Manners: A Novel, Vol 3

by Madame Panache

Her head was crowned with a chaplet of flowers, whilst her long hair, which is highly prized in Ireland as a part of female beauty, flowed in profusion down her back, and its raven hue contrasted well with her snow-white linen gown. A sky-blue petticoat appeared under her apron in front, and from her girdle hung a wreath of flowers, forming a festoon of varied tints. The temporary king was the best dancer, wrestler, and cudgel-player, and the "tightest and clanest boy in all Ballinamoyle town land." On the right stood the fiddlers, playing Plansety O'Sullivan. When the venerable possessor of this name came forward to welcome the crowd, the united strength of all their lungs sent forth a heart-felt wish of "Long life to his honour, and God bless him, hurra! hurra!" There is perhaps nothing more overcoming than the voice of a rejoicing multitude. The old man felt the present and the past, as he thought how his beloved Rose was hailed on such anniversaries; and whilst he made his bows of acknowledgement, the tear stood on his aged cheek. When silence was proclaimed, the village schoolmaster stepped forward, and presented him with a song he had written on his honour, and which "Brian Murdoch would make bould for to sing." Brian began with an "Och—" half a second in duration, and then proceeded as follows:—

In Connaught, my deer,
Did you walk far and neer,
At a poor man's requist,
His honour's the best
Of all in the land, of all in the land!
When poverty's near,
He ne'er turns a dafe ear,
But is free wid his store,
Gives kind words galliore,
Wid a bountiful hand, a bountiful hand!
Och!—Wheresomdiver he goes
A blessing there flows,
Like a beam of the sun
Or the soft shining moon,
The joy of our heart, the joy of our heart!
Then long may he rain
Widout sorrow or pane,
And in Heaven be blist,
When he takes his last rist,
Tho' we to the heart rue the day he depart!

The intention of this composition was certainly better than the metre; but for once a poet did not flatter, for Mr. O'Sullivan exercised all the benevolence of his kind heart, in making his tenants happy; and they would in return, to use their own expression, have "gone through fire and water at the dead hour of the night, to sarve his honour. They had a good right to lay the hair of their head in under his feet."

Brian's performance was applauded and encored, and when it was over, there was a little murmur amongst the crowd as if to settle the next act. "Which is her?" asked the king of the garland. "Why, that beautiful lady to be sure, talking to the fat madam in the lavender blossom dress, with the borders all figured out in white," replied an ancient matron, who had been one of the first assembly at Ballinamoyle. The young man now walked up to Adelaide, and with a bow down to the ground, begged the honour of dancing with her; and she, perceiving it was a national custom, instantly complied; and hearing from Captain Cormac, who handed her to the spot she was to dance on, that the figure of the jig she was expected to perform, was that of a minuet danced quick, she went through it with a spirit and grace, that were unalloyed by any airs of exalted languor.

What! danced with an Irish peasant, and with spirit to! Look down, ye German Barons of sixteen quarters, and ye noble British Peers, on your descendant, and—behold her with pride! for she could be dignified without haughtiness, and complaisant without familiarity—perfectly understanding the art of adapting herself to her associates, without thereby assimilating her manners or ideas to theirs; always preserving that elegance, which "was around her as light," giving to her performance of the trifles of every day intercourse a charm peculiarly her own, and which as invariably adorned her in the humblest cottage, as it would have done in the most brilliant court, dancing with this king of a rustic pageant, as with the Autocrat of all the Russias; and had she been one of those selected for that honour, she would perhaps, whilst she paid due homage to the rank of the Emperor, have no less forcibly impressed her august partner with the dignity of the lady.

However, the most scrupulous belle need not be much annoyed by the contamination she would suffer, by dancing with the king of the garland; for actuated by that respect, which the lower Irish so strongly feel for their superiors, he never presumes to take her hand, but contents himself with dancing opposite to her with all his might and main, at about three feet distance. Thus Adelaide's partner beat the batter on the ground, sprung, capered, hit the sole of his foot with his hand, danced the garland, beat the batter again, set, shuffled, and capered in turn. Every now and then there was clapping of hands, and "Well done, Lary, keep it up, keep it up!" and a murmur of approbation for Adelaide went round: "She's a beautiful cratur; and what kindly ways she has with her," said one. "The Lord love her little canny feet, how they do humour the music!" remarked another; and so on, till she made her curtsy when the jig was ended; and then there was a general shout of "Huzza! for the young lady and Lary for ever." "Arrah, whist wid your noisy tongues," said an old woman; "you'll trouble his honour, and mind him of Miss Rose. This day two and twenty year she danced on this very spot of ground, and the sarra lady has done the same since from that day till this. Do you see old Dennis there, Cisly?" continued she to her daughter: "Well, Miss Rose smiled so sweet, (I mind it as if it was but yesterday), and said, 'What a wonderful old man Dennis is, to be able to tire me in a dance, at sixty years of age! I hope he'll live to see many a midsummer's eve.' They say the prayers of them that's soon going to their long home is uncommon lucky; so she left these words for a blessing to ould Dennis, though she was too good to live herself." The old woman's caution was unnecessary—Mr. O'Sullivan had pleaded the damps of the evening and retired, but begged of Colonel Desmond to take his place, and keep the dancers as long as they afforded amusement, as his room was at so distant a part of the house, his sleep would not be disturbed. "Alas, no!" thought his friend, "poor man, he will never cease to grieve for his angelic daughter, till she smiles on him once more in another world."

Colonel Desmond perceived there was a stop in the proceedings of the crowd, and recollected that it was customary for the master of the house, or some one in the place, to dance with the queen of the garland, and therefore requested Captain Cormac would do the honours the etiquette of such occasions demanded. At another time he would have enjoyed doing so himself; but at this moment his head was too full of Rose and her father, to think of dancing—or even of Adelaide! Captain Cormac took the garland, as every man was bound to do, and flourished it about, and out-capered Lary himself; whilst his pretty partner, at stated times, cast her fine eyes on the ground, and was swung round by him with averted head, then danced boldly up with one arm akimbo, alternately took the garland, followed, or was chased by him. Little Caroline was wild with spirits, when the crowd, finding out their mistake with regard to Adelaide, raised her on a stout man's shoulders, and pressed round to shake hands with her in turn, while she received their greetings with the utmost cordiality; and, when let down again, she danced and capered about, as Jarge Quin said, "as merry and as pretty as the little people trip it on the blossoms on May morning."

Mr. Webberly had by this time nearly recovered from the ill humour the sight of Colonel Desmond had put him into, and had been wheeled in a large chair to the window, for the double purpose of viewing the festive scene, and watching the proceedings of Adelaide. He was evidently in pain either of body or mind, and looked so mournful, so deserted, that she could not resist the impulse of compassion, and addressed to him, from time to time, some casual remark on the groupe before them. For many months she had not voluntarily spoken so much to him; and as Colonel Desmond observed his satisfaction, some painful reflections crossed his mind: "He deceives himself," thought he, "and so do I—she has no love for me either. I ought to tear myself from her; yet a faint heart never won a fair lady, and I see as little cause to despair as to hope." But with an inconsistency, that the agitation of his feelings alone could account for, he whispered to Adelaide, "Be more stern, and you will be more humane; your heavenly sweetness undoes your victim." She looked up surprised, and read that in his countenance, which immediately gave to hers a degree of gravity which he had never before seen her features wear; and bowing slightly in answer, addressed herself to Mrs. O'Sullivan. He soon found an opportunity of speaking to her again: "Adelaide," said he, sorrowfully, "you are offended; are you like all the rest of the world, capricious and fickle? Do you reject the friend of your infancy?" "Colonel Desmond," said she calmly, "I must be frank—infancy does not last forever, 'altri tempi, altre maniere.'" In these few words she had spoken volumes. To recover himself, he talked sentiment and science to the two Miss Webberlys, and in doing so, heard and made such a display of esprit, that it soon deadened his feelings, and in a few minutes he appeared as much at ease as ever.

In the mean time the merry rustics performed Quaker minuets, which consist of a mixture of quick and slow movements, a sort of strathspey called petticoatties, and some well executed handkerchief dances, the figures of which are of the same kind as the shawl-dances of the opera, and admit six or eight at pleasure. It is surprising with what a degree of natural dexterity and vivacity the lower Irish dance: Adelaide thought, "If Horace had been an Irishman, he would not have described the dancing of the Nymphs and Graces in the spiritless manner he has done:—

"Jam Cytherea choros ducit Venus, imminente Luná,
Junctæque Nymphis Gratiæ decentes,
Alterno terram quatiunt pede.[7]"