“Lord save us!” Mrs. McNamara said on seeing her daughter’s strange smile of rapture. “What’s taken hold of you again? Oh! Lord! What new lunacy is this?”
Julia marched upstairs without speaking or even glancing at her mother. She threw herself backwards on her bed without even removing her veil. She clasped her hands behind her neck and stared at the ceiling, smiling in rapture.
She felt wise and triumphant.
Chapter XXVIII
Elizabeth was very angry after her return from the parochial house. She sat down in the living-room without even removing her hat and cloak.
“It’s outrageous,” she said. “I’d never believe it possible that he could adopt such an attitude, if I had not heard him with my own ears.”
The whole family had assembled to hear the result of her interview with Father Cornelius. Michael and Lettice sat hand in hand on the sofa. Father Francis crouched over the fire, Raoul stood gloomily looking out the window, against which a squall of driven rain was beating.
“What was his attitude, Aunt Elizabeth?” Lettice said gently, “Was it really very hostile?”
“I would have forgiven him for being genuinely hostile,” Elizabeth said. “It was something far worse than mere hostility.”
“No need to lose your temper over a third-rate provincial like Father Costigan,” said Raoul. “What did the fellow say? Nothing that could possibly be described as straightforward, I warrant.”
Elizabeth turned towards Father Francis and said:
“Why do you remain silent? The people would respect your opinion.”
Father Francis looked at her sadly and shook his head.
“My lips are sealed,” he whispered.
“Well! Mine are not,” said Elizabeth.
“Tell us what happened without more ado,” said Raoul irritably.
“He received me most cordially,” Elizabeth said. “Although I am now convinced that he is an arrant rogue, I admit that he has the manners of a grand gentleman. Frankly, I felt ashamed of having come to upbraid him, after listening for a few minutes to his subtle flattery. I was forced to interrupt him and to broach the subject of the apparition bluntly, fearing that I might be won over to his side unless I made haste to speak. The effect was astonishing. He withdrew into his shell at once and said coldly: ‘I’m afraid that I cannot accept the word superstitition, when used in connection with the events to which you refer.’ I lost my temper at this point. ‘What else could you call it?’ I cried in indignation. ‘Three weeks ago, Father Cornelius, a light-headed young woman claimed to have seen the statue of the Blessed Virgin leave its pedestal and come floating towards her on a cloud, variously described as blue and pale yellow. They can’t even agree on the colour of the cloud. If she was really privileged to see anything of the sort, which I doubt, I most heartily congratulate her. However, we have only her own word for it. There were no witnesses. The woman is known to have a very fertile imagination, together with a vicious nature.’ Then I told him about the attack on Tim Ahearn. ‘It’s very odd,’ I continued, “that Pat Rice, who helped her get Ahearn mobbed and stoned, should arrive so quickly on the scene of the alleged apparition. Don’t you think it quite possible, Father Cornelius, that Rice and this woman planned the whole story in cold blood, in order to delude honest folk?’ He looked at me for a long time in silence. Then he said: ‘I don’t indulge in scandalous suppositions.’ I was hurt to the quick. It was tantamount to accusing me of not being a lady. Nevertheless, I continued to plead with him. ‘For ten days,’ I said, ‘an ever-increasing crowd followed this young woman to the church every evening, hoping for a repetition of the miracle. Poor wretches! I don’t blame them for their credulity. They have become hysterical with fear. The crops have failed miserably again this year. The vile Government is sending troops into the villages. Threats of most repressive measures are being broadcast daily by those on high. It’s no wonder that the poor are ready to believe in a sign of redemption, no matter how extravagant and improbable. Nothing out of the ordinary happened for ten days, much to the disappointment of these poor folk. The statue did not move again. There was no manifestation that could possibly be called supernatural. So that a number of people began to jeer quite openly at the insane creature’s pretentions. She then decided it was time to act, in order to maintain her following. On the tenth evening, she threw herself prostrate on the floor, in the middle of the aisle. She foamed at the mouth and writhed like an epileptic. Finally, she screamed at the top of her voice, saying that she had just received a message from Our Lady. Do you know what the message was, Father Cornelius?’ Again he looked at me for some time in stony silence. Then he said solemnly, looking me straight between the eyes: ‘Antichrist must go.’ Incredible as it may seem, he uttered this ludicrous phrase as if he really believed it came straight from Our Lady. I felt outraged. ‘You must know,’ I continued, ‘that this phrase has been the catch-cry of a certain faction among your parishioners during the past months. The faction has tried to stir up opposition to my brother. Your sacristan, your housekeeper and the creature that saw the statue move are its leading spirits. Don’t you find it odd that their catch-cry should be identical with the message allegedly received from Our Lady? Or do you deny that my brother has been publicly referred to by members of this faction as the Antichrist?’ He sighed, laced his fingers across his chest and launched forth into a long-winded discourse on recent signs and apparitions. ‘It would be wrong,’ he said, ‘to isolate Mrs. Clancy’s experiences from the chain of similar events, that have occurred during the past several weeks in various other parts of the county. These miraculous signs and apparitions have occurred mainly on the scene of revolutionary disorders, at places where the faithful had been momentarily led away from God by wicked ideas. I need only draw your attention to the well-authenticated apparitions at Knock, where many miraculous cures have already taken place and to which thousands of pilgrims are flocking from all parts of Ireland and Great Britain. Surely you could not possibly suspect the miracles at Knock of being a criminal plot against your brother?’ ‘Did I suggest that they were?’ I cried. ‘I never even mentioned them.’ ‘It would be quite useless for you,’ he said, ‘to make any such attempt. There is not a shred of evidence to support such a preposterous claim.’ ‘But I made no such claim,’ I cried, becoming exasperated. ‘I tell you that I never even mentioned Knock. I only mentioned Manister.’ ‘It is impossible to isolate Manister from Knock,’ he said. ‘That is shameful quibbling,’ I said helplessly. ‘I know there is a plot and so do you. All this talk about Knock is a trick. You are using the apparition at Knock as a cloak behind which to hide.’ He gripped the arms of his chair and stared at me in horror for a few moments. Then he leaned forward and said: ‘Did I hear you say that a belief in miracles is superstition?’ ‘You heard nothing of the sort,’ I cried, ‘and it’s contemptible of you to pretend that you did.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I will admit,’ I continued, ‘that I deplore any kind of vulgar hysteria casting its shadow on the glorious traditions of the Catholic Church. I also object, in the strongest possible manner, to having religion made the handmaid of oppression and tyranny.’ At this point he threw out his hands in a gesture of horror. ‘That is an atheistic remark, Miss St. George,’ he said, ‘and I’m deeply pained to hear you make it. It’s a time-worn cant phrase of atheists and communists. It is shocking that a noble lady like yourself should have become contaminated by such hideous ideas.’ I got to my feet in wrath. ‘Hideous, did you say?’ I cried He also got to his feet, bowed to me and said meekly: ‘The struggle to save souls is universal, like the Church herself. Manifestations of divine displeasure cannot be seen in the light of any single individual’s problems. All are equal in the eyes of God and all merit equal attention.’ He went on ranting in this vein for quite some time. It was all Greek to me. He was very likely trying to change the subject gracefully. In any case, I knew by then that he was not to be side-tracked from his vile purpose. I’m now certain
that he is the prime mover of the plot. He was far too clever for me. I could not force him to commit himself. I took my leave, silent and crestfallen.”
She looked at Raoul and added, with tears in her eyes:
“I’m sorry that I failed you so miserably.”
“Not a word more, Lizzie,” Raoul said with feeling as he hurried to her.
He bowed low over her hand.
“You are a tower of strength to me,” he said. “It was most gracious of you to have suffered such annoyance for my sake. I didn’t for a moment expect you to succeed in getting him to denounce the plot. On the other hand, I am now certain that his henchmen are going to act to-morrow. It’s always good to be forewarned.”
He turned towards Father Francis and said briskly:
“I still have one more card to play. I’m going to play it to-morrow, before they can remove me from the Committee.” Michael had been leaning against the back of the sofa, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Now he sat forward abruptly, put his clenched fists on his knees and looked intently at Raoul.
“Let me deal with the leaders of this faction,” he said. “I assure you that I’ll bring them to their senses at once. They’ll make no further trouble.”
“By force?” Raoul said.
Michael did not reply.
“I absolutely forbid you to do anything of the sort,” Raoul said after a pause. “You would only make matters worse. The vast majority of the people now side with Father Costigan. All the members of the Committee, except one, are opposed to me. It’s no longer a small faction with which we are confronted. Tomorrow the people of Manister intend to depose me and elect Father Costigan as chairman.”
“Why allow the Committee to meet to-morrow?” Michael said. “I could attend to them to-night. To-morrow we could nominate trustworthy men to take their place.”
“That would be substituting one form of tyranny for another,” said Raoul.
Michael jumped to his feet. He stood erect and motionless, in front of the sofa. His face darkened.
“I don’t understand you,” he said in a low voice.
“I told you at our first conference in my study,” Raoul said, “that the support of the whole people is necessary for the successful isolation of Captain Butcher.”
“We have that support,” Michael said. “Our orders have been obeyed so far, with very few exceptions. Those who disobeyed were quickly brought to their senses.”
“The support must be voluntary and enthusiastic,” Raoul said. “One can enforce obedience for a time by means of the knout and the torch and the gun, but not for long. Especially when the enemy is also practising the same kind of violence, with immeasurably greater resources.”
“That is not what you have taught me,” Michael said. “You have taught me that discipline must be enforced ruthlessly on the many by the few.”
“Granted,” said Raoul, “but I have not taught you that it can be imposed without authority from the people. I have maintained, and I still maintain it, that the many must grant authority to enforce discipline to the few, before it can be enforced.”
Michael walked stiff-legged towards Raoul. He did not come to a halt until he was quite close. Then he crossed his arms on his chest. He was still looking intently at Raoul.
“The people have granted that authority,” he said quietly.
“To-morrow they will withdraw it,” Raoul said.
“They have no right to do so,” Michael said. “Once an enemy has been engaged in battle, nobody has a right to turn back. Nobody has a right to turn coward.”
They stared at one another in silence for a long time. There was a feeling of great tension in the room.
“What card do you intend playing to-morrow?” Michael said at length.
Elizabeth rose hurriedly and went over to the sofa. She sat down and took Lettice by the hand. Lettice had turned very pale. She was staring at the floor with her lips parted.
“I’m going to get myself arrested for making a seditious speech,” Raoul said.
“Why?” said Michael.
“As a last effort to win the people over to our side,” Raoul said. “It will be difficult to denounce a man who is in jail as Antichrist and an enemy of the people.”
“That is a trick,” Michael said. “We set out to teach the people how to become soldiers. We can’t teach them by such tricks as that.”
“It has always been permissible in war,” Raoul said, “to meet guile with guile.”
“If you go to jail,” Michael said, “Father Costigan will become chairman of the Committee.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Raoul. “He has the people with him. All we can try to do is to make him adopt as much as possible of our programme. It’s not we who are important, but our programme.”
“You mean to say that I must obey him if he is elected chairman,” Michael said.
“I’m afraid so,” said Raoul.
Michael stared in silence for a little while.
“In future,” he said at length, “I’m not going to take orders from anyone. I’ve lost confidence in you and I consider Father Costigan to be a contemptible shyster. I’m going to finish what we began, in my own way.”
“Very well, Michael,” Raoul said calmly. “I have just one favour to ask of you.”
“What is it?” Michael said.
“Do nothing for twenty-four hours,” Raoul said. “Allow me to make my statement in public to-morrow.”
“Agreed,” Michael said.
Then he turned away and strode quickly to the door.
“Michael!” Lettice cried as she got to her feet.
He halted by the door and looked at her. She came running across the floor. She halted when she was still a little distance away from him. She stood with her feet close together and her hands drawn straight down her sides, like a timid little girl.
“May I come with you?” she said softly.
He shook his head. His face showed no emotion.
“You remember what I told you after the storm?” he said tenderly.
She nodded.
“I must go alone,” he said.
“I understand,” Lettice whispered.
Michael turned and passed out of the room.
“He who sows the wind,” Raoul said as he put his fingers to the tip of his beard, “reaps the whirlwind.”
Chapter XXIX
The village square looked desolate. All night there had been a high wind accompanied by intermittent squalls of heavy rain. Now the autumn glory of the trees was spent. The gaily coloured leaves, to which capricious Nature had given such beauty at their hour of death, were torn from the branches. The rain-darkened trunks looked all forlorn in their unaccustomed nakedness. The houses, too, were sombre and unkempt after the gale. There were dirty tracks down their painted walls. The ground was dotted with pools of stagnant water on which dead leaves floated. Up above in the grey sky, the pale lack-lustre face of the sun kept peeping from behind the torn clouds as it rolled west.
Shortly before noon, Tim Ahearn brought a horse and cart into the square. The village carpenter was with him. They halted near the monument and lowered a small wooden platform from the cart. They placed it carefully in position on a level spot. It was four feet high and it had steps up one side. The carpenter climbed on top of it and stamped with both feet, to make sure that it was properly balanced. Then he nodded to Ahearn and came down.
At that moment, Sergeant Geraghty approached and said gruffly:
“What’s that thing you have there?”
“It’s a platform,” Ahearn said.
“What are you going to do with it?” the sergeant said.
The carpenter looked furtively at Geraghty. Then he nodded again to Ahearn and walked away quickly towards his house. He was obviously glad to be rid of a dangerous association.
“How long are you going to leave it here?” the sergeant said to Ahearn.
“My master told me to tell you,” Ahearn said, scratching his forehe
ad slowly, “that this platform is a personal convenience he intends to use within the hour, that it’s not obstructing the public thoroughfare and that you have no authority to interfere with it.”
He took in a deep breath after finishing his speech, which he had obviously learned by rote. Then he mounted the cart, whipped the horse and drove away at a brisk trot.
“That fellow is getting too big for his boots lately,” the sergeant said, giving one of the platform legs a vicious little kick. “I’m going to flatten his ears for him one of these days.”
He walked over to the barracks, which now resembled a small fortress. The windows were sandbagged and there was a thick wall, with firing points, all along the front. Two constables with carbines stood guard behind the wall. About two dozen other constables lounged in a group some distance farther up the square. Several more could be seen walking to and fro within the gate of Butcher’s demesne. All these men were part of a considerable force, that had been sent to Manister House during the past week, to protect Butcher from the Fenians.
Geraghty called one of the constables.
“Go on up to Manister House,” he said after the man had approached, “and notify Sub-Inspector Lodge that Mr. St. George is about to make a speech in the village square. Say that I think Mr. St. George intends to provoke the authorities for reasons of his own, judging by remarks that his servant made. Tell him to come at once, because there is going to be skin and hair flying here shortly, or my name isn’t Patrick Geraghty.”
After the man had gone, the sergeant kicked at a small stone and muttered:
“I’d like to break that Ahearn’s jaw, so I would. Trying to teach me the law, is he?”
Bartly McNamara walked across the square towards the Father Matthew Hall, with his hands clasped underneath the flapping tails of his black broadcloth coat. He held himself jauntily erect. He glanced from side to side in an arrogant manner. His lips were parted in a half-smile of boastful triumph. His watery eyes, that used to be so furtive, looked confident and steady behind his spectacles.
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