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Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent, a novel by William Carleton |
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Chapter 24. Raymond's Sense Of Justice |
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_ CHAPTER XXIV. Raymond's Sense of Justice --Voice of the Ideal--Poll Doolin's Remorse--Conversation on Irish Property--Disclosure concerning Mary M'Laughlin
"Take care now--don't harm them." "Them!" replied Poll, "who do you mean by them?" "The M'Loughlins--go and look at Mary, and then ask yourself why you join the divil:--there now, that's one. Who saved me? do you know that, or do you care? Very well, go now and join the divil, if you like, but I know what I'll do some fine night. Here he leaped in a state of perfect exultation from the ground. "Why, what will you do?" said Poll. "You'll not tell to-morrow," replied Raymond, "neither will any one else; but I don't forget poor white-head, nor Mary M'Loughlin." "Well, keep the house like a good boy," she said, "till I come back; and, if anybody should come in, or ask where I am, say that I went up to Jerry Hannigan's for soap and candles." "Ay, but that's not true, because I know you're goin' to join the divil; but, no matter--go there--you'll have his blessin' any how, and it's long since he gave it to you--with his left hand. I wish I wasn't your son--but no matther, no matther." She then peeped out to see that the coast was clear, and finding that all was safe, she turned her steps hurriedly and stealthily, in a direction leading from, instead of to Castle Cumber. When she was gone, Raymond immediately closed and bolted the door, and began as before, to spring up in the air in a most singular and unaccountable manner. The glee, however, which became apparent on his countenance, had an expression of ferocity that was frightful; his eyes gleamed with fire, his nostrils expanded, and a glare of terrible triumph lit up every feature with something of a lurid light. "Ha, ha!" he exclaimed, addressing, as some imaginary individual, an old pillow which he caught up; "I have you at last--now, now, now; ha, you have a throat, have you? I feel it now, now, now! Ay, that will do; hoo, hoo--out with it, out with it; I see the tip of it only, but you must give better measure ay, that's like it. Hee, hee, hee! Oh, there--that same tongue never did you good, nor anybody else good--and what blessed eyes you have! they are comin' out, too, by degrees, as the lawyers goes to Heaven! Now! now! now! ay, where's your strugglin' gone to? It's little you'll make of it in Raymond's iron fingers--Halloo, this is for white-head, and white-head's--poor little white-head's---father, and for poor little white-head's mother, and this--ay, the froth's comin' now, now, now--and this last's for poor Mary M'Loughlin! Eh, ho, ho! There now--settled at last, with your sweet grin upon you, and your tongue out, as if you were makin' fun of me--for a beauty you were, and a beauty you are, and there I lave you!" While uttering these words, he went through with violent gesticulations, the whole course and form of physical action that he deemed necessary to the act of strangling worthy Phil, whose graceful eidolon was receiving at his hands this unpleasant specimen of the pressure from without. He had one knee on the ground, his huge arms moving with muscular energy, as he crushed and compressed the pillow, until the very veins of his forehead stood out nearly black with the force at once of hatred and exertion. Waving thus wrought his vengeance out to his own satisfaction, he once more, in imagination, transformed the pillow into his little white-head, as he loved to call him; and assumed a very different aspect from that which marked the strangulation scene just described. "Come here," said he--taking it up tenderly in his arms--"come here--don't be afeard now; there's nobody that can do you any harm. Ah! my poor white-head--don't! you want your mother to keep up your poor sick head, and to lay your poor pale face against her breast? And your father--you would like to get upon his knee and climb up to kiss him--wouldn't you, white-head? Yes, he says he would--white-head says he would--and tell me, sure I have the cock for you still; and if you want a drink I have-something better than bog wather for you--the sickening bog wather! Oh! the poor-pale face--and the poor sickly eye--up in the cowld mountains, and no one to think about you, or to give you comfort! Whisht now--be good--och, why do I say that, poor white-head--for sure you were always good! Well wait--bog wather--ah, no--but wait here--or come wid me--I won't lay you down, for I love you, my poor white-head; but come, and you must have it. My mother's gone out--and she's not good; but you must have it." He rose, still holding the pillow like a child in his arms, and going over to a cupboard, took from it a jug of milk, and so completely was he borne away by the force of his imagination that he actually poured a portion of the milk upon the pillow. The act seemed for the moment to dispel, the illusion--but only for a moment; the benevolent heart of the poor creature seemed, to take delight in these humane reminiscences; and, almost immediately, he was. proceeding with his simple, but touching little drama. "Well," said he, "that's better than cowld bog wather; how would the rich like to see their sick childre put on cowld wather and cowld pratees? But who cares for the rich, for the rich doesn't care about huz; but no matther, white-head--if you'll only just open your eyes and spake to me, I'll give you the cock." He gave a peculiar call, as he spoke, which was perfectly well known to the bird in question, which immediately flew from the roost, and went up to him; Raymond then gently laid the pillow down, and taking the cock up, put his head under one of his wings, and placed him on the pillow where he lay quietly and as if asleep. For many minutes he kept his eyes fixed upon the objects before him, until the image in his mind growing still stronger, and more distinct, became at last so painful that he, burst into tears. "No," said he, "he will never open his eyes again; he will never look upon any one more: and what will she do when she hasn't his white head before her?" Whilst poor Raymond thus indulged himself in the caprices of a benevolent imagination, his mother was hastening to the house of Mr. Hickman, the former agent of the Castle Cumber property, with the intention of rendering an act of justice to an individual and a family whom she had assisted deeply and cruelly to injure. Whilst she is on the way, however, we will take the liberty of introducing our readers to Mr. Hickman's dining-room, where a small party are assembled; consisting of the host himself, Mr. Easel, the artist, Mr. Harman, and the Rev. Mr. Clement; and as their conversation bears upon the topic of which we write, we trust it may not be considered intruding upon private society to detail a part of it. "Property in this country," said Hickman, "is surrounded by many difficulties--difficulties which unfortunately fall chiefly upon those who cultivate it. In the first place, there is the neglect of the landlord; in the next, the positive oppression of either himself or his agent; in the third, influence of strong party feeling--leaning too heavily on one class, and sparing or indulging the other; and perhaps, what is worse than all, and may be considered the fons et origo malorum, the absence of any principle possessing shape or form, or that can be recognized as a salutary duty on the part of the landlord. This is the great want and the great evil. There should be a distinct principle to guide, to stimulate, and when necessary to restrain him; such a principle as would prevent him from managing his property according to the influence of his passions, his prejudices, or his necessities." "That is very true," said Mr. Clement, "and there is another duty which a landlord owes to those who reside upon his property, but one which unfortunately is not recognized as such; I mean a moral duty. In my opinion a landlord should be an example of moral propriety and moderation to his tenantry, so as that the influence of his conduct might make a salutary impression upon their lives and principles. At present the landed Proprietary of Ireland find in the country no tribunal by which they are to be judged; a fact which gives them the full possession of unlimited authority; and we all know that the absence of responsibility is a great incentive to crime. No man in a free country should be invested with arbitrary power; and yet, it is undeniable that an Irish landlord can exercise it whenever he pleases." "Then what would you do," said Easel; "where is your remedy?" "Let there be protective laws enacted, which will secure the tenant from the oppression and injustice of the landlord. Let him not lie, as he does, at the mercy of his caprices, passions, or prejudices." "In other words," said Harman, "set the wolves to form protective enactments for the sheep. I fear, my good sir, that such a scheme is much too Utopian for any practically beneficial purpose. In the meantime, if it can be done, let it. No legislation, however, will be able, in my mind, to bind so powerful a class as the landlords of Ireland are, unless a strong and sturdy public opinion is created in the country." "But how is this to be done?" asked Easel. "It is to be done by educating the people; by teaching them their proper value in society; by instructing them in their moral and civil duties. Let them not labor under that humiliating and slavish error, that the landlord is everything, and themselves nothing; but let the absurdity be removed, and each party placed upon the basis of just and equal principle." "It is very right," said Hickman, "to educate the people, but who is to educate the landlords?" "A heavy task, I fear," said Easel, "from what I have observed since I came to the country." "The public opinion I speak of will force them into a knowledge of their duties. At present they disregard public opinion, because it is too feeble to influence them; and consequently they feel neither fear nor shame. So long as the landlords and the people come together as opposing or antithetical principles, it is not to be supposed that the country can prosper." "But how will you guide or restrain the landlord in estimating the value of his property?" inquired Mr. Clement. "Here are two brothers, for instance, each possessed of landed property; one is humane and moderate, guided both by good sense and good feeling; this man will not overburthen his tenant by exacting an oppressive rent. The other, however, is precisely the reverse of him, being naturally either rapacious or profligate, or perhaps both; he considers it his duty to take as much out of the soil as he can, without ever thinking of the hardships which he inflicts upon the tenant. Now, how would you remedy this, and prevent the tenant from becoming the victim either of his rapacity or profligacy?" "Simply by taking from him all authority in estimating the value of his own property. "But how?" said Clement, "is not that an invasion of private right?" "No; it is nothing more than a principle which transfers an unsafe privilege to other hands in order to prevent its abuse." "But how would you value the land?" "I am not at this moment about to legislate for it; but I think, however, that it would be by no means difficult to find machinery sufficiently simple and effective for the purpose. I am clearly of opinion that there should, be a maximum value on all land, beyond which, unless for special purposes--such, for instance, as building--no landlord ought to be permitted to go. This would prevent an incredible amount of rack-renting and oppression on the one hand; and of poverty, revenge, and bloodshed on the other. Where is the landlord now who looks to the moral character or industrial habits of a tenant? Scarcely one. On the contrary, whoever bids highest, or bribes highest, is sure to be successful, without any reference to the very qualities which, in a tenant, ought to be considered as of most importance." "I have now," said Easel, "made myself acquainted with the condition and management of the Castle Cumber property; and, truth to tell, I am not surprised at the frightful state of society upon it. M'Clutchy is the type of too numerous a class, and his son is a most consummate scoundrel. Why my--why Lord Cumber should have appointed him to his agency I cannot imagine." "But I can," said Harman; "that which has appointed many a scoundrel like him--necessity on the part of the landlord, and a desire to extend his political influence in the county." "He could not have gone a more successful way about it, however," observed Easel. "If there be one curse," observed Harman, "worse than another on any such property, it is to have for your agent an outrageous partisan--a man who is friendly to one party and inimical to another--a fellow who scruples not to avail himself of his position, for the gratification of party rancor, and who makes the performance of his duties subservient to his prejudices, both religious and political. Think, for instance, of a rancorous No-Popery-man being made agent to an estate where the majority of the tenantry are Catholics." "As is the case on the Castle Cumber estate," said Easel. "And as is the case on too many estates, throughout the country," added Harman; but the truth is, that unless something is done soon to redress the local grievances of the people, there will, I fear, be bad work among us ere long. The tenantry are all ready in a state of tumult; they assemble on Sundays in vindictive-looking and suspicious groups; they whisper together, as if fraught with some secret purposes; and I am also told that they frequently hold nightly meetings to deliberate on what may be done. Between the M'Clutchys and M'Slimes, I must say they have ample cause for discontent." "Everything considered," said Easel, "it is better that we should anticipate them. When I say we, you of course know who I mean; but indeed we shall expect every aid, and it will be welcome, no matter from what quarter it comes." "M'Clutchy and the estate in question are topics on which I wish not to speak," said Hickman; "I do not blame Lord Cumber for dismissing me, Mr. Easel, the fact being--that I dismissed myself; but I most sincerely hope and trust, for the sake of the people, that some change for the better may take place. Good God, sir, how popular your----how popular Lord Cumber might become, and what a blessing to his tenantry and his country he might be in a short time." "I feel that, Mr. Hickman," said Easel, "I feel it now, because I know it. In this instance, too, I trust that knowledge will be power. Lord Cumber, sir, like other Irish Lords, has nothing to detain him in his native country but his own virtue. His absence, however, and the absence of his class in general, is, I fear "--and he smiled as he spoke--a proof that his virtue, as an Irish nobleman, and theirs, is not sufficiently strong to resist the temptations of an English court, and all its frivolous, expensive, and fashionable habits. He has now no duty as an Irish peer to render his residence in Ireland, at least for a considerable portion of the year, a matter of necessity to his class and his country. However, let us not despair--I have reason to think that his brother has nearly succeeded in bringing him to a sense of his duty; and it is not impossible that the aspect of affairs may be soon changed upon his estate." "The sooner, the better, for the sake of the people," said Harman. "By the by, Mr. Clement, are you to be one of the Reverend gladiators in this controversial tournay, which is about to take place in Castle Cumber?" "No," said Mr. Clement; "I look upon such exhibitions as manifestations of fanaticism, or bigotry, and generally of both. They are, in fact, productive of no earthly good, but of much lamentable evil; for instead of inculcating brotherly love, kindness, and charity--they inflame the worst passions of adverse creeds--engender hatred, ill-will, and fill the public mind with those narrow principles which disturb social harmony, and poison our moral feelings in the very fountain of the heart. I believe there is no instance on record of a sincere convert being made by such discussions." "But is there not an extensive system of conversion proceeding, called the New Reformation?" asked Easel. "It appears to me by the papers, that the Roman Catholic population are embracing Protestantism by hundreds." "How little are the true causes of great events known," said Hickman, laughing; "who, for instance, would suppose that the great spiritual principle by which this important movement has been sustained is the failure of the potato crop in the country, where this gracious work is proceeding. One would think, if everything said were true, that there are epidemics in religion as well as in disease; but the truth is, that the knavery or distress of two or three Catholics who were relieved, when in a state of famine, by a benevolent and kind-hearted nobleman, who certainly would encourage neither dishonesty nor imposture, first set this Reformation agoing. The persons I speak of, fearing that his Lordship's benevolence might cease to continue, embraced Protestantism pro forma and pro tempore. This went abroad, and almost immediately all who were in circumstances of similar destitution adopted the same course, and never did man pay more dearly for evangelical truth than did his Lordship. In the forthcoming battle the parsons are to prove to the world that all who belong to Popery must be damned, whilst the priests, on the other hand, broil the parsons until they blaze in their own fat. But, my God, when will charity and common sense prevail over bigotry and brimstone!" At this moment a servant entered to say that Poll Doolin--for she was well known--wished to see Mr. Harman on very particular business. "I can scarcely bear to look on the wretch," said Harman, "but as I Strongly suspect, that she may in some shape be useful to us, I desired her to come here. She called three times upon me, but I could not bring myself to see or speak to' her; she shall be the bearer of no messages to me," he said bitterly, "let her carry them elsewhere; d--n her." He betrayed deep and powerful emotion as he spoke, but, as his allusions were understood, there was--from a respect for his feelings, on the part of his audience--no reply made to his observations. "Since she called first," said Harman, pursuing the train of melancholy thought, "some vague notion, like the shadow of a dream crossed me; but, alas! it is transgressing the bounds of imagination itself even to suppose that it could be true. However, if it were, it is in your presence, sir" he said, addressing himself to Easel, "that I should wish to have it detailed; and, perhaps, after all, this slight, but latent reflection of hope, influenced me in desiring her to come here. Gentlemen, excuse me," said he, covering his face with his hands, "I am very wretched and unhappy--I cannot account for what has occurred; it looks like an impossibility, but it is true. Oh, if he were a man!--but, no, no, you all know how contemptible--what a dastardly scoundrel he is!" "Harman, my dear fellow," said Hickman, "we understand you, we respect your feelings, and we sympathize with you--but, in the meantime, do see and hear this woman." He had scarcely uttered the words when the servant entered, stating that she was at the door. "Let her come in," said Harman; "let the vile wretch come in." "And, do you, John, withdraw," said Hickman. Poll Doolin entered. Her appearance threw Harman into a violent state of agitation; he trembled, got pale, and seemed absolutely sickened by the presence of the wicked wretch who had been the vile instrument of Phil M'Clutchy's success, of Mary M'Loughlin's dishonor, and of his own unhappiness. It was the paleness, however, of indignation, of distress, of misery, of despair. His blood, despite the paleness of his face, absolutely boiled in his veins, and that the more hotly, because he had no object on which he could wreak his vengeance. Poll, who was always cool, and not without considerable powers of observation, at once noticed the tumult of his feelings, and, as if replying to them, said-- "I don't blame you, Mr. Harman, thinkin' as you do; the sight of me is not pleasant to you--and, indeed, you don't hate me more than you ought." "What is your business with me?" said Harman. Poll looked around her for a moment, and replied-- "I'm glad of it, the more the better; Francis Harman," she proceeded, "sit down, and listen to me; yes, listen to me--for I have it in my power to make you a happy man." "Great God! could my dream be true?" said Harman, placing himself in the chair. "Listen to me," she continued. "I listen; be brief--for I am in no humor for either falsehood or imposture." "I never bore you ill-will," she said, "and yet I have--and may God forgive me for it I--scalded the very heart within you." Harman again covered his face with his hands and groaned. "Will it relieve your heart to know that Mary M'Loughlin's an innocent and a slandered girl?" "Prove that," said Harman, starting to his feet, "oh, prove that, Poll, and never whilst I have life shall you want a--but, alas!" he exclaimed, "I am a beggar, and can promise you nothing." "And I'll tell you who beggared you before all is over--but, as I said, listen. It's now fifteen years since Brian M'Loughlin transported my son Dick, for stealin' a horse from him; he was my only son, barrin' poor Raymond, who was then a mere slip. He was a fine young man, but he was wild and wicked, and it was in Squire Deaker's house, and about Squire Deaker's stables, that he picked up his dishonesty and love of horses--he was groom to that ould profligate, who took him into sarvice for a raison he had." "Be as brief as you can," said Harman, "brief--brief." "On the contrary, Mr. Harman," said Clement, "let her, if you will be advised by me, take her own time, and her own way." "Thank you, sir," said Poll, "that's just what I wish. Well, he, M'Loughlin, transported my boy, that my heart was in, and from that minute I swore never to die till I'd revenge that act upon him. Very well--I kept my word. Phil M'Clutchy sent for me, and in his father's presence, we made up a plot to disgrace Miss M'Loughlin. I brought her out two or three times to meet me privately, and it was all on your account, by the way, for I tould her you were in danger; and I so contrived it, that on one or two occasions you should see myself and her together. I made her promise solemnly not to tell that she saw me, or mention what passed between us, or if she did, that your life was not safe; her love for you, kept her silent even to yourself. But it was when you were sent to gaol, that we found we had the best opportunity of ruining her, which was all I wanted: but Phil, the boy, wished to give you a stab as well as her. As for myself it was in for a penny, in for a pound with me, and I didn't care a traheen what you suffered, provided I had my revenge on any one belongin' to Brian M'Loughlin, that transported my son." "Is Mary M'Loughlin innocent?" asked Harman, starting from his seat, and placing his face within a few inches of Poll Doolin's. Poll calmly put her hand upon his shoulder, and said:-- "Sit down, young man; don't disturb or stop me in what I'm sayin', and you'll come the sooner at the truth." "You are right," he replied, "but who can blame me?--my happiness depends on it." "Listen," said she, "we made up a plan that she was to meet Phil behind her father's garden--and why? Why, because I told her that Val had made up his mind to hang you; but I said that Phil, for her sake, could prevent that, and save you, if she would only see him that he might clear himself of some reports that had gone abroad on him. For your sake she consented to that; but not until I had brought her nearly to despair, and till she believed that there was no other hope for you. It was Val M'Clutchy, though, that put me up to bring several of the neighbors, and among the rest your own cousin, to witness the trick of Phil's gettin' in at the windy; as it was his to bring the bloodhounds, at the very minute, to catch the scoundrel in the poor girl's bedroom. That was enough; all the wather in the say couldn't wash her white, when this was given to the tongue of scandal to work upon." "But," said Mr. Clement, "you unfortunate woman, let me ask, why you suffered Mr. Harman to live under a conviction of Miss M'Loughlin's guilt?" "I tould you I had sworn to be revenged on either him, M'Loughlin, or his; and so I was--may God forgive me!--but one day that my poor foolish son undertook to convey Hugh Roe O'Regan's wife across the ford of Drum Dhu river while in a flood, he lost his footing, and never would breathe the breath of life again, only that God sent John M'Loughlin to the spot, and at the risk of his own life, he saved poor Raymond's. From that day out my heart changed. If one son was sent from me in life, the other was saved from death; and I swore to tell you the truth. But that's not the only injury I have done you. They put me up, and so did Solomon M'Slime, to drop hints wherever I went, that you and Mr. M'Loughlin were on the point of failin'; and, I believe, from some words I heard Phil say to Solomon one morning, that they put something into the paper that injured you." "What was it you heard?" said Hickman. "Phil said--'all right, Solomon, it's in--and--d--n my honor and reputation, but it will set a screw loose in the same firm;' he was reading the paper as he spoke." "All this is of great value," said Easel, "and must be made use of." "As for me," said Harman in an impassioned voice, "I care not a jot for our bankruptcy; the great and oppressive evil of my heart is removed; I ought, I admit, to have known that admirable girl better than to suffer any suspicion of; her to have-entered into my heart; but, then, I must have discredited my own eyes--and so I ought. God bless you, Poll! I forgive you all that you and those malignant villains have made me suffer, in consequence of what you have just now disclosed to us." "I could not have believed this," observed Easel; "I scarcely thought that such profound infamy was in human nature. Good God--and these two men hold the important offices of Head and Under Agent on the Castle Cumber estate!" "Have you nothing particular, Poll, about that pious little man, M'Slime?" asked Hickman. Poll, however, who in no instance was ever known to abuse professional confidence, shook her head in the negative. "No;" said she, "I know nothing that I can tell about him; honor bright's my motive--no--no. However, thank God, I've aised my mind by tellin' the truth, and when you see Mr. M'Loughlin, Mr. Harman, I'll thank you to let him know that I have done his daughter justice, and that from the minute his son saved mine, I had no ill-will to him or his family." She then departed. _ |
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