Complete Works of Bram Stoker (420 page)

‘The widow herself pressed me into an armchair, vacated for the purpose by a powerful-looking young man who had been sitting with a girl on each knee. She then handed me a steaming jorum of punch in one of the few glass tumblers which she had wiped with the corner of her apron before filling it. She also gave me a pipe and tobacco, and brought me herself a sod of turf with which to light it when filled. This was the evident courtesy to a stranger, which, through all her grief, was a duty not to be overlooked.

‘Nearly all those present seemed cheerful; some of them laughed, and I could not but feel that the instinct and purpose of the occasion was to counteract in some way the gloom and grief which were centred round the black coffin which rested on two chairs in the centre of the room. I could not myself but feel moved and solemn as I looked at it. The lid was laid on loosely, slightly drawn down so as to show the dead face which lay, still and waxen, within. A crucifix of black wood with the Figure in white lay on the coffin lid, together with some loose flowers, amongst which a bunch of arum lilies stood out in their white beauty.

‘I think I really needed the punch to brace me up, for there was something so touching in the whole affair - the deep-felt grief held back with so stern a purpose, the sympathy of so many friends, all giving what comfort they could with their presence, combating the chill of death with the warmth of living and loving hearts - that it almost broke me up. It was evident that they had had some music, for a flute lay on the table, and a set of bagpipes stood in a corner. I sat quiet and waited, for I feared that, in my ignorance, I might jar on some feeling of those afflicted, either by some sin of commission, or of omission. I felt a little uncomfortable occupying a chair all to myself when every other seat in the place did double or treble duty; and I found myself beginning to speculate whether some of the girls would come and sit on my knee. But they didn’t.’

‘Showed their good taste!’ said the Tragedian with a saturnine smile as he reapplied himself to his toddy.

‘That’s just it, Bones!’ answered the Low Comedian sharply, ‘showed their good taste! Remember that these weren’t the pothouse rabble that you are accustomed to. They were decent, respectable folk, who could be familiar enough with one another without any ill thought of their neighbours or themselves, but they wouldn’t lower themselves by a like familiarity with strangers, especially when they had any mistaken idea that their guest belonged to the quality.’

‘Anyhow, they showed their good taste, whether according to Bones’s idea or mine, and so I sat in solitary grandeur, and was by degrees fetched up to the level of the acceptance of fact by the whiskey punch. The restraint of the presence of a stranger wore away shortly, and I listened with interest to some of the music, quaint old airs with a lilt in them, and always an underlying note of pathos. This was especially manifest in the bagpipes, for the Irish bagpipes so far differs from the Scotch that it produces a softness of tone impossible to the other. You do not know, perhaps, that the Irish pipes have half-notes, whilst the Scotch have only full ones.’

Here a sort of modified snort was heard in the immediate neighbourhood of the Musical Director, and a remark was made, sotto voce, in which the words ‘grandmother’ and ‘eggs’ were distinguishable. The Low Comedian turned a swift glance in the direction, but said nothing, and, after a pause, went on:

‘Presently Dan got up and said:

‘“Widdy, this gintleman here is the funniest wan that iver I seen. Maybe now ye wouldn’t mind av he was to give us a taste iv what he can do?”

‘The Widow gravely nodded as she replied: “Shure, an’ av his ann’r will pathernise us so far, we’ll all be grateful to him. What like kind iv fun, Dan, does his ann’r consave?” I felt my heart sink. You know I’m not bashful.’

‘You’re not! not by a jugful!’ interrupted the Tragedian. The Low Comedian smiled. He understood, from the low ‘h-s-s-s-h’ that ran through the saloon that the audience were with him, so he reserved his repartee, and went on:

‘Not as a general rule, but there is a time for everything, and here, in the very presence of death, perpetually emphasised to me by the light of the candles which surrounded the coffin, flickering through the smoke, levity seemed out of place. Dan’s chuckle of laughter as he began to speak almost disgusted me:

‘“Oh, byes, but he’s the funny man entirely. I seen him to-night play-actin’, an’ I thought I’d laugh the buttons from aff iv me britches.”

‘“What did he do, Dan?” asked one of the girls.

‘“Begob, but he reprisinted a corpse. ‘Twas the most comical thing I iver seen.” He was interrupted by a violent sobbing from the widow, who, throwing her apron over her head, sat down beside the coffin, one hand leaning over till it touched the marble cheek and rocked herself to and fro in floods of tears. All her self-restraint seemed broken down in an instant. Some of the younger women sympathetically burst into tears; and the scene became almost in a moment one of unmitigated grief.

‘But the very purpose for which the wake is ordained is to combat grief and its more potent manifestation. The stronger and more experienced spirits in the room looked at each other, and prompt action was taken. One old man put his arm round the widow, and with a fair use of force, raised her to her feet and led her back to her seat by the chimney corner, where she rocked herself to and fro for a little, but in silence. Each “boy” who had a crying girl on his knee, put his arms round her and began to kiss and pet and comfort her, and the crying soon ceased. The old man who had attended to the widow said, in a half-apologetic way:

‘“Don’t mind her, neighbours! Shure, ‘tis the ways iv weemen when their hearts is sore. It’s hard, it is, for the poor souls to bear up all the time, an’ yez mustn’t be hard on thim when they’re bruk down. It’s different wid us min!” There was an iron resolution in the man’s bearing, and a break in his voice which showed me that he was one of those whose self-control was accomplished with effort. “Who is he?” I asked from the man sitting next me.

‘“Shure, an’ he’s the brother iv the corpse, surr!” came the answer. The apologetic words were received with a series of sympathetic nods and shakings of the head and muttered words of acquiescence:

‘“Thrue for ye!”

‘“Begob, but that’s so!”

‘“Weemin is only weemin, afther all!”

‘“The poor crathur; God be aisy wid her in her sorra!” In the midst of this, Dan went on just as if nothing had happened. That he was right in his endeavour was shown by the brighter look on the faces of all as he resumed:

‘“‘Twas the funniest thing I iver seen! He was the corp himself, and him not dead at all. Tear an ages! but that was a quare wake intirely. Wid the corpse drinkin’ the keener’s punch whiniver she nodded her head.” Here the keener, sitting on a low stool on the side of the coffin away from the fire, hearing through her somnolence the implied slight to her function, woke on the instant, and, with a half-angry look at the speaker, said: “Keeners doesn’t sleep - not till the words is said over the grave.” Then, as if to show that she herself was wide awake, she raised a keene which, beginning low and sad, rose and rose in pitch and volume till the rafters seemed to buzz and ring with the mournful sound. Thenceforth, and throughout the remainder of the night, she keened at intervals, generally choosing such times as the interruption of the current proceedings would bring into prominence the importance of her lugubrious office. No one, however, considered her professional labours as an interruption, but went on just as if nothing were occurring. It was embarrassing at first, but after awhile no more interrupted one than the ticking of a clock or the whistling of the wind, or the rush and clash of waves. Dan proceeded:

‘“Thin he tuk the shnuff, an’ threw it in the faces iv the polis.”

‘“An’ what did he do that for, wastin’ it on the likes iv them?” asked a fierce-looking old woman.

‘“To make them incapable, for shure!”

‘“Make them incapable! Wid shnuff! Wid shnuff!” she said with fine scorn. “Musha, but that’s not the way I’d make the polis incapable - more’n they are already. It’s wid a blackthorn on their skulls, an’ plenty iv it at that!” There was a slight pause, which was broken by an old woman, who said in a conversational way:

‘“Who’d a thought, now, that there was that comicality in a wake? Musha, but I’ve been attindin’ them for half a hundhred years, an’ I niver seen a funny wan yet.”

‘Dan at once championed his own choice.

‘“Maybe, acushla, that was because this gintleman wasn’t the corpse on the occasion. Av he had a-been like I seen him the night, it’s houldin’ in yer stummick wid laughin’ ye’d be!”

‘“Corpses does be ginerally sarious enough!” remarked an old man. “I’m thinkin’ it’s grateful we’d be to wan what’d give us divarshion iv any kind.” Dan didn’t seem to like these interruptions. There was something of the spirit of the impresario in him, and he manifestly wished to exploit what he considered his funny-man addition to the entertainment, so he began to explain:

‘“Musha! but won’t yez undhershtand that this wasn’t a real corp, but a man what was only purtendin’ to be wan. It was play-actin’ and his ann’r is the funniest man I ivver seen.”‘

‘Limited opportunities have very dreadful effects!’ murmured the Tragedian; but no one took any notice. The Low Comedian proceeded:

‘Dan turned to me and says he: “Wudn’t yer ann’r do somethin’ funny?”

‘“Good God!” I said, “I couldn’t be funny in the presence of the dead - it wouldn’t be respectful!”

‘“Put that out iv yer mind, surr,” said the brother of the corpse; “shure, all these frinds an’ neighbours is here out iv respect, an yet they does what they can to cheer up the poor widdy woman that has but little to comfort her in her sorra. It’s well, so it is, to help her to forgit!” This was so manifestly true that I bowed to the occasion, and said that I would do what I could to amuse them. I would just take a minute to think of something, if they would pardon me. With true Irish delicacy they began to talk to each other, ostensibly letting me alone as I wished. Dan smiled round with the consciousness that his efforts were about to be crowned with success, and remarked for the general good:

‘“Begob, there was wan quare thing, at the wake I’m tellin’ yez iv - all the girrls on the flure wint wan afther th’other an’ kissed the corpse!” There was a murmur of incredulous astonishment from all, and many whisperings and strugglings between the girls and the men who held them on their knees.

‘“That wouldn’t do you, Katty!” remarked one young man to the girl beside him, but her retort came pat, “It’d be a good custom for you, avick, for the only chance you’d iver get in yer life is whin ye’re dead.” Then there was a pinch unseen, and a most manifest smack on the man’s face which would have given a less hardy person a headache for a day. It was evident that conversation was being made on my account, for the next remarks kept on the subject of me and my work.

‘“Begob! but play-actin’ is a mighty curious thing intirely!” said a man. “I seen some iv it wanst at a fair in Limerick. Shure, they was bins that was play-actin’,44 an’ cute enough they wor.”

‘“I seen a man wan time at Ballinasloe Heifer Fair turnin’ music out iv a box, an’ him wid a monkey dhressed up like a gineral!”

‘“An’ I seen dogs what would climb up a laddher an’ purtend to be dead, an’ would jump as high as yer head through a hoop. I wonder, surr,” this to me, “if ye would jump a bit through a hoop. Mind ye, it’s a mighty divartin’ thing to luk at, an’ would do the widdy a power iv good.”

‘I really could not stand this; it was too damned humiliating - our Art compared with the antics of a hen, a monkey, and a dog, as if we were all comrades of equality. But it was all meant in so kindly a way that I made up my mind to sing a comic song. I gave them “Are you there, Moriarty!” for all I was worth. Artistically, it was a success, though, the subject being a glorification of police, was, I felt after I had begun, deplorably inappropriate. They were a splendid audience, and after I had begun to entertain them, I felt I could depend on them thoroughly, so played with the thing, and did it as well as I could. But at first it was dreadful to stand up there looking down on the dead man in his coffin, and facing the widow with her swollen eyes, with the crucifix and the flowers and the death-lights right under me to try to be comic. It was the ghastliest thing I ever knew, or that I ever shall know. I felt at first like a fiend and a cad and a villain and a scoffer, all in one. In fact, I may say that in that awful moment I realised what it must be to be a tragedian! It was only when I saw the apron slowly drawn from the face of the widow, and her poor, worn eyes brightening up perceptibly through her tears, that I began to understand how salutary was the purpose of the wake. Finally, I gave them “Shamus O’Brien” as a recitation, and that went like wildfire. So we passed right into the dawn, when the grey came stealing in through the narrow windows and the open door, and making the guttering candles look dissolute; when the men were nodding their heads, and the girls were, many of them, fast asleep in their arms with their heads on the frieze-clad shoulders, and their ruddy lips open in sleep. Well, anyhow, I was mighty tired when I came away to drive into Fenagh in the donkey cart and the straw, but felt the effort was not wasted when the whole band of friends - they were real friends now - came down the boreen to see me off, and the poor widow looked gratefully at me as she waved her hand from the open door with the first red of the coming dawn falling full upon her with a sort of promise of hope.’

When the applause had subsided, the Manager stood up and said:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, before we go any further I want to see one thing done - to see two very good friends of mine shake hands. Two very good fellows; two leaders and representatives of the great branches of the art that we all love, and whose exercise is our vocation, Tragedy and Comedy. Not that I know such a thing is necessary, for in the close companionship which our work necessitates we can chaff one another without mercy. But there are some strangers here, these gentlemen’ - here he pointed to the railway men - ‘who are our guests; and I should not like them to think that the girding at each other with passages of humour and satire which has been going on between the accomplished representatives of the buskin and the sock was other than in perfect good fellowship.’