English As We Speak It in Ireland Part 8

The same Father O'Leary once met in the streets a friend, a witty Protestant clergyman with whom he had many an encounter of wit and repartee. 'Ah Father O'Leary, have you heard the bad news?' 'No,' says Father O'Leary. 'Well, the bottom has fallen out of purgatory, and all the poor Papists have gone down into h.e.l.l.' 'Oh the Lord save us,' answered Father O'Leary, 'what a crushing the poor Protestants must have got!'

Father O'Leary and Curran--the great orator and wit--sat side by side once at a dinner party, where Curran was charmed with his reverend friend. 'Ah Father O'Leary,' he exclaimed at last, 'I wish you had the key of heaven.'

'Well Curran it might be better for you that I had the key of the other place.'

A parish priest only recently dead, a well-known wit, sat beside a venerable Protestant clergyman at {65} dinner; and they got on very agreeably. This clergyman rather ostentatiously proclaimed his liberality by saying:--'Well Father ---- I have been for _sixty years in this world_ and I could never understand that there is any great and essential difference between the Catholic religion and the Protestant.' 'I can tell you,' replied Father ----, 'that when you die you'll not be _sixty minutes in the other world_ before you will understand it perfectly.'

The preceding are all in joke: but I once heard the idea enunciated in downright earnest. In my early life, we, the village people, were a mixed community, about half and half Catholics and Protestants, the latter nearly all Palatines, who were Methodists to a man. We got on very well together, and I have very kindly memories of my old playfellows, Palatines as well as Catholics.

One young Palatine, Peter Stuffle, differed in one important respect from the others, as he never attended Church Ma.s.s or Meeting. He emigrated to America; and being a level headed fellow and keeping from drink, he got on.

At last he came across Nelly Sullivan, a bright eyed colleen all the way from Kerry, a devoted Catholic, and fell head and ears in love with her.

She liked him too, but would have nothing to say to him unless he became a Catholic: in the words of the old song, 'Unless that you turn a _Roman_ you ne'er shall get me for your bride.' Peter's theology was not proof against Nelly's bright face: he became a Catholic, and a faithful one too: for once he was inside the gate his wife took care to instruct him, and kept him well up to his religious duties. {66}

They prospered; so that at the end of some years he was able to visit his native place. On his arrival nothing could exceed the consternation and rage of his former friends to find that instead of denouncing the Pope, he was now a flaming papist: and they all disowned and boycotted him. So he visited round his Catholic neighbours who were very glad to receive him. I was present at one of the conversations: when Peter, recounting his successful career, wound up with:--'So you see, James, that I am now well off, thanks be to G.o.d and to Nelly. I have a large farm, with ever so many horses, and a fine _baan_ of cows, and you could hardly count the sheep and pigs. I'd be as happy as the days are long now, James, only for one thing that's often troubling me; and that is, to think that my poor old father and mother are in h.e.l.l.'

CHAPTER VI.

SWEARING.

The general run of our people do not swear much; and those that do commonly limit themselves to the name of the devil either straight out or in some of its various disguised forms, or to some harmless imitation of a curse. You do indeed come across persons who go higher, but they are rare. Yet while keeping themselves generally within safe bounds, it must be confessed that many of the people have a sort of sneaking admiration--lurking secretly and seldom expressed in words--for a good well-balanced curse, so long as it does not shock by its profanity. I once knew a doctor--not in {67} Dublin--who, it might be said, was a genius in this line. He could, on the spur of the moment, roll out a magnificent curse that might vie with a pa.s.sage of the Iliad in the mouth of Homer. 'Oh sir'--as I heard a fellow say--''tis grand to listen to him when he's in a rage.' He was known as a skilled physician, and a good fellow in every way, and his splendid swearing crowned his popularity. He had discretion however, and knew when to swear and when not; but ultimately he swore his way into an extensive and lucrative practice, which lasted during his whole life--a long and honourable one.

Parallel to this is Maxwell's account of the cursing of Major Denis O'Farrell--'the Mad Major,' who appears to have been a dangerous rival to my acquaintance, the doctor. He was once directing the evolutions at a review in presence of Sir Charles, the General, when one important movement was spoiled by the blundering of an incompetent little adjutant. In a towering pa.s.sion the Mad Major addressed the General:--'Stop, Sir Charles, do stop; just allow me two minutes to curse that rascally adjutant.' To so reasonable a request (Maxwell goes on to say), Sir Charles readily a.s.sented. He heard the whole malediction out, and speaking of it afterwards, he said that 'he never heard a man cursed to his perfect satisfaction until he heard (that adjutant) anathematised in the Phoenix Park.'

The Mad Major was a great favourite; and when he died, there was not a dry eye in the regiment on the day of the funeral. Two months afterwards when an Irish soldier was questioned on the merits of his successor:--'The man is well enough,' said Pat, {68} with a heavy sigh, 'but where will we find the equal of the Major? By j.a.pers, it was a comfort to be cursed by him!'

('Wild Sports of the West.')

In my part of the country there is--or was--a legend--a very circ.u.mstantial one too--which however I am not able to verify personally, as the thing occurred a little before my time--that Father Buckley, of Glenroe, cured Charley Coscoran, the greatest swearer in the barony--cured him in a most original way. He simply directed him to cut out a b.u.t.ton from some part of his dress, no matter where--_to whip it out on the instant_--every time he uttered a serious curse, i.e, one involving the Sacred Name. Charley made the promise with a light heart, thinking that by only using a little caution he could easily avoid snipping off his b.u.t.tons. But inveterate habit is strong. Only very shortly after he had left the priest he saw a cow in one of his cornfields playing havoc: out came a round curse, and off came a b.u.t.ton on the spot. For Charley was a manly fellow, with a real sense of religion at bottom: and he had no notion of shirking his penance.

Another curse after some time and another b.u.t.ton. Others again followed:--coat, waistcoat, trousers, shirt-collar, were brought under contribution till his clothes began to fall off him. For a needle and thread were not always at hand, and at any rate Charley was no great shakes at the needle. At last things came to that pa.s.s with poor Charley, that life was hardly worth living; till he had to put his mind seriously to work, and by careful watching he gradually cured himself. But many score b.u.t.tons pa.s.sed through his hands during the process. {69}

Most persons have a sort of craving or instinct to utter a curse of some kind--as a sort of comforting interjection--where there is sufficient provocation; and in order to satisfy this without incurring the guilt, people have invented e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns in the form of curses, but still harmless. Most of them have some resemblance in sound to the forbidden word--they are near enough to satisfy the craving, but still far enough off to avoid the guilt: the process may in fact be designated _dodging a curse_. Hence we have such blank cartridges as _begob_, _begor_, by my _sowkins_, by _Jove_, by the _laws_ [Lord], by _herrings_ [heavens], by _this and by that_, _dang_ it, &c.; all of them ghosts of curses, which are very general among our people. The following additional examples will sufficiently ill.u.s.trate this part of our subject.

The expression _the dear knows_ (or correctly _the deer knows_), which is very common, is a translation from Irish of one of those subst.i.tutions. The original expression is _thauss ag Dhee_ [given here phonetically], meaning _G.o.d knows_; but as this is too solemn and profane for most people, they changed it to _Thauss ag fee_, i.e. _the deer knows_; and this may be uttered by anyone. _Dia_ [Dhee] G.o.d: _fiadh_ [fee], a deer.

Says Barney Broderick, who is going through his penance after confession at the station, and is interrupted by a woman asking him a question:--'Salvation seize your soul--G.o.d forgive me for cursing--be off out of that and don't set me astray!' ('Knocknagow.') Here the subst.i.tution has turned a wicked imprecation into a benison: for the first word in the original is not _salvation_ but _d.a.m.nation_. {70}

'By the hole in my coat,' which is often heard, is regarded as a harmless oath: for if there is no hole you are swearing by nothing: and if there is a hole--still the hole is nothing.

'Bad manners to you,' a mild imprecation, to avoid 'bad luck to you,' which would be considered wicked: reflecting the people's horror of rude or offensive manners.

'By all the goats in Kerry,' which I have often heard, is always said in joke, which takes the venom out of it. In Leinster they say, 'by all the goats in Gorey'--which is a big oath. Whether it is a big oath now or not, I do not know; but it was so formerly, for the name _Gorey_ (Wexford), like the Scotch _Gowrie_, means 'swarming with goats.'

'Man,' says the pretty mermaid to d.i.c.k Fitzgerald, when he had captured her from the sea, 'man will you eat me?' '_By all the red petticoats and check ap.r.o.ns between Dingle and Tralee_,' cried d.i.c.k, jumping up in amazement, 'I'd as soon eat myself, my jewel! Is it I to eat you, my pet!' (Crofton Croker.)

'Where did he get the whiskey?' 'Sorrow a know I know,' said Leary. 'Sorrow fly away with him.' (Crofton Croker.) In these and such like--which you often hear--_sorrow_ is a subst.i.tute for _devil_.

Perhaps the most general exclamations of this kind among Irish people are _begor_, _begob_, _bedad_, _begad_ (often contracted to _egad_), _faith_ and _troth_. _Faith_, contracted from _in faith_ or _i' faith_, is looked upon by many people as not quite harmless: it is a little too serious to be used indiscriminately--'Faith I feel this day very cold': 'Is that tea good?' {71} 'Faith it is no such thing: it is very weak.' 'Did Mick sell his cows to-day at the fair?' 'Faith I don't know.' People who shrink from the plain word often soften it to _faix_ or _haith_ (or _heth_ in Ulster).

An intelligent contributor makes the remark that the use of this word _faith_ (as above) is a sure mark of an Irishman all over the world.

Even some of the best men will occasionally, in an unguarded moment or in a hasty flash of anger, give way to the swearing instinct. Father John Burke of Kilfinane--I remember him well--a tall stern-looking man with heavy brows, but really gentle and tender-hearted--held a station at the house of our neighbour Tom Coffey, a truly upright and pious man. All had gone to confession and Holy Communion, and the station was over. Tom went out to bring the priest's horse from the paddock, but in leading him through a gap in the hedge the horse stood stock still and refused obstinately to go an inch farther. Tom pulled and tugged to no purpose, till at last his patience went to pieces, and he flung this, in no gentle voice, at the animal's head:--'Blast your _sowl_ will you come on!' Just then unluckily Father Burke walked up behind: he had witnessed and heard all, and you may well say that Tom's heart dropped down into his shoes; for he felt thoroughly ashamed. The crime was not great; but it looked bad and unbecoming under the circ.u.mstances; and what could the priest do but perform his duty: so the black brows contracted, and on the spot he gave poor Tom _down-the-banks_ and no mistake. I was at that station, though I did not witness the horse scene. {72}

If a person pledges himself to anything, clinching the promise with an adjuration however mild or harmless, he will not by any means break the promise, considering it in a manner as a vow. The old couple are at tea and have just one egg, which causes a mild dispute. At last the father says decisively--'The divel a bit of it I'll eat, so there's an end of it': when the mother instantly and with great solemnity--'FAITH I won't eat it--there now!' The result was that neither would touch it; and they gave it to their little boy who demolished it without the least scruple.

I was one time a witness of a serio-comic scene _on the head of_ one of these blank oaths when I was a small boy attending a very small school. The master was a truly good and religious man, but very severe (a _wicked_ master, as we used to say), and almost insane in his aversion to swearing in any shape or form. To say _begob_ or _begor_ or _by Jove_ was unpardonably wicked; it was nothing better than blindfolding the devil in the dark.

One day Jack Aimy, then about twelve years of age--_the saint_ as we used to call him--for he was always in mischief and always in trouble--said exultingly to the boy sitting next him:--'Oh _by the hokey_, Tom, I have my sum finished all right at last.' In evil hour for him the master happened to be standing just behind his back; and then came the deluge. In an instant the school work was stopped, and poor Jack was called up to stand before the judgment seat. There he got a long lecture--with the usual quotations--as severe and solemn as if he were a man and had perjured himself half a {73} dozen times. As for the rest of us, we sat in the deadly silence shivering in our skins; for we all, to a man, had a guilty consciousness that we were quite as bad as Jack, if the truth were known.

Then poor Jack was sent to his seat so wretched and crestfallen after his lecture that a crow wouldn't pick his bones.

'By the hokey' is to this day common all over Ireland.

When we, Irish, go abroad, we of course bring with us our peculiarities and mannerisms--with now and then a little meteoric flash of eccentricity--which on the whole prove rather attractive to foreigners, including Englishmen. One Sunday during the South African war, Ma.s.s was celebrated as usual in the temporary chapel, which, after the rough and ready way of the camp, served for both Catholics and Protestants: Ma.s.s first; Protestant Service after. On this occasion an Irish officer, a splendid specimen of a man, tall, straight, and athletic--a man born to command, and well known as a strict and devoted Catholic--was serving Ma.s.s--aiding and giving the responses to the priest. The congregation was of course of mixed nationalities--English, Irish, and Scotch, and the chapel was filled. Just outside the chapel door a n.i.g.g.e.r had charge of the big bell to call the congregations. On this day, in blissful ignorance and indifference, he began to ring for the Protestant congregation too soon--while Ma.s.s was still going on--so as greatly to disturb the people at their devotions. The officer was observed to show signs of impatience, growing more and more restless as the ringing went {74} on persistently, till at last one concentrated series of bangs burst up his patience utterly. Starting up from his knees during a short interval when his presence was not required--it happened to be after the most solemn part of the Ma.s.s--he strode down the middle pa.s.sage in a mighty rage--to the astonishment of everybody--till he got to the door, and letting fly--in the midst of the perfect silence,--a tremendous volley of _d.a.m.ns_, _blasts_, _scoundrels_, _blackguards_, &c., &c., at the head of the terrified n.i.g.g.e.r, he shut him up, himself and his bell, while a cat would be licking her ear.

He then walked back and resumed his duties, calm and collected, and evidently quite unconscious that there was anything unusual in the proceeding.

The whole thing was so sudden and odd that the congregation were convulsed with suppressed silent laughter; and I am afraid that some people observed even the priest's sides shaking in spite of all he could do.

This story was obtained from a person who was present at that very Ma.s.s; and it is given here almost in his own words.

CHAPTER VII.

GRAMMAR AND p.r.o.nUNCIATION.

_Shall_ and _Will_. It has been pretty clearly shown that the somewhat anomalous and complicated niceties in the English use of _shall_ and _will_ have been developed within the last 300 years or so. It is of course well known that our Irish popular manner of using these {75} two particles is not in accordance with the present correct English standard; yet most of our shall-and-will Hibernianisms represent the cla.s.sical usage of two or three centuries ago: so that this is one of those Irish 'vulgarisms' that are really survivals in Ireland of the correct old English usages, which in England have been superseded by other and often incorrect forms. On this point I received, some years ago, a contribution from an English gentleman who resided long in Ireland, Mr. Marlow Woollett, a man of wide reading, great culture, and sound judgment. He gives several old examples in ill.u.s.tration, of which one is so much to the point--in the use of _will_--that you might imagine the words were spoken by an Irish peasant of the present day. Hamlet says:

'I will win for him an (if) I can; if not I _will_ gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.' ('Hamlet,' Act v., scene ii.)

This (the second _will_) exactly corresponds with what many of us in Ireland would say now:--'I will win the race if I can; if not I _will_ get some discredit': 'If I go without my umbrella I am afraid I will get wet.'

So also in regard to _shall_; modern English custom has departed from correct ancient usage and etymology, which in many cases we in Ireland have retained. The old and correct sense of _shall_ indicated obligation or duty (as in Chaucer:--'The faith I shal to G.o.d') being derived from A.S. _sceal_ 'I owe' or 'ought': this has been discarded in England, while we still retain it in our usage in Ireland. You say to an attentive Irish waiter, 'Please have breakfast for me at 8 o'clock to-morrow morning'; and he answers, 'I shall sir.' When I was a boy I was {76} present in the chapel of Ardpatrick one Sunday, when Father Dan O'Kennedy, after Ma.s.s, called on the two schoolmasters--candidates for a school vacancy--to come forward to him from where they stood at the lower end of the chapel; when one of them, Mat Rea, a good scholar but a terrible pedant, called out magniloquently, 'Yes, doctor, we SHALL go to your reverence,' unconsciously following in the footsteps of Shakespeare.

The language both of the waiter and of Mat Rea is exactly according to the old English usage.

'_Lady Macbeth_ (_to Macbeth_):--Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.

'_Macbeth_:--So shall I, love.' ('Macbeth,' Act iii. scene ii.)

'_Second Murderer_:--We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us.' (_Ibid._, Act iii. scene i.)

But the Irish waiter's answer would now seem strange to an Englishman. To him, instead of being a dutiful a.s.sent, as it is intended to be, and as it would be in England in old times, it would look too emphatic and a.s.sertive, something like as if it were an answer to a command _not_ to do it.

(Woollett.)

The use of _shall_ in such locutions was however not universal in Shakespearian times, as it would be easy to show; but the above quotations--and others that might be brought forward--prove that this usage then prevailed and was correct, which is sufficient for my purpose. Perhaps it might rather be said that _shall_ and _will_ were used in such cases indifferently:--

'_Queen_:--Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words.

'_Servant_: Madam, I will.' ('Macbeth,' Act iii. scene ii.)