Читать книгу The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector - William Carleton - Страница 12

* Blantur, a well-known description of oats. It was so

called from having been originally imported from Blantire in

Scotland.

“We must live, Barney; 'tis a poor shift we'd make 'idout the praties and the broghan,” (meal porridge).

“What news from the big house?”

“News, is it? Come, Corney, come, girls, bounce; news is it? O, faitha', thin it's I that has the news that will make you all shake your feet to-night.”

“Blessed saints, Barney what is it?”

“Bounce, I say, and off wid ye to gather brusna (dried and rotten brambles) for a bonfire in the great town of Rathfillan.”

“A bonfire, Barney! Arra, why, man alive?”

“Why? Why, bekaise the masther's stepson and the misthress's own pet has come home to us to set the counthry into a state o' conflagration wid his beauty. There won't be a whole cap in the barony before this day week. They're to have fiddlers, and pipers, and dancin', and drinkin' to no end; and the glory of it is that the masther, God bless him, is to pay for all. Now!”

The younger of the two girls sprang to her feet with the elasticity and agility of a deer.

“O, beetha, Barney,” she exclaimed, “but that will be the fun! And the misthress's son is home? Arra, what is he like, Barney? Is he as handsome as Masther Charles?”

“I hope he's as good,” said her mother.

“As good, Bridget? No, but worth a shipload of him; he has a pair of eyes in his head, Granua,” (anglice, Grace,) addressing the younger, “that 'ud turn Glendhis (the dark glen) to noonday at midnight; divil a lie in it; and his hand's never out of his pocket wid generosity.”

“O, mother,” said Grace, “won't we all go?”

“Don't ax your mother anything about it,” replied Barney, “bekaise mother, and father, and sister, and brother, daughter and son, is all to come.”

“Arra, Barney,” said Bridget Davoren, for such was her name, “is this gentleman like his ecald of a mother?”

“Hasn't a feature of her purty face,” he replied, “and, to the back o' that, is very much given to religion. Troth, my own opinion is, he'll be one of ourselves yet; for I can tell you a saicret about him.”

“A saicret, Barney,” said Grace; “maybe he's married?”

“Married, no; he tould me himself this momin' that it's not his intention ever to marry 'till he meets a purty girl to plaise him; he'll keep a loose foot, he says, and an aisy conscience till then, he says; but the saicret is this, he never aits flesh mate of a Friday—when he emit get it. Indeed, I'm afeared he's too good to be long for this world; but still, if the Lord was to take him, wouldn't it be a proof that he had a great regard for him!”

Grace Davoren was flushed and excited with delight. She was about eighteen, rather tall for her age, but roundly and exquisitely moulded; her glossy ringlets, as they danced about her cheeks and shoulders, were black as ebony; but she was no brunette; for her skin was milk white, and that portion of her bosom, which was uncovered by the simple nature of her dress, threw back a polished light like ivory; her figure was perfection, and her white legs were a finer specimen of symmetry than ever supported the body of the Venus de Medicis. This was all excellent; but it was the sparkling lustre of her eyes, and the radiance of her whole countenance, that attracted the beholder. If there was anything to be found fault with, it was in the spirit, not in the physical perfection, of her beauty. There was, for instance, too much warmth of coloring and of constitution visible in her whole exquisite person; and sometimes her glances, would puzzle you to determine whether they were those of innocence or of challenge. Be this as it may, she was a rare specimen of rustic beauty and buoyancy of spirit.

“O, Barney,” said she, “that's the pleasantest news I heard this month o' Sundays—sich dancin' as we'll have! and maybe I won't foot it, and me got my new shoes and drugget gown last week;” and here she lilted a gay Irish air, to which she set a-dancing with a lightness of foot and vivacity of manner that threw her whole countenance into a most exquisite glow of mirthful beauty.

“Granua,” said her mother, reprovingly, “think of yourself and what you are about; if you worn't a light-hearted, and, I'm afeard, a light-headed, girl, too, you wouldn't go on as you do, especially when you know what you know, and what Barney here, too, knows.”

“Ah,” said Barney, his whole manner immediately changing, “have you heard from him, poor fellow?”

“Torley's gone to the mountains,” she replied, “and—but here he is. Well, Torley, what news, asthore?”

Her husband having passed a friendly greeting to Barney, sat down, and having taken off his hat, lifted the skirt of his cothamore (big coat) and wiped the perspiration off his large and manly forehead, on which, however, were the traces of deep care. He did not speak for some time, but at length said:

“Bridget, give me a drink.”

His wife took a wooden noggin, which she dipped into a churn and handed him. Having finished it at a draught, he wiped his mouth with his gathered, palm, breathed deeply, but was still silent.

“Torley, did you hear me? What news of that unfortunate boy?”

“No news, Bridget, at least no good news; the boy's an outlaw, and will be an outlaw—or rather he won't be an outlaw long; they'll get him soon.”

“But why would they get him? hasn't he sense enough to keep from them?”

“That's just what he has not, Bridget; he has left the mountains and come down somewhere to the Infield country; but where, I cannot make out.”

“Well, asthore, he'll only bring on his own punishment. Troth, I'm not a bit sorry that Granua missed him. I never was to say, for the match, but you should have your way, and force the girl there to it, over and above. Of what use is his land and wealth to him now?”

“God's will be done,” replied her husband, sorrowfully. “As for me, I can do no more in it, nor I won't. I was doing the best for my child. He'll be guided by no one's advice but his own.”

“That's true,” replied his wife, “you did. But here's Barney Casey, from the big house, comin' to warn the tenantry to a bonfire that's to be made to-night in Rathfillan, out of rejoicin' for the misthress's son that's come home to them.”

Here Barney once more repeated the message, with which the reader is already acquainted.

“You are all to come,” he proceeded, “ould and young; and to bring every one a backload of sticks and brusna to help to make the bonfire.”

“Is this message from the masther or misthress, Barney?” asked Davoren.

“O, straight from himself,” he replied. “I have it from his own lips. Troth he's ready to leap out of his skin wid delight.”

“Bekaise,” added Davoren, “if it came from the misthress, the sorrow foot either I or any one of my family would set near her; but from himself, that's a horse of another color. Tell him, Barney, we'll be there, and bring what we can to help the bonfire.”

Until this moment the young fellow at the fire never uttered a syllable, nor seemed in the slightest degree conscious that there was any person in the house but himself. He was now engaged in masticating the potatoes, and eggs, the latter of which he ate with a thin splinter of bog deal, which served as a substitute for an egg-spoon, and which is to-this day used among the poor for the same purpose in the remoter parts of Ireland. At length he spoke:

“This won't be a good night for a bonfire anyhow.”

“Why, Andy, abouchal?” (my boy.)

“Bekaise, mudher, the storm was in the fire* last night when I was rakin' it.”

* This is a singular phenomenon, which, so far as I am

aware, has never yet been noticed by any Irish or Scotch

writers when describing the habits and usages of the people

in either country. When stirring the greeshaugh, or red- hot ashes, at night at the settling, or mending, or Taking of the fire, a blue, phosphoric-looking light is distinctly visible in the embers, and the more visible in proportion to the feebleness of the light emitted by the fire. It is only during certain states of the atmosphere that this is seen. It is always considered as as prognostic of severe weather, and its appearance is termed as above.

“Then we'll have rough weather,” said his father; “no doubt of that.”

“Don't be afeard,” said Barney, laughing; “take my word for it, if there's to be rough weather, and that some witch or wizard has broken bargain with the devil, the misthress has intherest to get it put off till the bonfire's over.”

He then bade them good-by, and took his departure to fulfil his agreeable and welcome mission. Indeed, he spent the greater portion of the day not only in going among the tenants in person, but in sending the purport of the said mission to be borne upon the four winds of heaven through every quarter of the barony; after which he proceeded to the little market-town of Rathfillan, where he secured the services of two fiddlers and two pipers. This being accomplished, he returned home to his master's, ripe and ready for both dinner and supper; for, as he had missed the former meal, he deemed it most judicious to kill, as he said, the two birds with one stone, by demolishing them both together.