife, there was no use in dispelling Mrs. Townsend's bright vision.
"It's all of no use," she said; "he is determined to go to the bar."
"The bar is very respectable," said Mrs. Townsend, kindly.
"And you mean to go with them, too?" said Mrs. Townsend, afteranother pause. "You'll hardly be happy, I'm thinking, so far awayfrom your old home."
"It is sad to change at my time of life," said Aunt Letty,plaintively. "I'm sixty-two now."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Townsend, who, however, knew her age to a day.
"Sixty-two if I live another week, and I have never yet had any homebut Castle Richmond. There I was born, and till the other day Ihad every reason to trust that there I might die. But what does itmatter?"
"No, that's true of course; what does it matter where we are while welinger in this vale of tears? But couldn't you get a little place foryourself somewhere near here? There's Callaghan's cottage, with thetwo-acre piece for a cow, and as nice a spot of a garden as there isin the county Cork."
"I wouldn't separate myself from her now," said Aunt Letty, "forall the cottages and all the gardens in Ireland. The Lord has beenpleased to throw us together, and together we will finish ourpilgrimage. Whither she goes, I will go, and where she lodges, I willlodge; her people shall be my people, and her God my God." And thenMrs. Townsend said nothing further of Callaghan's pretty cottage, orof the two-acre piece.
But one reason for her going Aunt Letty did not give, even to herfriend Mrs. Townsend. Her income, that which belonged exclusivelyto herself, was in no way affected by these sad Castle Richmondrevolutions. This was a comfortable,--we may say a generous provisionfor an old maiden lady, amounting to some six hundred a year, settledupon her for life, and this, if added to what could be saved andscraped together, would enable them to live comfortably as far asmeans were concerned, in that suburban villa to which they werelooking forward. But without Aunt Letty's income that suburban villamust be but a poor home. Mr. Prendergast had calculated that somefourteen thousand pounds would represent the remaining property ofthe family, with which it would be necessary to purchase governmentstock. Such being the case, Aunt Letty's income was very material tothem.
"I trust you will be able to find some one there who will preach thegospel to you," said Mrs. Townsend, in a tone that showed how seriouswere her misgivings on the subject.
"I will search for such a one at any rate," said Aunt Letty. "Youneed not be afraid that I shall be a backslider."
"But they have crosses now over the communion tables in the churchesin England," said Mrs. Townsend.
"I know it is very bad," said Aunt Letty. "But there will always be aremnant left. The Lord will not utterly desert us." And then she tookher departure, leaving Mrs. Townsend with the conviction that theland to which her friend was going was one in which the light of thegospel no longer shone in its purity.
It was not wonderful that they should all be anxious to get awayfrom Castle Richmond, for the house there was now not a pleasant onein which to live. Let all those who have houses and the adjunctsof houses think how considerable a part of their life's pleasuresconsists in their interest in the things around them. When will thesea-kale be fit to cut, and when will the crocuses come up? will theviolets be sweeter than ever? and the geranium cuttings, are theythriving? we have dug, and manured, and sown, and we look forward tothe reaping, and to see our garners full. The very furniture whichministers to our daily uses is loved and petted; and in decoratingour rooms we educate ourselves in design. The place in church whichhas been our own for years,--is not that dear to us, and the voicethat has told us of God's tidings--even though the drone becomemore evident as it waxes in years, and though it grows feeble andindolent? And the faces of those who have lived around us, do we notlove them too, the servants who have worked for us, and the childrenwho have first toddled beneath our eyes and prattled in our ears, andnow run their strong races, screaming loudly, splashing us as theypass--very unpleasantly? Do we not love them all? Do they not allcontribute to the great sum of our enjoyment? All men love suchthings, more or less, even though they know it not. And women lovethem even more than men.
And the Fitzgeralds were about to leave them all. The early buds ofspring were now showing themselves, but how was it possible thatthey should look to them? One loves the bud because one expects theflower. The sea-kale now was beyond their notice, and though theyplucked the crocuses, they did so with tears upon their cheeks.After much consideration the church had been abandoned by all exceptAunt Letty and Herbert. That Lady Fitzgerald should go there wasimpossible, and the girls were only too glad to be allowed to staywith their mother. And the schools in which they had taught since thefirst day in which teaching had been possible for them, had to beabandoned with such true pangs of heartfelt sorrow.
From the time when their misery first came upon them, from the dayswhen it first began to be understood that the world had gone wrong atCastle Richmond, this separation from the schools had commenced. Thework had been dropped for a while, but the dropping had in fact beenfinal, and there was nothing further to be done than the saddest ofall leavetaking. The girls had sent word to the children, perhapsimprudently, that they would go down and say a word of adieu to theirpupils. The children had of course told their mothers, and when thegirls reached the two neat buildings which stood at the corner of thepark, there were there to meet them, not unnaturally, a concourse ofwomen and children.
In former prosperous days the people about Castle Richmond had, asa rule, been better to do than their neighbours. Money wages hadbeen more plentiful, and there had been little or no subletting ofland; the children had been somewhat more neatly clothed, and thewomen less haggard in their faces; but this difference was hardlyperceptible any longer. To them, the Miss Fitzgeralds, looking atthe poverty-stricken assemblage, it almost seemed as though themisfortune of their house had brought down its immediate consequenceson all who had lived within their circle; but this was the workof the famine. In those days one could rarely see any member of apeasant's family bearing in his face a look of health. The yellowmeal was a useful food--the most useful, doubtless, which could atthat time be found; but it was not one that was gratifying either tothe eye or palate.
The girls had almost regretted their offer before they had left thehouse. It would have been better, they said to themselves, to havehad the children up in the hall, and there to have spoken theirfarewells, and made their little presents. The very enteri
ng thoseschoolrooms again would almost be too much for them; but thisconsideration was now too late, and when they got to the corner ofthe gate, they found that there was a crowd to receive them. "Mary,I must go back," said Emmeline, when she first saw them; but AuntLetty, who was with them, stepped forward, and they soon foundthemselves in the schoolroom.
"We have come to say good-bye to you all," said Aunt Letty, trying tobegin a speech.
"May the heavens be yer bed then, the lot of yez, for ye war alwaysgood to the poor. May the Blessed Virgin guide and protect yewherever ye be;"--a blessing against which Aunt Letty at once entereda little inward protest, perturbed though she was in spirit. "May theheavens rain glory on yer heads, for ye war always the finest familythat war ever in the county Cork!"
"You know, I dare say, that we are going to leave you," continuedAunt Letty.
"We knows it, we knows it; sorrow come to them as did it all. Faix,an' there'll niver be any good in the counthry, at all at all, whenyou're gone, Miss Emmeline; an' what'll we do at all for the wantof yez, and when shall we see the likes of yez? Eh, Miss Letty, butthere'll be sore eyes weeping for ye; and for her leddyship too; maythe Lord Almighty bless her, and presarve her, and carry her sowlto glory when she dies; for av there war iver a good woman on God's'arth, that woman is Leddy Fitzgerald."
And then Aunt Letty found that there was no necessity for her tocontinue her speech, and indeed no possibility of her doing so evenif she were so minded. The children began to wail and cry, andthe mothers also mixed loud sobbings with their loud prayers; andEmmeline and Mary, dissolved in tears, sat themselves down, drawingto them the youngest bairns and those whom they had loved the best,kissing their sallow, famine-stricken, unwholesome faces, and weepingover them with a love of which hitherto they had been hardlyconscious.
There was not much more in the way of speech possible to any ofthem, for even Aunt Letty was far gone in tender wailing; and itwas wonderful to see the liberties that were taken even with thatvenerable bonnet. The women had first of all taken hold of her handsto kiss them, and had kissed her feet, and her garments, and hershoulders, and then behind her back they had made crosses on her,although they knew how dreadfully she would have raged had she caughtthem polluting her by such doings; and they grasped her arms andembraced them, till at last, those who were more daring, reached herforehead and her face, and poor old Aunt Letty, who in her emotioncould not now utter a syllable, was almost pulled to pieces amongthem.
Mary and Emmeline had altogether surrendered themselves, and werethe centres of clusters of children who hung upon them. And the sobsnow were no longer low and tearful, but they had grown into long,protracted groanings, and loud wailings, and clapping of hands, andtearings of the hair. O, my reader, have you ever seen a railwaytrain taking its departure from an Irish station, with a freightof Irish emigrants? if so, you know how the hair is torn, and howthe hands are clapped, and how the low moanings gradually swellinto notes of loud lamentation. It means nothing, I have heard mensay,--men and women too. But such men and women are wrong. It meansmuch; it means this: that those who are separated, not only love eachother, but are anxious to tell each other that they so love. We haveall heard of demonstrative people. A demonstrative person, I takeit, is he who is desirous of speaking out what is in his heart. Formyself I am inclined to think that such speaking out has its goodends. "The faculty of silence! is it not of all things the mostbeautiful?" That is the doctrine preached by a great latter-dayphilosopher; for myself, I think that the faculty of speech ismuch more beautiful--of speech if it be made but by howlings, andwailings, and loud clappings of the hand. What is in a man, let itcome out and be known to those around him; if it be bad it will findcorrection; if it be good it will spread and be beneficent.
And then one woman made herself audible over the sobs of the crowdingchildren; she was a gaunt, high-boned woman, but she would have beencomely, if not handsome, had not the famine come upon her. She held ababy in her arms, and another little toddling thing had been hangingon her dress till Emmeline had seen it, and plucked it away; and itwas now sitting in her lap quite composed, and sucking a piece ofcake that had been given to it. "An' it's a bad day for us all," saidthe woman, beginning in a low voice, which became louder and louderas she went on; "it's a bad day for us all that takes away from usthe only rale friends that we iver had, and the back of my hand tothem that have come in the way, bringin' sorrow, an' desolation, an'misery on gentlefolks that have been good to the poor since iver thepoor have been in the land; rale gentlefolks, sich as there ain't noothers to be found nowadays in any of these parts. O'hone, o'hone!but it's a bad day for us and for the childer; for where shall wefind the dhrop to comfort us or the bit to ate when the sicknesscomes on us, as it's likely to come now, when the Fitzgeralds is outof the counthry. May the Lord bless them, and keep them, and presarvethem, and the Holy Virgin have them in her keepin'!"
"Wh--i--s--h--h," said Aunt Letty, who could not allow such idolatryto pass by unobserved or unrebuked.
"An' shure the blessin' of a poor woman cannot haram you," continuedthe mother; "an' I'll tell you what, neighbours, it'll be a bad dayfor him that folk call the heir when he puts his foot in that house."
"'Deed an' that's thrue for you, Bridget Magrath," said another voicefrom among the crowd of women.
"A bad day intirely," continued the woman, with the baby; "av thehouse stans over his head when he does the like o' that, there'll beno justice in the heavens."
"But, Mrs. Magrath," said Aunt Letty, trying to interrupt her, "youmust not speak in that way; you are mistaken in supposing that Mr.Owen--"
"We'll all live to see," said the woman; "for the time's comin' quickupon us now. But it's a bad law that kills our ould masther over ourheads, an' takes away from us our ould misthress. An' as for him theycalls Mr. Owen--"
But the ladies found it impossible to listen to her any longer, sowith some difficulty they extricated themselves from the crowd bywhich they were surrounded, and once more shaking hands with thosewho were nearest to them escaped into the park, and made their wayback towards the house.
They had not expected so much demonstration, and were not a littledisconcerted at the scene which had taken place. Aunt Letty had neverbeen so handled in her life, and hardly knew how to make her bonnetsit comfortably on her head; and the two girls were speechless tillthey were half across the park.
"I am glad we have been," said Emmeline at last, as soon as theremains of her emotion would allow her to articulate her words.
"It would have been dreadful to have gone away without seeing them,"said Mary. "Poor creatures, poor dear creatures; we shall never againhave any more people to be fond of us like that!"
"There is no knowing," said Aunt Letty; "the Lord giveth and the Lordtaketh away, and blessed is the name of the Lord. You are both young,and may come back again; but for me--"
"Dear Aunt Letty, if we come back you shall come too."
"If I only thought that my bones could lie here near my brother's.But never mind; what signifies it where our bones lie?" And then theywere silent for a while, till Aunt Letty spoke again. "I mean to bequite happy over in England; I believe I shall be happiest of you allif I can find any clergyman who is not half perverted to idolatry."
This took place some time before the ladies left CastleRichmond,--perhaps as much as three weeks; it was even beforeHerbert's departure, who started for London the day but one after thescene here recorded; he had gone to various places to take his lastfarewell; to see the Townsends at the parsonage; to call on FatherBarney at Kanturk, and had even shaken hands with the Rev. Mr.Creagh, at Gortnaclough. But one farewell visit had been put offfor the last. It was now arranged that he was to go over to DesmondCourt and see Clara before he went. There had been some difficultyin this, for Lady Desmond had at first declared that she could notfeel justified in asking him into her house; but the earl was now athome, and her ladyship had at last given her consent: he was to seethe countess first, and was afterwards to s
ee Clara--alone. He haddeclared that he would not go there unless he were to be allowed aninterview with her in private. The countess, as I have said, at lastconsented, trusting that her previous eloquence might be efficaciousin counteracting the ill effects of her daughter's imprudence. Onthe day after that interview he was to start for London; "never toreturn," as he said to Emmeline, "unless he came to seek his wife."
"But you will come to seek your wife," said Emmeline, stoutly; "Ishall think you faint-hearted if you doubt it."