lamplight from the carriage windows and the black melancholy fields; it was curious that his present sunny surroundings could not efface the darkness of those memories. His mind went further back, to his uncle’s Château at Aubignè, the tapestry in the Orangery and the visit of the boy Reynolds, when he was building his toy fort…
He paused by the low wall; his dark, usually animated face was thoughtful.
‘I am not the man for them; I ought not to do it. I doubt if I can do them any good, but I’ll join them formally, to show I am not against them or standing out. What would the Government do if we were discovered? I wonder if there would be great severity. Clare’s my friend and Castlereagh’s wife seems to love mine. I would I were in Leinster’s place or that he was in mine. Dear fellow, he should show a stronger hand.’
But as he gazed over the soft Irish landscape the romantic, the adventurous side of the proposed enterprise became uppermost in his mind. After all, why be afraid? England had only a small force in Ireland and was harassed by troubles abroad. If the Irish were properly organised, if it was possible to arm them, if there was a rising simultaneously all over the country, might they not, without the help of the French Republic, achieve something?
He believed that there was something he might do. He was a good organiser, a good soldier. He had had considerable experience in the American wars. As a Fitzgerald he would possess unbounded authority, awake unbounded loyalty and love. Every Irishman would be on the side of reform, of freedom. They would throw out the foreigners, the jobbers, break up this farcical Parliament and obtain the reform for which they had been pressing since England had told Ireland to defend herself when Belfast demanded aid against the invader in ’78; and Ireland’s murmured reply had been: ‘If we must defend ourselves, we must rule ourselves.’
Not under any slant that could be given to the affair, could the taint of treason or treachery attach to them. They would be Irishmen fighting for Ireland. They would behave in every way with tolerance and moderation. There would be no more bloodshed than was necessary. The English should be sent back to their own country. ‘Pamela has made me too happy. I have been idle too long. Sheares is quite right, I ought to do something. It’s foolish, almost cowardly to say I can’t help.’ He turned away abruptly from the low wall. He was sorry, for the first time in his life, that he had so little money. Money would be very necessary.
It was as if, Fitzgerald thought, everything in his life had suddenly fallen into place, like the pieces of a puzzle deftly and unexpectedly arranged.
‘I suppose I’ve been wanting to do this. I suppose I was meant to do this, ever since I used to be troubled by that figure of the black slave in the tapestry if it was in the tapestry and not really there — I can never be sure.’ He paused to look at his deep crimson roses; he could never pass these flowers, the result of his own labour, without the tribute of admiration. How rich they hung, weighted down on their fine stems, dark red petals folded over the hidden gold heart. For the first time he reflected between amusement and sadness: ‘I should not be considering these — but pinning on my coat some of these poor shamrocks Tony is carrying away with the weeds.’
Pamela appeared at the window and looked out across the shadows on the lawn; her face was troubled. Her husband, so sensitive to her moods, felt that she knew he was going to risk their happiness; betray their happiness, perhaps, she would call it, and he was bitterly puzzled as to where his duty lay.
She had no one but himself; he knew she was aware that she, snatched from disaster, from the midst of a doomed family, was only loved by his friends for his sake. She was very lonely, had been perhaps always lonely, even in the crowded days at Belle Chase.
He was not surprised
He paused by the low wall; his dark, usually animated face was thoughtful.
‘I am not the man for them; I ought not to do it. I doubt if I can do them any good, but I’ll join them formally, to show I am not against them or standing out. What would the Government do if we were discovered? I wonder if there would be great severity. Clare’s my friend and Castlereagh’s wife seems to love mine. I would I were in Leinster’s place or that he was in mine. Dear fellow, he should show a stronger hand.’
But as he gazed over the soft Irish landscape the romantic, the adventurous side of the proposed enterprise became uppermost in his mind. After all, why be afraid? England had only a small force in Ireland and was harassed by troubles abroad. If the Irish were properly organised, if it was possible to arm them, if there was a rising simultaneously all over the country, might they not, without the help of the French Republic, achieve something?
He believed that there was something he might do. He was a good organiser, a good soldier. He had had considerable experience in the American wars. As a Fitzgerald he would possess unbounded authority, awake unbounded loyalty and love. Every Irishman would be on the side of reform, of freedom. They would throw out the foreigners, the jobbers, break up this farcical Parliament and obtain the reform for which they had been pressing since England had told Ireland to defend herself when Belfast demanded aid against the invader in ’78; and Ireland’s murmured reply had been: ‘If we must defend ourselves, we must rule ourselves.’
Not under any slant that could be given to the affair, could the taint of treason or treachery attach to them. They would be Irishmen fighting for Ireland. They would behave in every way with tolerance and moderation. There would be no more bloodshed than was necessary. The English should be sent back to their own country. ‘Pamela has made me too happy. I have been idle too long. Sheares is quite right, I ought to do something. It’s foolish, almost cowardly to say I can’t help.’ He turned away abruptly from the low wall. He was sorry, for the first time in his life, that he had so little money. Money would be very necessary.
It was as if, Fitzgerald thought, everything in his life had suddenly fallen into place, like the pieces of a puzzle deftly and unexpectedly arranged.
‘I suppose I’ve been wanting to do this. I suppose I was meant to do this, ever since I used to be troubled by that figure of the black slave in the tapestry if it was in the tapestry and not really there — I can never be sure.’ He paused to look at his deep crimson roses; he could never pass these flowers, the result of his own labour, without the tribute of admiration. How rich they hung, weighted down on their fine stems, dark red petals folded over the hidden gold heart. For the first time he reflected between amusement and sadness: ‘I should not be considering these — but pinning on my coat some of these poor shamrocks Tony is carrying away with the weeds.’
Pamela appeared at the window and looked out across the shadows on the lawn; her face was troubled. Her husband, so sensitive to her moods, felt that she knew he was going to risk their happiness; betray their happiness, perhaps, she would call it, and he was bitterly puzzled as to where his duty lay.
She had no one but himself; he knew she was aware that she, snatched from disaster, from the midst of a doomed family, was only loved by his friends for his sake. She was very lonely, had been perhaps always lonely, even in the crowded days at Belle Chase.
He was not surprised
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