Among many who have long since passed from my memory,one person for some time engaged my attention,and that person,for many reasons,I shall not soon forget.He was a tall,square-shouldered man,who stood in a careless attitude,leaning with his back to the wall;he seemed to have secluded himself from the busy multitudes which moved noisily and gaily around him,and nobody seemed to observe or to converse with him.He was fashionably dressed,but perhaps rather extravagantly;his face was full and heavy,expressive of sullenness and stupidity,and marked with the lines of strong vulgarity;his age might be somewhere between forty and fifty.Such as Ihave endeavoured to describe him,he remained motionless,his arms doggedly folded across his broad chest,and turning his sullen eyes from corner to corner of the room,as if eager to detect some object on which to vent his ill-humour.
It is strange,and yet it is true,that one sometimes finds even in the most commonplace countenance an undefinable something,which fascinates the attention,and forces it to recur again and again,while it is impossible to tell whether the peculiarity which thus attracts us lies in feature or in expression.or in both combined,and why it is that our observation should be engrossed by an object which,when analysed,seems to possess no claim to interest or even to notice.This unaccountable feeling I have often experienced,and I believe I am not singular.but never in so remarkable a degree as upon this occasion.My friend O'Connor,having disposed of his fair partner,was crossing the room for the purpose of joining me,in doing which I was surprised to see him exchange a familiar,almost a cordial,greeting with the object of my curiosity.
I say I was surprised,for independent of his very questionable appearance,it struck me as strange that though so constantly associated with O'Connor,and,as Ithought,personally acquainted with all his intimates,I had never before even seen this individual.I did not fail immediately to ask him who this gentleman was.I thought he seemed slightly embarrassed,but after a moment's pause he laughingly said that his friend over the way was too mysterious a personage to have his name announced in so giddy a scene as the present;but that on the morrow he would furnish me with all the information which I could desire.There was,I thought,in his affected jocularity a real awkwardness which appeared to me unaccountable,and consequently increased my curiosity;its gratification,however,Iwas obliged to defer.At length,wearied with witnessing amusements in which Icould not sympathise,I left the room,and did not see O'Connor until late in the next day.
I had ridden down towards the castle for the purpose of visiting the O'Connors,and had nearly reached the avenue leading to the mansion,when I met my friend.
He was also mounted;and having answered my inquiries respecting his mother,he easily persuaded me to accompany him in his ramble.We had chatted as usual for some time,when,after a pause,O'Connor said:
'By the way,Purcell,you expressed some curiosity respecting the tall,handsome fellow to whom I spoke last night.'
'I certainly did question you about a TALL gentleman,but was not aware of his claims to beauty,'replied I.
'Well,that is as it may be,'said he;
'the ladies think him handsome,and their opinion upon that score is more valuable than yours or mine.Do you know,'he continued,'I sometimes feel half sorry that I ever made the fellow's acquaintance:
he is quite a marked man here,and they tell stories of him that are anything but reputable,though I am sure without foundation.I think I know enough about him to warrant me in saying so.'
'May I ask his name?'inquired I.
'Oh!did not I tell you his name?'
rejoined he.'You should have heard that first;he and his name are equally well known.You will recognise the individual at once when I tell you that his name is--Fitzgerald.'
'Fitzgerald!'I repeated.'Fitzgerald!
--can it be Fitzgerald the duellist?'
'Upon my word you have hit it,'replied he,laughing;'but you have accompanied the discovery with a look of horror more tragic than appropriate.He is not the monster you take him for--he has a good deal of old Irish pride;his temper is hasty,and he has been unfortunately thrown in the way of men who have not made allowance for these things.I am convinced that in every case in which Fitzgerald has fought,if the truth could be discovered,he would be found to have acted throughout upon the defensive.No man is mad enough to risk his own life,except when the doing so is an alternative to submitting tamely to what he considers an insult.I am certain that no man ever engaged in a duel under the consciousness that he had acted an intentionally aggressive part.'
'When did you make his acquaintance?'
said I.
'About two years ago,'he replied.'I
met him in France,and you know when one is abroad it is an ungracious task to reject the advances of one's countryman,otherwise I think I should have avoided his society--less upon my own account than because I am sure the acquaintance would be a source of continual though groundless uneasiness to my mother.I know,therefore,that you will not unnecessarily mention its existence to her.'
I gave him the desired assurance,and added:
'May I ask you.O'Connor,if,indeed,it be a fair question,whether this Fitzgerald at any time attempted to engage you in anything like gaming?'
This question was suggested by my having frequently heard Fitzgerald mentioned as a noted gambler,and sometimes even as a blackleg.
