The Hard Life (8 page)

–Yes, reasonably so.

–The Jesuits had rows with the Sorbonne, with the Franciscans and the Dominicans on questions of doctrine. A lot of pious and intelligent men thought the Jesuits were heretics or schismatics. Faith now and there was no smoke without fire—hell-fire, maybe. Onwards from 1760 or so, they were given their marching orders in Portugal, France and parts of Italy itself. Messengers and runners and wren-boys were dispatched wholesale by several states in Europe to Rome to try to bully the Pope into suppressing the Order. And fair enough, they weren’t wasting their time. The Pope of that fine day was Clemens XIV. Lo and behold, in 1773 he issued a Bull suppressing the Order because it could no longer carry out the work for which it was founded.

–Yes, Father Fahrt said,
Dominus ac Redemptor Noster.

–Excuse me, I said.

It was brazenly cheeky on my part to try to emulate the brother as interlocutor. But my labours at school on Schuster’s Church History were not to be denied.

–Yes? Mr Collopy said rather grumpily.

–
Dominus ac Redemptor Noster
was not a Bull. It was a Brief. There is a difference.

–The boy is perfectly right, Father Fahrt said.

Mr Collopy did not like the pedantic intrusion.

–Call the thing what you like, he said crankily, the fact remains that the Holy Father suppressed the Society. That was a matter of faith and morals and in doing that the Pope was infallible.

–Collopy, Father Fahrt said sharply, that merely proves again that you do not know what you are talking about. It was not till 1870, when Pius IX was pontiff, that the Vatican Council proclaimed the dogma of papal infallibility. You are almost one hundred years out. Furthermore, the suppression of a religious order has nothing to do with faith and morals in the universal church.

–You are being technical as usual, Father, Mr Collopy said in a bantering tone. Hand over your glass like a good man.

–Thanks. Not much now.

–One of the bitterest objections to the machinations of the Jesuits was this. Some of the priests mixed up their missionary work with trading and money-making and speculation. A French Jesuit named Father La Valette was up to his ears in buying and selling. Mendicant order my foot.

–These were isolated cases.

–They were not. The Order was some class of an East India Company. It was heavenly imperialism but with plenty of money in the bank.

–Well, well. Speaking for myself I have nothing at all in the bank but I have my tramfare in my pocket, thank God.

–And where do you get that tobacco you are smoking?

–From the Society’s vast plantations in Panama. Father Fahrt said heavily. That suppression was a very serious blow and was the result of secret scheming by our agnostic enemies. Our missions in India, China and throughout Latin America collapsed. It was a victory for the Jansenists. It was a very sad episode.

–Fair enough, Mr Collopy replied, but th’oul Jesuits weren’t bet yet. Trust them! They soon started their counter-scheming. Oh trust Wily Willie, S.J.!

–It was their duty before God to try to salvage the Order. In Belgium some ex-Jesuits formed a new society named the ‘Fathers of the Faith’. Catherine of Russia would not allow that Brief to take effect, and the Jesuits tried to carry on in that country. After a time the two communities merged. You can take it, Collopy, that my Order was on the way back from then.

–By damn but you are not telling me anything I don’t know. Mr Collopy said warmly. You couldn’t keep that crowd down. Too cute.

–Is that what you think? Very good. This is a fresh drink. I am going to drink to the health, spiritual and physical, of my Society.

–I’ll drink with you, Mr Collopy said, but with mental reservations.

They had the toast between them in a preoccupied way.

–And let us devoutly remember, Father Fahrt said after a long pause, the great Bull
Sollicitudo Omnium Ecclesiarum,
promulgated on August the 7th, 1814, by Pope Pius VII after he returned from France. You know what that meant, Collopy?

–Well, I suppose your crowd got your way as usual.

–That Bull restored the Society throughout the whole world. And we were welcomed back in the countries which before had driven us out. Ah, the ways of the Almighty are surely a mystery.

–So are the ways of the Jesuits, Mr Collopy said. Did any money change hands? Or was he one of the Popes who made a fortune selling scapulars and indulgences?

–Collopy, I think I have misjudged you. You are not serious. You are merely trying to annoy me. You don’t believe in what you say at all. As they say in Ireland, you are only trying to grig me. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. At the back of it all, you are a pious God-fearing man, may the Lord be good to you.

–I never make jokes about religious matters, Mr Collopy said solemnly. If you want to praise me or compliment me, just give a thought to the important work I have been devoting my life to. The work that will not stop until this old heart stops.

–Well, what we have been discussing is a sort of a headline for you. Cherish in your heart a recollection of the tenacity of the Jesuit Fathers. If your aim is praise-worthy, you will achieve it by undeviating faith in it and by never ceasing to invoke the blessing of God on it. Don’t you agree?

–What else have I been doing for years? By the jappers, it’s a slow achievement I’m making of it. The divil himself is in the hearts of that Corporation ownshucks.

–They are just thoughtless, misguided.

–They are just a gang of ignorant, pot-bellied, sacrilegious, money-scooping robbers, very likely runners from the bogs, hop-off-my-thumbs from God-forsaken places like Carlow or the County Leitrim. The sons of pig-dealers and tinkers. In heaven’s name what would people the like of that know about the duties of a city councillor? I wouldn’t say they had a boot on their foot till they were eighteen.

–But shouldn’t their clerks advise them? Surely
they’re
Dublin men?

–That gurriers wouldn’t think of advising a man to take off his clothes before he took a bath. Are you fooling me, Father?

–Indeed and I’m not.

Heavy steps were heard on the gravel outside and the handle of the door was turned.

It was the brother. One glance was enough for me. His face was flushed and he lurched slightly. In his hand was a small cigar, a bit the worse for the heavy rain outside.

–Good evening all, he said pleasantly enough. Good evening, Father Fahrt.

He sat down in the centre and spread his wet legs towards the range.

–I see we have got to cigars, Mr Collopy said.

His mood was genial enough, thanks to the crock and his sword-play with Father Fahrt.

–Yes, we
have
got to cigars, the brother replied jauntily, just as Father Fahrt has progressed to the pipe. Degeneracy is contagious.

–And what important mission were we on tonight? Mr Collopy asked.

–Well, since you ask me, it
was
important. Important for this house, and indeed this city, too. I have very bad news for you, Mr Collopy. For all, in fact. This day week––

–What rodomondario is this you are giving us?

–This day week, I am leaving you. I am going to London to make my fortune.

–Well now! Is that a fact? Well the dear knows.

–London, my lad? Father Fahrt said. Well, well. It’s a great place and there is opportunity there, but the English look for hard work. From the Irish, anyhow. I must give you a letter to some of our men over there. You have heard of Farm Street? But sometimes work is not so easy to get. You are not thinking of the coalmining, are you?

Here the brother laughed, as if in genuine amusement.

–No, Father, he said, unless you mean buying a mine and putting enormous royalties into the bank.

–Well, what are you going to do? Mr Collopy asked sharply.

–Well, what I’ve done so far is to take the lease of two rooms or offices in Tooley Street.

–And in God’s name where is that?

–It is fairly central and very near the Thames. And there are several railway stations within easy distance. I mean, suppose the police were after me?

–The what?
The police?

Mr Collopy was not sure he had heard aright. The brother laughed again.

–Yes, the police. They’d hardly think of watching
all
the stations. Even if they did, there is a very good chance that I could escape by water. After I get settled down, I will have my private barge moored in the river. They will never suspect a move like that. We important men must think of everything.

–I think you are going off your head and it’s not the first time I thought that. What about money for your passage and your lodgings beyond? If you expect me—

–Mr Collopy, you mustn’t embarrass me with such talk.

–So far as I remember, Father Fahrt interposed, our people still run a shelter. Lay brothers are in charge and I believe the cost per night is next to nothing. I could give you a letter, of course.

–Have you got money? Mr Collopy demanded.

–I have, or I will have during the week.

–Is it honest money? If there is any damned nonsense about swindling anybody or robbing shops or besting unfortunate simple people, I can tell you plump and plain that you will not have to go as far as London to make contact with the police. I would not think twice of calling them in myself, for if there is one thing that is abominable it is dishonesty. It is one of the worst inventions of Satan. I don’t want any curse brought on this house. You have heard of Mayor Lynch of Galway? Mark that. Mark that well.

–You are uncharitable, Collopy, Father Fahrt said. Why assume bad things? Why meet the devil halfway?

–I live in this house, Mr Collopy said irritably, and I have experience.

–For all we know, this enterprising young man may yet bring great honour to this house.

–Yes indeed.

Mr Collopy’s tone had taken on a bitter edge.

–I myself may also bring great honour to this house by achieving the great aim of my life. Then they’ll put a plaque on the wall outside and you will have women from all over the world coming on pilgrimages to see my humble house. By that time, of course, I’ll be above in Deans’s Grange having a good rest for myself.

The brother yawned artificially.

–Gentlemen, he said, I’m tired and I want to get a night’s sleep. We can talk more about my plans tomorrow.

He rose and stumbled out towards the stairs. We who remained looked at each other, mutely.

W
HEN
I got to bed later the brother was asleep, no doubt in the anaesthesia of whiskey. In the morning I asked him whether he was serious about the project in Tooley Street.

–Course I’m serious, he answered.

–And what are you going to do there?

–I am going to open the London University Academy. I’ll teach
everything
by correspondence, solve all problems, answer all questions. I might start a magazine first, and then a newspaper, but first I’ll have to build up slowly. I’ll teach the British how to learn French or cure chilblains. I’ll be a limited company, of course. Already I have a solicitor working on the papers. My branch office will be the British Museum. If you like, I’ll give you a job later on.

I suppose that was generous but for some reason the offer did not immediately attract me. Dryly I said:

–I’d want to get to know those railway stations you mentioned last night in case I had to skip. In a hurry.

–Don’t talk rubbish. My operations are always within the law. But the British won’t be nervous because if the bobbies were after me and managed to close the roads and railways and the river, haven’t they the Tower of London to stuff me into? It’s just across the river from Tooley Street.

–Well, many a good Irishman spent a time there.

–True.

–And lost his life.

–Well, I’ll prepare and circulate a series entitled How To Escape From The Tower Of London. Three guineas for the complete course, with daggers, revolvers and rope-ladders supplied to students at very little over cost.

–Aw, shut up, I said.

When I got back from Synge Street that evening, everybody was out but a note from Annie said that my dinner was in the oven. Immediately afterwards I attacked my damned homework, for I had planned to spend the evening at a small poker school in the home of my school friend, Jack Mulloy. Did card games attract me much? I don’t know but Jack’s sister, Penelope, who served mugs of tea and bits of cake at ‘half-time’, certainly did. She was what was known as a good hoult, with auburn hair, blue eyes and a very nice smile. And to be honest, I think she was fond of myself. I remember being puzzled to think that she and Annie belonged to the same sex. Annie was a horrible, limp, lank streel of a creature. But she had a good heart and worked hard. Mr Collopy was fussy about his meals and though he dressed rather like an upper-class tramp, he had a horror of laundries and mass-washing. To participate in that, he held, was a certain way to get syphilis and painful skin diseases. Annie had to wash his shirts and other things, though he personally looked after his celluloid collar, which he washed with hot water every second day. She also had to compound various medicines for him, all of which contained sulphur, though I never heard what afflictions those potions were intended to remedy or prevent. In the last eighteen months or so, she was asked to undertake another duty to which she agreed willingly enough. The brother had given up the early-rising of his schooldays but would often hand Annie some money for what-you-know’ from his bedside. He was in need of a cure, and the poor girl would slip out and bring him back a glass of whiskey.

Mr Collopy came in about five o’clock, followed shortly afterwards by Annie. He seemed in a bad temper. Without a word he collapsed into his armchair and began reading the paper. The brother came in about six, loaded with books and small parcels. He naturally perceived the chill and said nothing. The tea turned out to be a very silent, almost menacing, meal. I kept thinking of Penelope. Tea with
her
would be a very different affair, an ambrosial banquet of unheard-of delicacy, and afterwards sweet colloquy by the fire, though perhaps with an undertone of melancholy. Was it easy, I wondered, or was it quite impossible to write really good and touching poetry. Something to reach the heart, to tell of love? Very likely it was quite impossible for the like of myself to attempt anything of the kind, though the brother could be trusted to explain the art and simplify it in six easy lessons by correspondence. Of course I never raised the matter with him, for he would only make me angry. Penelope? I meditated on the name. I remembered that Penelope was the wife of Ulysses and no matter how many libertines assailed her while her good man was away at the wars, she was ever faithful to him. She would consider yielding to their low and improper solicitations, she said, as soon as she had her knitting finished. Every night she would unravel whatever bit of it she had done during the day, so that the task was never accomplished. Just what was that as an attitude? Deep and pure love, of course. With more than a little touch of cunning, perhaps. Did my own lovely Penelope have both those qualities. Well, I would see her later on that night.