The Dodd Family Abroad, Vol. I

LETTER II. MRS. DODD TO MISTRESS MARY GALLAGHER, AT DODSBOROUGH

Hotel of the Baths, Ostend. Dear Molly, – This is the first blessed moment of quiet I've had since I quitted home; and even now there's the table d'hôte of sixty-two in the next room, and a brass band in the lobby, with, to be sure, the noisiest set of wretches as waiters ever I heard, shouting, screaming, knife-jingling, plate-crashing, and cork-drawing, till my head is fairly turned with the turmoil. The expense is cruel, besides, – eighteen francs a day for the rooms, although James sleeps in the salon; and if you saw the bed, – his father swears it was a mignonette-box in one of the windows! The eating is beautiful; that must be allowed. Two soups, three fishes, five roast chickens, and a piece of veal, stewed with cherries; a dish of chops with chiccory, and a meat-pie garnished with cock's-combs, – you maybe sure I didn't touch them; after them there was a carp, with treacle, and a big plate of larks and robins, with eggs of the same, all round. Then came the heavy eating: a roast joint of beef, with a batter-pudding, and a turkey stuffed with chestnuts, ducks ditto, with olives and onions, and a mushroom tart, made of grated chickens and other condiments. As for the sweets, I don't remember the half of them, nor do I like to try, for poor dear James got a kind of surfeit, and was obliged to go to bed and have a doctor, – a complaint, they tell me, mighty common among the English on first coming abroad. He was a nice man, and only charged five francs. I wish you 'd tell Peter Belton that; for though we subscribe a pound a year to the dispensary, Mr. Peter thinks to get six shillings a visit every time he comes over to Dodsborough, – a pleasant ride of eleven miles, – and sure of something to eat, besides; and now that I think of it, Molly, 'tis what's called the learned professions in Ireland is eating us all up, – the attorneys, the doctors, the parsons. Look at them abroad: Mr. Krauth, a remarkably nice man, and a consul, told me, last night, that for two-and-sixpence of our money you 'd have the best advice, law or medical, the Continent affords; and even that same is a comfort!

The table d' hôte is not without some drawbacks, however, my dear Molly, for only yesterday I caught an officer, the Brigadier of the Gendarmerie they call him, throwing sly glances at Mary Anne across the table. I mentioned it to K. I., but like all fathers that were a little free-and-easy when young, he said, "Pooh! nonsense, dear. 'Tis the way of foreigners; you'll get used to it at last." We dined to-day in our own room; and just to punish us, as I suppose, they gave us a scrag of mutton and two blue-legged chickens; and by the bill before me, – for I have it made up every day, – I see "dîner particulier" put down five francs a head, and the table d'hôte is for two!

K. I. was in a blessed passion, and cursed my infernal prudery, as he called it. To be sure, I did n't know it was to cost us a matter of fifteen francs. And now he 's gone off to the café, and Mary Anne is crying in her own room, while Caroline is nursing James; for, to tell you the truth, Betty Cobb is no earthly use to us; and as for Paddy Byrne, 't is bailing him out of the police-office and paying fines for him we are, all day.

We 'll scarcely save much this first quarter, for what with travelling expenses and the loss of my trunk, – I believe I told you that some villain carried away the yellow valise, with the black satin trimmed with blonde, and the peach-colored "gros de Naples," and my two elegant ball-dresses, one covered with real Limerick lace, – these losses, and the little contingencies of the road, will run away with most of our economies; but if we live we learn, and we 'll do better afterwards.

I never expected it would be all pure gain, Molly; but is n't it worth something to see life, – to get one's children the polish and refinement of the Continent, to teach them foreign tongues with the real accent, to mix in the very highest circles, and learn all the ways of people of fashion? Besides, Dodsborough was dreadful; K. I. was settling down to a common farmer, and in a year or two more would never have asked any higher company than Purcell and Father Maher; as for James, he was always out with the greyhounds, or shooting, or something of the kind; and lastly, you saw yourself what was going on between Peter Belton and Mary Anne!.. She might have had the pride and decency to look higher than a Dispensary doctor. I told her that her mother's family was McCarthys, and, indeed, it was nothing but the bad times ever made me think of Kenny Dodd. Not that I don't think well of poor Peter, but sure it's hard to dress well, and keep three horses, and make a decent appearance on less than eighty pounds a year, – not to talk of a wife at all!

I hope you 'll get Christy into the Police; they are just the same as the Hussars, and not so costly. Be sure that you send off the two trunks to Ostend with the first sailing-vessel from Limerick; they'll only cost one-and-fourpence a cubic foot, whatever that is, and I believe they 'll come just as speedy as by steam. I 'm sorry for poor Nancy Doran; she 'll be a loss to us in the dairy; but maybe she 'll recover yet. How can you explain Brindled Judy not being in calf? I can scarce believe it yet. If it be true, however, you must sell her at the spring fair. Father Maher had a conceit out of her. Try if he is disposed to give ten pounds, or guineas, – guineas if you can, Molly.

There's no curing that rash in Caroline's face, and it's making her miserable. I 've lost Peter's receipt; and it was the only thing stopped the itching. Try and get a copy of it from him; but say it's for Betty Cobb.

I was interrupted, my dear Molly, by a visit from a young gentleman whose visiting-card bears the name of Victor de Lancy, come to ask after James, – a very nice piece of attention, considering that he only met us once at the table d'hôte. He and Mary Anne talked a great deal together; for, as he does n't speak English, I could only smile and say "We-we" occasionally. He's as anxious about James as if he was his brother, and wanted to sit up the night with him; though what use would it be? for poor J. does n't know a word of French yet. Mary Anne tells me that he 's a count, and that his family was very high under the late King; but it's dreadful to hear him talk of Louis Philippe and the Orleans branch. He mentioned, too, that they set spies after him wherever he goes; and, indeed, Mary Anne saw a gendarme looking up at the window all the time he was with us.

He spent two hours and a half here; and I must say, Molly, foreigners have a wonderful way of ingratiating themselves with one: we felt, when he was gone away, as if we knew him all our life. Don't pay any attention to Mat, but sell the fruit, and send me the money; and as for Bandy Bob, what's the use of feeding him now we 're away? Take care that the advertisement about Dodsborough is in the "Mail" and the "Packet" every week: "A Residence fit for a nobleman or gentleman's family, – most extensive out-offices, and two hundred acres of land, more if required," ought to let easy! To be sure, it's in Ireland, Molly; that's the worst of it There is n't a little bit of a lodging here on the sands, with rush-bottom chairs and a painted table, doesn't bring fifty francs a week!

I must conclude now, for it's nigh post-hour. Be sure you look after the trunks and the pony. Never mind sending the Limerick paper; it costs three sous, and has never anything new. K. I. sees the "Times" at the rooms, and they give all the outrages just as well as the Irish papers. By the way, who was the Judkin Delaney that was killed at Bruff? Sure it is n't the little creature that collected the county-cess: it would be a disgrace if it was; he was n't five foot high!

Tell Father Maher to send me a few threatening lines for Betty Cobb; 'tis nothing but the priest's word will keep her down.

Your most affectionate friend,

James Dodd

LETTER III. MISS DODD TO MISS DOOLAN, OF BALLYDOOLAN

HÔTEL DE BELLEVUE, BRUSSELS

Dearest Kitty, – If anything could divert the mind from sorrow, – from the "grief that sears and scalds," – it would be the delightful existence of this charming city, where associations of the past and present pleasure divide attention between them. We are stopping at the Bellevue, the great hotel of the upper town; but my delight, my ecstasy, is the old city, – the Grande Place, especially, with its curious architecture, of mediaeval taste, its high polished roofs, and carved architraves. I stood yesterday at the window where Count Egmont marched forth to the scaffold; I touched the chair where poor Horn sat for the last time, whilst his fainting wife fell powerless at his knees, and I thought, – yes, dearest Kitty, I own it, – I thought of that last dreadful parting in the summer-house with poor Peter. – My tears are blotting out the words as I write them. Why, – why, I ask, must we be wretched? Why are we not free to face the humble destiny which more sordid spirits would shrink from? What is there in narrow fortune, if the heart soars above it? Papa is, however, more inexorable than ever; and as for mamma, she looks at me as though I were the disgrace of our name and lineage. Cary never did – never could understand me, poor child! – may she never know what it is to suffer as I do! But why do I distress you with my sorrows? – "let me tune my harp to lighter lays," as that sweet poet, Haynes Bailey, says. We were yesterday at the great ball of Count Haegenstroem, the Danish Ambassador here. Papa received a large packet of letters of introduction on Monday last, from the Foreign Office. It would seem that Lord P. thought pa was a member, for he addressed him as M.P.; but the mistake has been so far fortunate, that we are invited on Tuesday to dine at Lord Gledworth's, our ambassador here, and we have his box for to-night at the Opera, – not to speak of last night's invitation, which came from him. I wore my amber gauze over the satin slip, with the "jonquilles" and white roses, two camellias in my hair, with mamma's coral chain twined through the roll at the back. Count Ambrose de Roncy called me a "rose-cameo," and I believe I did look my best. I danced with "Prince Sierra d'Aguila Nero," a Sicilian that ought to be King of Sicily, and will, they say, if the King of Naples dies without leaving seven sons. What a splendid man, Kitty! not tall, rather the reverse; but such eyes, and such a beard, and so perfumed, – the very air around him was like the garden of Attarghul! He spoke very little English, and could not bear to talk French; he said the French betrayed "la sua carissima patria;" and so, my dear Kitty, I did my best in the syllables of the sweet South. He, at least, called my accent "divina," and said that he would come and read Petrarch with me tomorrow. Don't let Peter be a fool when he hears this. The Prince is in a very different sphere from poor Mary Anne! he always dances with Queen Victoria when he's at Windsor, and called our Prince Consort "Il suo diletto Alberto;" and, more than all, he's married, but separated from the Princess. He told me this himself, and with what terrible emotion, Kitty! I thought of Charles Kean in Claude Melnotte, as he spoke in a low guttural voice, with his hand on his bosom. It was very dreadful, but these temperaments, moulded alike by southern climes and ancient descent, are awful in their passionate vehemence. I assure you, it was a relief to me when he stopped one of the trays and took a pineapple ice. I felt that it was a moment of peril passed in safety. You can form no notion, dearest, of the fascination of foreign manners; something there is so gently insinuating, so captivating, so bewitching, and withal so natural, Kitty, – that's the very strangest thing of all. There is absolutely nothing a foreigner cannot say to you. I almost blush as I think of what I now know must have been the veriest commonplace of society, but which to my ears, in all their untutored ignorance, sounded very odd.

Mamma – and you know her prudery – is actually in ecstasy with them. The Prince said to me last night, "Savez-vous, Mademoiselle! Madame votre mère est d'une beauté classique?" and I assure you ma was delighted with the compliment when she heard it. Papa is not so tractable: he calls them the most atrocious names, and has all the old prejudices about the Continent that we see in the old farces. Cary is, however, worse again, and thinks their easy elegance, is impertinence, and all the graceful charm of their manner nothing but – her own words – "egregious vanity." Shall I whisper you a bit of a secret? Well, then, Kitty, the reason of this repugnance may be that she makes no impression whatever, notwithstanding her beauty; and there is no denying that she does not possess the gift – whatever it be – of fascination. She has, besides, a species of antipathy to everything foreign, that she makes no effort to disguise. A rather unfortunate acquaintance ma made, on board the steam-packet, with a certain Mr. Krauth, who called himself sub-consul of somewhere in Holland, but who turned out to be a Jew pedler, has given Cary such an opportunity of inveighing against all foreigners that she is positively unendurable. This Krauth, I must say, was atrociously vulgar, and shockingly ugly; but as he could talk some broken English, ma rather liked him, and we had him to tea; after which he took James home to his lodgings, to show him some wonderful stuffed birds that he was bringing to the Royal Princesses. I have not patience to tell you all the narrative; but the end of it was that poor dear James, having given all his pocket-money and his silver pencil-case for a tin musical snuff-box that won't play Weber's last waltz, except in jerks like a hiccough, actually exchanged two dozen of his new shirts for a box of Havannah cigars and a cigar-case with a picture of Fanny Elssler on it! Papa was in a towering passion when he heard of it, and hastened off to K.'s lodgings; but he had already decamped. This unhappy incident threw a shade over our last few days at Ostend; for James never came down to dine, but sat in his own room smoking the atrocious cigars, and contemplating the portrait of the charming Fanny, – pursuits which, I must say, seemed to have conduced to a most melancholy and despondent frame of mind.

There was another mésaventure, my dearest Kitty. My thanks to that sweet language for the word by which I characterize it! A certain Count Victor de Lancy, who made acquaintance with us at the table d'hôte, and was presuming enough to visit us afterwards, turned out to be a common thief! and who, though under the surveillance of the police, made away with ma's workbox, and her gold spectacles, putting on pa's paletot, and a new plaid belonging to James, as he passed out. It is very shocking; but confess, dearest, what a land it must be, where the pedlers are insinuating, and the very pickpockets have all the ease and breeding of the best society. I assure you that I could not credit the guilt of M. de L., until the Brigadier came yesterday to inquire about our losses, and take what he called his signalement. I thought, for a moment or two, that he had made a mistake, Kitty, and was come for mine; for he looked into my eyes in such a way, and spoke so softly, that I began to blush; and mamma, always on the watch, bridled up, and said, "Mary Anne!" in that voice you must so well remember; and so it is, my dear friend, the thief and the constable, and I have no doubt, too, the judge, the jury, and the jailer, are all on the same beat!

I have just been called away to see such a love of a rose tunic, all glacé, to be worn over a dull slate-colored jupe, looped up at one side with white camellias and lilies of the valley. Think of me, Kitty, with my hair drawn back and slightly powdered, red heels to my shoes, and a great fan hanging to my side, like grave Aunt Susan In the picture, wanting nothing but the love-sick swain that plays the flageolet at her feet! – Madame Adèle, the modiste, says, "not long to wait for a dozen such," – and this not for a fancy ball, dearest, but for a simple evening party, – a "dance-able tea," as papa will call it. I vow to you, Kitty, that it greatly detracts from the pictorial effect of this taste, to see how obstinately men will adhere to their present ungainly and ungraceful style of dress, – that shocking solecism in costume, a narrow-tailed coat, and those more fearful outrages on shape and symmetry for which no name has been invented in any language. Now, the levelling effect of this black-coat system is terrific; and there is no distinguishing a man of real rank from his tailor, – amongst English at least, for the crosses and decorations so frequent with foreigners are unknown to us. Talking of these, Kitty, the Prince of Aguila Nero is splendid. He wears nearly every bird and beast that Noah had in the ark, and a few others quite unknown to antediluvial zoology. These distinctions are sad reflections on the want of a chivalric feeling in our country; and when we think of the heroic actions, the doughty deeds, and high achievements of these Paladins, we are forced to blush for the spirit that condemns us to be a nation of shopkeepers.

How I run on, dearest, from one topic to another! just as to my mind is presented the delightful succession of objects about me, – objects of whose very existence I did not know till now! And then to think of what a life of obscurity and darkness we were condemned to, at home! – our neighborhood, a priest, a miller, and those odious Davises; our gayeties, a detestable dinner at the Grange; our theatricals, "The Castle Spectre," performed in the coach-house; and instead of those gorgeous and splendid ceremonials of our Church, so impressive, so soul-subduing, Kitty, the little dirty chapel at Bruff, with Larry Behan, the lame sacristan, hobbling about and thrashing the urchins with the handle of the extinguisher! his muttered "If I was near yeez!" breaking in on the "Oremus, Domine." Shall I own it, Kitty, there is a dreadful vulgarity about our dear little circle of Dodsborough; and "one demoralizes," as the French say, by the incessant appeal of low and too familiar associations.

I have been again called away to interpret for papa, with the police. That graceless little wretch, Paddy Byrne, who was left behind by the train at Malines, went to eat his dinner at one of the small restaurants in the town, called the "Cheval Pie," and not finding the food to his satisfaction, got into some kind of an altercation with the waiter, when the name of the hostel coming up in the dispute, suggested to Paddy the horrid thought that it was the "Horse Pie-house" he had chanced upon, – an idea so revolting to his culinary prejudices that he smashed and broke everything before him, and was only subdued at last by a corporal's party of the gendarmerie, who handcuffed and conveyed him to Brussels; and here he is, now, crying and calling himself a "poor boy that was dragged from home," and, in fact, trying to persuade himself and all around him that he has been sold into slavery by a cruel master. Betty Cobb, too, has just joined the chorus, and is eloquently interweaving a little episode of Irish wrongs and sorrows into the tissue of Paddy's woes!

Betty is worse than him. There is nothing good enough for her to eat; no bed to sleep upon; she even finds the Belgians deficient in cleanliness. This, after Bruff, is a little too bad; mamma, however, stands by her in everything, and in the end she will become intolerable. James intends to send a few lines to your brother Robert; but if he should fail – not improbable, as writing, with him, combines the double difficulties of orthography and manuscript – pray remember us kindly to him, and believe me ever, my dearest Kitty,

Your heart-devoted

Mart Anne Dodd.

P. S. must not think of writing; but you may tell him that I'm unchanged, unchangeable. The cold maxims of worldly prudence, the sordid calculations of worldly interests affect me not. As Metastasio says, —

"O, se ragione intende Subito amor, non è."

I know it, – I feel it. There is what Balzac calls une perversité divine in true affection, that teaches one to brave father and mother and brother, and this glorious sentiment is the cradle of true martyrdom. May my heart cherish this noble grief, and never forget that if there is no struggle, there is no victory!

Do you remember Captain Morris, of the 25th, the little dark officer that came down to Bruff, after the burning of the Sheas? I saw him yesterday; but, Kitty, how differently he looked here in his passé blue frock, from his air in "our village!" He wanted to bow, but I cut him dead. "No," thought I, "times are changed, and we with them!" Caroline, who was walking behind me with James, however, not only saluted, but spoke to him. He said, "I see your sister forgets me; but I know how altered ill-health has made me. I am going to leave the service." He asked where we were stopping, – a most unnecessary piece of attention; for after the altercation he had with pa on the Bench at Bruff, I think common delicacy might keep him from seeking us out.

Try and persuade your papa to take you abroad, Kitty, if only for a summer ramble; believe me, there is no other refining process like it. If you only saw James already – you remember what a sloven he was – you'd not know him; his hair so nicely divided and perfumed; his gloves so accurately fitting; his boots perfection in shape and polish; and all the dearest little trinkets in the world – pistols and steam-carriages, death's-heads, ships and serpents – hanging from his watch-chain; and as for the top of his cane, Kitty, it is paved with turquoise, and has a great opal in the middle. Where, how, and when he got all this "elegance," I can't even guess, and I see it must be a secret, for neither pa nor ma have ever yet seen him en gala. I wish your brother Robert was with him. It would be such an advantage to him. I am certain Trinity College is all that you say of it; but confess, Kitty, Dublin is terribly behind the world in all that regards civilization and "ton."

LETTER IV. JAMES DODD TO ROBERT DOOLAN, ESQUIRE TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN

HÔTEL DE BELLEVUE, BRUSSELS

Dear Bob, – Here we are, living another kind of life from our old existence at Dodsborough! We have capital quarters at the "Bellevue," – a fine hotel, excellent dinners, and, what I think not inferior to either, a most obliging Jew money-changer hard by, who advances "moderate loans to respectable parties, on personal security," – a process in which I have already made some proficiency, and with considerable advantage to my outward man. The tailors are first-rate, and rig you out with gloves, boots, hat, even to your cane, – they forget nothing. The hairdressers are also incomparable. I thought, at first, that capillary attraction was beyond me; but, to my agreeable surprise, I discover that I boast a very imposing chevelure, and a bright promise of moustache which, as yet, is only faintly depicted by a dusky line on my upper lip.

It's all nonsense to undervalue dress: I'm no more the same man in my dark-green paletot, trimmed with Astracan, that I was a month ago in my fustian shooting-jacket, than a well-plumed eagle is like a half-moulted turkey. There is an inseparable connection between your coat and your character; and few things so react on the morality of a man as the cut of his trousers. Nothing more certainly tells me this than the feeling with which I enter any public place now, compared to what I experienced a few weeks back. It was then half shame, half swagger, – a conflict between modesty and defiance. Now, it is the easy assurance of being "all right," – the conviction that my hat, my frock, my cravat, my vest, can stand the most critical examination; and that if any one be impertinent enough to indulge in the inquiry through his eye-glass, I have the equal privilege to return stare for stare, with, mayhap, an initiatory sneer into the bargain. By the way, the habit of looking unutterably fierce seems to be the first lesson abroad. The passport people, as you land, the officers of the Customs, the landlord of your inn, the waiters, the railroad clerks, all "get up" a general air of sovereign contempt for everybody and everything, rather puzzling at first, but quite reassuring when you are trained to reciprocity. For the time, I rather flatter myself to have learned the dodge well; not but, I must confess to you, Bob, that my education is prosecuted under difficulties. During the whole of the morning I 'm either with the governor or my mother, sight-seeing and house-hunting, – now seeking out a Rubens, now making an excursion into the market, and making exploratory researches into the prices of fish, fowl, and vegetables; cheapening articles that we don't intend to buy, – a process my mother looks upon as a moral exercise; and climbing up "two-pair," to see lodgings we have no intention to take: all because, as she says, "we ought to know everything;" and really the spirit of inquiry that moves her will have its reward, – not always, perhaps, without some drawbacks, as witness what happened to us on Tuesday. In our rambles along the Boulevard de Waterloo, we saw a smart-looking house, with an affiche over the door, "A louer;" and, of course, mother and Mary Anne at once stopped the carriage for an exploration. In we went, asked for the proprietor, and saw a small, rosy-cheeked little man, with a big wig, and a very inquiet, restless look in his eyes. "Could we see the house? Was it furnished?" "Yes," to both questions. "Were there stables?" "Capital room for four horses; good water, – two kinds, and both excellent." Upstairs we toiled, through one salon into another, – now losing ourselves in dark passages, now coming abruptly to unlock-able doors, – everlastingly coming back to the spot we had just left, and conceiving the grandest notions of the number of rooms, from the manner of our own perambulations. Of course you know the invariable incidents of this tiresome process, where the owner is always trying to open impracticable windows, and the visitors will rush into inscrutable places, in despite of all advice and admonition. Our voyage of discovery was like all preceding ones; and we looked down well-staircases and up into skylights, – snuffed for possible smells, and suggested imaginary smoke, in every room we saw. While we were thus busily criticising the domicile, its owner, it would seem, was as actively engaged in an examination of us, and apparently with a less satisfactory result, for he broke in upon one of our consultations by a friendly "No, no, ladies; it won't do, – it won't do at all. This house would never suit;" and while my mother stared, and Mary Anne opened wide her eyes in astonishment, he went on: "We 're only losing time, ladies; both your time and mine will be wasted. This is not the house for you." "I beg to observe, sir, that I think it is," interposed my mother, who, with a very womanly feeling, took a prodigious fancy to the place the moment she discovered there was a difficulty about it. The owner, however, was to the full as decided; and in fact hurried us out of the rooms, downstairs, and into the street, with a degree of haste savoring far more of impatience than politeness. I rather was disposed to laugh at the little man's energetic rejection of us; but my mother's rage rendered any "mirthful demonstration inopportune," as the French would say; and so I only exchanged glances with Mary Anne, while our eloquent parent abused the "little wretch" to her heart's content. Although the circumstance was amply discussed by us that evening, we had well-nigh forgotten it in the morning, when, to our astonishment, our little friend of the Boulevard sent in his name, "Mr. Cherry," with a request to see papa. My mother was for seeing him herself; but this amendment was rejected, and the original motion carried.