My New Curate

P >> P.A. Sheehan >> My New Curate

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

"Yerra, look at her! She thinks she's wan of the gintry. Oh my! she's
blushin'. 'T wasn't so long ago that you could sow praties in her
face."

"I suppose thim cost a lot of money. But, shure, it was the priests give
'em to her."

"Wisha, thin, there's many a poor creature that would want the money
more."

Now, all this was not only sarcastic, but calumnious. The cap and
streamers were Mrs. Darcy's own, bought out of her hard earnings, and
donned to-day to honor the nuptials of her idol and benefactress. She
knew the mighty ordeal that was in store for her; but she faced it, and
thanked God she was "not behoulden to wan of thim for what she put into
her mout' and upon her back." And she stood there at the altar-rails,
erect and defiant, and there was not a tremor in the hand that held the
holy-water vase, nor in the hand that held the aspergill.

But it was very embarrassing to myself. I am not disposed to be nervous,
for I have always conscientiously avoided tea and too much study, and I
have lived in the open air, and always managed to secure eight hours of
dreamless, honest sleep; but I was "discomposed," as some one charitably
explained it that morning; and Mrs. Darcy's cap was the cause. I couldn't
take my eyes away from it. There it was, dancing like a
will-o'-the-wisp before my dazzled vision. I turned my back
deliberately upon it, and lo! there it was in miniature in the convex
arc of my spectacles; and if I looked up, there was my grinning
congregation, and their half-audible remarks upon this dread and
unwonted apparition. At last I commenced:

"Reginald Darcy, wilt thou take Bittra Ormsby here present--"

A forcible reminder from Father Letheby brought me to my senses; but
away they scattered again, as I heard Campion muttering something
uncomplimentary under his black mustache.

"Ahem!--Reginald Ormsby, wilt thou take Mrs. Darcy--"

Here Father Letheby nudged me again, and looked at me suspiciously. I
got a sudden and violent paroxysm of coughing, a remnant of an old
bronchial attack to which I am very subject. But I managed to say:--

"For the love of God, send that woman into the sacristy."

She covered her retreat nobly, made a curtsey to the priests,
genuflected calmly, laid down the aspergill, and, under pretence of
having been sent for something which these careless priests had
forgotten, retired with honors; and then I suppose had a good long cry.
But poor Bittra was blushing furiously; Ormsby was calm as on the
quarterdeck; but Dr. Armstrong was pulling at his mustache, as if
determined to show the world that there was no use any more for razors
or depilatories; and Miss Leslie had bitten right through her under
lip, and was threatened with apoplexy. We got through the rest of the
ceremony with flying colors: and the moment I said, _In nomine Patris,
et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_, the hush of death fell on the
congregation. Then the nuptial blessing was given, the choir threw all
their vocal strength into the grand _finale_; the registers were signed;
Campion kissed his beloved child, and shook hands with Ormsby; and then
commenced the triumphal march. I forgot to say that for the glorious
procession on the Thursday before the village was _en fete_. Great
arcades of laurel were stretched from chimney to chimney, because there
were no upper rooms in the cabins; the posts and lintels of the humble
doors were covered with foliage and flowers; and the windows were
decorated with all the pious images that had been accumulating in the
cabins for generations. Little _eikons_ of the Sacred Heart, gorgeous
statues of our Lady of Lourdes, colored prints of Leo XIII., and
crucifixes without number dappled the dark background of the
windows,--and all the splendor was allowed to remain untouched during
the octave. And glad they were, poor people, to show their love for
their young idol and mistress, even with the decorations of their Lord
and King. But what a shout tore open the heavens as Bittra appeared,
leaning on her husband's arm; and what prayers echoed round and round
them, as Ormsby handed Bittra into the victoria that was waiting! No
genteel showers of rice, no casting of slippers nor waving of jealous
handkerchiefs here, but--

"Come down out o' dat, you grinning monkey," and the gorgeous coachman
was hauled down ignominiously, and a score of strong arms replaced the
panting horses under the bridal carriage. And so it moved on, this
bridal procession, amidst a strange _epithalamium_ of cheering and
blessings, whilst rough hands from time to time grasped the strong
fingers of the smiling bridegroom or the tiny gloved hand of the bride.
Ay, move down the valley of life together, you two, linked hand-in-hand,
having said your farewells to the world, for you are entering on a new
and altogether consecrated life. No wonder that the Church insists on
the sacramental nature of this stupendous compact between two human
souls; no wonder that the world, anxious to break its indissolubility,
denies its awful sacredness; no wonder that the Catholic girl enters
beneath the archway of the priest's stole[6] with the fear of great joy,
and that the Catholic bridegroom is unnerved with dread at undertaking
the responsibilities of a little universe.

We had a little chat over this matter, my curate and I, the evening
before Bittra's marriage. It came around quite naturally, for we had
been debating all kinds of possibilities as to the future; and he had
been inveighing, in his own tumultuous manner, against the new and
sacrilegious ideas that are just now being preached by the modern
apostles of free thought in novel and journal. We agreed in thinking
that the Christian ideal of marriage was nowhere so happily realized as
in Ireland, where, at least up to recent times, there was no lurid and
volcanic company-keeping before marriage, and no bitter ashes of
disappointment after; but the good mother quietly said to her child:
"Mary, go to confession to-morrow, and get out your Sunday dress. You
are to be married on Thursday evening." And Mary said: "Very well,
mother," not even asserting a faintest right to know the name of her
future spouse. But, then, by virtue of the great sacramental union, she
stepped from the position of a child and a dependent into the regal
position of queen and mistress on her own hearth. The entire authority
of the household passed thereby into her hands, as she slung the keys at
her girdle; she became bursar and _econome_ of the establishment; and in
no instance was her right to rule supreme ever questioned by husband or
child, unless drink came in to destroy this paradise, as the serpent
fouled with his slime the flowers of the garden of Eden. Married life in
Ireland has been, up to now, the most splendid refutation of all that
the world and its gospel, the novel, preach about marriage, and the
most splendid and complete justification of the supernaturalism of the
Church's dogmas and practices. But, reverting to the new phases in the
ever-shifting emotionalism of a godless world, with which marriage has
become a question of barter--a mere lot-drawing of lambs for the
shambles--he compared the happy queenly life of our Irish mother with
that of the victim of fashion, or that of uncatholic lands, where a poor
girl passes from one state of slavery to another.

"I hope," he said, "that we never shall be able to compare Bittra, like
so many other brides, to the sleeping child that Carafola has painted,
with an angel holding over it a crown of thorns, and whom marriage, like
the angel, would awake by pressing the thorns on her brow."

"God forbid!" I said fervently. How little I dreamed of the troubles
that were looming up out of the immediate future to shroud her marriage
sunshine in awful gloom!

As the marriage procession passed the door where Alice lived, Bittra
gave a little timid, imperious command to her admirers to stop. She and
Ormsby alighted and passed into the cottage. The orange blossoms touched
the crown of thorns on the head of the sick girl; but, somehow, both
felt that there was need of a sisterhood of suffering on the one part to
knit their souls together. Ormsby remained in the kitchen, talking to
Mrs. Moylan; and from that day forward she was secured, at least, from
all dread of dependence or poverty forevermore.

At the breakfast table it was, of course, my privilege to propose the
health of the bride and bridegroom, which I most gladly did; and, let me
say, so successfully as to bring back unwonted smiles to Campion's face,
who now freely forgave me for the _gaucheries_ at the marriage service.
Then the guests strolled around, looking at the marriage presents--the
usual filigree and useless things that are flung at the poor bride.
Bittra took me into a little boudoir of her own to show me her _real_
presents.

"Father," she said, "who is a great artist, wanted me to give back all
this rubbish, as he calls it; but I would much rather sacrifice all that
_bijouterie_ outside." And she exhibited with glistening eyes the bridal
offerings of the poor fisherwomen and country folk of Kilronan. They
were fearfully and wonderfully made. Here was a magnificent three-decker
battleship, complete from pennant to bowsprit, every rope in its place,
and the brass muzzles of its gun protruded for action. Here was a pretty
portrait of Bittra herself, painted by a Japanese artist from a
photograph, surreptitiously obtained, and which had been sent 15,000
miles across the ocean for an enlarged replica. Here were shells of all
sizes and fantastic forms, gathered during generations, from the vast
museums of the deep. Here was a massive gold ring, with a superb ruby,
picked up, the Lord knows how, by a young sailor in the East Indian
Islands. Here, screaming like a fury, was a paroquet, gorgeous as a
rainbow, but ill-conducted as a monkey; and here was a gauze shawl, so
fine that Bittra hid it in her little palm, and whispered that it was of
untold price.

"But, of course, I cannot keep all these treasures," she said; "I shall
hold them as a loan for a while; and then, under one pretext or another,
return them. It is what they indicate that I value."

"And I think, my little child," I said, "that if you had them
reduplicated until they would fill one wing of the British Museum, they
would hardly be an exponent of all that these poor people think and
feel."

"It should make me very happy," said Bittra.

And then we passed into the yard and dairies, where the same benevolent
worship had congregated fowl of strange and unheard-of breeds; and there
was a little bonham; and above all, staring around, wonder-stricken and
frightened, and with a gorgeous blue ribbon about her neck, was the
prettiest little fawn in the world, its soft brown fur lifted by the
warm wind and its eyes opened up in fear and wonder at its surroundings.
Bittra patted its head, and the pretty animal laid its wet nozzle in
her open hand. Then she felt a little shiver, and I said:--

"That bridal dress is too light. Go in and change." But she said,
looking up at me wistfully:--

"It is not the chill of cold, but of dread, that is haunting me all the
morning. I feel as if some one were walking over my grave, as the people
say."

[Illustration: "Ahem!--Reginald Ormsby, wilt thou take Mrs. Darcy--" (p.
382.)]

"Nonsense!" I cried. "You are unnerved, child; the events of the morning
have been too much for you."

Here we heard her father's voice, shouting: "Bittra! Bittra! where are
you?"

"Here, father," she said, as Ormsby came into the yard with Campion,
"showing all my treasures to Father Dan."

She linked her arm in her husband's, and Campion looked from one to the
other admiringly. And no wonder. They were a noble, handsome pair, as
they stood there, and the June sunlight streamed and swam around them.

"Go in," he said at last. "The guests expect you."

He and I walked around the farmyard, noting, observing, admiring. He
called my attention to this animal and to that, marked out all his
projected improvements, and what he would do to make this a model
country residence for his child; but I could see that he had something
else to say. At last he turned to me, and there was a soft haze in his
gleaming black eyes as he tried to steady his voice:--

"I have been a hard man," he said, "but the events of this morning have
quite upset me. I didn't know that my child was so worshipped by the
people, and it has touched me deeply. You know, brought up in the school
where I graduated, I have never been able to shake off a feeling of
contempt for these poor, uneducated serfs; and their little cunning ways
and want of manliness have always disgusted me. I am beginning to see
that I have been wrong. And then I have been a bad Catholic. Ormsby,
lately an unbeliever, has shown me this, not by his words, for he is a
thorough gentleman, but by his quiet example. You know I did not care
one brass pin whether he was Turk, Jew, or atheist, so long as he
married Bittra. Now I see that the Church is right, and that her
espousal would have been incomplete if she had not married a Catholic,
and a true one. All this has disturbed me, and I intend to turn over a
new leaf. I am running into years; and although I have, probably, thirty
years of life before me, I must brush up as if the end were near. I am
awfully sorry I was not at the rails with Bittra and Ormsby this
morning; but we shall all be together at Holy Communion the Sunday after
they return from the Continent. By Jove! there goes the Angelus; and
twelve is the hour to start the boat!"

He took off his hat, and we said the _Angelus_ in silence together. I
noticed the silver gathering over his ears, and the black hair was
visibly thinning on the top. I watched him keenly for those few seconds.
I did not know that those musical strains of the midday Angelus were his
death-knell--the ringing up of the great stage-manager, Death, for his
_volte subito_--his leap through the ring to eternity.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: In many places in Ireland the priest places the broad ends
of the stole on the heads of the newly married couple.]

CHAPTER XXVII

THE "STAR OF THE SEA"

There was a vast crowd assembled down where the extemporized pier jutted
into the creek, and where the new fishing-boat, perfect in all her
equipments, lolled and rolled on the heaving of the tide. Her high mast
made an arc of a circle in the warm June air, as the soft, round
wavelets lifted her; and many was the comment made on her by those whose
eyes had never rested but on the tarred canvas of the coracle.

"She has a list to port!" said an old mariner, critically.

"Where's yer eyes, Jur?" cried another. "Don't ye see she lanes to
stabbord?"

"I'll bet dhrinks all round she's level as the althar," said a third.

"'Twill take six min to navigate her," cried an old salt, who had been
around the world.

"'T is aisy to get 'em for the big wages the priest is offering."

"How much?" cried a mariner from Moydore.

"Fifteen shillings a week, an' a share in the profits."

"Here's the capt'n and the priests. Now, boys, for a cheer."

And there was a cheer that made the ocean shiver, and fluttered the
flags over the tents, and made even the trick-o'-the-loop men pause in
their honest avocation, and the orange-sellers hold their wares
suspended in midair.

"Is that him?" was the cry, as Father Letheby, his face aglow with
excitement and pride, came down the by-path to the pier.

"That's him, God bless him!" said the Kilronan men. "'Twas a lucky day
brought him among us. What are yere priests doing?"

"Divil a bit!" said the strangers, who felt themselves humiliated.

There was a ring of merchants around Father Letheby, the shopkeepers
over from Kilkeel and Loughboro' who had subscribed to the balance of
local aid required by the Board of Works. They scanned the boat
critically, and shuffled, in imagination, the boundless profits that
were to accrue.

A light breeze blew off the land, which was another favorable omen; and
it was reported that the coast-guards had seen that morning the Manx
fishing-fleet about twelve miles to the south'ard.

There had been a slight dispute between Father Letheby and Campion about
the naming of the craft, the latter demanding that she should be called
the "Bittra Campion of Kilronan," and Father Letheby being equally
determined that she should be called the "Star of the Sea." Bittra
herself settled the dispute, as, standing in the prow of the boat, she
flung a bottle of champagne on the deck, and said tremulously: "I name
her the 'Star of the Sea.'"

But she grew pale, and almost fainted, as the heavy bottle, without a
break, pirouetted down between sails and cordage, and seeking an opening
in the gunwale of the boat flopped into six fathoms of sea-water.

It was a dread omen, and all felt it. Nothing could have been more
inauspicious or unlucky. But the Celtic wit and kindness came to her
aid.

"Never mind, Miss; 't isn't you, but the d----d old hulk that's
unlucky."

"Thim bottles are made of sheet-iron; they're so tick they don't hould a
glassful."

"One big cheer, byes, for the 'Star of the Say.'"

It was a big cheer; but somehow there was a faltering note somewhere;
and when Father Letheby handed Bittra ashore and the decks were cleared,
and the crew summoned to make her ready to clear off, the men held back,
cowed and afraid.

"You miserable cowards," said Father Letheby; "afraid of every little
accident! I'll not let one of you now aboard; I'll get a crew of men
from Moydore!"

This stung them to the quick; and when a few Moydore boys stood forward
and volunteered, they were rudely flung aside by the four stalwart
fishermen, and we went near having a good free fight to crown the
morning's proceedings. Yet it was easy to see that their hearts were
heavy with superstition and fear; and it was just at this crisis that
Campion stepped forward and offered himself as captain and helmsman.
There was a genuine ringing cheer when he walked down her deck; for
every one knew what a splendid seaman he was, and it is exhilarating to
see a strong man, self-reliant and confident, assume an authority and
premiership by natural right, where weaklings are timid and irresolute.
The clouds moved off from Father Letheby's face only to gather more
deeply upon poor Bittra's. Campion saw it and came over to where she
stood, leaning on Ormsby's arm.

"I would be miserable up at that old castle, mignonne," he said fondly,
"when you and Ormsby depart. It is only a few hours at sea, and it will
give nerve to these poor fellows."

"Father! father!" was all that she could say through her tears. What
dreadful forebodings filled that gentle heart!

"Tell her it's all right, Ormsby!" Campion said, turning away from the
tearful face. "You know all about the sea, and that there's no danger.
What a noble craft she is! Good by, little woman! You have no time to
lose if you want to catch the mail. Good by, Ormsby! Take care of her!"

He choked down his emotion as he kissed his child, and then sprang on
deck.

"All right, lads! Ease off her head first! There, cast away aft!"

And the pretty craft was caught up by the flowing tide; and with the
strong hand at the helm, floated calmly down the deep creek until she
reached a wider space, where the wind could catch her. Then they raised
a white sail, half-mast high, and she leaned over to the pressure until
she shot out amongst the breakers, and her mainsail and topsail shook
out to the breeze, and she cut the calm sea like a plough in the furrow,
and the waters curled and whitened and closed in her wake. Then, at a
signal, her pennant was hauled to the masthead; and every eye could read
in blue letters on a white ground "Star of the Sea." There was a
tremendous cheer, and the fishing-boat went forward to her fate.

Long after the crowd had dispersed, two figures leaned on the
battlements of the bridge that spanned the fiord higher up near the
great house. Bittra fluttered her little handkerchief as long as the
dark speck at the helm could be discerned. Then the boat, now but a tiny
white feather in the distance, was lost in the haze; and Bittra and her
husband set out on their wedding journey.

* * * * *

As we went home, Father Letheby showed me a letter received that morning
from the manager of the great firm at Loughboro', complaining that the
work lately sent from the Kilronan factory was very imperfect, and,
indeed, unsalable, and calling for the first instalment payable on the
machines.

"I called the girls' attention to this," he said, "some weeks ago, when
the first complaints were made; and some pouted, and some said they were
doing too much for the wages I gave them, although, to encourage them, I
gave them nearly double what I had stipulated for, and have left myself
without a penny to meet this first instalment."

"Come," I said, "this won't do. Let us go in and see all about this!"

We went upstairs to the great room, to find it empty of workers. The
girl who was placed in the position of superintendent was knitting in a
corner, and rose as we entered.

"Where are the girls, Kate?" he said, not unkindly.

"I don't know, your reverence. They were saying yesterday that this
should be a holiday."

"They knew all this work was waiting, and that the manager was
complaining."

"They did, indeed, your reverence. I told them so, and one said: 'Let
them wait.' They're grumbling about the wages, though they were never
better off in their lives before."

"Are they all of the same mind in that matter?"

"Oh, no, your reverence. Nine of the girls are anxious, and are really
grateful for the work; but there are three doxies, who have bachelors,
if you please, and they think themselves quite above the work."

"I see. I think I know them. They won't come here again. Can you supply
their places?"

"Easy enough, your reverence, but--"

"Never mind. I'll do that myself."

He did. He dismissed the recalcitrants promptly; but when it became a
question of obtaining substitutes, it was not so easy.

The rest of the girls went to work the following day; but as they passed
through the village in the evening on the way home, they were hooted
unmercifully, called "staggeens," "thraitors," "informers," and, as a
result, remained at home, and sent in their resignation to Father
Letheby. Not that the entire body of villagers sympathized with this
disgraceful conduct; but the powers of evil are more aggressive than the
agents of goodness; and the children of darkness are wiser in their
generation than the children of light. I suppose it is the same the wide
world over; but, of a surety, in Ireland one rebel makes a thousand. No
one thinks himself called upon to be a martyr or witness to the right.
Of course, Father Letheby had sympathizers; but they limited their
sympathy to kindly criticism:--

"He was well in his way, making ladies of thim that ought to be diggin'
praties in the fields."

"He's young, Maurya; when he gets oulder, he'll know betther."

"Shure, they were bad enough to say he was puttin' the money in his own
pocket, and dem goin' to their juty every month."

"I hard my lady with the fringes and the curls and the cuffs say that
the poor priest was turning a good pinny by it; and that he larned the
thrade from his father."

"The dirty whipster; an' I saw the chops and the steaks goin' in her
door, where a fryin'-pan was never known to sing before."

"An' her kid gloves an' her bonnet on Sunday. Begor, the Lady G---- is
nothin' to her."

"Well, the poor priest is well rid av thim, however. I suppose 't will be
shut up now."

Nevertheless, the girls never came back. The terror of some nameless,
undefined apprehension hung over them.

* * * * *

But I am anticipating. We dined with Father Letheby the evening of this
eventful day. We had a pretty large party of priests; for a good many
had come over to witness the launch of the fishing-boat. And, Father
Letheby's star being in the ascendant, he had a few worshippers,
unenvious, except with the noble emulation of imitating him. This is the
rarest, but most glorious success that life holds forth to the young and
the brave. Fame is but a breath; Honor but the paint and tinsel of the
stage; Wealth an intolerable burden; but the fire of noble rivalry
struck from the souls of the young in the glow of enthusiasm--here is
the only guerdon that the world can give to noble endeavor, and the
kingly promises of success. And my brave curate, notwithstanding the
reverses of the morning, rose to the occasion, kindled by the sincere
applause that rang around him for noble efforts that had passed into
completeness and fruition; and I, an old man, just about to make my bow
and exit, felt almost young again, as the contagion of youth touched me,
and I saw their eyes straining afar after the magnificent possibilities
of the future. God bless them! for they need every square inch of energy
and enthusiasm to meet the disappointments and defeats, the lack of
sympathy and appreciation, and the superabundance of criticism that
await them. Dear me! if only the young had fair play and the tonic of a
kindly word--but no, kind words appear to be weighed out like gold;
and then comes deadly depression and heart-searching, and all brave
courage is extinguished, and all noble aspirations checked, until in
middle age we find only the dried-up, cauterized, wizened soul, taught
by dread experience to be reticent and cautious, and to allow splendid
opportunities to pass unutilized rather than risk the chances of one
defeat. And the epitaph on these dead souls is: _Foris pugnae, intus
timores_.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24