CHAPTER XXXIV. A GLANCE AT PUBLIC OPINION IN THE YEAR 1800.
Among the arrangements for the departure of the family from the abbey,all of which were confided to Bagenal Daly, was one which he pressedwith a more than ordinary zeal and anxiety; this was, that they shouldset out at a very early hour of the morning,--at dawn of day, ifpossible. Lady Eleanor's habits made such a plan objectionable, andit was only by representing the great sacrifice of feeling a laterdeparture would exact, when crowds of country people would assemble totake their farewells of them forever, that she consented. While Dalydepicted the unnecessary sorrow to which they would expose themselves bythe sight of their old and attached tenantry, he strenuously preservedsilence on the real reason which actuated him, and to explain which abrief glance at the state of public feeling at the period is necessary.
To such a pitch of acrimony and animosity were parties borne by theagitation which preceded the carrying of the "Union," that all previouscharacter and conduct of those who voted on the question were deemed asnothing in comparison with the line they adopted on the one absorbingsubject. If none who advocated the Ministerial plan escaped the foulestanimadversions, all who espoused the opposite side were exalted to thedignity of patriots; argument and reason went for little, principle forstill less: a vote was deemed the touchstone of honesty. Such rash andhasty judgments suited the temper of the times, and, it may be said inextenuation, were not altogether without some show of reason. Each dayrevealed some desertion from the popular party of men who, up to thatmoment, had rejected all the seductions of the Crown; country gentlemen,hitherto supposed inaccessible to all the temptations of bribery, werefound suddenly addressing speculative letters to their constituencies,wherein they ingeniously discussed all the contingencies of a measurethey had once opposed without qualification. Noblemen of high rank andfortune were seen to pay long visits at the Castle, and, by a strangefatality, were found to have modified their opinions exactly at theperiod selected by the Crown to bestow on them designations of honor orsituations of trust and dignity. Lawyers in high practice at the bar,men esteemed by their profession, and held in honor by the public,were seen to abandon their position of proud independence, and acceptGovernment appointments, in many cases inferior both in profit and rankto what they had surrendered.
There seemed a kind of panic abroad. Men feared to walk without theprotective mantle of the Crown being extended over them; the barriers ofshame were broken down by the extent to which corruption had spread.The examples of infamy were many, and several were reconciled to theignominy of their degradation by their associates in disgrace. That insuch general corruption the judgments of the public should have beenequally wholesale, is little to be wondered at; the regret is ratherthat they were so rarely unjust and ill-bestowed.
Public confidence was utterly uprooted; there was a national bankruptcyof honor, and none were trusted; all the guarantees for high principleand rectitude a lifetime had given, all the hostages to good faith yearsof unimpeached honor bestowed, were forgotten in a moment, and such asopposed the Government measure with less of acrimony or activity thantheir neighbors, were set down "as waiting for or soliciting the briberyof the Crown."
To this indiscriminating censure the Knight of Gwynne was a victim. Itmay be remarked that in times of popular excitement, when passions arerife and the rude enthusiasm of the mass has beaten down the more calmlyweighed opinion of the few, that there is a strange pleasure felt in thedetection of any real or supposed lapse of one once esteemed. It werewell if this malignant delight were limited to the mere mob, but it isnot so; men of education and position are not exempt from its taint.It would seem as if society were so thoroughly disorganized that everyfeeling was perverted, and all the esteem for what is good and great haddegenerated into a general cry of exultation over each new instance oftarnished honor.
Accustomed as we now are to the most free and unfettered criticismsof all public men and their acts, it would yet astonish any one notconversant with that period, to look back to the newspapers of the time,and see the amount of violence and personality with which every manobnoxious to a party was visited; coarse invective stood in the placeof argument, a species of low humor had replaced the light brilliancyof wit. The public mind, fed on grosser materials, had lost all appetitefor the piquancy of more highly flavored food, and the purveyors werenot sorry to find a market for a commodity which cost them so littleto procure. In this spirit was it that one of the most popular of theOpposition journals announced for the amusement of its readers a seriesof sketches under the title of "The Gallery of Traitors,"--a supposedcollection of portraits to be painted for the Viceroy, and destined todecorate one of the chambers of the Castle.
Not satisfied with aspersing the reputation, and mistaking the views ofany who sided with the Minister, the attack went further, and actuallyascribed the casualties which occurred to such persons or their familiesas instances of divine vengeance. In this diabolical temper the Knightof Gwynne was held up to reprobation; it was a bold thought to ventureon calumniating a man every action of whose life had placed him aboveeven slander, but its boldness was the warranty of success. The wholestory of his arrival in Dublin, his dinner with the Secretary, hisintimacy with Heffernan, was related circumstantially. The night onwhich Heffernan entrapped him by the trick already mentioned, was quotedas the eventful moment of his change. Then came the history of hisappearance in the House on the evening of the second reading: hishesitation to enter, his doubts and waverings were all described, endingwith a minute detail of his compact with Lord Castlereagh, by whichhis voting was dispensed with, and his absence from the division deemedenough.
Gleeson's flight and its consequences were soon known. The ruin ofDarcy's large fortune was a circumstance not likely to lose by publicdiscussion, particularly when the daily columns of a newspaper devoteda considerable space to the most minute details of that catastrophe. Itwas asserted that the Knight had sold himself for a Marqui-sate and aseat in the English peerage; that his vote was deemed so great a prizeby the Minister that he might have made even higher terms, but in theconfidence of possessing a large fortune he had only bargained for rank,and rejected every offer of mere emolument; and now came the dreadfulretribution on his treachery, the downfall of his fortune by the villanyof his agent. To assume a title when the very expense of the patentcould not be borne, was an absurdity, and this explained why MauriceDarcy remained ungazetted. Such was the plausible calumny generallycirculated, and, alas for the sake of charity! scarcely less generallybelieved.
There are epidemics of credulity as of infidelity, and such a plagueraged at this period. Anything was believed, were it only bad enough.While men, therefore, went about deploring, with all the sanctity ofself-esteem, the fall of Maurice Darcy, public favor, by one of thosecaprices all its own, adopted the cause of his colleague, HickmanO'Reilly. His noble refusal of every offer (and what a catalogue ofseductions did they not enumerate!) was given in the largest type.They recounted, with all the eloquence of their calling, the glitteringcoronets rejected, the places of honor and profit declined, thedignities proffered in vain, preferring as he did the untitled rank ofa country gentleman, and the unpurchasable station of a true friend toIreland.
He was eulogized in capital letters, and canonized among the martyrsof patriotism; public orators belabored him with praises, andballad-singers chanted his virtues through the streets. Nor was thisturn of feeling a thing to be neglected by one so shrewd in worldlymatters. His sudden accession to increased fortune and the positionattendant on it, would, he well knew, draw down upon him many a sneerupon his origin, and some unpleasant allusions to the means by which thewealth was amassed. To anticipate such an ungrateful inquiry, he seizedthe lucky accident of his popularity, and turned it to the best account.
Whole "leaders" were devoted to the laudation of his character: theprovincial journals, less scrupulous than the metropolitan, boldlyasserted their knowledge of the various bribes tendered to him, andthrew out dark hints of c
ertain disclosures which, although atpresent refrained from out of motives of delicacy, should Mr. O'Reillyultimately be persuaded to make, the public would be horrified at theextent to which corruption had been carried.
The O'Reilly liveries, hitherto a modest snuff color, were now changedto an emerald green; an Irish motto ornamented the garter of the familycrest; while the very first act of his return to the West was a splendiddonation to the chapel of Ballyraggan, or, as it was subsequently andmore politely named, the Church of St. Barnabas of Treves: all measuresdictated by a high-spirited independence, and a mind above the vulgarbigotry of party.
Had O'Reilly stopped here; had he contented himself with the preliminaryarrangements for being a patriot, it is probable that Bagenal Daly hadnever noticed them, or done so merely with some passing sarcasm; butthe fact was otherwise. Daly discovered, in the course of his journeywestward, that the rumors of the Knight's betrayal of his party weregenerally disseminated in exact proportion with the new-born popularityof O'Reilly; that the very town of Westport, where Darcy's name was onceadored, was actually placarded with insulting notices of the Knight'sconduct, and scandalous aspersions on his character: jeering allusionsto his altered fortunes were sung in the villages as he passed along,and it was plain that the whole current of popular opinion had setstrong against him.
To spare his friend Darcy a mortification which Daly well knew would beone of the greatest to his feelings, the early departure was planned anddecided on. It must not be inferred that because the Knight would havefelt deeply the unjust censure of the masses, he was a man to care orbend beneath the angry menace of a mob; far from it. The ingratitudetowards himself would have called forth the least of his regrets; it wasrather a heartfelt sorrow at the hopeless ignorance and degradationof those who could be so easily deceived,--at that populace whosefickleness preferred the tinsel and trappings of patriotism to the actsand opinions of one they had known and respected for years.
Long before day broke, Daly was stirring and busied with all thepreparations of the journey; the travelling carriage, covered with itsvarious boxes and imperials, stood before the door in the courtyard;the horses were harnessed and bridled in the stables; everything wasin readiness for a start; and yet, save himself and the stablemen, allwithin the abbey seemed buried in slumber.
Although it was scarcely more than five o'clock, Daly's impatience atthe continued quietude around him began to manifest itself; he walkedhastily to and fro, endeavoring to occupy his thoughts by a hundredlittle details, till at last he found himself returning to the sameplaces and with the self-same objects again and again, while he mutteredbroken sentences of angry comments on people who could sleep so soundlyat such a time.
It was in one of those fretful moods he had approached the littleflower-garden of the sub-prior's house, when the twinkling of a lightattracted him: it came from the window of Lady Eleanor's favoritedrawing-room, and glittered like a star in the gloom of the morning.Curious to see who was stirring in that part of the house, he drew near,and, opening the wicket, noiselessly approached the window. He therebeheld Lady Eleanor, who, supported by Helen's arm, moved slowly alongthe room, stopping at intervals, and again proceeding; she seemed to betaking a last farewell of the various well-known objects endeared to herby years of companionship; her handkerchief was often raised to her eyesas she went, but neither uttered a syllable. Ashamed to have obtrudedeven thus upon a scene of private sorrow, Daly turned back again to thecourtyard, where now the loud voice of the Knight was heard giving hisorders to the servants.
The first greetings over, the Knight took Daly's arm and walked besidehim.
"I have been thinking over the matter in the night, Bagenal," said he,"and am convinced it were far better that you should remain withLionel; we can easily make our journey alone,--the road is open, andno difficulty in following it; but that poor boy will need advice andcounsel. You will probably receive letters from Dublin by the post, withsome instructions how to act; in any case my heart fails me at leavingLionel to himself."
"I 'll remain, then," replied Daly; "I'll see you the first stage out ofWestport, and then return here. It is, perhaps, better as you say."
"There is another point," said Darcy, after a pause, and with evidenthesitation in his manner; "it is perfectly impossible for me to walkthrough this labyrinth without your guidance, Bagenal,--I have neitherhead nor heart for it,--you must be the pilot, and if you quit the helmfor a moment--"
"Trust me, Maurice, I'll not do it," said Daly, grasping his hand with afirm grip.
"I know that well," said the Knight, as his voice trembled withagitation; "I never doubted the will, Bagenal, it was the power only Isuspected. I see you will not understand me. Confound it! why should oldfriends, such as we are, keep beating about the bush, or fencing like apair of diplomatists? I wanted to speak to you about that bond of yours:there is something like seven thousand pounds lying to my creditat Henshaw's; take what is necessary, and get rid of that scoundrelHickman's claim. If they should arrest you--"
"I wish he had done so yesterday,--my infernal temper, that never willlet matters take due course, stopped the fellow; you can't see why, butI'll tell you. I paid the money to Hickman's law-agent, in Dublin, themorning I started from town, and they had not time to stop the executionof the writ down here. Yes, Darcy, there was one drop more in the stoup,and I drained it! The last few acres I possessed in the world, the oldestate of Hardress Daly, is now in the ownership of one Samuel Kerney,grocer of Bride Street. I paid off Hickman, however, and found somethinglike one hundred and twenty-eight pounds afterwards in my pocket--butlet us talk of something else: you must not yield to these peoplewithout a struggle; Bicknell says there are abundant grounds for a trialat bar in the affair. If collusion between Hickman and Gleeson shouldbe proved, that many of the leases were granted with false signaturesannexed--"
"I 'll do whatever men of credit and character counsel me," said theKnight; "if there be any question of right, I 'll neither compromise norsurrender it: I can promise no more. But here comes Lionel,--to announcebreakfast, perhaps."
And so it was; the young man came towards them with an easy smile,presenting a hand to each. If sorrow had sunk deeply into his heart, fewtraces of grief were apparent in his manly, handsome countenance.
Notwithstanding the efforts of the party, the breakfast did not passover as lightly as the dinner of the previous day; the eventful momentof parting was now too near not to exclude every other subject, and evenwhen by an exertion some allusion to a different topic would be made, achance question, the entrance of a servant for orders, or the tramp ofhorses in the courtyard, would suddenly bring back the errant thoughts,and place the sad reality in all its force before them.
Breakfast was over, and yet no one stirred; a heavy, dreary reveryseemed to have settled on all except Daly,--and he, from delicacy,restrained the impatience that was working within him. In vain he soughtto catch Darcy's eye, and then Lionel's,--both were bent downward. LadyEleanor at last looked up, and at once seemed to read what was passingin his mind.
"I am ready," said she, in a low, gentle voice, "and I see Mr. Daly isnot sorry at it. Helen, dearest, fetch me my gloves."
She arose, and the others with her. The calmness in which she spoke onthe theme that none dared approach, seemed also to electrify them,when suddenly a low sob was heard, and the mother fell, in a burst ofanguish, into the arms of her son.
"Eleanor, my dearest Eleanor!" said Darcy, as his pale cheek shook andhis lip trembled. As if recalled to herself by the words, she raised herhead, and, with a smile of deep-meaning sorrow, said,--
"It's the first tear I have yet shed; it shall be the last." Then,taking Daly's arm, she walked steadily forward.
"I have often wondered," said she, "at the prayer of a condemned felonfor a few hours longer of life; but I can understand it now. I feel asif I could give life itself for another day within these walls, whereoften I have pined with _ennui_. You will watch over Lionel for me, Mr.Daly. When
the world went fairly with us, calamities came softened,--asthe summer rain falls lighter in sunshine; but now, now that we havelost so much, we cannot afford more."
Daly's stern features grew sterner and darker; his lips were compressedmore firmly; he tried to say a few words, but a low, indistinctmuttering was all that came.
The next moment the carriage door was closed on the party--they weregone.
Lionel stood gazing after them till they disappeared, and then, with aslow step, re-entered the abbey.