During the interval that preceded the interesting ceremony (to borrow a phrase from the newspapers), which was not to take place until after Easter, the O'Hoolohan Roe was a constant visitor at the Rue de la Vieille Estrapade, only now he called himself the O'Hoolohan Dhuv, his sly countryman having bantered him on the affix Roe, which applies only to a light-complexioned, red-haired man, while he was tawny of complexion and black-haired as a Spaniard of the south. A most unmerciful bantering he did give him anent his assumption of the The.
'You a democrat!' he said, 'how is it that you cling to that particle?'—and then he told him the anecdotes of the English officer in charge of a detachment of troops at Bruff, one Captain Bull, upon whom the O'Grady of Kilballyowen left his card, who had scribbled The Bull of Bruff on the pasteboard he left in return; and of Sir Allan M'Nab, who had had the good taste to write on his card The other M'Nab, after he had received a visit from The M'Nab in Scotland. But O'Hoolohan was proof against satire, and retorted to his friend's joking that Mr. Bull and the Canadian knight were snobs, and deserved to be horse-whipped by The O'Grady and The M'Nab—that he was The O'Hoolohan, and that though his father chose to call himself Holland, he reverted to the old Irish name, O'Hoolohan, for which it was the substitute, and which meant 'proud little man.' He repeated the lines:
| 'By Mac and O |
| You'll always know |
| True Irishmen, they say; |
| But if they lack |
| Both O and Mac, |
| No Irishmen are they.' |
And in the end O'Hara, who was also proud of his Milesian patronymic, was obliged to admit he was right.
The banns were published at the church and at the Mairie, and at the close of the necessary three weeks, during which Berthe received a delicious fresh bouquet every morning from her lover, and then secluded herself over some mysterious female work with Caroline, the happy day (we draw on the newspapers again) arrived. Two carriages were marshalled before the municipal institution in the Place du Panthéon; two charming girls in white and a venerable, stately, white-haired man descended from the one; a man in the prime of life, with a younger companion of the same sex, both in suit of ceremony, alighted from the other. There was a brief series of interrogatories and a jotting down of signatures inside, and the party emerged, re-entered the carriages in the same order, and leisurely drove to the Church of St. Stephen of the Mount at the other side of the square. A beadle, magnificently attired, awaited and conducted them with pompous air, pounding his staff of office at intervals on the sacred pavement, to a little altar, where the priest stood ready-vested. The ceremony by which two are made one was solemnized: there was blushing as a ring was pressed on a little finger, and a few tears as a little hand parted from the tight grasp of Captain Chauvin; and then the nuptial Mass was said and the Benediction pronounced in which God is prayed to make the newly-wedded amiable to her husband as Rachel, wise as Rebecca, and faithful as Sarah. Again the party emerged, but this time Captain Chauvin, Caroline, and O'Hara entered the second carriage together, for the first was occupied by Monsieur and Madame O'Hoolohan.
Half an hour afterwards there was solemn silence in the apartment in the Rue de la Vieille Estrapade, for Mr. Manus O'Hara, in a particularly neat and appropriate speech, had proposed the memory of the Man, and Captain Chauvin was crying, but—the wicked old man!—there was more gladness than sorrow in his tears. The Irish are born orators. Nobody who heard the brilliant discourse in which Monsieur O'Hoolohan gave France, and eulogized the entente cordiale which had been made that morning before the altar between it and Ireland, could deny that fact. His voice, like O'Brien's of the Irish Brigade, in the lyric of Thomas Davis, was 'hoarse with joy,' as he fondly regarded his bride, and wound up a florid and flourishing peroration by a marked allusion to future alliances between the countries which he hoped to live to see, illustrated by playful winks at O'Hara and the brunette. But the brunette kept never minding, and O'Hara's hand rose involuntarily to his shirt-bosom, under which reposed a certain tress of woman's hair. As for Pat, who was among the guests, he had feasted so heartily in honour of the occasion that he fell asleep while his master was on his legs.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE HONEYMOON TRIP.
IT is a mistake to begin married life by gormandizing, by an outlay which one cannot afford, by affectation of a social position to which luxuries are common, or by servility to the despotism of fashion. Our friends in the Rue la de Vieille Estrapade knew and dreaded all this. They owned that the ostentatious enjoyment which brings remorse at its heels is not worth the cost. Therefore, though they 'did the thing,' as the bridegroom put it, properly—that is, not shabbily—they did not put on airs and ape the grand. They did not gormandize, for gluttony leads to a fit of indigestion, and that leads to bad temper. They did not waste economies that might be needed after; but they had a jovial party conducted on the principles of prescient generosity. To be paradoxical, the wedding-breakfast and surroundings were a sample of thrifty extravagance. No more was spent on dresses and favours, bouquets and gloves, than could well be avoided without the semblance of meanness. No big man of the quarter was invited to the feast simply because he was a big man—wore massive gold trinkets, had a balance at his banker's, a prominent pew in church, a seat at the council of Paris magnates, or a villa in the suburbs with a large garden. These people condescend; curse people who condescend, but compassionate not the people who stand condescension! They are treated as they deserve.
The custom in Paris is that those who cannot go for the honeymoon to Baden, or to a friend's country-house, pass it apart in some secluded suburb. O'H. and Madame O'H. were not such fools; they resolved to pass it under the captain's roof—their future home; they had no particular wish or necessity to confine themselves to each other's society till they lost novelty and palled on each other, seeing that they were linked while they breathed, and would have ample leisure to improve acquaintance, and spy out small imperfections. For, look you, this is no romance; our heroes and heroines are real, which is saying they are human and weak. The way to celebrate the marriage-day is just as one celebrates any ordinary holiday; the way to enjoy the honeymoon is in activity in the midst of bustling life, not in mooning indolence. The place for both is at home, amongst those whom we know and who are attached to us.
This is what our friends did. They drove to the Mairie and the church as we have described; they had a hearty breakfast, at which none were present but the five of the wedding party. Caroline did not fling a shower of rice at the retreating figure of the O'Hoolohan as he left for his château in Spain, but sensibly put the rice in a pot to boil for a supper pudding. Nor did the captain throw an old slipper at the poll of his departing Berthe, for old slippers are useful when one is gouty, and, besides, they sometimes disarrange a head-dress and hurt a little head.