THE IRISH AS OTHERS SEE THEM
THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS
If you live in an age of political incorrectness, you may as well take advantage of it. So Anthony Trollope might have told himself, had he enjoyed the advantage of looking into the future to our present age of political correctness. The Kellys and the O'Kellys would not survive the scrutiny of present standards. "Faix, I b'lieve his chief failing at present's fur sthrong dhrink!" Transcription of the Irish forms of speech warns the present day reader to be wary; this is something that may be unfair to the Irish. Uncle Remus fell victim to such concerns and disappeared from view in 1986 when Disney removed Song of the South from circulation, and the glimpses of the subservient blacks that we have in older films indicate that those who use language in a distinctive way can be vulnerable to being presented in a demeaning fashion.
Of course these were not the concerns of a fledgling nineteenth century English writer who had spent five years in Ireland with the postal service. One would suspect that the intended target audience resided in England, not in Ireland. (This, his second novel, did not sell well anywhere.) Features of Irish life are described to inform the reading public in England, and those who did read it were surely entertained as well. The description of an Irish kitchen is accompanied, in the Folio Edition, by a full-page pen-and-ink drawing which features a pig, two chickens, and two ragged old men sitting on the floor, all of whom are described in detail.
Here we see Trollope discovering his comic gift. The tone of the story is that of a cartoon comedy, Looney Tunes perhaps, with rascally villains and seemingly inept heroes who seem destined to be taken in by dastardly schemers. Lord Cashel, for instance, is shown in the role of the wicked lord of the manor who only dimly suspects how unlikely it is that any of his plots and plans will succeed. He seizes an opportunity to refuse to allow one of the heroes of the story, Lord Ballindine (Frank O'Kelly), to see Fanny Wyndham, the object of his affection, who happens to be Lord Cashel's ward. Lord Cashel has other plans for Fanny, who has come into an inheritance that would wipe out the debts incurred by Lord Cashel's prodigal son Lord Kilcullen. Fanny must marry his son! He is only slightly bothered by Fanny's spirited vow to see her lover Frank O'Kelly anyway, but despite his concern about her determination, he remains confident in his own powers. As his plot unravels, one expects the standard melodramatic line, "Curses! Foiled again!"
The most evil villain, though, is Barry Lynch, limited by his sister's existence to only half of his late father's estate. He daydreams about how his worries would all be washed away if his sister should only be in some way detached from her worldly cares. The English reader might view with detached amusement the schemes of a profligate drunken young Irish lord who is staggered to learn that his sister's acute illness might not be fatal, after all, and that she might rise again to displace him.
There can be no sympathy for the dehumanized arch villain of this dark comedy, described as having no residual feelings of human kindness. Surely he can bribe the doctor to see to it that she succumbs. And the reader can only smile as he calculates further what payment he must offer, and then how he can get out of paying it.
On the other side of the moral ledger, the two heroes of the story—Martin Kelly and Frank O'Kelly—are shown as young men with good hearts. Martin is a young farmer who rents from several landlords, including Lord Ballindine (Frank O'Kelly). At one point in the story Lord Ballindine, a recovering prodigal in his own right, is in need of three hundred pounds and thinks that his renter Martin Kelly would be able to lend it to him. Martin hesitates, saying that he has the money but had been thinking of using it in another way, which would clear the way for him to marry Anty Lynch, sister of the infamous Barry. Frank backs off, saying that he had forgotten about Martin's "matrimonial speculation," and he advises him that though he needs the cash, Martin had better keep it. But Martin says that his mother could let him have the money on the security of the house, in order that his Lordship should not be short of cash.
Thank goodness these two young Irishmen have good hearts; they need them for redemption. Both of them make no bones about their plans to marry for money. Though each maintains that he really loves the lady of his choice, they both freely admit that it was the money that first attracted them. Would Trollope have granted such a blot on the escutcheon of one of his young English heroes?