We are now at Derrygariff, since there is a Derrygariff. On the right side of the road stands a horrible house of dry stones, from which an old woman came out, very dry too, and not less tattered than those whom wehad just left. On seeing her, Trench abruptly leaned back in the carriage. She rushed towards us, crying in a whining voice:
“Just a penny, your honour! And may the Blessed Virgin be with your honour!”
“Amen,” growled Trench, suddenly showing himself like a devil springing from a holy-water vase.
The old woman drew back thunderstruck.
“Tell me then, Mrs. Finnigan; will you please tell me who authorised you to settle under-tenants on your land?”
“Holy Virgin! Mother of God!” said Mrs. Finnigan, stupefied. Then, at once assuming an amiable expression:
“Eh! is it good Mr. Trench? May God protect him! He’s a sight to cure sore eyes. And I took him for a tourist!”
“I see that,” continued Trench, “and you are not ashamed to beg, although, to my knowledge, you have 500l.in the bank at Kenmare? But you have not answered my question. Who is this under-tenant that you have settled on your land?”
“Oh, Mr. Trench! To accuse us of under-letting our land. Holy Mother of God! Never! It is only a poor man who asked leave to settle there; now we can’t turn him off; and then, taking pity upon him, we engaged him as caretaker, and we are only paid for the land he occupies by his work upon ours, or upon the roads, because my husband has undertaken the care of the roads. Your honour, the poor must help each other, your honour!”
“Ah! Just so. I see how it is,” said Trench. “Drive on, Dick.”
Then, turning towards me:
“Now do you understand? You heard that impudent hussy explain in a few words the system of under-tenants, which is one of the worst plagues in Ireland, and for which they account us responsible. Finnigan, her husband, rents a farm of ninety acres; he also has the right of pasturage on the mountains. As far as I recollect, he pays a rent of 15l.or 20l.a year. You see that it is pretty moderate; and the proof that it is not let too dearly is that he has made large savings, in spite of the bad years that we have passed through. He is an active, intelligent man, but horribly avaricious. You saw the house he lives in; he would not improve it for anything in the world, because his wife and children never fail to ask alms from passing tourists, and he considers that it is especially desirable to arouse their pity. Now, without saying a word to us, he under-lets the land. You have just seen one of his tenants; perhaps he has three or four others hidden in different corners; and you have heard the money he demands from them. His rents are never in arrear; they are even paid in advance, because he is careful to have them paid by the man’s work.
“You must remember that this arrangement is strictly forbidden; first by the lease, and afterwards by the law. To avoid difficulties, the unfortunate man is reported as his landlord’s servant. He can, therefore, at any moment be turned out of the house that he has built himself.
“What can be done in the matter? I could certainly get rid of him by ejectment. But I should have to summons him, then obtain a company of soldiers, receive stones and mud from the whole population; riska fight, in which one or two men may be killed; and then be called a tyrant by the newspapers. From time to time, when the abuse gets too flagrant, I make an example, but as a rule I close my eyes.
“Good heavens!” he continued, “I don’t know what they reproach us for! First they say that in bygone days the land was confiscated—taken from its rightful owners. We will admit that to be true. Four or five hundred years have passed since the event took place that they are alluding to. But how did the old landowners get possession of the land? By conquest, as a rule, if not always. And why should conquest create a more legitimate title than confiscation?
“Besides, I altogether deny that all the landed estates in this country were acquired through confiscation. We are, at this moment, on the Marquis of Lansdowne’s estate, the present Governor of Canada. He owns 100,000 acres here, all in a ring fence. Now this is how the estate came into the family.
“You see how bad the land is. Two hundred years ago the country was absolutely a desert. At that time all the mountains you now see bare were covered with forests; in the last century they were cut down to provide the wood required for fuel. One of the ancestors of the present marquis came over, settled here, and obtained a concession of the land on the condition that he brought it into cultivation. At his own expense he brought the labourers. He built the town of Kenmare, where we are now going. It still belongs entirely to the family. Afterwards, in recognition of his services, he received the title of Marquis of Lansdowne.
“He therefore created the property. It did not existbefore he came to the country. The land was as barren as Greenland may be now. He brought the soil into good condition, and all the ancestors of the people now living here came with him. I do not say that in Ireland there are many estates that have the same history as this one; but can there be in the whole world a property which has a more legitimate and respectable origin?
“How can they say that the landowners have not done enough for their estates? Assuredly there are some of them who are not above reproach on this score. But towards many of them the accusation is most unjust. This estate never brought in more than 15,000l.; now it only produces 7,000l.Since I have managed it I have spent more than 25,000l.in improvements of every description, and, I may add, in improvements that are quite unproductive for the owner, since the income is always decreasing. Look at that small house. I built it last year for a tenant with whom I was much pleased, and whom I wished to encourage. It cost me 120l., and his rent—which was not increased one penny—is 14l.
“Now, look over there, at that group of abominable tumble-down huts, which are quite as bad as the one we visited just now. One of the tenants had six sons. He gave up portions of the farm in order to settle them upon it. Each of them, when he married, built a house, and he now lives here, cultivating the tenth part of the original farm, which did not exceed about thirty acres. These divisions were all made without our permission. Each of the sons has five or six children; there are therefore thirty acres of land—and bad land too—from which they expect to get food for forty-fiveor fifty persons, and this in a country which, properly speaking, is only fit for stock raising! How can they escape dying of hunger? They answer by telling me that in certain parts of China the land supports still more people.
“Apparently the climate and the land are better there than with us; here it is impossible. When one is dealing with the first tenant, one calculates that a family of five or six people can live off the farm; now they want to make it support forty or fifty. There is a limit to the earth’s productiveness, and this limit has been already passed.
“We must always return to the fact that the great misfortune is the lack of manufactures. I have done all in my power to acclimatise them over here, but I have never succeeded. I asked a celebrated geologist to come and examine and ascertain what resources the country might offer. He left at the end of a week, telling me that he should be robbing me if he stayed any longer. There is a little iron, but since we have no coal to work it with we cannot hope to make it profitable.
“I turned to another quarter for help. If we had not the raw material, at least labour was cheap. We thought that we might utilise that by establishing a manufactory which would have for its aim the production of objects that required but little raw material. Our railway companies import all their requisites from England. I wrote to some English capitalists: we had been studying to ascertain if these requisites could not be made in Ireland. Whatever combinations were adopted, even at the lowest calculation, we could never see our way to pay more than 3 per cent. on the capitalinvested. Another thing, who would be mad enough to establish a manufactory in a country where now every one is at the mercy of an occult and irresponsible power like the Land League, which has often prevented vessels from loading or unloading, solely because the owner of the ship had infringed or not obeyed some of its orders? Imagine a factory suddenly boycotted without warning! What would become of the shareholders?
“It is only too evident that the present state of things cannot last. Is it admissible that a Government should spend 2,000l.per annum for an indefinite period to keep policemen on guard over that castle I have just shown you? It would be easier and more economical to let the Nationalists blow it up, except for the indemnity to which the owner might become entitled. But there are ten others in the same position.
“Where is the remedy? Unhappily, we cannot see any sign of it. Mr. Gladstone has come to an understanding with the Land League, and one plan is now proposed. They wish to dispossess the landlords, and to make the peasants landowners. But let us consider what the practical results of that measure would be. Let us take, for instance, the case of the tenant of whom we were speaking just now. He has not paid one penny of rent for the last three years. Are he and his forty children and grandchildren any richer on that account? They are near dying of hunger; and if they should die of hunger, it is because they insist upon existing on the produce of thirty acres of very middling land. If we imagine him the owner of the thirty acres, in what way will the situation be improved? Will that change make the land any better, or the climate less moist?
“Besides, he would not retain the ownership very long.In every village there is a pawnbroker, on whose premises all the furniture accumulates belonging to the peasants, and who often buys their harvests before they are reaped. They are all in debt to the grocer and to the manure merchant—even the bonnets worn by the women on Sundays are all bought on credit. Three months after the land had been given to them they would have found means to mortgage it, if possible, at double its value.
“More than that, is it quite certain that they wish to become landowners as much as is pretended? It does not seem at all certain to me. As soon as the principles of the Land Act were known, a landlord, whose property I manage, wrote to me, saying that he authorised me to treat with all his tenants on that basis. He has more than eight hundred! I gave them all the opportunity of accepting the arrangement; they all refused, without a single exception.
“However, some of them told me that they were willing to treat with me, but the conditions they proposed were absolutely inadmissible. Judge for yourself.
“They desired that I should accept as a basis, not the reduced rents that had been already fixed by the Land Commissioners, who, however, had already reduced the rentals on an average from 25 to 30 per cent., but that those rents should again be reduced 25 per cent. Then instead of multiplying this figure by 20, according to the provisions of the Land Act, making the price of purchase 20 years’ rent, they wished to multiply it by 12 or 13 only. So that the owner of a property that five years ago brought in 400l., and was then worth about 8,000l.or 9,000l.first saw his rents reduced by 100l., and then by the terms of the Land Act, the price ofexpropriation or forced sale would have been but 6,000l.(300l.× 20); he had already therefore to submit to a loss of from 2,000l.to 3,000l.of his capital. But I was authorised to accept this valuation.
“They, however, proposed to diminish the original rental by another 25 per cent., which would thereby be reduced to 200l., and then by multiplying the 200l.by 12, the purchase-money would be 2,400l., twelve years’ purchase. They, therefore, would have it inferred that in five years the property had lost more than three-fourths of its value.
“Now on nine-tenths of all Irish estates the annual charges and expenses exceed, and greatly exceed, one-fourth of the average income. Nine times out of ten, therefore, the indemnity for expropriation would not suffice to pay off the debts. Not a single penny would reach the unlucky proprietors. Frankly, now, can we wonder that they refuse to aid in their own ruin?”
Whilst he was speaking to me I was looking at the country we were passing through. An artist would find a certain charm in it, but in the eyes of an agriculturist its appearance is lamentable. On all sides are rocky, barren mountains; we have not seen a tree since we left Derrygariff. The streams daily wash a little more of the thin layer of vegetable mould from the great schistic blocks that are visible on all sides, carrying it down to the turf pits that fill the bottom of the valley. The destruction of the forests has been another great misfortune for this country, and I asked Mr. Trench if he had never tried to re-establish plantations.
“Replant!” said he. “In the first place, as I have already told you, wood has no value here because of thetimber imported from Canada and Norway; and in the second, if I replanted the mountains, the farmers would hasten to complain to the Land League that I was depriving their cattle of pasturage, and my plantations would soon cease to exist. They all have goats; and you know how little time goats require to destroy young trees. If I wished to replant these mountains or simply to cultivate them on a new method, I must begin by sending the tenants away. Mr. Adair tried to do it, and you know how that business ended.”
I had heard Mr. Adair’s history. A few years ago it was much discussed both in Ireland and England. It is one of the most typical cases that I can quote. It shows that in this unhappy country the most elementary exercise of the rights of ownership may entail serious complications.
In 1859 Mr. Adair bought the estate of Derryveigh, in Donegal. It was a very mountainous and very poor district. There was scarcely any of the land under cultivation; the tenants only kept a few cows and goats.
Rightly or wrongly, Mr. Adair thought that sheep-breeding would be profitable. But to organise that undertaking he was obliged to make some alterations in the farms, and thereby produced great dissatisfaction amongst the population. One day the sheep disappeared as though by magic. The peasants declared that they had died of hunger on the mountains, and, in fact, a great many of them were found dead at the bottom of the precipices, but Mr. Adair’s shepherds asserted that the sheep had been stolen, and the strict search instituted by the police confirmed their statements, for undeniable proofs were found that a certain number ofthem had been eaten. The County Court accepted the facts, and condemned the parishes to pay rather heavy damages to Mr. Adair, and this naturally considerably envenomed their relations. At length one evening the chief shepherd did not return from an expedition he had made on the mountain. His body was found—he had been murdered; but the peasants assisted the police so badly that the murderers were never discovered.
Mr. Adair was exasperated to the last degree. The crime took place near the hamlet of Glenveigh, and it was also here that traces of the lost sheep had been found. He declared that he considered the tenants at Glenveigh morally responsible for all that had happened, and that he intended getting rid of them all.
When this decision was announced the priest and the Protestant minister sent him a joint letter, pointing out that the consequences of such a determination must weigh heavily upon the innocent, and begging him not to carry out his intentions.
Mr. Adair replied that his decision was irrevocable; all the tenants must leave Glenveigh. But, in recognition of the fact that there might be some foundation for his correspondents’ observations, he declared that he was ready to find new farms on another part of the estate, and for which he would grant leases, to all the old tenants who could bring letters of recommendation from either of the reverend gentlemen.
I cannot resist entering into the minutest details of this story, for it reveals a state of affairs that, to us Frenchmen, appears quite incomprehensible. I have taken all these details fromNew Ireland—a very interesting book by Mr. Sullivan, one of the most eminent members of the Irish Nationalist party. Mr.Gray, the editor of theFreeman’s Journal, advised me to read it, telling me that it is one of the best written books that have appeared on Ireland. I am convinced that the author fully intended to relate these events with the utmost impartiality. But, after all, if he shows a little partiality in his recitals, it is evidently not for Mr. Adair, whose conduct he stigmatises as frightful.
Well, here are the facts. Mr. Adair believed that a small village, entirely occupied by his tenants, was a nest of thieves. And he had good reason to believe it, since the police had given him the proofs. Moreover, one of his servants had been killed, and everything seemed to indicate that the murderer, if he did not belong to the village, was, at all events, well known to the inhabitants. It is impossible, in my opinion, not to think that Mr. Adair acted very wisely. And I must add that his propositions to the priest and the minister appear to me indications of an intention to pursue a most moderate course.
But I go still further. What landowner in France has not found it necessary to join three farms into one simply to diminish the number of buildings, and to reduce the working expenses? To do this he is obliged to send away two farmers. Who dare maintain that in doing so he was committing a criminal action? Is any progress possible if this theory be admitted? But we will continue the story of Glenveigh.
Mr. Adair, therefore, gave due and formal notice to all the inhabitants of Glenveigh that they must leave their houses. Not one of them moved. On the contrary, they all intimated that they would offer every resistance, if not active, at least passive, to anyendeavour to turn them out. Mr. Adair, therefore, according to custom, presented himself before the authorities at Dublin, and, having affirmed upon oath that he considered that the men employed in the eviction would be exposed to personal danger in the discharge of their duties, he demanded that they should be protected by the police. The authorities thoroughly shared his views on the subject, and at once ordered a regular army corps to proceed to his assistance. Two hundred constables assembled, and thirty soldiers, under the command of an officer from Dublin garrison, joined their party.
These operations commenced on the 8th April, and here I recite as literally as possible:
When they reached Lough-Barra the police halted. The sheriff, accompanied by a small escort, advanced towards a house occupied by a widow named M’Award, aged sixty, who lived there with her seven children—six girls and one boy.
The sheriff, forced to carry out his painful duties, entered the house and put Mr. Adair’s agent in possession.
Six men, engaged for the purpose, immediately began to pull down the house. The scene that followed baffles description. The despair of the unhappy widow and her daughters amounted to frenzy. Stretched on the floor, they at first appeared insensible, but soon recovering, they gave vent to that terrible Irish lamentation called the ‘Irish wail.’ The whole valley resounded with their cries.
All the inhabitants burst into tears.
The eviction was not ended until Monday evening. Before leaving his house for the last time an oldman of eighty knelt down and kissed the doorpost. His wife and children imitated his example.
In the evening the scene became particularly distressing. None of these unfortunate people had been able to resign themselves to leave the ruins of their homes. They lighted fires and camped out under a pouring rain, sheltering themselves as they best could under the hedges.
Mr. Sullivan then relates that a subscription was immediately raised. Funds arrived from all sides. An Irish Society in Australia offered to defray all the expenses of the voyage if the unhappy people would emigrate. They had already dispersed. However, traces of them all were soon discovered; some of them were dead. One man, named Bradley, had gone mad.
When all those who were willing to leave were assembled, they first went to the cemetery to gather some blades of grass from the graves of their parents, to carry away as mementoes of their home. Their priest, the Rev. Mr. O’Fadden, accompanied them to Liverpool. This young priest had never, since their troubles, ceased to pay the most admirable and devoted attention to them.
I was on the quay at Dublin, continued Mr. Sullivan, when these unfortunate people embarked and quitted Irish soil. I prayed to God, that in His mercy He would compensate them for the misery they had endured. Six months later, I received a letter from Mr. O’Grady, telling me that they had all arrived safely at their destination, and that they started in the colony with every chance of success.
This story is certainly very touching; but, after all,the moral of it, if it contains one at all, is that those people, who were very unhappy in Ireland, are now prospering in Australia, and that if they were invited to return to Glenveigh they would probably all refuse.
But if Mr. Sullivan, with the money produced by his book, should buy a house and let it, how could he, if he felt inclined to change the internal arrangements, turn his tenant out?—this is what I should like to know. And if the old man of eighty was so unwilling to leave his native land, why did he not ask the Rev. Mr. O’Fadden to speak to Mr. Adair for him, and he would then have received a tenancy where he could have died in peace?
We reached Kenmare about six o’clock. It is a pretty little port, situated on one of the deepest of the innumerable bays that the great Atlantic rollers have washed out of the west coast of Ireland; they form havens that would be invaluable for commerce—if there were any. There is a gate in the chief square of Kenmare, I may say the only square, through which we enter a beautiful park, and in the midst of it stands one of those small English villas, which look foolish when they are placed side by side in a row, but which, standing alone, are really charming. This one is hidden under a thick mantle of climbing plants, through which the large glass panes of the bow windows glitter brightly. This is Lansdowne Lodge, the residence provided by the Marquis of Lansdowne for the use of his agent.
The interior is not less delightful than the exterior. The hall is ornamented with a number of deer and elk horns, found in admirable preservation in the turf pits.I had already seen some superb specimens the other day at Sir Croker Barrington’s. To the left opens a dining-room, where at eight o’clock some of the inhabitants of Kenmare assembled, to whom Mr. Trench wished to introduce me. The chief dish on the table was a splendid salmon that one of these gentlemen had killed two hours before. The conversation was most lively and interesting, but really whilst listening to it one feels in a dream. For instance, I discover that in compliment to me these gentlemen have consented to dine away from home, but that it is a very exceptional circumstance, and they are not sure that they may not regret it. No one dare go out at night for fear of being shot. One of them, who is employed on the estate, has just heard that he is to be boycotted, because of an eviction in which he was concerned. He expected that on the morrow the butcher would refuse to supply him with meat, but he consoled himself by the reflection that he had some biscuits and some tins of preserves in the house.
After dinner we went to Mr. Trench’s study to smoke. I sat down by a small table on which stood a candlestick, and placed my coffee by it.
“Excuse me, dear sir,” said one of the guests, addressing me, half laughing, half serious, “but you are wrong to sit there. You see, if any one fired at us through the window you might be hurt. There, allow me to move your chair a little. Now you are safe. And besides, hanging on the wall within reach of your hand you have a loaded revolver and a tomahawk—both excellent weapons. Try the edge of the tomahawk. Look, too, on the mantel-piece, there is a bowie knife; some people prefer a bowie knife, but Ilike the tomahawk best, and this one is extremely sharp.”
I effusively thanked this amiable gentleman. The conversation became general, and the guests discussed weapons. Each drew a revolver from his pocket and warmly defended his own theories. They all agreed that Mr. Trench’s revolver was too small. He was sitting about five or six paces from me on the other side of the chimney.
“Ah!” said they, “you may be the best shot in the country, but you are wrong to use such a short weapon, it cannot be relied on; you would miss a man at ten paces.”
“You say that I could not be sure of my aim!” cried Mr. Trench; “you shall see.”
Instantly I heard a frightful noise, in which I distinguished three reports, a sound of broken glass, and then I felt on my back and head a succession of tiny pricks, as though all the archers of Lilliput were shooting at me. Thinking it was a Fenian attack I sprang to the tomahawk, seized the revolver in the other hand, and, entrenched behind my arm-chair, I awaited events.
It was only Mr. Trench who had fired at the candle within a foot of my head. The first two bullets had simply broken the sconce, the last had cut the candle in two, and one of the balls had struck a box of steel pens that had been placed on a what-not; the pens had flown into the air, and some had fallen into my collar and had produced the pricking.
After warmly congratulating the master of the house, the guests took leave of us, we conducting them to the door. There each one grasped his shillalah with theleft hand and his revolver with the right, and we saw them passing all the clumps of trees carefully and at a respectful distance. For ourselves, after watching them for a minute we securely barricaded the door, and I was then shown to a capital room, where I slept in an excellent bed.
But what an extraordinary country!
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.
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 sumson 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 thereforeobliged 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 wasonly 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, amisfortune 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 itin 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 inarrear. 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 offootball. 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 theycommenced 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 thepétroleusesby a jury composed ofpétroleuses, 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, oreven 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 animatedwith 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 Catholicswould 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 byforming 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 becomea 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 toofficiate, 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, inorder 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 isnothing 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 composedof 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 hisPersonal 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 takenwas 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 theneighbourhood (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 thenoyades 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 notalways 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. Hisnature 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 Frenchcurés, 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 theabbéof the frigate. We saw a stout nativecurégravely walking down the street before us, carrying a superb cock under his arm. In a few minutes he metone 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. Theabbéwas 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 thetiers 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 isended, 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 thebourgeoisiehas 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 Leagueupon 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, nodoubt 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 chaptersà proposof 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, particularlyin 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.