Grace

Two gentlemen who were in the lavatory at the time tried to lift him up: but he was…

These two gentlemen and one of the curates carried him up the stairs and laid him down again…

“Was he by himself?” asked the manager.

“No, sir. There was two gentlemen with him.”

“And where are they?”

No one knew; a voice said:

“Give him air. He’s fainted.”

The ring of onlookers distended and closed again elastically. A dark medal of blood had formed itself near…

His collar was unfastened and his necktie undone. He opened his eyes for an instant, sighed and closed…

The manager at once began to narrate what he knew. The constable, a young man with thick immobile…

“Who is the man? What’s his name and address?”

A young man in a cycling-suit cleared his way through the ring of bystanders. He knelt down promptly…

“You’re all right now?” asked the young man in the cycling-suit.

“Sha, ’s nothing,” said the injured man, trying to stand up.

He was helped to his feet. The manager said something about a hospital and some of the bystanders…

“Where do you live?”

The man, without answering, began to twirl the ends of his moustache. He made light of his accident.…

“Where do you live?” repeated the constable.

The man said they were to get a cab for him. While the point was being debated a…

“Hallo, Tom, old man! What’s the trouble?”

“Sha, ’s nothing,” said the man.

The new-comer surveyed the deplorable figure before him and then turned to the constable, saying:

“It’s all right, constable. I’ll see him home.”

The constable touched his helmet and answered:

“All right, Mr Power!”

“Come now, Tom,” said Mr Power, taking his friend by the arm. “No bones broken. What? Can you…

The young man in the cycling-suit took the man by the other arm and the crowd divided.

“How did you get yourself into this mess?” asked Mr Power.

“The gentleman fell down the stairs,” said the young man.

“I’ ’ery ’uch o’liged to you, sir,” said the injured man.

“Not at all.”

“’ant we have a little...?”

“Not now. Not now.”

The three men left the bar and the crowd sifted through the doors into the laneway. The manager…

When they came out into Grafton Street, Mr Power whistled for an outsider. The injured man said again…

“I’ ’ery ’uch o’liged to you, sir. I hope we’ll ’eet again. ’y na’e is Kernan.”

The shock and the incipient pain had partly sobered him.

“Don’t mention it,” said the young man.

They shook hands. Mr Kernan was hoisted on to the car and, while Mr Power was giving directions…

“Another time,” said the young man.

The car drove off towards Westmoreland Street. As it passed Ballast Office the clock showed half-past nine. A…

“I ’an’t, ’an,” he answered, “’y ’ongue is hurt.”

“Show.”

The other leaned over the well of the car and peered into Mr Kernan’s mouth but he could…

“That’s ugly,” said Mr Power.

“Sha, ’s nothing,” said Mr Kernan, closing his mouth and pulling the collar of his filthy coat across…

Mr Kernan was a commercial traveller of the old school which believed in the dignity of its calling.…

Mr Power, a much younger man, was employed in the Royal Irish Constabulary Office in Dublin Castle. The…

The car halted before a small house on the Glasnevin road and Mr Kernan was helped into the…

“Such a sight! O, he’ll do for himself one day and that’s the holy alls of it. He’s…

Mr Power was careful to explain to her that he was not responsible, that he had come on…

“O, you needn’t tell me that, Mr Power. I know you’re a friend of his, not like some…

Mr Power shook his head but said nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” she continued, “that I’ve nothing in the house to offer you. But if you wait…

Mr Power stood up.

“We were waiting for him to come home with the money. He never seems to think he has…

“O, now, Mrs Kernan,” said Mr Power, “we’ll make him turn over a new leaf. I’ll talk to…

She saw him to the door. The carman was stamping up and down the footpath, and swinging his…

“It’s very kind of you to bring him home,” she said.

“Not at all,” said Mr Power.

He got up on the car. As it drove off he raised his hat to her gaily.

“We’ll make a new man of him,” he said. “Good-night, Mrs Kernan.”

Mrs Kernan’s puzzled eyes watched the car till it was out of sight. Then she withdrew them, went…

She was an active, practical woman of middle age. Not long before she had celebrated her silver wedding…

Mr Kernan sent a letter to his office next day and remained in bed. She made beef-tea for…

Two nights after his friends came to see him. She brought them up to his bedroom, the air…

He was quite unconscious that he was the victim of a plot which his friends, Mr Cunningham, Mr…

Mr Cunningham was the very man for such a case. He was an elder colleague of Mr Power.…

Everyone had respect for poor Martin Cunningham. He was a thoroughly sensible man, influential and intelligent. His blade…

When the plot had been disclosed to her, Mrs Kernan had said:

“I leave it all in your hands, Mr Cunningham.”

After a quarter of a century of married life, she had very few illusions left. Religion for her…

The gentlemen began to talk of the accident. Mr Cunningham said that he had once known a similar…

“Well, I’m not seventy,” said the invalid.

“God forbid,” said Mr Cunningham.

“It doesn’t pain you now?” asked Mr M’Coy.

Mr M’Coy had been at one time a tenor of some reputation. His wife, who had been a…

“Pain? Not much,” answered Mr Kernan. “But it’s so sickening. I feel as if I wanted to retch…

“That’s the boose,” said Mr Cunningham firmly.

“No,” said Mr Kernan. “I think I caught a cold on the car. There’s something keeps coming into…

“Mucus.” said Mr M’Coy.

“It keeps coming like from down in my throat; sickening thing.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr M’Coy, “that’s the thorax.”

He looked at Mr Cunningham and Mr Power at the same time with an air of challenge. Mr…

“Ah, well, all’s well that ends well.”

“I’m very much obliged to you, old man,” said the invalid.

Mr Power waved his hand.

“Those other two fellows I was with——”

“Who were you with?” asked Mr Cunningham.

“A chap. I don’t know his name. Damn it now, what’s his name? Little chap with sandy hair....”

“And who else?”

“Harford.”

“Hm,” said Mr Cunningham.

When Mr Cunningham made that remark, people were silent. It was known that the speaker had secret sources…

“I wonder where did he go to,” said Mr Kernan.

He wished the details of the incident to remain vague. He wished his friends to think there had…

“All’s well that ends well.”

Mr Kernan changed the subject at once.

“That was a decent young chap, that medical fellow,” he said. “Only for him——”

“O, only for him,” said Mr Power, “it might have been a case of seven days, without the…

“Yes, yes,” said Mr Kernan, trying to remember. “I remember now there was a policeman. Decent young fellow,…

“It happened that you were peloothered, Tom,” said Mr Cunningham gravely.

“True bill,” said Mr Kernan, equally gravely.

“I suppose you squared the constable, Jack,” said Mr M’Coy.

Mr Power did not relish the use of his Christian name. He was not straight-laced, but he could…

The narrative made Mr Kernan indignant. He was keenly conscious of his citizenship, wished to live with his…

“Is this what we pay rates for?” he asked. “To feed and clothe these ignorant bostooms ... and…

Mr Cunningham laughed. He was a Castle official only during office hours.

“How could they be anything else, Tom?” he said.

He assumed a thick provincial accent and said in a tone of command:

“65, catch your cabbage!”

Everyone laughed. Mr M’Coy, who wanted to enter the conversation by any door, pretended that he had never…

“It is supposed—they say, you know—to take place in the depot where they get these thundering big country…

He illustrated the story by grotesque gestures.

“At dinner, you know. Then he has a bloody big bowl of cabbage before him on the table…

Everyone laughed again: but Mr Kernan was somewhat indignant still. He talked of writing a letter to the…

“These yahoos coming up here,” he said, “think they can boss the people. I needn’t tell you, Martin,…

Mr Cunningham gave a qualified assent.

“It’s like everything else in this world,” he said. “You get some bad ones and you get some…

“O yes, you get some good ones, I admit,” said Mr Kernan, satisfied.

“It’s better to have nothing to say to them,” said Mr M’Coy. “That’s my opinion!”

Mrs Kernan entered the room and, placing a tray on the table, said:

“Help yourselves, gentlemen.”

Mr Power stood up to officiate, offering her his chair. She declined it, saying she was ironing downstairs,…

“And have you nothing for me, duckie?”

“O, you! The back of my hand to you!” said Mrs Kernan tartly.

Her husband called after her:

“Nothing for poor little hubby!”

He assumed such a comical face and voice that the distribution of the bottles of stout took place…

The gentlemen drank from their glasses, set the glasses again on the table and paused. Then Mr Cunningham…

“On Thursday night, you said, Jack.”

“Thursday, yes,” said Mr Power.

“Righto!” said Mr Cunningham promptly.

“We can meet in M’Auley’s,” said Mr M’Coy. “That’ll be the most convenient place.”

“But we mustn’t be late,” said Mr Power earnestly, “because it is sure to be crammed to the…

“We can meet at half-seven,” said Mr M’Coy.

“Righto!” said Mr Cunningham.

“Half-seven at M’Auley’s be it!”

There was a short silence. Mr Kernan waited to see whether he would be taken into his friends’…

“What’s in the wind?”

“O, it’s nothing,” said Mr Cunningham. “It’s only a little matter that we’re arranging about for Thursday.”

“The opera, is it?” said Mr Kernan.

“No, no,” said Mr Cunningham in an evasive tone, “it’s just a little ... spiritual matter.”

“O,” said Mr Kernan.

There was silence again. Then Mr Power said, point blank:

“To tell you the truth, Tom, we’re going to make a retreat.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Mr Cunningham, “Jack and I and M’Coy here—we’re all going to wash the pot.”

He uttered the metaphor with a certain homely energy and, encouraged by his own voice, proceeded:

“You see, we may as well all admit we’re a nice collection of scoundrels, one and all. I…

“I own up,” said Mr Power.

“And I own up,” said Mr M’Coy.

“So we’re going to wash the pot together,” said Mr Cunningham.

A thought seemed to strike him. He turned suddenly to the invalid and said:

“D’ye know what, Tom, has just occurred to me? You might join in and we’d have a four-handed…

“Good idea,” said Mr Power. “The four of us together.”

Mr Kernan was silent. The proposal conveyed very little meaning to his mind but, understanding that some spiritual…

“I haven’t such a bad opinion of the Jesuits,” he said, intervening at length. “They’re an educated order.…

“They’re the grandest order in the Church, Tom,” said Mr Cunningham, with enthusiasm. “The General of the Jesuits…

“There’s no mistake about it,” said Mr M’Coy, “if you want a thing well done and no flies…

“The Jesuits are a fine body of men,” said Mr Power.

“It’s a curious thing,” said Mr Cunningham, “about the Jesuit Order. Every other order of the Church had…

“Is that so?” asked Mr M’Coy.

“That’s a fact,” said Mr Cunningham. “That’s history.”

“Look at their church, too,” said Mr Power. “Look at the congregation they have.”

“The Jesuits cater for the upper classes,” said Mr M’Coy.

“Of course,” said Mr Power.

“Yes,” said Mr Kernan. “That’s why I have a feeling for them. It’s some of those secular priests,…

“They’re all good men,” said Mr Cunningham, “each in his own way. The Irish priesthood is honoured all…

“O yes,” said Mr Power.

“Not like some of the other priesthoods on the continent,” said Mr M’Coy, “unworthy of the name.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Mr Kernan, relenting.

“Of course I’m right,” said Mr Cunningham. “I haven’t been in the world all this time and seen…

The gentlemen drank again, one following another’s example. Mr Kernan seemed to be weighing something in his mind.…

“O, it’s just a retreat, you know,” said Mr Cunningham. “Father Purdon is giving it. It’s for business…

“He won’t be too hard on us, Tom,” said Mr Power persuasively.

“Father Purdon? Father Purdon?” said the invalid.

“O, you must know him, Tom,” said Mr Cunningham stoutly. “Fine jolly fellow! He’s a man of the…

“Ah, ... yes. I think I know him. Rather red face; tall.”

“That’s the man.”

“And tell me, Martin.... Is he a good preacher?”

“Munno.... It’s not exactly a sermon, you know. It’s just kind of a friendly talk, you know, in…

Mr Kernan deliberated. Mr M’Coy said:

“Father Tom Burke, that was the boy!”

“O, Father Tom Burke,” said Mr Cunningham, “that was a born orator. Did you ever hear him, Tom?”

“Did I ever hear him!” said the invalid, nettled. “Rather! I heard him....”

“And yet they say he wasn’t much of a theologian,” said Mr Cunningham.

“Is that so?” said Mr M’Coy.

“O, of course, nothing wrong, you know. Only sometimes, they say, he didn’t preach what was quite orthodox.”

“Ah! ... he was a splendid man,” said Mr M’Coy.

“I heard him once,” Mr Kernan continued. “I forget the subject of his discourse now. Crofton and I…

“The body,” said Mr Cunningham.

“Yes, in the back near the door. I forget now what.... O yes, it was on the Pope,…

“But he’s an Orangeman, Crofton, isn’t he?” said Mr Power.

“‘Course he is,” said Mr Kernan, “and a damned decent Orangeman too. We went into Butler’s in Moore…

“There’s a good deal in that,” said Mr Power. “There used always to be crowds of Protestants in…

“There’s not much difference between us,” said Mr M’Coy.

“We both believe in——”

He hesitated for a moment.

“... in the Redeemer. Only they don’t believe in the Pope and in the mother of God.”

“But, of course,” said Mr Cunningham quietly and effectively, “our religion is _the_ religion, the old, original faith.”

“Not a doubt of it,” said Mr Kernan warmly.

Mrs Kernan came to the door of the bedroom and announced:

“Here’s a visitor for you!”

“Who is it?”

“Mr Fogarty.”

“O, come in! come in!”

A pale oval face came forward into the light. The arch of its fair trailing moustache was repeated…

Mr Fogarty brought a gift with him, a half-pint of special whisky. He inquired politely for Mr Kernan,…

“I wouldn’t doubt you, old man. Open that, Jack, will you?”

Mr Power again officiated. Glasses were rinsed and five small measures of whisky were poured out. This new…

“Pope Leo XIII.,” said Mr Cunningham, “was one of the lights of the age. His great idea, you…

“I often heard he was one of the most intellectual men in Europe,” said Mr Power. “I mean,…

“So he was,” said Mr Cunningham, “if not _the_ most so. His motto, you know, as Pope, was…

“No, no,” said Mr Fogarty eagerly. “I think you’re wrong there. It was _Lux in Tenebris_, I think—_Light…

“O yes,” said Mr M’Coy, “_Tenebrae_.”

“Allow me,” said Mr Cunningham positively, “it was _Lux upon Lux_. And Pius IX. his predecessor’s motto was…

The inference was allowed. Mr Cunningham continued.

“Pope Leo, you know, was a great scholar and a poet.”

“He had a strong face,” said Mr Kernan.

“Yes,” said Mr Cunningham. “He wrote Latin poetry.”

“Is that so?” said Mr Fogarty.

Mr M’Coy tasted his whisky contentedly and shook his head with a double intention, saying:

“That’s no joke, I can tell you.”

“We didn’t learn that, Tom,” said Mr Power, following Mr M’Coy’s example, “when we went to the penny-a-week…

“There was many a good man went to the penny-a-week school with a sod of turf under his…

“Quite right,” said Mr Power.

“No superfluities,” said Mr Fogarty.

He enunciated the word and then drank gravely.

“I remember reading,” said Mr Cunningham, “that one of Pope Leo’s poems was on the invention of the…

“On the photograph!” exclaimed Mr Kernan.

“Yes,” said Mr Cunningham.

He also drank from his glass.

“Well, you know,” said Mr M’Coy, “isn’t the photograph wonderful when you come to think of it?”

“O, of course,” said Mr Power, “great minds can see things.”

“As the poet says: _Great minds are very near to madness_,” said Mr Fogarty.

Mr Kernan seemed to be troubled in mind. He made an effort to recall the Protestant theology on…

“Tell me, Martin,” he said. “Weren’t some of the popes—of course, not our present man, or his predecessor,…

There was a silence. Mr Cunningham said:

“O, of course, there were some bad lots.... But the astonishing thing is this. Not one of them,…

“That is,” said Mr Kernan.

“Yes, because when the Pope speaks _ex cathedra_,” Mr Fogarty explained, “he is infallible.”

“Yes,” said Mr Cunningham.

“O, I know about the infallibility of the Pope. I remember I was younger then.... Or was it…

Mr Fogarty interrupted. He took up the bottle and helped the others to a little more. Mr M’Coy,…

“What’s that you were saying, Tom?” asked Mr M’Coy.

“Papal infallibility,” said Mr Cunningham, “that was the greatest scene in the whole history of the Church.”

“How was that, Martin?” asked Mr Power.

Mr Cunningham held up two thick fingers.

“In the sacred college, you know, of cardinals and archbishops and bishops there were two men who held…

“Ha!” said Mr M’Coy.

“And they were a German cardinal by the name of Dolling ... or Dowling ... or——”

“Dowling was no German, and that’s a sure five,” said Mr Power, laughing.

“Well, this great German cardinal, whatever his name was, was one; and the other was John MacHale.”

“What?” cried Mr Kernan. “Is it John of Tuam?”

“Are you sure of that now?” asked Mr Fogarty dubiously. “I thought it was some Italian or American.”

“John of Tuam,” repeated Mr Cunningham, “was the man.”

He drank and the other gentlemen followed his lead. Then he resumed:

“There they were at it, all the cardinals and bishops and archbishops from all the ends of the…

“_I believe!_” said Mr Fogarty.

“_Credo!_” said Mr Cunningham. “That showed the faith he had. He submitted the moment the Pope spoke.”

“And what about Dowling?” asked Mr M’Coy.

“The German cardinal wouldn’t submit. He left the church.”

Mr Cunningham’s words had built up the vast image of the church in the minds of his hearers.…

“I once saw John MacHale,” said Mr Kernan, “and I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

He turned towards his wife to be confirmed.

“I often told you that?”

Mrs Kernan nodded.

“It was at the unveiling of Sir John Gray’s statue. Edmund Dwyer Gray was speaking, blathering away, and…

Mr Kernan knitted his brows and, lowering his head like an angry bull, glared at his wife.

“God!” he exclaimed, resuming his natural face, “I never saw such an eye in a man’s head. It…

“None of the Grays was any good,” said Mr Power.

There was a pause again. Mr Power turned to Mrs Kernan and said with abrupt joviality:

“Well, Mrs Kernan, we’re going to make your man here a good holy pious and God-fearing Roman Catholic.”

He swept his arm round the company inclusively.

“We’re all going to make a retreat together and confess our sins—and God knows we want it badly.”

“I don’t mind,” said Mr Kernan, smiling a little nervously.

Mrs Kernan thought it would be wiser to conceal her satisfaction. So she said:

“I pity the poor priest that has to listen to your tale.”

Mr Kernan’s expression changed.

“If he doesn’t like it,” he said bluntly, “he can ... do the other thing. I’ll just tell…

Mr Cunningham intervened promptly.

“We’ll all renounce the devil,” he said, “together, not forgetting his works and pomps.”

“Get behind me, Satan!” said Mr Fogarty, laughing and looking at the others.

Mr Power said nothing. He felt completely out-generalled. But a pleased expression flickered across his face.

“All we have to do,” said Mr Cunningham, “is to stand up with lighted candles in our hands…

“O, don’t forget the candle, Tom,” said Mr M’Coy, “whatever you do.”

“What?” said Mr Kernan. “Must I have a candle?”

“O yes,” said Mr Cunningham.

“No, damn it all,” said Mr Kernan sensibly, “I draw the line there. I’ll do the job right…

He shook his head with farcical gravity.

“Listen to that!” said his wife.

“I bar the candles,” said Mr Kernan, conscious of having created an effect on his audience and continuing…

Everyone laughed heartily.

“There’s a nice Catholic for you!” said his wife.

“No candles!” repeated Mr Kernan obdurately. “That’s off!”

The transept of the Jesuit Church in Gardiner Street was almost full; and still at every moment gentlemen…

In one of the benches near the pulpit sat Mr Cunningham and Mr Kernan. In the bench behind…

A powerful-looking figure, the upper part of which was draped with a white surplice, was observed to be…

Father Purdon knelt down, turned towards the red speck of light and, covering his face with his hands,…

_“For the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light. Wherefore make…

Father Purdon developed the text with resonant assurance. It was one of the most difficult texts in all…

He told his hearers that he was there that evening for no terrifying, no extravagant purpose; but as…

Jesus Christ was not a hard taskmaster. He understood our little failings, understood the weakness of our poor…

“Well, I have verified my accounts. I find all well.”

But if, as might happen, there were some discrepancies, to admit the truth, to be frank and say…

“Well, I have looked into my accounts. I find this wrong and this wrong. But, with God’s grace,…