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Extracted from Fardorougha the Miser by William Carleton, published by Appletree Press
Fardorougha the Miser
by William Carleton
Chapter One - part 4
"Well," said Honor, after he had left the room, "we're now married near fourteen years; and until this night I never see him shed a tear."
"But sure, acushla, if any thing can touch a father's heart the sight of his first child will. Now keep yourself aisy, avourneen, and tell me where the whiskey an' any thing else that may be a wantin' is, till I give these crathurs of sarvints a dhrop of something to comfort thim."
At this time, however, Mrs. Donovan's mother and two sisters, who had for some hours previously been sent for, just arrived, a circumstance which once more touched the newly awakened chords of the mother's heart, and gave her that confidence which the presence of "one's own blood," as the people express it, always communicates upon such occasions. After having kissed and admired the babe, and bedewed its face with the warm tears of affection, they piously knelt down, as is the custom among most Irish families, and offered up a short but fervent prayer of gratitude as well for an event so happy, as for her safe delivery, and the future welfare of the mother and child. When this was performed, they set themselves to the distribution of the blythe meat or groaning malt, a duty which the midwife transferred to them with much pleasure, this being a matter which, except in cases of necessity, she considers beneath the dignity of her profession. The servants were accordingly summoned in due time, and headed by Nogher, soon made their appearance. In events of this nature, servants in Ireland, and we believe every where else, are always allowed a considerable stretch of good-humoured license in those observations which they are in the habit of making. Indeed this is not so much an extemporaneous indulgence of wit on their part, as a mere repetition of the set phrases and traditionary apothegms which have been long established among the peasantry, and as they are in general expressive of present satisfaction and good wishes for the future, so would it be looked upon as churlishness, and in some cases a sign of ill-luck to neglect them on the part of the servants.
"Now," said Honor's mother to the servants of both sexes, "now, childre, that you've aite a trifle, you must taste somethin' in the way of dhrink. It would be too bad on this night, above all nights we've seen yet, not to have a glass to the little stranger's health, at all evints. Here, Nogher, thry this, avick–you never got a glass wid a warmer heart."
Nogher took the liquor, his grave face charged with suppressed humour, and first looking upon his fellow-servants with a countenance so droll yet dry that none but themselves understood it, he then directed a very sober glance at the good woman.
"Thank you, ma'am," he exclaimed; "be goxty, sure enough if our hearts wouldn't get warm now, they'd never warm. A happy night it is for Fardorougha and the misthress, at any rate. I'll engage the stranger was worth waitin' for too. I'll hould a thrifle , he's the beauty o' the world this minnit–an' I'll engage it's breeches we'll have to be gettin' for him some o' these days, the darlin'. Well, here's his health, any way; an' may he"–
"Husht, arogorah!" exclaimed the midwife; "stop, I say–the tree afore the fruit, all the world over: don't you know, an' bad win to you, that if the sthranger was to go to-morrow, as good might come after him, while the paarent stocks are to the fore. The mother an' father first, acushla, an' thin the sthranger."
"Many thanks to you, Mrs. Moan," replied Nogher, "for settin' me right–sure we'll know something ourselves whin it comes our own turn, plase goodness. If the misthress isn't asleep, by goxty, I'd call in to her, that
I'm dhrinkin' her health." .
"She's not asleep," said her mother; "an' proud she'll be, poor thing, to hear you, Nogher."
"Misthress!" he said in a loud voice, "are you asleep, ma'am?"
"No, indeed, Nogher," she replied, in a good-humoured tone of voice. "Well, ma'am," said Nogher, still in a loud voice, and scratching his head, "here's your health! an' now that the ice is bruk–be goxty, an' so it is sure," said he in an undertone to the rest–"Peggy, behave yourself," he continued to one of the servant-maids, "mockin's catchin': faix, you dunna what's afore yourself yet–beg pardon–I'm forgettin' myself–and now that the ice is bruk, ma'am," he resumed, "you must be dacent for the futher. Many a bottle, plase goodness, we'll have this way yet. Your health, ma'am, an' a speedy recovery to you–an a sudden uprise–not forgettin' the masther–Iong life to him!"
"What!" said the midwife, "are you forgettin' the sthranger?"
Nogher looked her full in the face, and opening his mouth, without saying a word, literally pitched the glass of spirits to the very bottom of his throat.
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he replied, "is it three healths you'd have me dhrink wid the one glassful?–not myself, indeed; faix, I'd be long sorry to make so little of him–if he was a bit of a girsha [little girl] ,– I'd not scruple to give him a corner o' the glass, but, bein' a young man, althers the case intirely–he must have a bumper for himself."
"A girsha!" said Peggy, his fellow-servant, feeling the indignity just offered to her sex–"Why, thin, bad manners to your assurance for that same! A girsha's as well intitled to a full glass as a gorsoon, any day."
"Husht, a colleen," .said Nogher good-humouredly, "sure, it's takin' patthern by sich a fine example you ought to be. This, Mrs. Moan, is the purty crature I was mentionin' as we came along, that intinds to get dovetailed wid myself some o' these days–that is, if she can bring me into good humour, the thief."
"And if it does happen," said Peggy, "you'll have to look sharp afther him, Mrs. Moan. He's pleasant enough now, but I'll be bound no man 'ill know betther how to hang his fiddle behind the door [To leave his good humour behind him.] whin he comes home to us."
"Well, acushla, sure he may, if he likes, but if he does, he knows what's afore him–not sayin' that he ever will, 1 hope, for it's a woful case whin it comes to that, ahagur." [This refers to an opinion which was prevalent in Ireland with reference to the old class of midwives, viz: that in cases similar to Honora Donovan's, they possessed the power of transferring the penalty of woman's original guilt to the husband, if he chanced to be brutal. The wife merely giving birth to the offspring, the other bearing all the pain. In many parts of Ireland it is yet believed that they possess this power.]
"Faix, it's a happy story for half the poor wives of the parish that you are in it," said Peggy, "sure, only for"–
"Be dhe husth, Vread, agus glak shogh–hould your tongue, Peggy, and taste this," said the mother of her misthress, handing her a glass: "If you intind to go together, in the name o' goodness fear God more than the midwife, if you want to have luck an' grace."
"Oh, is it all this?" exclaimed the sly girl; "faix, it'll make me hearty if I drink so much–bedeed it will. Well, misthress, your health, an' a speedy uprise to you–an' the same to the masther, not forgettin' the sthranger–long life an' good health to him!"
She then put the glass to her lips, and after several small sips, appearing to be so many unsuccessful attempts at overcoming her reluctance to drink it, she at length took courage, and bolting it down, immediately applied her apron to her mouth, making at the same time two or three wry faces, gasping, as if to recover the breath which it did not take away from her.
The midwife, in the mean time, felt that the advice just given to Nogher and Peggy contained a clause somewhat more detrimental to her importance than was altogether agreeable to her; and to sit calmly under any imputation that involved a diminution of her authority was not within the code of her practice.
"If they go together," she observed, "it's right to fear God, no doubt; but that's no raison why they shouldn't pay respect to thim that can sarve thim or otherwise."
"Nobody says against that, Mrs. Moan," replied the other; "it's all fair, an' nothing else."
"A midwife's nuttin' in your eyes, we suppose," rejoined Mrs. Moan; "but maybe there's thim belongin' to you could tell to the conthrairy."
"Oblaged to you, we suppose, for your sarvices–an' we're not denying that aither."
"For me sarvices–maybe thim same sarvices warn't very sweet or treaclesome to some o' thim," she rejoined, with a mysterious and some–what indignant toss of the head.
"Well, well," said the other in a friendly tone, "that makes no maxim one way or the other, only dhrink this–sure we're not goin' to quarrel about it, any how."
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