IVY DAY IN THE COMMITTEE ROOM
OLD JACK raked the
cinders together with a piece of cardboard and spread them judiciously over the
whitening dome of coals. When the dome was thinly covered his face lapsed into
darkness but, as he set himself to fan the fire again, his crouching shadow
ascended the opposite wall and his face slowly reemerged into light. It was an
old man's face, very bony and hairy. The moist blue eyes blinked at the fire
and the moist mouth fell open at times, munching once or twice mechanically
when it closed. When the cinders had caught he laid the piece of cardboard
against the wall, sighed and said:
"That's better
now, Mr. O'Connor."
Mr. O'Connor, a
grey-haired young man, whose face was disfigured by many blotches and pimples,
had just brought the tobacco for a cigarette into a shapely cylinder but when
spoken to he undid his handiwork meditatively. Then he began to roll the
tobacco again meditatively and after a moment's thought decided to lick the
paper.
"Did Mr. Tierney
say when he'd be back?" he asked in a sky falsetto.
"He didn't say."
Mr. O'Connor put his
cigarette into his mouth and began search his pockets. He took out a pack of
thin pasteboard cards.
"I'll get you a
match," said the old man.
"Never mind,
this'll do," said Mr. O'Connor.
He selected one of
the cards and read what was printed on it:
MUNICIPAL ELECTIONS
----------
ROYAL EXCHANGE WARD
----------
Mr. Richard J. Tierney, P.L.G.,
respectfully solicits
the favour of your vote
and influence at the
coming election
in the Royal Exchange Ward.
in the Royal Exchange Ward.
Mr. O'Connor had been
engaged by Tierney's agent to canvass one part of the ward but, as the weather
was inclement and his boots let in the wet, he spent a great part of the day
sitting by the fire in the Committee Room in Wicklow Street with Jack, the old
caretaker. They had been sitting thus since e short day had grown dark. It was
the sixth of October, dismal and cold out of doors.
Mr. O'Connor tore a
strip off the card and, lighting it, lit his cigarette. As he did so the flame
lit up a leaf of dark glossy ivy the lapel of his coat. The old man watched him
attentively and then, taking up the piece of cardboard again, began to fan the
fire slowly while his companion smoked.
"Ah, yes,"
he said, continuing, "it's hard to know what way to bring up children. Now
who'd think he'd turn out like that! I sent him to the Christian Brothers and I
done what I could him, and there he goes boosing about. I tried to make him
someway decent."
He replaced the
cardboard wearily.
"Only I'm an old
man now I'd change his tune for him. I'd take the stick to his back and beat
him while I could stand over him -- as I done many a time before. The mother,
you know, she cocks him up with this and that..."
"That's what
ruins children," said Mr. O'Connor.
"To be sure it
is," said the old man. "And little thanks you get for it, only
impudence. He takes th'upper hand of me whenever he sees I've a sup taken.
What's the world coming to when sons speaks that way to their fathers?"
"What age is
he?" said Mr. O'Connor.
"Nineteen,"
said the old man.
"Why don't you
put him to something?"
"Sure, amn't I
never done at the drunken bowsy ever since he left school? 'I won't keep you,' I says. 'You
must get a job for yourself.' But, sure, it's worse whenever he gets a job;
he drinks it all."
Mr. O'Connor shook
his head in sympathy, and the old man fell silent, gazing into the fire.
Someone opened the door of the room and called out:
"Hello! Is this
a Freemason's meeting?"
"Who's
that?" said the old man.
"What are you
doing in the dark?" asked a voice.
"Is that you,
Hynes?" asked Mr. O'Connor.
"Yes. What are
you doing in the dark?" said Mr. Hynes. advancing into the light of the
fire.
He was a tall,
slender young man with a light brown moustache. Imminent little drops of rain
hung at the brim of his hat and the collar of his jacket-coat was turned up.
"Well,
Mat," he said to Mr. O'Connor, "how goes it?"
Mr. O'Connor shook
his head. The old man left the hearth and after stumbling about the room
returned with two candlesticks which he thrust one after the other into the
fire and carried to the table. A denuded room came into view and the fire lost
all its cheerful colour. The walls of the room were bare except for a copy of
an election address. In the middle of the room was a small table on which papers
were heaped.
Mr. Hynes leaned
against the mantelpiece and asked:
"Has he paid you
yet?"
"Not yet,"
said Mr. O'Connor. "I hope to God he'll not leave us in the lurch tonight."
Mr. Hynes laughed.
"O, he'll pay
you. Never fear," he said.
"I hope he'll
look smart about it if he means business," said Mr. O'Connor.
"What do you
think, Jack?" said Mr. Hynes satirically to the old man.
The old man returned
to his seat by the fire, saying:
"It isn't but he
has it, anyway. Not like the other tinker."
"What other
tinker?" said Mr. Hynes.
"Colgan,"
said the old man scornfully.
"It is because
Colgan's a working -- man you say that? What's the difference between a good
honest bricklayer and a publican -- eh? Hasn't the working-man as good a right
to be in the Corporation as anyone else -- ay, and a better right than those
shoneens that are always hat in hand before any fellow with a handle to his
name? Isn't that so, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes, addressing Mr. O'Connor.
"I think you're
right," said Mr. O'Connor.
"One man is a
plain honest man with no hunker-sliding about him. He goes in to represent the
labour classes. This fellow you're working for only wants to get some job or
other."
"0f course, the
working-classes should be represented," said the old man.
"The
working-man," said Mr. Hynes, "gets all kicks and no halfpence. But
it's labour produces everything. The workingman is not looking for fat jobs for
his sons and nephews and cousins. The working-man is not going to drag the
honour of Dublin in the mud to please a German monarch."
"How's
that?" said the old man.
"Don't you know
they want to present an address of welcome to Edward Rex if he comes here next
year? What do we want kowtowing to a foreign king?"
"Our man won't
vote for the address," said Mr. O'Connor. "He goes in on the
Nationalist ticket."
"Won't he?"
said Mr. Hynes. "Wait till you see whether he will or not. I know him. Is
it Tricky Dicky Tierney?"
"By God! perhaps
you're right, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor. "Anyway, I wish he'd turn up
with the spondulics."
The three men fell
silent. The old man began to rake more cinders together. Mr. Hynes took off his
hat, shook it and then turned down the collar of his coat, displaying, as he
did so, an ivy leaf in the lapel.
"If this man was
alive," he said, pointing to the leaf, "we'd have no talk of an
address of welcome."
"That's
true," said Mr. O'Connor.
"Musha, God be
with them times!" said the old man. "There was some life in it then."
The room was silent
again. Then a bustling little man with a snuffling nose and very cold ears
pushed in the door. He walked over quickly to the fire, rubbing his hands as if
he intended to produce a spark from them.
"No money,
boys," he said.
"Sit down here,
Mr. Henchy," said the old man, offering him his chair.
"O, don't stir,
Jack, don't stir," said Mr. Henchy.
He nodded curtly to
Mr. Hynes and sat down on the chair which the old man vacated.
"Did you serve
Aungier Street?" he asked Mr. O'Connor.
"Yes," said
Mr. O'Connor, beginning to search his pockets for memoranda.
"Did you call on
Grimes?"
"I did."
"Well? How does
he stand?"
"He wouldn't
promise. He said: 'I won't tell anyone
what way I'm going to vote.' But I think he'll be all right."
"Why so?"
"He asked me who
the nominators were; and I told him. I mentioned Father Burke's name. I think
it'll be all right."
Mr. Henchy began to
snuffle and to rub his hands over the fire at a terrific speed. Then he said:
"For the love of
God, Jack, bring us a bit of coal. There must be some left."
The old man went out
of the room.
"It's no
go," said Mr. Henchy, shaking his head. "I asked the little shoeboy,
but he said: 'Oh, now, Mr. Henchy, when I
see work going on properly I won't forget you, you may be sure.' Mean
little tinker! 'Usha, how could he be anything else?"
"What did I tell
you, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes. "Tricky Dicky Tierney."
"0, he's as
tricky as they make 'em," said Mr. Henchy. "He hasn't got those
little pigs' eyes for nothing. Blast his soul! Couldn't he pay up like a man
instead of: 'O, now, Mr. Henchy, I must
speak to Mr. Fanning.... I've spent a lot of money'? Mean little schoolboy
of hell! I suppose he forgets the time his little old father kept the
hand-me-down shop in Mary's Lane."
"But is that a
fact?" asked Mr. O'Connor.
"God, yes,"
said Mr. Henchy. "Did you never hear that? And the men used to go in on
Sunday morning before the houses were open to buy a waistcoat or a trousers --
moya! But Tricky Dicky's little old father always had a tricky little black
bottle up in a corner. Do you mind now? That's that. That's where he first saw
the light."
The old man returned
with a few lumps of coal which he placed here and there on the fire.
"Thats a nice
how-do-you-do," said Mr. O'Connor. "How does he expect us to work for
him if he won't stump up?"
"I can't help
it," said Mr. Henchy. "I expect to find the bailiffs in the hall when
I go home."
Mr. Hynes laughed
and, shoving himself away from the mantelpiece with the aid of his shoulders,
made ready to leave.
"It'll be all
right when King Eddie comes," he said. "Well boys, I'm off for the
present. See you later. 'Bye, 'bye."
He went out of the
room slowly. Neither Mr. Henchy nor the old man said anything, but, just as the
door was closing, Mr. O'Connor, who had been staring moodily into the fire,
called out suddenly:
"'Bye, Joe."
Mr. Henchy waited a
few moments and then nodded in the direction of the door.
"Tell me,"
he said across the fire, "what brings our friend in here? What does he
want?"
"'Usha, poor
Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, throwing the end of his cigarette into the fire,
"he's hard up, like the rest of us."
Mr. Henchy snuffled
vigorously and spat so copiously that he nearly put out the fire, which uttered
a hissing protest.
"To tell you my
private and candid opinion," he said, "I think he's a man from the
other camp. He's a spy of Colgan's, if you ask me. Just go round and try and find out how they're getting on. They won't
suspect you. Do you twig?"
"Ah, poor Joe is
a decent skin," said Mr. O'Connor.
"His father was
a decent, respectable man," Mr. Henchy admitted. "Poor old Larry
Hynes! Many a good turn he did in his day! But I'm greatly afraid our friend is
not nineteen carat. Damn it, I can understand a fellow being hard up, but what
I can't understand is a fellow sponging. Couldn't he have some spark of manhood
about him?"
"He doesn't get
a warm welcome from me when he comes," said the old man. "Let him
work for his own side and not come spying around here."
"I don't
know," said Mr. O'Connor dubiously, as he took out cigarette-papers and
tobacco. "I think Joe Hynes is a straight man. He's a clever chap, too,
with the pen. Do you remember that thing he wrote...?"
"Some of these
hillsiders and fenians are a bit too
clever if ask me," said Mr. Henchy. "Do you know what my private and
candid opinion is about some of those little jokers? I believe half of them are
in the pay of the Castle."
"There's no
knowing," said the old man.
"O, but I know
it for a fact," said Mr. Henchy. "They're Castle hacks.... I don't
say Hynes.... No, damn it, I think he's a stroke above that.... But there's a
certain little nobleman with a cock-eye -- you know the patriot I'm alluding to?"
Mr. O'Connor nodded.
"There's a
lineal descendant of Major Sirr for you if you like! O, the heart's blood of a
patriot! That's a fellow now that'd sell his country for fourpence -- ay -- and
go down on his bended knees and thank the Almighty Christ he had a country to
sell.
There was a knock at
the door.
"Come in!"
said Mr. Henchy.
A person resembling a
poor clergyman or a poor actor appeared in the doorway. His black clothes were
tightly buttoned on his short body and it was impossible to say whether he wore
a clergyman's collar or a layman's, because the collar of his shabby
frock-coat, the uncovered buttons of which reflected the candlelight, was
turned up about his neck. He wore a round hat of hard black felt. His face,
shining with raindrops, had the appearance of damp yellow cheese save where two
rosy spots indicated the cheekbones. He opened his very long mouth suddenly to
express disappointment and at the same time opened wide his very bright blue
eyes to express pleasure and surprise.
"O Father
Keon!" said Mr. Henchy, jumping up from his chair. "Is that you? Come
in!"
"O, no, no,
no!" said Father Keon quickly, pursing his lips as if he were addressing a
child.
"Won't you come
in and sit down?"
"No, no,
no!" said Father Keon, speaking in a discreet, indulgent, velvety voice.
"Don't let me disturb you now! I'm just looking for Mr. Fanning...."
"He's round at
the Black Eagle," said Mr.
Henchy. "But won't you come in and sit down a minute?"
"No, no, thank
you. It was just a little business matter," said Father Keon. "Thank
you, indeed."
He retreated from the
doorway and Mr. Henchy, seizing one of the candlesticks, went to the door to
light him downstairs.
"O, don't
trouble, I beg!"
"No, but the
stairs is so dark."
"No, no, I can
see.... Thank you, indeed."
"Are you right
now?"
"All right,
thanks.... Thanks."
Mr. Henchy returned
with the candlestick and put it on the table. He sat down again at the fire.
There was silence for a few moments.
"Tell me,
John," said Mr. O'Connor, lighting his cigarette with another pasteboard
card.
"Hm? "
"What he is
exactly?"
"Ask me an
easier one," said Mr. Henchy.
"Fanning and
himself seem to me very thick. They're often in Kavanagh's together. Is he a
priest at all?"
"Mmmyes, I
believe so.... I think he's what you call black sheep. We haven't many of them,
thank God! but we have a few.... He's an unfortunate man of some kind...."
"And how does he
knock it out?" asked Mr. O'Connor.
"That's another
mystery."
"Is he attached
to any chapel or church or institution or---"
"No," said
Mr. Henchy, "I think he's travelling on his own account.... God forgive
me," he added, "I thought he was the dozen of stout."
"Is there any
chance of a drink itself?" asked Mr. O'Connor.
"I'm dry
too," said the old man.
"I asked that
little shoeboy three times," said Mr. Henchy, "would he send up a
dozen of stout. I asked him again now, but he was leaning on the counter in his
shirt-sleeves having a deep goster with Alderman Cowley."
"Why didn't you
remind him?" said Mr. O'Connor.
"Well, I
couldn't go over while he was talking to Alderman Cowley. I just waited till I
caught his eye, and said: 'About that
little matter I was speaking to you about....' 'That'll be all right, Mr. H.,' he said. Yerra, sure the little
hop-o'- my-thumb has forgotten all about it."
"There's some
deal on in that quarter," said Mr. O'Connor thoughtfully. "I saw the
three of them hard at it yesterday at Suffolk Street corner."
"I think I know
the little game they're at," said Mr. Henchy. "You must owe the City
Fathers money nowadays if you want to be made Lord Mayor. Then they'll make you
Lord Mayor. By God! I'm thinking seriously of becoming a City Father myself.
What do you think? Would I do for the job?"
Mr. O'Connor laughed.
Mr. O'Connor laughed.
"So far as owing
money goes...."
"Driving out of
the Mansion House," said Mr. Henchy, "in all my vermin, with Jack
here standing up behind me in a powdered wig -- eh?"
"And make me
your private secretary, John."
"Yes. And I'll make
Father Keon my private chaplain. We'll have a family party."
"Faith, Mr.
Henchy," said the old man, "you'd keep up better style than some of
them. I was talking one day to old Keegan, the porter. 'And how do you like your new master, Pat?' says I to him. 'You haven't much entertaining now,'
says I. 'Entertaining!' says he. 'He'd live on the smell of an oil- rag.'
And do you know what he told me? Now, I declare to God I didn't believe him."
"What?"
said Mr. Henchy and Mr. O'Connor.
"He told me: 'What do you think of a Lord Mayor of Dublin
sending out for a pound of chops for his dinner? How's that for high living?'
says he. 'Wisha! wisha,' says I. 'A pound
of chops,' says he, 'coming into the
Mansion House.' 'Wisha!' says I, 'what kind of people is going at all now?"
At this point there
was a knock at the door, and a boy put in his head.
"What is
it?" said the old man.
"From the Black Eagle," said the boy, walking
in sideways and depositing a basket on the floor with a noise of shaken bottles.
The old man helped
the boy to transfer the bottles from the basket to the table and counted the
full tally. After the transfer the boy put his basket on his arm and asked:
"Any bottles?"
"What
bottles?" said the old man.
"Won't you let
us drink them first?" said Mr. Henchy.
"I was told to
ask for the bottles."
"Come back
tomorrow," said the old man.
"Here,
boy!" said Mr. Henchy, "will you run over to O'Farrell's and ask him
to lend us a corkscrew -- for Mr. Henchy, say. Tell him we won't keep it a
minute. Leave the basket there."
The boy went out and
Mr. Henchy began to rub his hands cheerfully, saying:
"Ah, well, he's
not so bad after all. He's as good as his word, anyhow."
"There's no
tumblers," said the old man.
"O, don't let
that trouble you, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "Many's the good man before
now drank out of the bottle."
"Anyway, it's
better than nothing," said Mr. O'Connor.
"He's not a bad
sort," said Mr. Henchy, "only Fanning has such a loan of him. He
means well, you know, in his own tinpot way."
The boy came back
with the corkscrew. The old man opened three bottles and was handing back the
corkscrew when Mr. Henchy said to the boy:
"Would you like
a drink, boy?"
"If you please,
sir," said the boy.
The old man opened
another bottle grudgingly, and handed it to the boy.
"What age are
you?" he asked.
"Seventeen,"
said the boy.
As the old man said
nothing further, the boy took the bottle. said: "Here's my best respects, sir, to Mr. Henchy," drank the
contents, put the bottle back on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Then he took up the corkscrew and went out of the door sideways, muttering some
form of salutation.
"That's the way
it begins," said the old man.
"The thin edge
of the wedge," said Mr. Henchy.
The old man
distributed the three bottles which he had opened and the men drank from them
simultaneously. After having drank each placed his bottle on the mantelpiece
within hand's reach and drew in a long breath of satisfaction.
"Well, I did a
good day's work today," said Mr. Henchy, after a pause.
"That so, John?"
"Yes. I got him
one or two sure things in Dawson Street, Crofton and myself. Between ourselves,
you know, Crofton (he's a decent chap, of course), but he's not worth a damn as
a canvasser. He hasn't a word to throw to a dog. He stands and looks at the
people while I do the talking."
Here two men entered
the room. One of them was a very fat man whose blue serge clothes seemed to be
in danger of falling from his sloping figure. He had a big face which resembled
a young ox's face in expression, staring blue eyes and a grizzled moustache.
The other man, who was much younger and frailer, had a thin, clean-shaven face.
He wore a very high double collar and a wide-brimmed bowler hat.
"Hello, Crofton!"
said Mr. Henchy to the fat man. "Talk of the devil..."
"Where did the
boose come from?" asked the young man. "Did the cow calve?"
"O, of course,
Lyons spots the drink first thing!" said Mr. O'Connor, laughing.
"Is that the way
you chaps canvass," said Mr. Lyons, "and Crofton and I out in the
cold and rain looking for votes?"
"Why, blast your
soul," said Mr. Henchy, "I'd get more votes in five minutes than you
two'd get in a week."
"Open two
bottles of stout, Jack," said Mr. O'Connor.
"How can
I?" said the old man, "when there's no corkscrew? "
"Wait now, wait
now!" said Mr. Henchy, getting up quickly. "Did you ever see this
little trick?"
He took two bottles
from the table and, carrying them to the fire, put them on the hob. Then he sat
dow-n again by the fire and took another drink from his bottle. Mr. Lyons sat
on the edge of the table, pushed his hat towards the nape of his neck and began
to swing his legs.
"Which is my
bottle?" he asked.
"This,
lad," said Mr. Henchy.
Mr. Crofton sat down
on a box and looked fixedly at the other bottle on the hob. He was silent for
two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to
say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. He
had been a canvasser for Wilkins, the Conservative, but when the Conservatives
had withdrawn their man and, choosing the lesser of two evils, given their
support to the Nationalist candidate, he had been engaged to work for Mr.
Tiemey.
In a few minutes an
apologetic "Pok!" was heard as the cork flew out of Mr. Lyons'
bottle. Mr. Lyons jumped off the table, went to the fire, took his bottle and
carried it back to the table.
"I was just
telling them, Crofton," said Mr. Henchy, that we got a good few votes
today."
"Who did you get?"
asked Mr. Lyons.
"Well, I got
Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and got Ward of Dawson Street. Fine
old chap he is, too -- regular old toff, old Conservative! 'But isn't your candidate a Nationalist?' said he. 'He's a respectable man,' said I. 'He's in favour of whatever will benefit
this country. He's a big ratepayer,' I said. 'He has extensive house property in the city and three places of
business and isn't it to his own advantage to keep down the rates? He's a
prominent and respected citizen,' said I, 'and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn't belong to any party, good,
bad, or indifferent.' That's the way to talk to 'em."
"And what about
the address to the King?" said Mr. Lyons, after drinking and smacking his
lips.
"Listen to
me," said Mr. Henchy. "What we want in thus country, as I said to old
Ward, is capital. The King's coming here will mean an influx of money into this
country. The citizens of Dublin will benefit by it. Look at all the factories
down by the quays there, idle! Look at all the money there is in the country if
we only worked the old industries, the mills, the ship-building yards and
factories. It's capital we want."
"But look here,
John," said Mr. O'Connor. "Why should we welcome the King of England?
Didn't Parnell himself..."
"Parnell,"
said Mr. Henchy, "is dead. Now, here's the way I look at it. Here's this
chap come to the throne after his old mother keeping him out of it till the man
was grey. He's a man of the world, and he means well by us. He's a jolly fine
decent fellow, if you ask me, and no damn nonsense about him. He just says to
himself: 'The old one never went to see
these wild Irish. By Christ, I'll go myself and see what they're like.' And
are we going to insult the man when he comes over here on a friendly visit? Eh?
Isn't that right, Crofton?"
Mr. Crofton nodded
his head.
"But after all
now," said Mr. Lyons argumentatively, "King Edward's life, you know,
is not the very..."
"Let bygones be
bygones," said Mr. Henchy. "I admire the man personally. He's just an
ordinary knockabout like you and me. He's fond of his glass of grog and he's a
bit of a rake, perhaps, and he's a good sportsman. Damn it, can't we Irish play
fair?"
"That's all very
fine," said Mr. Lyons. "But look at the case of Parnell now."
"In the name of
God," said Mr. Henchy, "where's the analogy between the two cases?"
"What I
mean," said Mr. Lyons, "is we have our ideals. Why, now, would we
welcome a man like that? Do you think now after what he did Parnell was a fit
man to lead us? And why, then, would we do it for Edward the Seventh?"
"This is
Parnell's anniversary," said Mr. O'Connor, "and don't let us stir up
any bad blood. We all respect him now that he's dead and gone -- even the
Conservatives," he added, turning to Mr. Crofton.
Pok! The tardy cork flew out of Mr. Crofton's bottle. Mr.
Crofton got up from his box and went to the fire. As he returned with his
capture he said in a deep voice:
"Our side of the
house respects him, because he was a gentleman."
"Right you are,
Crofton!" said Mr. Henchy fiercely. "He was the only man that could
keep that bag of cats in order. 'Down, ye
dogs! Lie down, ye curs!' That's the way he treated them. Come in, Joe!
Come in!" he called out, catching sight of Mr. Hynes in the doorway.
Mr. Hynes came in
slowly.
"Open another
bottle of stout, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "O, I forgot there's no
corkscrew! Here, show me one here and I'll put it at the fire."
The old man handed
him another bottle and he placed it on the hob.
"Sit down, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor, "we're just talking about the Chief."
"Sit down, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor, "we're just talking about the Chief."
"Ay, ay!"
said Mr. Henchy.
Mr. Hynes sat on the
side of the table near Mr. Lyons but said nothing.
"There's one of
them, anyhow," said Mr. Henchy, "that didn't renege him. By God, I'll
say for you, Joe! No, by God, you stuck to him like a man!"
"0, Joe,"
said Mr. O'Connor suddenly. "Give us that thing you wrote -- do you
remember? Have you got it on you?"
"0, ay!"
said Mr. Henchy. "Give us that. Did you ever hear that. Crofton? Listen to
this now: splendid thing."
"Go on,"
said Mr. O'Connor. "Fire away, Joe."
Mr. Hynes did not
seem to remember at once the piece to which they were alluding, but, after
reflecting a while, he said:
"O, that thing
is it.... Sure, that's old now."
"Out with it,
man!" said Mr. O'Connor.
"'Sh, 'sh,"
said Mr. Henchy. "Now, Joe!"
Mr. Hynes hesitated a
little longer. Then amid the silence he took off his hat, laid it on the table
and stood up. He seemed to be rehearsing the piece in his mind. After a rather
long pause he announced:
THE DEATH OF PARNELL
6th October, 1891
6th October, 1891
He cleared his throat once or twice and then began to recite:
He is dead. Our Uncrowned King is dead.
O, Erin, mourn with grief and woe
For he lies dead whom the fell gang
Of modern hypocrites laid low.
He lies slain by the coward hounds
He raised to glory from the mire;
And Erin's hopes and Erin's dreams
Perish upon her monarch's pyre.
In palace, cabin or in cot
The Irish heart where'er it be
Is bowed with woe -- for he is gone
Who would have wrought her destiny.
The Irish heart where'er it be
Is bowed with woe -- for he is gone
Who would have wrought her destiny.
He would have had his Erin famed,
The green flag gloriously unfurled,
Her statesmen, bards and warriors raised
Before the nations of the World.
The green flag gloriously unfurled,
Her statesmen, bards and warriors raised
Before the nations of the World.
He dreamed (alas, 'twas but a dream!)
Of Liberty: but as he strove
To clutch that idol, treachery
Sundered him from the thing he loved.
Of Liberty: but as he strove
To clutch that idol, treachery
Sundered him from the thing he loved.
Shame on the coward, caitiff hands
That smote their Lord or with a kiss
Betrayed him to the rabble-rout
Of fawning priests -- no friends of his.
That smote their Lord or with a kiss
Betrayed him to the rabble-rout
Of fawning priests -- no friends of his.
May everlasting shame consume
The memory of those who tried
To befoul and smear the exalted name
Of one who spurned them in his pride.
The memory of those who tried
To befoul and smear the exalted name
Of one who spurned them in his pride.
He fell as fall the mighty ones,
Nobly undaunted to the last,
And death has now united him
With Erin's heroes of the past.
Nobly undaunted to the last,
And death has now united him
With Erin's heroes of the past.
No sound of strife disturb his sleep!
Calmly he rests: no human pain
Or high ambition spurs him now
The peaks of glory to attain.
Calmly he rests: no human pain
Or high ambition spurs him now
The peaks of glory to attain.
They had their way: they laid him low.
But Erin, list, his spirit may
Rise, like the Phoenix from the flames,
When breaks the dawning of the day,
But Erin, list, his spirit may
Rise, like the Phoenix from the flames,
When breaks the dawning of the day,
The day that brings us Freedom's reign.
And on that day may Erin well
Pledge in the cup she lifts to Joy
One grief -- the memory of Parnell.
And on that day may Erin well
Pledge in the cup she lifts to Joy
One grief -- the memory of Parnell.
Mr. Hynes sat down
again on the table. When he had finished his recitation there was a silence and
then a burst of clapping: even Mr. Lyons clapped. The applause continued for a
little time. When it had ceased all the auditors drank from their bottles in
silence.
Pok!
The cork flew out of Mr. Hynes' bottle, but Mr. Hynes remained sitting flushed
and bare-headed on the table. He did not seem to have heard the invitation.
"Good man,
Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, taking out his cigarette papers and pouch the
better to hide his emotion.
"What do you
think of that, Crofton?" cried Mr. Henchy. "Isn't that fine? What?"
Crofton said that it
was a very fine piece of writing.
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