LETTER XXX. MISS MARY ANNE DODD TO MISS DOOLAN, OF BALLYDOOLAN
My dearest Kitty,—It was our names you saw in the "Morning Post"! We are "The Dodd M'Carthys." It was no use deferring the decision for papa's return; and, as I observed to mamma, circumstances are often stronger than ourselves; for, in all likelihood, Louis Napoleon would not have declared the Empire so soon if it were not for the "Rouges," or the Orléaniste, or the others. Events, in fact, pressed us from behind,—go forward we must; and so, like the distinguished authority I have mentioned, we accepted greatness, in the shape of our present designation.
We took the great step on Monday evening last, and issued one hundred and thirty-eight cards for our Wednesday at home, as Madame Dodd M'Carthy. Of course, I conclude the new title was amply discussed and criticised; but, as James remarked, the coup d'état succeeded perfectly. He sent me three different bulletins during the day from "the Rooms," where he was engaged at play. The first was briefly: "Great excitement, and much curiosity as to the reasons. Causes assigned,—vague, various, and contradictory. Strict silence on my part" The second ran: "Funds rising rapidly,—confidence restored." The third was: "Victory—opposition crushed, annihilated—dynasty secure. Send a card at once to the Crown Prince of Dalmatia, at the 'Lion.' He is just come."
Mamma's nervous tremors during this eventful day were dreadful. Nothing sustained her but a high consciousness, and some excellent curacoa. Every cry in the street, every chance commotion, the slightest assemblage, beneath our windows, she took for popular demonstrations. You know, my dearest Kitty, we live in really eventful times, and nobody can answer for how the mere populace will receive any attempts to recover ancient feudal privileges. I own to you, frankly, the attempt was a bold one. We, so to say, stemmed the foamy torrent of Democracy at its highest flood; but the moment was also propitious. Now or never was the time for nobility to raise its head again; and we, I am proud to say, have given the initiative to astonished Europe.
From the hour that we took the great step, Kitty, I felt my heart rise with the occasion. My spirit seemed to say, "Swell to the magnitude of those grand proportions around you;" and I really felt myself, as it were, disenthralled from the narrow limits of a mere Dodd, and expanding to the wide realms of a M'Carthy! If you only knew the sufferings and heart-burnings that plebeian appellation has cost us! The hateful monosyllable seemed to drop down like a shell in the midst of a company; and often has it needed a fortnight's dinners and evening parties, in a new place, to overcome the horrid impression caused by the name of Dodd!
Now, as it stands at present, it serves to give vigor and energy to the name. Dodd M'Carthy is like Gorman O'Moore, Grogan O' Dwyer, or any other of the patronymics of ancient Ireland.
From the deep interest caused by this decisive step, I was obliged at once to turn to the details of our great reception to be held on the Wednesday following, for it was necessary that in splendor and distinction it should eclipse all that had preceded it. Happily for us, dearest Caroline was absent as well as papa; she had gone to spend a week with a tiresome old lady some miles away, and we were therefore relieved from the annoyance of that vexatious restraint imposed by the mere presence of those whose thoughts and ideas are never yours. I have already told you that she has taken up a completely mistaken line, and utterly destroyed any natural advantages she possessed. I told her so myself over and over; I reasoned and argued the question deliberately. "I see," said I, "your tastes are not those of high and fashionable society. You do not feel the instinctive fascination that comes of being admired by the distinguished classes. Your ambitions do not soar to those aristocratic regions whose atmosphere breathes of royalty. Be it so; there is another path open to you,—the sentimental and the romantic. Your hair suits it, your complexion, your figure, your style generally, will easily adapt themselves to the character. If not a part that attracts general admiration, it is one which never fails, in every society, to secure some favorable notice; and elder sons, educated either 'at home or in clergymen's families,' are constantly captured by its fascination." This, I must remark to you, Kitty, is perfectly true, and it is of great consequence frequently to have a woman that suits shy men, and saves them the much-dreaded exhibition of themselves by talking aloud. I told her all this, and I even condescended to use arguments derived from her own narrow views of life, by showing that it is a style requiring little expense in the way of dress,—ringlets and a white muslin "peignoir" of a morning, a broad-leaved straw hat for the promenade,—something, in short, of the very simplest kind, and no ornaments. No! my dearest Kitty, it was of no use! She is one of those self-opinionated girls that reason never appeals to. She coolly replied to me, that all this would be unreal and unnatural,—"a mere piece of acting," as she said, and, consequently, unworthy of her, and unbecoming. I repeat the very words of her reply, to show you the great benefits she has derived from foreign travel! Why, dearest Kitty, nobody is real,—nobody pretends to be real abroad; if they were to do so, they 'd be shunned like wild beasts. What is it, I ask, that constitutes the very essence of high breeding? Conventional usages, forms of expression, courtesies, attentions, flatteries, and observances,—all stimulated, all put on, to please and captivate. Reject this theory, and instead of society, you have a mob; instead of a salon, you have a wild-beast "menagerie." Caroline says she is Irish; she might as well say she was Cochin-Chinese. Nobody can recognize any trait in that nationality but its uniform "savagery;" for I must tell you, Kitty, that Ireland itself—though politically deplored, pitied, and wept over, abroad—is encumbered by geographical doubts and difficulties like the North-West Passage. Many suppose it to be a town in the West of England; others fancy it a barren tract along the coast; and a few, whose sympathies are more acute for suffering nations, fancy it to be a species of penal settlement in an unknown latitude.
If Caroline even developed the character—if she had, as the French say, créé le rôle of an Irish girl, what with eccentricities of dress, manner, and Moore's melodies, something might be made of it. It admits of all those extravagances that are occasionally admired, and any amount of liberty with the male sex. Cary's reading of the part was very different; it was neither poetic nor pictorial; in fact, it was a mere vulgar piece of commonplace devotion to home and its tiresome associations, and a clinging attachment to whatever recalled memories of our former obscurity,—these "national traits" being eked out with a most insolent contempt for the foreigner, and a compassionate sorrow for the patience with which we endured him.
Pardon me, my dearest friend, if I weary you with this unpleasant theme; but I wish to satisfy your mind that if my sisterly affection be strong, it still does not tyrannize over my reason, and that increased powers of judgment, if they elevate the understanding, are frequently exercised at the cost of our tenderest feelings.
To come back to the point whence I started, "our Wednesday"—and this, by the way, enables me to answer some of the questions in your last You ask about my admirers; you shall have the catalogue as lately revised and corrected, though I scarcely flatter myself that the names will admit of vocal repetition. First, then, there is the Neapolitan Prince Sierra d'Aquila Nero, whom I already mentioned to you in one of my letters from Brussels. In my then innocence of the Continent I thought him charming, so impassioned, so poetical, and so perfumed. Now, Kitty, I find him an intolerable old bore; he is upwards of seventy, but so painted, patched, and plastered as to pass off panoramically for five-and-forty. He affects all the habits and even the vices of young men. He keeps saddle-horses that he dare not ride, and hires a "chasse," though he never fires a gun; and lastly, issues from his hairdresser's shop, at intervals, with a wig of shortened proportions, coolly alleging that he has just had his hair cut! When he drives out of an evening, the whole Allée reeks of "Bergamot," and the flutter of his handkerchief is a tornado in the Spice Islands. Need I say that his chance is at zero? Count Rastuchewitsky, a Russian Pole, comes next,—at least, in order of seniority; a short, stern-looking man, of about fifty, with a snow-white beard and moustache, with abrupt manners, and an unpleasant voice. I believe that he only pays me any attention because he sees the Prince do so, for he hates all Italians, and tries to thwart them in everything. The Count's great claim to distinction rests upon his father, or mother, I forget which, having helped to assassinate the Emperor Paul,—a piece of chivalry that he dwells on unceasingly.
The Chevalier de Courcelles makes "No. Three," and thirty years ago he might have been very presentable; but he belongs to a school even older than his time. He is of the Richelieu order, and seems to be always in a terrible fright about the effect of his own powers of fascination: his constant effort being to show you that he really is not fond of making victims. There is a German Graf von Herren-shausen, a large, yellow-bearded, blear-eyed monster, with a frogged coat and a huge pipe-stick projecting from the hind pock et, who kisses my hand whenever we meet, and leers at me from the whist-table—for, happily, he is past dancing—like a Ghoul in an Eastern tale. There are a vast number of others, one or two of whom I reserve for favorable mention hereafter; but these are the true "prétendants," of which number, I believe, I might select the one which pleases me best.
Amongst "home productions," as you term them, I may mention the Honorable Sackville Cavendish,—a thin, pale, white-eyebrowed babe of diplomacy, that smallest of Foreign Office infants yclept an "unpaid attaché." He has just emerged from the "nursery" at Downing Street, and is really not strong enough to go alone. I have supported him in an occasional polka, and "hustled him," as James called it, through a waltz, and have in turn received the meed of his admiration as expressed in the most lacklustre eyes that ever glittered out of a doll's head; and, lastly, there is Mister Milo Blake O'Dwyer, who formerly—O'Connell régnante—represented the town of Tralee in Parliament, and who now, with altered fortunes, performs the duty of Foreign Correspondent to that great news-paper, "The Sledge Hammer op Freedom."
Perhaps I 'm not strictly correct in enrolling him amongst the number of my worshippers; with more rigid justice, I believe he belongs to mamma; at least he's in constant attendance upon her, and continually assures me, with upturned eyes and a smack of the lip, that she is a "gorgeous woman," and "wonderfully preserved!" This worthy individual is really a curiosity; since being in manner, exterior, knowledge, and fortune totally deficient of all those aids which achieve success in society, he has actually contrived, by the bare force of impudence, to move with, and be received by, persons in the very first ranks. Foreigners, I must tell you, Kitty, conceive the most ridiculous notions of England; one of the most popular of which is that more than one-half of our government is carried on by newspaper writing, the minister contributing his sentiments one day, some individual of the public replying the next. Now, the illustrious Milo takes every opportunity of propping up this fallacy, while he represents himself as the very bone and sinew of all English opinion on the Continent. To believe him, no foreign prince or potentate could raise a sixpence on loan till he subscribes the scheme. How many an appropriation of territory have his warnings arrested? From what cruelties has he saved the Poles? What a crisis did his pen achieve in the fortunes of Hungary! And then the bushels of diamond snuff-boxes that he has thrown from him with disgust, the heaps of orders that he has rejected with proud scorn! As he says himself, "Haven't I more power than them all? When I send off my article to the 'Sledge,' don't I see them trembling and shaking for what's coming? Ay, says I to myself, haughty enough you look to-day, but won't I expose your Majesty, won't I lay bare the cruelties of your prisons and the infamy of your spies! And your Eminence, too, how silky you are; but I know you well, and I 've a copy of the last rescript you sent over to Ireland! Don't be afraid, my little darling; never mind the puppies that hissed you at Parma, I 'll make your fortune in London. A word from me to Lumley, and it's as good as five thousand pounds in the bank!"
It really gives me a great notion of the glut of genius that we possess in England, when you see a man whose qualifications are great in war and peace; whose knowledge ranges over the world of politics, religion, literature, fine arts, and the drama; who knows mankind to perfection, and understands statecraft to a miracle, with no higher nor prouder position than that of writing for the "Sledge." It is but fair to own that he has been of great service to us here. The hardest thing to find in the world is some person of pushing habits and impudent address, who will speak of you at all times and in all companies, doing for you, socially, what, in the world of trade, is accomplished by huge advertisements and red-lettered placards. Now, one really cannot stick up on the walls great announcements of "unrivalled attraction," the "positively last night but one" of Mrs. Dodd's great soirées and so on, but you can come pretty nigh the same result by a little tact and management. A few insignificant commissions about camellias, a change of arrangement about the fiddles, intrusted to him, and Milo was prepared to go forth, trumpet in hand, for us, from day to dark. Woe to the luckless wight that hadn't got a card for our "Evening"! the obligation Milo would place him under was a bond debt for life. Then he contrived to know everybody; and though he made sad hash of their names, they only smiled at his blunders.
I have heard that a great English minister one day confessed that the only exaction of office he never could thoroughly reconcile himself to, was the nature of those persons he was occasionally obliged to employ as subordinates. I suppose that, without being leader of a cabinet, everybody must have experienced something or other of this kind in life.
I think I hear you ask, "Where is the Ritter von Wolfensbafer all this time? What has become of him?" you say. You really are very tiresome, dearest Kitty, with your little poisonous allusions to "old loves," former attachments, and so on. As to the Ritter, however, I heard from him yesterday; he cannot, it seems, come to Baden; his father is not on terms with the Grand-Duke, and he strictly charges me not to mention their names to any one. His letter repeats the invitation to us all to spend some weeks at the "Schloss,"—an arrangement which might, very possibly, suit our plans well, since, when the season ends here, it is still too early to go into winter quarters; and one is sorely puzzled what to do with the late autumn, which is as wearisome as the time one passes in the drawing-room before dinner. Of course we must await pa's return, to reply to this invitation; and I incline to say we shall accept it. Why will you be so silly as to remind me of the follies of my childhood? Are there no naughtinesses of the nursery you can rake up to record? You know as well, if not better than myself, that the attentions you allude to could never have been seriously meant! nor could Dr. B. believe them such, if not totally deficient in those qualities of good sense and judgment for which I always have given him credit. I will not say that, in the artless gayety of infancy, I have not amused myself with the mock devotion he proffered; but you might as well reproach me with fickleness for not taking a child's interest any longer in the nursery games that once delighted me, as for not sustaining my share in this absurd illusion!
I plainly perceive one thing, Kitty,—the gentleman in question has very little pride; but even that in your eyes, may be an excellence, for you have discovered innumerable merits in his character under circumstances which, I am constrained to own, have failed to impress me with a suitable degree of interest. The subject is so very unpleasant, however, that I must beg it may never be reopened between us; and if you really feel for him so acutely as you say, I can only suggest that you should hit upon some plan of consolation perfectly independent of any aid from your attached friend,
Mary Anne.