“Six eggs to you, an' half-a-dozen o' them rotten!”—like “The devil go with you an' sixpence!” is another of those pleasantries which mostly occur in the good-humored badinage between the sexes. It implies disappointment.
There is a species of imprecation prevalent among Irishmen which we may term neutral. It is ended by the word bit, and merely results from a habit of swearing where there is no malignity of purpose. An Irishman, when corroborating an assertion, however true or false, will often say, “Bad luck to the bit but it is;”—“Divil fire the bit but it's thruth!”—“Damn the bit but it is!” and so on. In this form the mind is not moved, nor the passions excited: it is therefore probably the most insipid of all their imprecations.
Some of the most dreadful maledictions are to be heard among the confirmed mendicants of Ireland. The wit, the gall, and the poetry of these are uncommon. “May you melt off the earth like snow off the ditch!” is one of a high order and intense malignity; but it is not exclusively confined to mendicants, although they form that class among which it is most prevalent. Nearly related to this is, “May you melt like butther before a summer sun!” These are, indeed, essentially poetical; they present the mind with appropriate imagery, and exhibit a comparison perfectly just and striking. The former we think unrivalled.
Some of the Irish imprecations would appear to have come down to us from the Ordeals. Of this class, probably, are the following: “May this be poison to me!”—“May I be roasted on red hot iron!” Others of them, from their boldness of metaphor, seem to be of Oriental descent. One expression, indeed, is strikingly so. When a deep offence is offered to an Irishman, under such peculiar circumstances that he cannot immediately retaliate, he usually replies to his enemy—“You'll sup sorrow for this!”—“You'll curse the day it happened!”—“I'll make you rub your heels together!” All those figurative denunciations are used for the purpose of intimating the pain and agony he will compel his enemy to suffer.
We cannot omit a form of imprecation for good, which is also habitual among the peasantry of Ireland. It is certainly harmless, and argues benevolence of heart. We mean such expressions as the following: “Salvation to me!—May I never do harm!—May I never do an ill turn!—May I never sin!” These are generally used by men who are blameless and peaceable in their lives—simple and well-disposed in their intercourse with the world.
At the head of those Irish imprecations which are dreaded by the people, the Excommunication, of course, holds the first and most formidable place. In the eyes of men of sense it is as absurd as it is illiberal: but to the ignorant and superstitious, who look upon it as anything but a brutum fulmen, it is terrible indeed.
Next in order are the curses of priests in their private capacity, pilgrims, mendicants, and idiots. Of those also Paddy entertains a wholesome dread; a circumstance which the pilgrim and mendicant turn with great judgment to their own account. Many a legend and anecdote do such chroniclers relate, when the family, with whom they rest for the night, are all seated around the winter hearth. These are often illustrative of the baneful effects of the poor man's curse. Of course they produce a proper impression; and, accordingly, Paddy avoids offending such persons in any way that might bring him under their displeasure.
A certain class of cursers much dreaded in Ireland are those of the widow and the orphan. There is, however, something touching and beautiful in this fear of injuring the sorrowful and unprotected. It is, we are happy to say, a becoming and prominent feature in Paddy's character; for, to do him justice in his virtues as well as in his vices, we repeat that he cannot be surpassed in his humanity to the lonely widow and her helpless orphans. He will collect a number of his friends, and proceed with them in a body to plant her bit of potato ground, to reap her oats, to draw home her turf, or secure her hay. Nay, he will beguile her of her sorrows with a natural sympathy and delicacy that do him honor; his heart is open to her complaints, and his hand ever extended to assist her.
There is a strange opinion to be found in Ireland upon the subject of curses. The peasantry think that a curse, no matter how uttered, will fall on something; but that it depends upon the person against whom it is directed, whether or not it will descend on him. A curse, we have heard them say, will rest for seven years in the air, ready to alight upon the head of the person who provoked the malediction. It hovers over him, like a kite over its prey, watching the moment when he may be abandoned by his guardian angel: if this occurs, it shoots with the rapidity of a meteor on his head, and clings to him in the shape of illness, temptation, or some other calamity.
They think, however, that the blessing of one person may cancel the curse of another; but this opinion does not affect the theory we have just mentioned. When a man experiences an unpleasant accident, they will say, “He has had some poor body's curse;” and, on the contrary, when he narrowly escapes it, they say, “He has had some poor body's blessing.”