CHAPTER V.
AN AGENT’S MORNING—HOW A DAIRY IS FOUNDED—MR. O’LEARY’S CASE—MINISTER AND ARCHDEACON—CATHOLIC ORGANISATION IN IRELAND—THE DISTRESS OF THE TAX-PAYERS AT KENMARE—AN INDIGNATION MEETING—THE IRISH CONSTABULARY.
July 8.—When I came down stairs this morning, the sitting-rooms presented a most animated scene. The library floor had disappeared under a litter of papers, and of half-opened deed boxes. Mr. Trench stood before his bureau emptying the pigeon-holes, where all his correspondence had accumulated during his absence. His two secretaries, seated in a corner, classed all the letters, as soon as he had looked through them, making notes, in large registers, of the instructions given them by their chief. Mr. Trench appeared to be discharging the double duties of “agent” and magistrate.
To me he even seemed, at times, to be filling a third office; that of doctor—of amateur doctor, to be sure, but all the more appreciated, because his advice and his remedies were given gratuitously. From time to time, the door opened and a bundle of rags appeared, from which issued a voice of lamentation. This was an old woman, who had come to ask for a prescription. Special aptitude is required to practise medicine in this country; for it appears that, as a rule, every village possesses an old woman, who, for a small salary, undertakes to go in search of the doctor, giving as though for herself an exact account of the illness from which the real patient, who does not show himself, is suffering, but to whom she faithfully delivers the medicine that has been given to her. This system has the advantage of avoiding journeys and expense on the patient’s account, for the old woman, who is always the most miserable in the district, receives the medicine and advice gratis from the county. But these customs render the diagnosis curiously complicated.
It is not only invalids who, this morning, flock to Mr. Trench. There are also a great many farmers. Twenty-five or thirty are waiting grouped before the door. They are tall, thin fellows, with short breeches, and high-crowned hats pulled down over their eyes, each holding a blackthorn shillalah under one arm. Still smoking their little short pipes, they gesticulate, talk and laugh, with so much animation that from time to time one of the secretaries interposes with “Hush, hush!” Each man, when admitted in his turn, begins by carefully putting out his pipe, and placing it in his waistcoat pocket; then, taking off his hat, his whole physiognomy suddenly changes its expression. The man, lively a minute before, assumes a broken-hearted attitude as he crosses the threshold of the office, and begins in a dolorous voice the litany, now so well known by every landowner in the country: “The year is very bad. The cattle will not sell!”
However, a good many bring something on account, and it is easy to see that the relations are much less strained here than in many other parts. These sums on account are not large. Mr. Trench told me yesterday that usually at this season he receives 400l. per week, but that this year he does not receive more than 40l. This is not brilliant certainly; but, however, they must not complain. The priest at Kenmare, a president of the Land League, is a gentle, conciliating man; he is on the best terms with Mr. Trench, and through each doing his best, they have, until now, prevented a complete rupture.
Knowing that Mr. Trench would be very busy this morning, one of our guests of the previous evening had offered to fetch me in order to do the honours of Kenmare. I could not be in better hands. Mr. C—— is the greatest merchant in the town; he knows the country thoroughly, and has always managed to keep good friends with everybody. There are not many Irishmen who can say as much at the present time.
We remained for some time talking to the farmers at the door. I made the acquaintance of one of them, who is the director of the dairy founded on the estate by Mr. Trench—a dairy which has produced such good results that a second is now being started.
This creation deserves some notice. The Land League declares that the landowners and their agents are leeches that are exhausting Ireland, and that they never attempt to develop her resources. Is this true? It appears to me that here is one instance proving the contrary. Judge for yourselves.
The production of butter is the great industry of the country. We may almost say it is the only one. Now this industry is worked under the most deplorable conditions. As a rule, the very poor farmers only possess four or five milch cows. They are therefore obliged to keep their cream some time before churning it. Besides, we can imagine what the dairies must be in a country where the people are lodged as they are here—usually the milk-pans stand in a corner of the single room where the whole family sleep together. Under these circumstances the butter can only be very inferior, and it is so much so, that it is always sold in London for sevenpence or eightpence per pound less than our Normandy butters. Some qualities are so bad that they never sell for more than tenpence the pound, and an Irish member, Major Saunderson, lately stated in the House of Commons, that the merchants could only use it to mix with margarine: it was only fit to adulterate butterine.
It was this unsatisfactory state of things that Mr. Trench wished to improve by creating a central factory, where the milk is brought every day, and where the butter can be made under the most favourable conditions. Mr. C—— related to me how the business had been arranged. This is another curious specimen of social customs.
First of all, it was necessary to obtain the farmers’ co-operation. Mr. Trench therefore assembled the inhabitants of two or three villages, in order to explain the proposed scheme to them. Irishmen will walk ten miles to be present at a meeting, so on the day named, Mr. Trench, arriving at the spot appointed, found himself in the presence of a crowd of two or three thousand persons.
“Boys,” said he, “I intended speaking to you in the schoolroom, but it is not possible; there are too many of you. Fetch me a table, put it there near the trunk of this tree; it will do for a platform.”
The table was ready in a second. He climbed upon it and explained his idea. The crowd, at first indifferent, became visibly antagonistic. Some agents of the Land League were present, and the great majority of the men assembled were manifestly hostile. Luckily Mr. Trench caught sight of a priest who had come with the others.
“Boys,” said he, at the end of his speech, “you do not seem enchanted with my proposals. You know that I cannot discuss it separately with each one of you. But there is Father X——. Let him come on the table by my side; he will tell you what he thinks of it all.”
Much surprised, Father X—— mounted the table and commenced to speak. He raised some objections, but listened attentively to Mr. Trench’s reasoning, and ended by declaring that, to him, the idea seemed excellent.
This was quite enough to produce a complete change. The case was won; applause broke out on all sides; those nearest to the table already proposed carrying Mr. Trench in triumph. He resumed his speech. Once the principle was declared good, it became necessary to decide upon a place for the first dairy. Then the whole thing was spoilt. These men, who one minute before would not hear of a dairy at all, now quarrelled as to which village should possess it. At first they only abused each other, but as their tempers warmed, the shillalahs began to play. A formidable tumult commenced, the table was upset, Mr. Trench and the curate rolled into each other’s arms, and only picked themselves up to run away as fast as they could in great danger of having their skulls cracked in the brawl, a misfortune which happened to two or three dozen of those present. This meeting is still discussed on the country side. It was what they term “an illigant foight.”
At last the dairy was founded and worked to the general satisfaction. Every one brings his milk, and is paid accordingly. The results are very satisfactory, in the sense that the butter, being well made, is sold for two or three pence more than other kinds, though it is still a long way from any rivalry with the Normandy butter—a decided proof of the inferiority of the pasturage in this country.
I said, just now, that the situation is less strained here than in many other parts. But that does not mean that it is very brilliant. After talking to the manager of the dairy, I went into the office to say good-bye to Mr. Trench, whom I should not meet again before luncheon. He was reading a letter just brought to him. “There,” said he, giving it to me, “you have just come in time. Look what has taken place during my absence.”
I have this letter on my table whilst I write these lines. I wish I could copy it in extenso. Unfortunately it is too long. I must therefore confine myself to giving a summary of its contents. It is another study from the life.
We must first mention that the barony where we now are is called Kilgawan, and that on it there is a farm called Ballinaconiga. What names, ye gods! For a long time this farm was occupied by a certain O’Leary who yielded his soul to God two years ago, leaving two sons, Tim and James. The elder, who took on the farm, died shortly afterwards, owing several quarters in arrear. Tim’s widow and daughters wished to continue his business, but the agent, who had not found the deceased a very satisfactory tenant, would not consent to the arrangement, but insisted that the farm should be ceded to the younger brother, James O’Leary. They agreed to this with fairly good grace, but changing their minds after some time, they wrote a complaint to the Land League, and its agents, only too happy to find an opportunity for exercising authority, assured them that they were in the right, and informed James O’Leary that he must leave the farm immediately. He refused and was boycotted in consequence.
These events happened some months ago. Since then he has found it impossible to sell anything in the market. His wife and daughters appeared at church on the Sunday following the notice served by the League, but were so hustled and knocked about that their clothes were torn to pieces, and they dared not go again. His little boy went to school; a week ago, when he entered the room, all the other children got up and went out. The same thing happened on three successive days, so the school was closed.
This state of things has lasted for the greater part of the winter. With the appearance of spring they invented something new. Every Sunday afternoon a hundred or a hundred and fifty people assemble before his door, led by his sister-in-law and his nieces. The whole party go into a large field of oats, which is in front of the house, and there begin a game of football. When night arrives they disperse, shouting to him that they will come back on the following Sunday. Whilst his oats were still too young to be hurt, the unfortunate O’Leary bore this annoyance patiently, but when they commenced to grow he could endure it no longer. Last Sunday when he saw the game arranged, he opened his window and warned the aggressors that he would fire upon them if they did not go away. They answered by hooting (this is called “boo-ing” in the country), and then by a volley of stones and mud. He fired both barrels of his gun, loaded with small shot, into the crowd. A man and two women fell wounded. The poor fellow was at once arrested and taken to prison. Yesterday he was released on bail; but he must appear at the assizes, and, since the jury will probably be formed of Land Leaguers, he is sure to be condemned.
This is one of the great difficulties of the situation. In France the juries often pronounce strange enough verdicts. But how can this system produce satisfactory results in a country so profoundly disturbed as this is, where three-fourths of the jurymen sympathise with the Land League, and the last fourth join them through fear? The Government is reduced to having its political opponents judged, for purely political offences, by people who openly profess the same opinions as the accused. I will not compare the Irish to our communists of 1871, but if we had tried the pétroleuses by a jury composed of pétroleuses, we might bet heavily that they would have been acquitted, whilst on the other hand, if the same jury had been employed to try one of those rare members of the national guard, who joined the army at Versailles, he would have been condemned for the smallest peccadillo. As long as the jury officiates in Ireland, no one will dare to rally round the Government, and all its enemies are sure of escaping with impunity. The English Government has shown that it is quite incapable of protecting property, or even of securing the personal safety of its partisans. It would be very extraordinary if it had many of them. Of all the arguments that I have heard brought forward in favour of Home Rule, this is the one that strikes me as the most forcible.
I took advantage of a free morning to visit the parish priest of Kenmare, or, rather, to give him the title and name by which he is known, the “Venerable Archdeacon O’S——.” A letter from Mr. Harrington, the secretary of the Land League, served as an introduction to him; though I do not say that I owe the cordial welcome I received to it, for a foreigner, particularly a Frenchman, is always sure of being well received by an Irish Catholic priest; but Mr. Harrington’s letter was not detrimental to me, for Father O’S—— is president of the Land League Committee which acts in this barony. This I had heard without surprise, but I now learnt with some astonishment that the vice-president is no other than the Anglican minister, Mr. X——. For the town of Kenmare possesses an Anglican minister.
When the State Church was suppressed—was “disestablished,” to use the common phrase—that is to say, when the tithes that supported it were abolished, it was decided that all acquired purchased positions should be respected, and that the holders should continue to be paid out of a special fund created for the purpose, and called the Ecclesiastical Fund. The Rev. Mr. X——’s case was one of these, and he will continue to receive during his life the stipend of 370l., on the condition of providing spiritual food for the Protestant population of the barony, who numbered twenty families at the outside, and who do not even appear to me animated with any very exclusive faith, for four out of their number send their children to the Catholic school at the Convent.
Under these circumstances he is not overworked. He leads the life of a country gentleman. At the moment when I had the honour of being introduced to him he appeared much interested in training a very fine pony, which seemed to give him some trouble; for the groom, very well turned out, who accompanied him, had got down from the dog-cart to go to the animal’s head. His manners, however, are charming, and since he has never attempted to draw any of Father O’S——’s sheep into his own fold, the two pastors live on very good terms. At last, he avows opinions that are so favourable to the Land League, that it was felt the members could not do better than nominate him as vice-president, as I have already said.
It is interesting to see a Protestant minister adopting this position. I am assured that he is not the only one, and, that a fair number of his colleagues have clearly declared themselves partisans of Home Rule. It may be remembered that the opponents of this institution have always laid great stress upon the dangers that the Irish Protestants would be exposed to were they handed over to a national government, without adequate means of self-protection. It seems as though this danger were not very real, if it is true that those most deeply interested show so little fear of it. In any case it is most creditable to the Catholics that men representing a party of which they have had so much reason to complain, display such entire confidence in their toleration and sense of justice, that they aid by their votes a state of affairs in which the Catholics would evidently have every facility for revenge. 1 had already at Rathmines heard Mr. Shackleton point out this thesis. I own that the sight of a Protestant minister, vice-president of the Land League, has made me think of it much more seriously than I had done before.
Father O’S—— did not tell me much about the O’Leary affair, but he interested me greatly by explaining clearly to me under what conditions the Catholic organisation has been working, and what has enabled the Church in Ireland to retain all her social and political influence, whilst in every other part of Europe she daily finds more difficulty in discharging her Apostolic functions.
When we reflect upon these questions of internal organisation, we notice, first of all, an important difference that exists between Catholicism and the majority of other sects. Amongst the latter, the unity is the parish, and often even the tie that binds the parishes together is so slight that we may almost call it non-existent. In our Church, on the contrary, the parish is certainly of great importance; but yet we may say that in many respects it is rather the diocese which is the unity in the organisation. This is so true that, whilst the diocese is constituted everywhere in absolutely the same manner, we find great diversity in the constitution of the parish. On this question, very distinct currents of ideas have been produced in the Church, although as a body, she is still so homogeneous. We can first define them in the mission countries. Some fraternities, the Jesuits, for instance, seem almost to cling to the diocese as a unity; they never appear in a hurry to increase the divisions by forming parishes. The groups of Christians, confided to the spiritual direction of the catechists, are frequently visited by priests, who often remain in the midst of them, but who do not habitually reside there in a definite way. These are visitors sent by the bishop, to whom they return after each tour, in order to give an account of their mission, and to strengthen themselves in the religious life; but these are not curates in charge. On the contrary, others, foreign missions for instance, are inspired by quite different principles. As soon as a Christian congregation is formed, a priest is attached to it, who makes his residence with it, and, so to speak, does not move again. A small village in Konangsi, or in Yun-nan, thus finds itself formed into a parish as effectively as any small French commune. In the first system the bishop is kept informed of all that passes by the reports of the priests, who constantly return to him from all points of the diocese, whilst he travels very little himself. In the second, on the contrary, he is constantly travelling in order to visit his priests. This division, it is scarcely necessary to say, has nothing absolutely settled. The rule admits of numerous exceptions. But when one lives for any time amongst missionaries, these tendencies are soon noticed. I may add that the results of the first of these two systems appear to be superior to those of the second. These divergent views are also slightly felt amongst the clergy in the different countries of Europe. Some appear to prefer concentration of effort, others its dispersion. In France, there is evidently a tendency to parcel out the parishes as much as possible. Both bishops and people agree on this point. All seem to wish that each collection of houses, however small it may be, should become a parish, if it be not already one, and remain a parish even when the population has diminished. When there is a scarcity of priests, they prefer suppressing the office of vicar, to uniting several parishes in one. I know, in one department, that I could name three villages, containing one to two hundred inhabitants; they are all three situated on the same road. Between the first and the third there are not more than three miles distance; all three are parishes, and to replace one of the priests who was missing, it was necessary to withdraw the vicar from a large commune of from eighteen hundred to two thousand souls.
Some bishops consider that this system could be modified with advantage. I know this because one of them told me so. The requirements of too large a flock can exceed the strength of a pastor; whilst if the flock be too small his abilities are not fully occupied. On the other hand, there are frequently serious difficulties in launching a young priest, who has not yet found his vocation, and who has scarcely left college, into the midst of a population, often indifferent and frequently hostile, without his finding near to him a guide and counsellor to direct him. When we see, in some districts, in what circumstances these young men are placed, we cannot help feeling deep pity for them, for their lives are passed in an intellectual isolation, which must be very hard to bear and which is not found to the same extent in any other career. The prelate to whom I alluded just now deplored this state of things and told me that, were he able, he would suppress several of the least important curacies in each district, provided that he could give two or three curates to those priests, whom he retained to officiate, for those who would no longer have resident priests.
The practical experiment of this system is impossible in France, at all events for the moment, and for several reasons. First of all there are pecuniary considerations which are of paramount importance. The Government not only exacts that the religious service should be conducted but that the residence should be effective, and if these conditions are not carried out, the salary is stopped. And then it is also possible, it is even probable, that, amongst us, this new organisation would not be accepted by the clergy and people without some difficulty, for it is quite opposed to all our traditions.
It is not the same in Ireland. It is precisely this organisation which seems to have enabled the clergy in my country to acquire and retain the prodigious influence they now exert over the population. There are very few parishes. Few have less than three thousand souls; and most of them have eight or ten thousand. I am speaking, of course, of rural parishes. The population is widely scattered, much more so than in most of our provinces. But yet no attempt is made to create new parishes. This is not for lack of priests. The clergy are recruited with the greatest facility, the lists are full, and every year priests leave for the Colonies. But no one seems to think that any increase in the number of parishes would be desirable.
In fact, in each of them, the religious offices are discharged by several young curates, who aid the vicar and who go wherever they are called, on horseback or in carriages, as a rule, for the distances are often very great. Very simple buildings, without any architectural pretensions, have been erected to serve as chapels, in order that no one should have too far to go to attend the Sunday services. Besides, the number of masses celebrated is considerable, for the custom of the priest celebrating two masses on the same day is very general.
Upon the whole, the priests perform nearly all the parochial work; catechising, confessions, visiting the sick, &c. &c. The vicars are bishops on a small scale, who can concentrate their attention almost exclusively on preaching, on the superintendence of the work and of the schools, and on the temporal and spiritual administration of the parish.
In Ireland, as we know, the clergy do not receive any grant from Government. To be strictly correct, we must, however, mention, that for some years the administration has subsidised the College of Maynooth; but its intervention has been entirely limited to this. We may, therefore, say, that for all requirements, as well as for the construction and maintenance of the buildings used for worship, the Church can only rely upon the offerings of the faithful. She never appears to have had cause to regret this position. Fifty or sixty years ago there were, we may almost say, no Catholic churches in Ireland, the oldest and most important had been confiscated by the Protestants; the others were in ruins; the religious services were celebrated in buildings that were, in reality, only barns barely fitted up. Now, there is scarcely, so to speak, a single parish which does not boast of a superb church. The one at Kenmare is a Gothic edifice of beautiful design. That at Castle Connell, which I saw the other day, is still more important; every one tells me that their dimensions and the beauty of their construction is nothing unusual, that it is nearly the same everywhere. The Irish who have emigrated have contributed largely to this result. For several generations they all remain in correspondence with those branches of the family who have remained in the “ould country,” as the Canadians call it, and are warmly interested in all that takes place there; so that when a church is to be reconstructed in the midst of the cemetery, where their relations are lying, they display the most admirable generosity. The most remarkable thing about these offerings—I am now speaking of those provided by the residents—is not only their importance but their regularity. The vicars’ and priests’ stipends are supplied by two collections made every year. As a rule, they scarcely vary at all. The general distress has not perceptibly diminished them during the last few years, although they are high. A vicar usually receives 250l. to 400l.; a priest 120l. or 160l.; the fee for a mass is three shillings.
The moral purity of the Irish people is proverbial. I do not believe that any nation in the world can be compared to them in this respect. When inquiries are made on this subject, one hears facts that anywhere else would appear fabulous, but which, however, are confirmed by the official documents. There are many baronies containing a population of ten or twelve thousand souls, where for twenty years there has not been an illegitimate birth.
At Dublin, where there is a numerous garrison and a considerable floating population, the morality is naturally a little lax; but everywhere else, even in cities containing thirty thousand souls, like Limerick, we may almost say that prostitution does not exist. Numbers have been quoted to me that, unfortunately, appear so extraordinary to a Frenchman, that I was anxious to confirm them by asking for information on the subject from men of the most divergent professions and opinions. I have consulted priests, Protestant ministers, landlords, police officials, regimental doctors—all tell me the same thing. Let us inquire at home and ask ourselves what a French population would be living in the same state of misery and crowding.
It is quite useless to point out the moral purity that characterises the clergy, when they are recruited from such a population. Even their most inveterate political enemies, those who would have the most interest in destroying their political influence, have never ventured to hint the least insinuation on this subject.
The devotion of the Irish clergy is not less remarkable than its morality. At a still recent date, the Irish Church suffered from a real persecution. At the beginning of this century, a great many priests sacrificed their lives for their faith, exactly like the Roman martyrs in the early days of Christianity. During the war against France, and particularly at the time when an invasion was dreaded, the English Government formed, in every county in the kingdom, regiments of irregular cavalry known as the yeomanry. The English yeomanry was a sort of national guard, who afforded much sport for the wit of the caricaturists of the day, but who have never harmed anybody. In Ireland things happened very differently. All Catholics were carefully eliminated from the yeomanry, and this was quite natural, since they openly avowed their sympathy with France. But in consequence of this exclusion, the yeomanry corps were only composed of small landowners or small English Protestant farmers, who, exasperated by the real or supposed danger that they imagined they were in, surrounded by an excited population, became guilty of abominations which make the hair stand on end as one reads of them. Lord Cloncurry, in his Personal Recollections, p. 39, relates the following anecdote, which gives some idea of what took place at that time.
“It happened that the barony of Carbery, in the county of Kildare, was proclaimed under the Insurrection Act, and a camp established in it, which was occupied by the Fraser Fencibles. One evening the commanding officer, a Captain Fraser, returning to camp from Maynooth, where he had dined and drank freely, passed through a district belonging to my father, which was very peaceable and had not been included in the proclamation. As Captain Fraser rode through the village of Cloncurry attended by an orderly dragoon, just as the summer sun was setting, he saw an old man, named Christopher Dixon, upon the roadside, engaged in mending his cart. The Captain challenged him for being out after sunset in contravention of the terms of the proclamation. Dixon replied that he was not in a proclaimed district, and that he was engaged in his lawful business, preparing his cart to take a load to Dublin the following day. The Captain immediately made him prisoner, and placed him on horseback behind his orderly. The party proceeded about half a mile in this manner to a turnpike, where the officer got into a quarrel with the gatekeeper, and some delay took place, of which Dixon took advantage to beg of the turnpike man to explain that the district in which he was taken was not proclaimed, and that, therefore, there was no just ground for his arrest. While the altercation was proceeding, the poor old man (he was about eighty years of age) slipped off from the dragoon’s horse and was proceeding homewards when the officer and soldier followed him, and having despatched him with sixteen dirk and sabre wounds, of which nine were declared to be mortal, they rode off to the camp. A coroner’s inquest was held on the body, and a verdict of wilful murder returned; whereupon Mr. Thomas Ryan, a magistrate and the immediate landlord of Dixon under my father, proceeded to the camp, with a warrant for the apprehension of Captain Fraser, who, however, was protected by his men, and Mr. Ryan was driven off. Mr. Ryan applied to my father, who sent me with him to Lord Carhampton, then commander-in-chief in Ireland. We were accompanied by Colonel (afterwards General Sir George) Cockburn; and Mr. Ryan having produced the warrant, and Colonel Cockburn having pointed out the provision of the Mutiny Act bearing upon the case, we formally demanded the body of Fraser, which his lordship refused to surrender. At the next assizes Captain Fraser marched into Athy, with a band playing before him, and gave himself up for trial. The facts were clearly proved; but the sitting judge, Mr. Toler[1] (afterwards Lord Norbury), instructed the jury that ‘Fraser was a gallant officer, who had only made a mistake; that if Dixon were as good a man as he was represented to be, it was well for him to be out of this wicked world; but if he were as bad as many others in the neighbourhood (looking at me, who sat beside him on the bench), it was well for the country to be quit of him.’ The Captain and his orderly were acquitted accordingly.”
This is how simple peasants were treated. As to the priests, they were outlawed, and a price was put upon their heads. The yeomanry, therefore, pursued them with unparalleled energy. One of their most celebrated chiefs publicly said one day:
“There are two very amusing hunts—fox-hunting and priest-hunting. But to me the most amusing is priest-hunting.”
When they were taken they were put to death with a refined cruelty that would not have discredited Carrier, the butcher of Nantes; for it should be noticed that if we Catholics have the right to speak of such deeds in the terms they deserve, it is a right that French republicans cannot pretend to, although in their newspapers they willingly declaim on the oppression of Ireland. Carrier, a good republican, invented the republican marriages and the noyades de Nantes. Lord X—— (I prefer not mentioning his name—it is well known in Paris)—filled his victim’s hat with pitch; it was then pressed down on the head and afterwards torn off, bringing with it the skin and the hair. The Sioux scalp more humanely.
In some parts of Ireland this state of things lasted ten or twelve years. During all this time the priests lived like wild beasts, constantly wandering to evade the informers’ researches, living in the midst of the bogs, in absolute dens, from which they only crept out at night to carry religious consolation to the dying, only living on the alms of the miserable people, who had not always a piece of bread for themselves. It required strongly-tempered characters to withstand such a life for a long time. But they found the necessary support in their faith, for not one of them failed. They might have emigrated, but would not, preferring to remain in the midst of their people to the end, and they found their own steadfastness and devotion responded to by a steadfastness and devotion not less worthy of admiration. They had neither bishop nor college. Still the empty places that time produced in the ranks of the clergy were filled up at once; there was never any lack of priests. Those young men who intended to enter the sacerdocy went and completed their studies on the Continent, and then returned after their ordination to fill the place and continue the labours of those who had disappeared.
The English often complain that the Irish Catholics display some passionate feeling in making their claims. But they should remember that not more than eighty years have passed since these events took place. It was proposed at Dublin the other day to introduce me to an old lady, nearly a centenarian, who saw Lord X——’s yeomen apply the pitch hat to a priest, her uncle, whom they arrested at the bedside of her dying mother.
This heroic age has passed. But for the last thirty or forty years unfortunate Ireland has passed through many tribulations. There have been epidemics, there have been famines, and under all circumstances the clergy have behaved admirably. When one sees an Irish priest amongst his parishioners, one is first struck with the community of ideas, impressions, and tastes that exists amongst them. With us, a young peasant who has become a priest is no longer a peasant. His nature has been so well modified during the ten or twelve years that he has passed at college, that he has been made into a new being. Here a young vicar, a parish priest, son of a small farmer, differs wonderfully little from his former comrades. He is their superior in instruction, but he has retained all their tastes, all their ideas, and, I was about to add, some of their faults. I frequently see French curés, agriculturists’ sons, who can scarcely distinguish between a beetroot and a turnip; they have no further interest in agriculture. Here a great many of the parish priests have a small farm. The other day I saw a lease signed by one of them. This morning’s paper announces that at the Cahirmee Fair, which will soon take place, the first prize at the show will probably be awarded to a filly reared and entered by a priest, who has already been successful in this way.
There should evidently be a line drawn; but I own that these agricultural priests—although, strictly speaking, a little given to horse-jobbing—please me greatly. I know that few people will be of my opinion, but I believe that the priest should be as closely allied to his people as possible. If he is not, if he isolates himself, if he has no longer any interests or tastes in common with them, he soon becomes a stranger, and, however holy he may be, he loses all influence over them. Customs which shock us when we meet with them in a foreign land, are often useful, because they entail this closer intercourse. I remember once making the same reflection at Manilla. In that country there is a mania for cockfighting. One day, some years ago, I was walking with the abbé of the frigate. We saw a stout native curé gravely walking down the street before us, carrying a superb cock under his arm. In a few minutes he met one of his parishioners, who was also fondly clasping one of these birds. They began to talk to each other. By their gestures we divined that they were comparing their cocks, and that each extolled the merits of his own animal. Then the arguments became warmer; the two owners placed themselves in position, and made their cocks fight. The abbé was exasperated at this want of dignity. Who was right? I really cannot tell.
In our day all the nations of Europe, one after the other, have passed through a crisis. This crisis is produced by the social transformation that results from the new economic conditions of life amongst the people. But there is no instance of the popular classes disturbing themselves first. In France the revolution, prepared by a portion of the nobility, was carried out by the tiers état. In Russia the sovereign power took the initiating step. In Italy and elsewhere it was the aristocracy first, the middle class next. Nearly everywhere these innovations render the clergy uneasy, and they stand aside even when they do not show themselves resolutely hostile to them. Besides, these changes have caused them to lose the greater part of their political influence.
In Ireland the situation is quite exceptional. Neither of the classes which have led the movement in other countries have been found prepared to occupy an analogous position in this one. For the last four or five hundred years there has not been any national aristocracy. The foreign aristocracy which has replaced it is detested, precisely because it is not national. Whilst the electors were few in number, and the votes were openly given, it was able to elect its own members; but since the ballot has become secret, it so fully realises that its political influence in the country is ended, that in the majority of counties it does not even nominate candidates. We may say, strange as this assertion may appear, that in most of our French provinces, in spite of the hostility shown by the Government, a great landowner has infinitely more political influence in his district than an Irish landlord possesses in his own barony.
In a very poor country, where agriculture has never been remunerative, and where industry does not exist, no middle class has been able to form itself. What we call the bourgeoisie has absolutely no existence in the country districts; in the towns it is represented by a few merchants, who are absorbed in their business, with little education, exercising no influence, and not seeking for any. The clergy has therefore found itself alone in a position to direct the social and political movements. Yet, in the last few years, a class of politicians has become formed, composed of Irish-Americans and journalists, who have frequently displayed independent ideas. One proof of this was given at the time of the Fenian Conspiracy, to which the clergy opposed the most resolute hostility from the commencement, obeying the orders sent from Rome, and the principles of the Catholic Church, which condemns secret societies. The politicians were unsuccessful in the struggle, but it was so indecisive that the clergy thought it prudent to use their victory with extreme moderation, so that the two parties, having tested their strength, have always since that made reciprocal concessions, as we have seen from the time that the Land League was created.
Upon the whole, the politicians are gaining ground. This is quite certain, the best proof being in the fact that they have been able to impose the Land League upon the clergy. But the latter are still unquestionably masters of the situation. In order to understand the political state of the country, it is therefore necessary to have, as far as possible, an exact idea of what the Irish clergy, so different from our own, are really like; and this is the reason why I have enlarged so much on this subject, because I wish to collect in this chapter not only the impressions that I received during my visit to Kenmare, but also those that I have gathered from the books I have consulted, and the conversations I have held during my whole sojourn in Ireland.
Now, to form a correct idea of a political body, it is necessary to know not only what its friends think of it, but also what its adversaries say of it. As I have already said, the legend of the vagabond, dissipated priest, so dear to French republicans, does not exist here. The attacks are directed to other points. The Irish clergy are first reproached with being very authoritative; and secondly, with an unreasonable love of money.
It is very difficult for a foreigner to decide how much importance should be attached to these accusations. However, I should not be astonished if there is a certain foundation of truth for them. I have already mentioned that the morality of the young Irish villagers is above all praise; but I am told that in the rare circumstance of a scandal occurring, the parish priest never hesitates to drive the offending sheep out of his flock, to use “striking” arguments, a line of conduct which, even to the present day, meets with complete approval from the population, but which, some day or other, may entail disastrous consequences.
These customs, which to us appear so strange, no doubt have their origin in a very primitive society, very homogeneous, and whose manners were absolutely patriarchal. But it appears to me quite impossible that they can be maintained much longer, and it would perhaps be wiser if the Irish clergy were to take the initiative in a reform which ultimately will be enforced upon them.
The second accusation—that of too much love for money—also deserves some notice. But, first of all, it must be defined. Avarice is not a national defect in Ireland. When the clergy are accused of greed for money, it must not be understood that they amass it. No one has ever heard of priests becoming rich. The money which they receive they dispense liberally in alms.
Living, as they do, in the midst of a population whose misery is extreme, one can understand that they do perhaps seek a little unreasonably for the means of relieving the distress around them. The accusation is therefore rather in the form than in the substance, and to appreciate its value we must recollect that the English treat money matters with a roughness that often shocks us, but which they consider quite natural. I believe I have already made this remark in one of the preceding chapters à propos of the naval officers in this country, who receive veritable fees from the captains in the merchant service before they will allow them to make comparisons with their chronometers. We must therefore take into account, and this in a great measure, the habits which seem inherent in the race. This admitted, is it true that the Irish priests shear their parishioners a little too closely? Some anecdotes which are related on this subject, particularly in England, but also a little in Ireland, seem to prove it. These stories have in all cases the merit of being each more droll than the other, and they tend to demonstrate that the clergy are more skilful than the Government in their manner of proceeding. Even whilst admitting that they pluck the fowls, they not only find means to prevent their crying out, which in itself is a great art, but even manage to please them: whilst the Government, which, far from plucking, rather allows itself to be plucked, only succeeds in exasperating them.
Twice a year in each parish the priest names a Sunday which is consecrated to the collection of the dues—that is, to the subscription which provides his stipend. It seems that nothing can be more amusing than the scenes which take place on those days. It must be admitted that the parishioners are generous, and the pastor absolutely disinterested; but, after all, human nature is weak, as every one knows, and it never quite loses its ascendency; each parishioner is divided between the desire to eclipse his neighbours and yet to give as little as possible. The pastor, on his side, is not sorry to speculate on these conflicting sentiments, and since both of them are Irish—that is to say, as witty as possible—the tempest that stirs beneath their skulls, as M. Victor Hugo would say, produces the oddest incidents possible.
I was recommended to read a book, which I found charming, and which I am assured is very true. It is called Pictures from Ireland. The author, Mr. Terence McGrath, is not favourable to the Land League. He has devoted one chapter of his book to a description of one of these collections of the dues. I borrow this passage from him:—
“After mass a table is brought and placed in front of the altar; Father Morrissy stands by its side, and as the chief men of the parish pass before him, he declares aloud the amount deposited by each on the plate:—
“‘Michael Egan—one pound.’
“‘Martin Fruen—one pound. Martin Fruen, with one hundred acres of land, one pound. Just twopence an acre!’
“‘William Slattery, ten acres—ten shillings.’
“‘Mary Finnegan, a widow with eight children and five acres of land—six shillings. Verily, I say unto you, that this poor widow has cast in more than all they that have cast into the plate.’
“‘John Sweeney’ (Fruen’s bitterest enemy) ‘seventy acres—three pounds. I am glad to feel that John Sweeney is more liberal than some of those who would have no hesitation in robbing the Holy Church of her dues, and leaving their priest in want.’
“An interruption from Martin Fruen, who returns to the altar steps and says, ‘I beg your pardon, Father Peter, but I forgot to say that I have an acre of meadow for your reverence.’
“‘Thank you, Martin, I thought you must have forgotten’”—and so on.
I will not swear that the scene is not highly coloured; but it is very effective, and above all very characteristic of Irish humour. However, I am more inclined to believe that there may be a foundation of truth in these reproaches, from a fact that I often remarked in America. In the far west the only Catholics are Irish or Canadian. The priests invariably belong to one of these two nationalities. Now, I often noticed that whilst the Canadian priests are always much liked by their parishioners, by Canadians, as well as by Irish, the Irish priests, on the contrary, are constantly in difficulties with the Canadians, who accuse them of being too exacting. But, after all, this is of little consequence in Ireland, since the persons most interested, who are certainly the parishioners, declare they are quite satisfied with their clergy. Besides, the latter have already given so many proofs of their political talents, that we may be quite certain that they would know how to modify their requirements, should the necessity arise, and how to preserve intact the admirable spirit of union, and the community of aspirations, which bind them so closely to the population, and which gives them so much strength.
I happened to meet, to-day, with an opportunity of ascertaining the confidence which the clergy inspire and how much the Irish people are used to seeing in the person of their priests the natural interpreters of their claims.
The good town of Kenmare, although usually very quiet, is extremely excited at the present time. But any one would be the same, at least, for the inhabitants have just learned that they will probably be obliged this year to pay their taxes twice over, and, since they already find these taxes very heavy when they only pay them once, their state of exasperation can readily be imagined. The position is very curious, but, in order to make it fully understood, I must say a few words about the political and administrative state of Ireland. This organisation is infinitely less complicated than our own; but still that does not insure that it is better. The county and the barony correspond pretty nearly to our department and district, but the arrondissement does not exist; and we may say that the administrative division is not carried further than the barony. The baronies include a certain number of parishes. But the parish has no definite existence. A large borough like Kenmare has neither a municipal nor a local budget. The great cities only are provided with a “corporation,” to use the correct word. In one of our departments the public funds are managed by three different assemblies: the general council, the councils of the arrondissement, and, lastly, the municipal councils. In Ireland these are all replaced by one single assembly, the grand jury, and this assembly is not even elective. The sheriff chooses the members from a list of important persons. The law only exacts that each barony should be represented.
However this curiously formed assembly possesses very extensive power. In fact, it fills in the county almost as many posts as Molière assigns to Maitre Jacques in Harpagon’s house. The grand jury discharges at the same time all the judicial or administrative functions. First, it serves the county law court, and decides whether the accused should be sent to the assizes; it taxes the county and orders the execution of public works. It also, with the sheriff’s assistance, nominates all the functionaries, for the only representatives of the state in each county are the lord-lieutenant, whose duties are purely honorary, the sheriff, the deputy-lieutenants, and the magistrates, which are divided into two classes, although they are all nominated by the Lord Chancellor. Some are simply landowners, invested with a commission as justices of the peace, who perform their duties gratuitously: the others, stipendiary magistrates, are paid, and are obliged to reside on the spot.
Now that the reader is sufficiently enlightened upon the general principles that rule the administrative organisation of Green Erin, I will pass on to those particular events which have excited the inhabitants of the barony of Kilgawan. About eighteen months ago, the office of tax collector was vacant. In ordinary times there is no lack of candidates. This official has a right to a commission of 5 per cent. upon all the money he collects; so that if the taxes amount to 2,000l., this produces a sum of about 100l., which annually falls into the lucky official’s pocket, who, besides, usually adds these functions to the duties of some small business; but the post is much less in request lately, for the tax-payers have adopted the lamentable habit of responding to their summons by gun-shots. However, at last they found an amateur candidate. He was still a young man, alert, vigorous, and the best shot in the county, after Mr. Trench bien entendu. Besides, he could furnish the two securities exacted by the law. He therefore appeared to unite all the requisite qualifications; and he had not long to wait for his nomination.
He commenced his duties about a year ago, and for some time everything went well. The taxes were admirably paid in, considering the hardness of times, and every one agreed that in him the barony had found a model official. The surprise was therefore great when it was discovered some days ago that he had disappeared, as all cashiers do disappear, i.e. with their cash boxes. By a singular coincidence his securities, two tradesmen in the place, had suspended their payments at a few days’ interval. For a short time after this event, public opinion hesitated. Some were delighted and praised the patriot, who, sooner than pay into the oppressor’s Government the funds that would be used to pay its hired assassins, had simply appropriated them for his own necessities; but the more politic shook their heads and pointed out that if part of the funds were destined for the Government, the rest was intended for local expenses, whilst they asked themselves how all the wheels of the barony could work during the coming year.
Helas! The patriotic misgivings of these sages were only too well founded. Mr. Trench has consulted a lawyer. The answer arrived this morning. It is terrible. The collector is an official of the barony, but the barony undertakes to collect the Government taxes through him, at the same time as its own. Thus, on the one hand, since the money had not been paid into the Government, the barony was still responsible; and, on the other, a number of necessary expenses had been incurred and they must meet their engagements. Now the 2,000l. received, only representing the exact amount of these two deficits, it became necessary to raise another two sums of 1,000l. each, i.e. the taxes must be paid again. The argument is as clear as water from the rock, but it is not pleasant.
Now the grand jury are to meet to-morrow at Tralee, and this is why it was resolved to convene an indignation meeting in order that Mr. Trench, when discharging his duties on the grand jury, might convey to his colleagues the expression of the but too well justified complaints of the unfortunate inhabitants of Kenmare.
Mr. C—— and I started a few minutes after breakfast for the Town Hall, where the meeting was to take place. The hall, which is generally used for musical evenings and charitable associations, is of good size. However, when we arrived it was already crowded, but when we were recognised, those present made room for us so pleasantly that we ended by reaching the platform, where Mr. Trench and Father O’S—— were conversing with great animation. The types present offered a most interesting study. The peasants and farmers were crowded together at the back of the hall: the benches nearest the platform being filled by the inhabitants of Kenmare, small merchants and workmen. I noticed one man near to me, already aged, thin, very brown skin, white, closely cropped hair, an eager, very expressive face, the head of a Spanish priest. Mr. C—— told me that he was a poor workman, who had been some years ago one of the most active and energetic Fenian agents in the country. He has only lately left prison. Opposite to me a small crowd is pressed round a short man leaning against the wall. He has a collar of thick white beard, which frames a pale face, ornamented with a red nose, to which he applies snuff in a dignified way in those rare moments when he is not speaking. Under his frock-coat he wears a long brown waistcoat, and he keeps his left hand in one of its pockets whilst he gesticulates with the right, talking all the time in a loud voice. He is a tailor. He speaks at every meeting, is one of the most active members of the Land League, and enjoys great influence. In the first ranks of his audience are a dozen worthy citizens with fat, sheepish faces, who appear to drink in his words, and who undertake to repeat them, with their own comments, to the crowd that presses behind them endeavouring to catch his words. As I looked at first one and then the other, the liberated Fenian and the little tailor, I could not help thinking of the fable of “Bertrand et Raton.” I fancied that the little tailor would never go to prison, though he would probably be the means of others going there; sure to eat the chestnuts if others could find the means of taking them from the fire.
But the compressibility of the body has a limit. It soon became evident that the hall would not hold another person. Mr. Trench began to speak.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “before opening the proceedings, I think it would be advisable to elect a president.”
A great silence followed.
The little tailor longed to speak, for he rubbed his beard in a feverish way; but suddenly a voice was heard in the crowd—
“Suppose we nominate the French gentleman over there as president.”
Naturally, I made a forcible gesture of dissent. The hall echoed with a peal of laughter. The nervous tension relaxed a little. Mr. Trench seized upon the opportunity.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “it appears to me that we could not do better than invite the Venerable Archdeacon Father O’S—— to be kind enough to preside over us.”
Applause broke out from all sides. The arrangement had been so well provided for, that the Archdeacon was already seated near the presidential chair. He thanked the assembly in two words, seated himself comfortably, and leant back folding his two hands in the air, and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.
“Well, Mr. Trench,” said he, “we are listening to you!”
How well Mr. Trench knew with whom he had to deal! With the first words he managed to win the sympathy of his audience.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “you know that the grand jury is a body selected, not elected.”
“Hear, hear!” cried the little tailor, gesticulating like a devil in holy water. “It is not elected; it is another of those tyrannical institutions which crush poor Ireland.” (Prolonged murmurs.)
“I agree with you, that it is a great misfortune. I believe that it would be better, in every respect, if the representative of the barony could be chosen by you. But since that is impossible, I cannot do better than come and consult you, in order to learn your opinion of the serious business that now preoccupies us all, whilst promising to act according to your instructions.”
He then rehearsed the situation; but when he explained to them that in all probability the taxpayers would have to replace the 2,000l. carried off by the collector, the tumult became so formidable that the Archdeacon rose and began to speak.
This was, perhaps, scarcely correct for the president, but no one appeared to mind it. But then no one here seems to trouble himself particularly about the formalities that are so cherished at Bridoison. Father O’S—— stood upright, his two hands plunged into the pockets of his cassock, his hat still upon his head. Our unfortunate French priests are so accustomed to see their most elementary rights of citizenship contested, that, once outside their church, they always look embarrassed and awkward. They never speak without a thousand hesitations, carefully weighing every word. They conceal their thoughts as much as possible; insinuations are the utmost they ever venture upon. What a contrast from the attitude of this priest; what authority he evidently derives from the conviction that he speaks in the name of the whole people. He does not spare his words.
“Mr. Trench,” said he, “every one present renders justice to the feeling which prompted the step that you have just taken. We all thank you for it. You have described the situation very well. We are ruled by an assembly, the members of which are chosen by those who are masters of Ireland, but who are not elected by us. This assembly settles our taxes as it likes; appoints the agents charged with the collection of these taxes, and because the agent that it sent to us without consulting us on the subject, but armed with all its authority, is a thief, we are now told that our receipts are of no value; that the unfortunate inhabitants of this poverty-stricken barony will be forced to pay a second time. It is a disgraceful thing! We Irish are accustomed to submit to many shameful things, but I declare I never heard anything quoted that is more shameful than this!”
But here he was forced to pause. Whilst he was speaking one could hear the exclamations of the audience gradually increasing. At his last words the noise suddenly became indescribable. The Fenian near me could not control himself. He roared.
The little tailor was so excited that he gesticulated like a madman. At the back of the hall the farmers tapped with their shillalahs on the floor, from which issued clouds of dust.
The priest had only to raise his hand in the air; all stopped as by enchantment. He resumed, with the same calm manner:—
“Well, Mr. Trench, to-morrow the grand jury, of which you are a member, is to assemble. You propose to act as our interpreter to your colleagues. For the second time we thank you for this proposition, and we know that you will carry out your promise to us. Tell the grand jury——”
“Wait!” said Mr. Trench. “I will write down your resolutions.”
“Certainly! Tell the grand jury that the inhabitants of this barony protest with all their power against the odious injustice, which they think of imposing upon us, and which, by every legal means——”
“Not at all! I protest! I object to the word legal being used! I demand that we should put, by every means!”——
It was the little tailor shouting at the top of his voice. And then as every one looked at him, he proudly drew himself up and majestically applied a great pinch of snuff to his nose.
His interruption made a great sensation. The shillalahs recommenced to move at the back of the hall. The Fenian at my side uttered from the depths of his chest, a hurrah, which made me jump into the air; his eyes started from his head. Evidently, at this moment, he would give his chance of Paradise to be able to shoot an English policeman; the citizens who surrounded the tailor seemed slightly embarrassed; they evidently considered that things were going too far. Only the Archdeacon retained his imperturbable air.
“Let us see, Mr. X——, you apparently advise us to take guns and blunderbusses and to attack the police?” said he.
The little tailor only answered by a gesture of the arms and head, which said clearly: “If everybody were like me, things would not end like that,” but which at the same time, had the great advantage of giving no handle for pursuit, if things turned out badly. But Father O’S—— soon re-established quiet; the resolution that he proposed was applauded and the meeting soon broke up without further incident.
I have, perhaps, dwelt too long upon the details of this meeting; but they appear to me very curious in many respects. In thinking over what I have seen and heard, I find food for much reflection.
It is the fashion in France to complain bitterly of centralisation, and of the great administration which results from it. M. de Tocqueville, in particular, expatiates everywhere on the beauties of the English system, which completely differs from our own. Amongst us, the Government appoints the officials charged with the collection of the taxes, and lends them to the Communes, or the Department, for the collection of the local rates. Here, on the contrary, the collectors are the agents of the local authorities and are lent to the Government by them. I acknowledge that this system has the advantage of leaving to the local power the greater part of the authority, which they have taken from the state; but this satisfaction appears to me a little platonic. Under the French system if my collector absconds with the cash box, admitting even, though this is almost impossible, that his security were insufficient to meet the deficit, this deficit being divided between thirty-eight millions of taxpayers, I should suffer in an infinitesimal proportion from this theft; whilst, under the same circumstances, the poor people of Kenmare are forced to pay twice over, and they must pay, because in consequence of the decentralisation, they cannot employ a state official amongst them, and, therefore, as their agent is completely independent of the collective populace, there is no reason why the neighbours should suffer through his theft.
There is a school of men that is always lost in admiration of all foreign institutions, and that has the greatest contempt for all that passes at home. Is this a right sentiment? We know our own institutions through experience, but others only in theory. It therefore happens that, whilst we see quite easily the defective side of our own, we are I believe much too inclined to exaggerate the merits of neighbours. The English inhabit an old house. The arrangements, which were excellent in former times, are now frequently found very inconvenient. They make a few reforms, but those are done with the utmost prudence, because when workmen are placed in an old building there is always danger of the walls giving way. They know that if they decide to pull down the old house and build a new one they must spend a good deal, and also sleep outside for some time. In order to avoid this inconvenience, they prefer remaining where they are, as long as it will hold together. I think their argument is just, but they are not as well lodged as they might be.
We are not in the same position; our old house has fallen, we have had all the annoyance and expense of a removal: we had to sleep outside for a long time. Now, the great work of the new one is finished, the roof is in its place; the ensign is still missing and also many small interior fittings, but still, such as it is, we can certainly say, that the service is better done there than in most other establishments.
But to continue the comparison, it is but too evident that great reforms are needed in this country. For instance, this institution of a grand jury, almost omnipotent and absolutely irresponsible, is made to exasperate the people. It is not even a feudal institution, for the feudal law provided that “none could be judged save by his peers.” It is the application, pure and simple, of the rights of conquest. If the Land Leaguers confined themselves to demanding the abolition of such abuses, they would be so manifestly right that every reasonable man would sympathise with them, and the English would be forced to yield at once. Instead of doing this, they claim a number of things that cannot possibly be granted, which would manifestly be either useless or injurious to them if they obtained them, and no one really can tell whether they would reform existing abuses or whether they would not rather content themselves with using them against their political adversaries. Thus the other day the Lord Mayor of Dublin told me that Ireland suffered from too much centralisation. If such cases as that which formed the subject of the meeting at which I was present are of frequent occurrence, it seems to me that it is rather an excess of decentralisation from which she is suffering.
And besides, was it necessary to complicate by a political crisis, the agricultural and economic crisis, which is already so hard to bear in this country? And this political crisis, a little goodwill on all sides would suffice to check, at least in a great measure. I only require the facts that I see here as a proof of what I say. In every country in the world, where such an accident happened, the population would be much excited by it. Every one would feel it. Such an incident is a God-send for an opposition politician. It would not require many like the little tailor, or the old Fenian, to put a light to the powder. Luckily, the two conflicting parties are each headed by thoroughly honest men, benevolent and moderate. Mr. Trench came and said: “I agree with you, the grand jury is not what it ought to be; it is true that you are not represented in it. I cannot change the existing laws, but since I form part of the grand jury, allow me to act as though I were really your representative.” Father O’S—— took him at his word, and that sufficed to make the meeting pass off quietly. I therefore cannot help thinking that if really willing men were more common, peace would be less disturbed, and this is why I believe that the clergy have rendered a great service to Ireland by placing themselves at the head of the Land League. A few of its members are certainly hot-headed men, who do not use their influence in the right way; but a great many others act like Father O’S——; and, whilst tolerating what they cannot help, they act as mediators, and very efficacious mediators, in a movement which, if they were not there, would in each village be led by men like the little tailor.
This evening, Mr. Trench invited me to dine with the inspector of police for the district of Kilgawan. This young man, who discharges all the duties of a lieutenant of gendarmerie amongst us, has about thirty constables (Irish constabulary force) under his orders. This corps seems copied from the French gendarmerie. They are superb men, admirably disciplined, who render the greatest services. They are, however, abominated by the populace, although they are all Irish officers and men. But, at the same time, this does not prevent there being ten candidates for one vacancy. One of the reasons for this is that the pay is exceedingly high. This young man, who is dining with us, gets about 240l. per annum; more than a major receives in France. He is twenty-six years old. A simple constable has from 80l. to 100l.; there are 12,000 of them; 7,000 Catholics, and 5,000 Protestants. The maintenance of this corps is a heavy item in Irish finance.
A Government should always give its servants a rate of pay which is in accordance with the scale of salaries in the country. If it fixes too low a sum, it can only obtain very inferior men; if it pays them too much, there are ten candidates for one vacancy, and, since it can only give one appointment, it creates nine irreconcilable enemies in the persons of those it was forced to disappoint. The English Government, however, like every other, is influenced by this principle; only its pay is regulated by the scale of English salaries, and these salaries are very high. It can scarcely have a special scale for Ireland. An English constable who gains four or five shillings a day is not too well paid, because his brother or his father, who are workmen, earn about the same amount. But because an English constable receives five shillings, it is necessary to give five shillings to an Irish constable, although he is living in a country where the workmen never earn more than one shilling per day. Now, since it is precisely upon these Irish workpeople, who earn so little, that the taxes producing the soldiers’ high pay weigh so heavily, they feel exasperated. The same events take place under all administrations. This is another of the Land League grievances, and one of its best arguments in favour of Home Rule, for they point out that if Ireland were completely separated from England, the pay could be reduced in proportion to the general distress, and this can never be done whilst the union lasts.
The inspector of police spoke to me about the state of the country, with which he is naturally better acquainted than any one else. The neighbourhood of Kenmare is relatively quiet. However, he knows that the tribunal of the Land League works regularly, and meets every Sunday: everybody obeys its decisions.
To-day, a constable seized eight or ten summonses issued in the name of this tribunal. This is an exact reproduction of one of them:—
“KILGAWAN BRANCH, I. N. LEAGUE.
June 24, 1886.MR. THOMAS MURRAY, BALLINACARRIGA.
Dear Sir,
Your presence is requested in the league 2 p.m. On the 27th inst. On behalf of the committee,
John Godfrey, Sec.”
He believes that he shall be forced to give James O’Leary two men as a protection, who will not leave him day or night. There are already several persons in the county in the same position. And it is only because the expense is so very heavy, nearly 200l. a year, that there are not more. However, the Government defrays this expense by levying a special tax from all the inhabitants of the district.
But, I repeat that the situation of this part of the county is exceptionally good. There is another barony in the neighbourhood where the situation is far worse. This property belongs to the Honourable Roland Wynne. Already two of his agents have been killed, and he is now vainly endeavouring to find a third. The last tax-collector having had a ball pass through his leg whilst discharging his duty, hastened to send in his resignation, and it is impossible to replace him.
This estate has not paid one penny either to the landlord or to the state for the last three years. In fact, then, the farmers have become the owners.[2] In all that concerns them, the programme of the Land League has been fully carried out, and it has been realised in the most economical fashion, since, to obtain this result, the people have only had to spend the sum necessary for the acquisition of a gun and three charges of powder. I may add that the inhabitants of this lucky barony can only lose by a change of government, since, however economical the new one may be, it will always be necessary to pay some taxes, whilst now they do not pay anything to anybody. It is therefore a golden age which reigns for the time in this corner of Ireland. I ask whether the fate of this population seems capable of amelioration?
I am answered that, the land being very bad, the distress is terrible; the people are literally dying of hunger, and that emigration is the sole resource of the population! But then, in that case, the crisis has not arisen from the land laws, and they cannot cure it by making the peasants landowners. I had always doubted it, but I am well pleased to have my opinion so convincingly proved.