DEPARTURE FROM KENMARE--A BAILIFF UNDER PROTECTION--HOW
PLAIN DAUGHTERS CAN BE ADVANTAGEOUSLY DISPOSED OF--BLARNEY
CASTLE--TRALEE--BARON DOWSE’S SPEECH--AN IRISH MARKET--THE GRAND
JURY AND ITS PRESIDENT--MEDITATIONS.
_July 9th._--To-day the grand jury opens at Tralee, the capital of
county Kerry. In his double office of magistrate and grand juryman, my
host, Mr. Trench, is obliged to attend this ceremony. Besides, this
year his presence is doubly necessary, because he must plead the cause
of the taxpayers in the barony,[3] according to the promise given
yesterday. He kindly suggested that I should accompany him, an offer
which I hastened to accept, for I am very curious to see how this
strange institution works.
In consequence of these arrangements, the faithful Dick brought his
carriage to the door about eight o’clock this morning, just as we
finished breakfast. Experienced travellers assert that if one would
have a correct idea of a country, one should see it at the season
which most characterises it. Thus one should see Russia in the month
of January, when it is covered with snow, and Naples in the month
of August. A cold country is only curious when it is cold; a moujik
sweating violently being as little interesting as a _lazzarone_
shivering in a corner by the fire.
This being so, one must arrange to see Ireland under heavy rain, for it
is only necessary to consult the meteorological charts to be convinced
that more rain falls in Green Erin than in any other country in Europe.
But this is not my fate, at least not at present. It appears that
I have unusual luck. Since I have been in Kerry, particularly, the
weather has been splendid. This morning a brilliant sunshine illumined
the lawns and old oaks of Lansdowne Lodge, when I turned round to
give them a last glance, as the carriage passed through the gate.
During breakfast, Mr. Trench and I had commenced a serious theological
discussion. It had no visible result, as far as our conversion is
concerned, for we still remain, he a Plymouth brother, and I an
Apostolic Roman Catholic; but it continued with increasing animation
during the whole journey from Kenmare to Killarney, and by this time we
had reached such transcendental heights, we had “talked and retalked”
with so much animation, that, absorbed in seeking my arguments, I had
allowed myself to forget my duties as a conscientious tourist, and had
scarcely paid any attention to the country we were passing through. I
am, however, almost sure that the road we followed was the same as that
we had arrived by the day before yesterday. I can therefore affirm,
with a quiet conscience, that Derrygariff is always in the same place,
that we have again followed the valley of Coom-a-Dhuv; that we skirted
the lakes of Cummeen and Thommeen and I distinctly recollect that some
one called me to admire the cascade of Derrycunihy, explaining to
me that the mountain from which it issues is no other than majestic
Garranthuohill! (I am anxious to give the exact facts, for _à propos_
of my first articles an influential critic reproached me in his paper
the other day because I did not give sufficient details.)
We found great animation reigning at the Killarney railway station
when we arrived there. Mr. Trench met there, first of all, a number
of his colleagues, who, like himself, were going to Tralee, and who,
as a rule, profited by the opportunity to take their families for a
little excursion. Whilst he was speaking to them I went to a corner of
the station from whence nasal exclamations had reached me, riveting
my attention. They proceeded from a group of American tourists of
both sexes, who were contemplating with much interest a fat Irishman,
dressed like a farmer, who passed to and fro, attended on each side
by an enormous constable, as stiff as though he were made of wood,
his little black jacket fitting his figure without a wrinkle, his
policeman’s cap inclined 45° over one ear, his stock mounting to his
teeth, a small staff in his hand, and a revolver at his side.
This unusual spectacle interested me greatly. Could this stout man be a
victim of perfidious Albion, who was about to expiate his patriotism by
rotting on the mouldering straw of a dungeon? Is he a common criminal?
These two hypotheses are manifestly inadmissible. The stout man has
not the air of a prisoner; far from wearing handcuffs, he grasps an
enormous shillalah, and his two guards, instead of leading him, appear
to regulate their movements by his: in any case they allow him to
communicate freely with the Americans, who all, one after the other,
advance and ask him to inscribe his name in their albums. Trench is
too far off to explain this enigma. Luckily, I noticed close to me a
native, well dressed and benevolent-looking, whom the stout man had
greeted as he passed. I spoke to him, for he looked very polite--but
that all Irishmen are, at least as long as they remain in Ireland.
From the time they arrive in America, they too often become as rough
as barley bread. “Certainly, sir,” replied the obliging native, “I can
tell you. I know that man very well. His name is Denis McGrath, and he
lives near to me. He is bailiff to one of my neighbours.”
“Well, sir, what has happened to him? Why is he followed by those two
constables? Is he a prisoner?”
“Oh, no! Quite the contrary. For the last two years he has been
protected by the police.”
“But why do the police protect him?”
“Ah! That is because he was mixed up in an eviction case that ended
badly. The Land Leaguers in our barony have condemned him to death.
He has been shot at already three times during the night through his
window. He was not hurt; the balls went into his mattress. But since he
has every reason to believe they intend trying again, the police have
given him two men to protect him. The parish defrays the expenses.”
“Sir, you interest me greatly! Do these constables live with him?”
“Certainly. Since they never leave him, day or night!”
“That must be a great inconvenience in a small household.”
“Ah! you see the administration does all in its power to render the
existence of those whom it protects as agreeable as possible. Before
choosing the men for this office, the officials first make thorough
inquiries respecting the people with whom they have to deal; and they
try to send them constables whose similarity of tastes can make their
society pleasant to them. Thus, for instance, they are careful not to
send a Protestant constable to a Catholic household. McGrath certainly
has nothing to complain of. He has five daughters, all freckled, and
very plain. He would assuredly have had a great deal of trouble in
marrying them. They sent him two bachelor constables, both very fine
men. You see them there. Naturally, living amongst the five daughters,
they inevitably commenced a courtship. They have married two of them!”
“Then are they now all living together?”
“Yes; but things no longer go smoothly.”
“Ah, the deuce! What has happened then?”
“Listen. The three younger daughters are very anxious to marry too.
That’s very natural. They therefore try to persuade their father to
complain of their brothers-in-law, in order that they may be replaced
by two other unmarried constables. Only the two married sisters will
not hear of such a proceeding, because, they say, that it would cause
bad marks to be placed against their husbands, which would hinder their
promotion; and, besides, they might also be sent to protect other
families where they could not follow them. There are, therefore, such
terrible scenes in the house that McGrath passes his life outside.
He has become a real support to the public-house: only, since his
sons-in-law follow him everywhere, their wives are furious because
they fear their husbands will contract bad habits. They blame their
father, who finds himself between the anvil and the hammer. Ah! he
hasn’t a pleasant life of it. So now he is going to Tralee I shall not
be surprised to find that he has decided to yield to the three younger
ones. He is probably going to ask for two new constables!”
Not far from here, at Blarney, near Cork, there stands a strong old
castle, dating from the fifteenth century. It was built by Cormac
M’Carthy, a celebrated personage in the history of the county. Very
important ruins still remain of it. Above the principal dungeon is
seen a carved stone, to which a very ancient legend attributes magic
power.[4] Every one who kisses it devoutly immediately receives the
gift of a special eloquence known by the name of _blarney_, which
ensures for them the most varied successes. Only this advantage is
counterbalanced by one defect--they all become horribly untruthful.
Unfortunately this pilgrimage is extremely run after. During the summer
the railway companies organise special trains that bring excursionists
from every corner of Ireland.
The amiable native who so kindly enlightened me upon the incidents of
the domestic drama now being enacted by the McGrath family, can he be
one of those called in this country Blarney pilgrims--the same thing
that at home we call vulgar _fumiste_? Even whilst I effusively thank
him for his extreme kindness, I ask myself this question. Another idea
has also crossed my mind. I distinctly saw in the station the manager
of the Killarney hotel, who only yesterday I advised to organise some
evictions as an attraction for tourists. He seemed to appreciate the
notion; and now he is explaining McGrath’s case to the Americans. This
interesting bailiff, his five daughters and two sons-in-law, can they
be only supernumeraries? After all, this is quite possible.
But these reflections were rudely interrupted. The train was
starting, and I was forced to run in order to catch Mr. Trench in his
compartment. He introduced me to one of his colleagues, who, with his
son and daughter, were, like ourselves, going to Tralee. _À propos_,
some people have a fancy for knowing the exact pronunciation of foreign
words; here are a few directions for their use:--
If you wish to pronounce Tralee in the Irish fashion, you must first
commence by uttering a hoarse sound drawn from the bottom of your
throat, the lower the better. Gradually swell this sound, imitating a
dog growling before he bites. In this way you will modulate something
that can be written thus: Trrreull! And then, when your breath is
nearly gone, suddenly jerk out the last syllable _lee_, which you must
of course pronounce _ly_. It is fairly difficult, but if you practise
it for a little while, scrupulously following my instructions, I am
convinced that you will attain such a pure pronunciation that you
will astonish every inhabitant of Kerry who hears you. But, I repeat,
I only mention this for those who think they must pronounce foreign
words in foreign fashion. Personally, I am not of their opinion, and
an illustrious Academician who honours me with his friendship, assures
me that I am right; and this is the reason why, in Paris, I always say
“_Rue Va-sin-je-ton_,” and not “_Rue Washington_.”
Having said this in the interest of the ultra-refined in linguistic
details, I resume my narrative.
The grand juryman with whom we are travelling is a descendant of
O’Connell the great agitator, as he is called. I rather suspect him of
privately thinking that his illustrious ancestor succeeded in agitating
Ireland only too well; for, from what he and his son tell me of the
state of the country, it is certain that no one has any reason to
complain of excessive tranquillity. We happened to pass through their
properties. The father was installed by one door, the son by the other.
Every moment these gentlemen very pleasantly directed my attention
towards the ruins of some house that had been destroyed by dynamite,
the remnants of a haystack that had been burnt, a meadow where all the
cows’ tails had been cut off, or a tree beneath which a bailiff had
been found with a ball through his head. As landlords, and boycotted
landlords, they assuredly cannot approve of these acts; but, as
Irishmen, they enumerate all these facts with a certain complacency.
National pride is always worthy of our respect. I remember an American
who described to me the collision between two trains; he spoke of
carriages precipitated into the Mississippi, of two or three hundred
persons drowned, and then he ended by saying, with a patronising air:
“Nothing equal in Europe, I guess, stranger!”
We reached Tralee about one o’clock. I was first taken to a club, where
we found most of the grand jurymen preparing for the discharge of their
duties by taking an excellent luncheon. Even whilst following their
example I was introduced to five or six of these gentlemen, who, like
Mr. Trench, are “agents.”
The information which they gave me confirms all that I have already
heard about the state of this county. The rents continue to diminish.
One of them quotes figures to me. The income of the property which he
superintends amounted to more than 8,000_l._; its remittances equalled
4,000_l._, taking good and bad years together. This year it will not
receive more than 600_l._ Besides this, the people recently placed a
charge of dynamite under his windows. The explosion was so violent
that the whole front fell down. Sixteen persons were in the house; no
one was hurt, but it was a miraculous escape. I asked him if, on his
soul and conscience, he really believed that the heads of the Land
League are responsible for deeds of this kind. He replied that he was
absolutely sure of it, and that if the country were not terrorised he
could arrest the perpetrators; if he has not done so, it is simply
because he knows that no witness dare appear against them. He is giving
up the struggle. He intends retiring from business at the end of the
year, and his son intends using the family capital in starting a ranche
in Colorado.
The Land Leaguers are very indignant when any one predicts that their
success will be the signal for the general emigration of capital. Yet
here is an instance which seems to prove that this prediction has some
foundation. And frankly, is it possible to blame those who adopt this
course? I own that I am only astonished at one thing, and that is that
it does not happen more often. Leading such an existence as this is not
life.
In order to realise the point which affairs have reached in Kerry, it
is enough to read the speech pronounced by Baron Dowse, President of
the Assizes, at the opening of the session.
“Scarcely four months,” said he, “have elapsed since the last session,
and now I am again summoned to preside over you. After a careful
examination of the situation in County Kerry, in respect to the
criminal law, I am forced to tell you that it is worse than ever. In
four months 119 criminal cases have been inscribed on the list, and
their details are very significant:--
Murders 2
Despatch of letters threatening murder 19
Attempts at murder with fire-arms 9
Manslaughter 1
Outrage 1
Blows and wounds 11
Assaults upon agents 1
Armed attack upon houses 1
Robbery 20
Arson 19
Killing or mutilating domestic animals 12
Thefts of arms or extortion of money 26
Shots fired into inhabited houses 10
Etc., etc.
“You see, gentlemen, that nearly all these crimes are of the same
character; they are agrarian. In counting up all the events coming
under the same category that have taken place in this county during one
year, we find a total of more than 500. Whatever political or religious
opinions one may hold, it is impossible not to consider the situation
lamentable. In former times the moral state of this county was very
different. Criminal cases were rather less here than elsewhere. Now
there is not a single county in Ireland that can be compared to it.
County Clare has certainly a very bad reputation, but yet it has not
fallen so low as this.”
When I read these edifying figures, I sincerely congratulated myself
upon not being a landowner in County Kerry, and I thought that if I
had the ill luck to possess any land there I should have real pleasure
in selling it, as soon as possible, for any price it would fetch, and
in getting away. I can quite sympathise with landowners who never go
near their estates, and I cannot see how the Nationalists can reproach
them. Still, possibly whilst creating this state of affairs, the
latter may have some mental reservations. No doubt they think that by
rendering life intolerable to the landowners, they will depreciate the
price of land so much that they will be able to share it gratuitously
amongst themselves. Perhaps they will attain this result. But as I
have already said several times, what advantage will they find in
that? At the commencement of the Revolution the French peasants made
the same calculation; they pillaged the castles, massacred the owners
when they could, and divided the estates of those who had succeeded in
emigrating, to punish them for getting away. The operation has been
fairly profitable for many of them. That is because at that time,
and particularly a little later, the land, through the difficulty of
transport, had a real value. But now the situation is quite altered;
in every country in the world the land tends to have only the value
which the capital employed in its cultivation may give it. What is the
use of pasturage, if, on one hand, there are no more farmers, and if,
on the other, one has not money enough to buy the cattle necessary to
place on it before a profit can be obtained? Therefore, in our days,
the emigration of capital from a country is an irremediable disaster.
Now they can scarcely have any idea of making the landowners emigrate,
yet of retaining their capital. I humbly venture to suggest a few of
these reflections to my friends in the Land League. I think they would
be wise to ponder over them in their own interest, for if they realise
their programme, it may happen that as soon as the population see the
results of the campaign they have led them through, a reaction may be
produced, and they would be its first victims.
In another part of his speech Baron Dowse again laid stress upon the
fact that a few years ago County Kerry, now so disturbed, was quoted
throughout Ireland as the model county. It appears that this is
absolutely true. In this little Arcadia even politics never caused
any divisions. The inhabitants had discovered an excellent method of
avoiding all those quarrels which they usually engender. Still there
were two parties; but since the county returned precisely two members,
it had been agreed, from time immemorial, that each side should have
its own representative. It was always a member of the family of Herbert
of Muckross, who stood for the Liberals, whilst the eldest son of the
Kenmares undertook in Parliament the defence of the Conservatives. When
one died, his son replaced him, and everything went smoothly in this
most quiet county.
In 1871 an unforeseen circumstance put an end to this peaceful
arrangement. The old Lord Kenmare died in that year. His son, Lord
Castlerosse, heir to the peerage, sent in his resignation as member.
Now it happened that his son was not old enough to succeed him. It
was arranged that until he attained his majority the seat should be
occupied by his cousin, Mr. Dease. Conservatives and Liberals assisted
to secure this combination. But the opportunity seemed favourable to
the Nationalists, who, precisely at the same time were commencing to
draw public attention towards themselves; they decided that the party
should open a struggle in Kerry. Naturally, the excitement was very
great; the partisans of each candidate were soon in position. A very
curious event took place, which makes the want of discipline, the weak
point in the religious organisation of Ireland, very conspicuous. Mr.
Dease was a great landowner in the county, a resident, highly respected
and Catholic. It appeared therefore as though his candidature would
be approved by all the clergy, and this seemed still more probable
because Mgr. Moriarty, the bishop, had accepted the presidency of his
committee.
It all went for nothing. The diocesan priests in a body openly and
passionately exerted all their influence in favour of the opposing
candidate, Mr. Blennerhassett, quite a young man and a Protestant!
And this was only because he was the candidate for the popular party.
The reason was that, in Ireland, a priest dare not get embroiled with
his parishioners. This situation is often his greatest strength, but
it sometimes involves him in very delicate relations with others. I
believe it was M. Ledru-Rollin who one day made this striking remark:
“I am forced to obey them, since I am their chief!” More than one Irish
priest could say the same thing.
It was a grand electoral campaign. Political veterans still speak
feelingly about it. At that time the votes were given openly. The
landowners brought their tenants to the poll under safe escort and
never lost sight of them until their votes had been registered.
Besides, each party had recourse to heroic measures. The Isle of
Valencia, which is entirely owned by the Knight of Kerry, had no
polling office. Its electors, who were fairly numerous, were believed
to be thoroughly devoted to their landlord, who had energetically
declared himself in favour of Mr. Dease. He chartered a steamboat to
take them over to the mainland to Cahirciveen, where they ought to
vote. The Nationalists managed during the night to stove in the bottom
of the steamer and to hire every fishing boat in the neighbourhood for
the day, so that not one of the Knight of Kerry’s men was able to vote.
Elsewhere, when they came in contact with timid folks, who, although
partisans of Blennerhassett, dared not run full tilt at their landlord,
the Nationalists made them vote not for Mr. Dease but for Lord Kenmare,
so that their votes were lost; afterwards they assumed a dismayed
expression and excused themselves to their furious landlord by saying
that they thought they were voting for the candidate he patronised.
Is it necessary to add that Blennerhassett was elected by a large
majority? Alas! the world becomes sadder. Every time one meets with
a really lively institution, one feels sure that it will speedily
be abolished! Open voting has submitted to the universal law. The
Blennerhassett election was the last of its kind that took place in
Kerry. Some months afterwards, in 1872, the new electoral law was
passed. Since that time the Irish elections are, like all others in the
world, horribly dull.
It is needless to add that now the county only returns Nationalists
to Parliament. Tralee, the capital, which is a small town containing
10,000 inhabitants, claims to be a sea-port because they have made a
canal two miles long between it and the coast, and this enables a few
coasting boats to anchor in a miniature dock situated near the town.
They probably come in search of pigs, for I have met almost as many
of them in the streets as at Limerick. But I do not think they bring
women’s shoes, for I do not remember seeing a single one walking except
with bare feet.
But the streets are full of animation when we leave the club. The
market has just ended. Buyers and sellers are preparing to return
home. Before the smaller inns men commence harnessing grey donkeys to
little two-wheeled carts which stand in rows two deep, the shafts
in the air. Five or six women squeeze into each of them, their backs
leaning against the sides of the cart, the chin between the knees, or
even lying flat one against the other lengthways, their muddy feet and
bare legs hanging outside. The husband or brother seats himself at the
side on one of the shafts, and when they have wished the neighbours
good-bye, they slowly start on their way home to the small thatched
house standing on the edge of some bog, which they will only leave once
more during a whole week, when they go to mass on Sunday next.
In front of the houses on the market-place there is an interminable
line of old women; each has in front of her on the edge of the pavement
a small heap of nuts, potatoes, or turnips. The purchasers do not seem
numerous, but the poor old women do not appear uneasy about it. They
evidently return there every market day, less to sell anything than
to see the people, to meet each other, to gossip together about the
good old times, when potatoes were more plentiful, the sun hotter, the
girls prettier, and the “boys” more gallant than they are now! There
they are, seated in the mud, their bare legs twisted on one side to
leave room for passers by, their heads wrapped in old shawls, a few
grey locks peeping through the holes in them, the majority smoking
short black pipes. Myriads of children, charming, but very dirty, roll
in the gutter around them. Poor old women! In their dull, sad lives
these market days stand out like nails placed at intervals in a wall,
on which their recollections are hung. I remember at Tamatave seeing
the old Malagachy women arrive from all sides, almost naked, their ribs
projecting under their sickly skin, emaciated, hideous, yet having
walked twelve or fifteen miles to sell two eggs and a cabbage palm--in
reality to gossip with their neighbours. Human nature is the same
everywhere.
But I have not time now to continue my observations. As soon as the
grand jury had finished luncheon they started to go to the town-hall,
and since these gentlemen had kindly invited me to be present at their
work, I hastened to accompany them.
It is evident that the principles on which the composition of the grand
jury rest are no longer tenable. I have already said so, and I repeat
it. They are contrary to every idea of right, since the taxes are voted
by these men, who are, but very indirectly, the representatives of
those who ought to pay them, and who at all events are not elected by
them. The best medicine in the world usually works only harm if the
patient takes it against his will. A peasant may be obliged to pass
over the bridge in front of his house every day, but if he is asked
for a shilling to keep it in repair, and if the man who imposes the
shilling is the great landowner next to him, he will always remain
convinced that it is only the great landowner who will profit by the
shilling he has made him pay. Formerly, when the different classes
agreed, it was not the same thing; but now that war is declared, it
is manifestly impossible that an Irish peasant will be anything but
exasperated by the thought that it is only his political enemies who
have any voice on the subject, and who administer the affairs of
his barony or county. This institution of the grand jury must then
disappear: it is fatal. So much for the question of principle. But,
this once admitted, we may ask ourselves whether, practically, matters
would be improved if the people had as magistrates and grand jury men
such men as the little tailor of Kenmare. It seems very doubtful to me.
I made these reflections this morning whilst watching the assembly of
the grand jury. After its members had taken the oath, they honoured me
by admitting me into the council hall, and giving me a chair behind
the president’s, Colonel Crosbie’s, seat. He was placed in the middle
of a table, shaped like a horseshoe, around which all his colleagues
were seated. When I entered they were occupied with the public works.
A secretary standing behind the president read aloud the contractors’
tenders--tenders which, I believe, had already been examined by a
sub-committee. From time to time a member asked for a few words of
explanation from the county engineer or from the contractors, who stood
apart at the end of the hall. No one made any speeches. No one wished
to raise an election cry by asking for impossibilities, as occasionally
happens amongst us. One felt that there were only competent well-bred
men present. It must be owned that that is a good deal.
Both Protestants and Catholics are here--I am even told that for
some years the sheriff has always taken care to introduce a certain
number of Nationalists--opinions are therefore much divided. However,
politics do not appear in any way. These gentlemen only seem to
occupy themselves with the affairs of the county. What a lesson for
us! At this moment, in Paris, one cannot be a Republican and yet
believe in the efficacy of Pasteur’s method; in revenge one cannot
be a Conservative and doubt it! These Irishmen would seem very far
behind the Parisian municipal councillors! At all events they are
good-humoured, and that, in my humble opinion, is always an advantage.
They exchange little jokes even while despatching business. The order
of the day involved a most interesting discussion. “In consideration
of the annual payment of a sum of 16_l._ 13_s._ the undernamed Joseph
A. Connell offers to undertake the maintenance of the road from
Knocknagasher to Ballinascreena, between the cross of Ballinagerah and
that of Meendhorna! Does this offer conceal a trap, or should it be
accepted?” At the moment that each grand jury man mentally and with
some anxiety asks himself this question, a lamentable voice is heard.
“Mr. President!” exclaims an old, wretched-looking grand jury man, who
is seated at the end of the table, to the left facing the door--“Mr.
President! Could not the window behind me be closed? I am in such a
draught that I feel my hair blowing off my head.”
“Sir,” replied the president with serene courtesy, “although I am
secure myself from the danger you foresee,” (the honourable president
is as bald as an apple,) “I consider it my duty to accede to your
request. Constable, shut the window!”
The clerk, convulsed with laughter, buries his face in his papers; the
grand jury men shake in their chairs; the contractors at the end of the
hall laugh out loud; and even one of the constables smiles. He is a
young man, and has not yet attained the Olympian impassibility that is
distinctive of this select corps.
Unfortunately the train is due. I am obliged to hastily shake hands
with Mr. Trench whilst thanking him for his kind hospitality. I
penetrated, with some effort, through the groups of peasants who
thronged the porch of the town-hall, and I had but just time to jump
into the carriage which was to take me back to Ballinacourty.
Travelling by railway is singularly favourable to reflection,
particularly when one is alone in the compartment and the country on
either side utters little of interest. Whilst the locomotive speeds
on, without too much hurry, in the direction of Limerick, I reflect
over all that I have seen in the last three days. What a singular
social organisation exists in this country. Positively, one cannot
conceal it from one’s self, the country is, from a material point
of view, entirely at the mercy of half a dozen agents. These agents
offer, in most respects, every possible guarantee. They are men of
great experience, because in nearly all cases they fill the office of
estate managers from father to son. They are intelligent and upright;
if they were not their business would soon suffer from it, for it is
not unusual for a landowner to change his agent. But no one denies
their possession of all these qualities. Every morning I read all the
newspapers on both sides. I have not yet found a single accusation
against the respectability of the agents. It is certain that no other
nation owns a body of officials who can be compared to them.
But they are not officials, they do not seek any part of the public
power, and they are not elected for any. They have not, therefore, to
render any account of their actions, either to the Government as though
they were officials, nor to the electors as though they were their
representatives; and yet, at a time when the system works regularly,
the force of circumstances gives them over almost all the citizens
power nearly as absolute as that of the pachas over the raias of the
Turkish empire. They cannot impale an individual who offends them,
but they can easily transport him. In fact, in this country, where
agriculture is the only industry, a man can only live, on condition
of having some land, the necessary tool for the exercise of this
industry. Now an agent can take this tool from him, and, if he does,
the man has no resource but to emigrate. One can therefore say that
thousands of families are dependent upon one man to such an extent that
he can transport them if he wishes to do so. It must unquestionably be
very hard to feel one’s self so completely in a man’s power, however
honourable he may be. This position of affairs results from an economic
situation which laws cannot affect. It is not the less true that it is
dangerous, for it is easily understood that in certain dispositions it
produces a state of exasperation which may lead to any crimes.
You must notice that it is not the administration of the land which is
the chief source of this state of things. Most of the estates are very
large, that is true, but there are also a fair number of middle-sized
ones. If they were managed by their owners or by different agents, the
situation would be less serious. A farmer dismissed from Lord X----’s
estate could find a farm under Lord Y----, or Messrs. A----, B---- or
C----; but here he is prevented from doing so by the fact that the same
agent manages the properties of all these gentlemen. As I said in the
commencement, the whole county is therefore in the hands of five or six
men, who are all interested in keeping on good terms with each other.
When there has been a rupture with one of them, a man may feel sure
that he will not be accepted by either of the others.
In England the situation is very different. A man dismissed from
Lord X----’s land may perhaps be unable to become a tenant of Lord
Y----, another great landowner in the neighbourhood, but there are
twenty factories in the environs where he can always earn his living.
Expulsion from the farm where he is working does not necessarily end in
emigration.
It is now more than a hundred years since France commenced her
evolution towards absolute political liberty. Of the orators and
authors who have placed their thoughts on paper to aid their ideas,
every one without exception has taken Great Britain as an example. To
all those who feel alarm at the rapidity of the movement, they always
answer, “What are you afraid of? The absolute freedom of the press,
the right of meeting, the right of association--all these liberties of
which you dread the abuse, have existed in England for centuries, and
have never injured either order or property.”
I will not give an opinion on the root of this question, that would
entail too long a digression. I would only prove that the comparison
is fundamentally wrong, and consequently, argument is of little value.
It is very true that at all epochs the Irish or English agricultural
labourers have had the right of assembling, when they liked, on
the highways, around one of their number, and of there comfortably
listening to the most furious diatribes against the established laws.
The police had no right to interfere, and so they abstained from
interference.
Only, the following day the orators, and, if requisite, some of the
assembly, receive notice from the agent that they would have to
remove, sometimes at twenty-four hours’ notice, more frequently at
the end of the lease; and this notice is equivalent to a sentence of
transportation, at least as far as concerns the Irish. In England the
consequences are less serious; but it is not less true that in most
of the rural counties, only an infinitesimal number of electors have
the right of avowing political opinions which differ from those of the
chiefs of the two great national parties. The result is that an action,
which, although illegal in France, would only entail a fortnight’s
imprisonment to the man who committed it, is in England followed by
the most terrible consequences, although it is perfectly legal in the
country. The English Government, ultra Liberal in theory, which now
poses to all Europe as a model of Liberalism, has therefore only worked
until a very recent period through a system which suppressed in an
almost absolute degree all political liberty amongst the lower classes.
Now, for some years, particularly in Ireland, these classes have begun
to appreciate the situation; they wish to have in fact the rights they
had only in theory; and they have been able, by coalition, to paralyse
the anonymous powers which formerly ruled them, and above all, which
encircled them so efficaciously.
And now the Government has ceased to act at all! I require no other
proof than the speech made by Baron Dowse.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] If any of my readers are interested in the misfortunes of the
poor people of Kenmare they will be pleased to learn that owing to
his forcible eloquence and diplomacy Mr. Trench was able to induce
the grand jury to make an order, which charged the whole county with
the sum that the barony alone ought to have reimbursed through the
collector’s theft. The taxpayers at Kenmare had then good reason to
congratulate themselves upon having confided to him the care of their
interests.
[4] Here are two of the old couplets, which confirm the claims of the
Blarney stone:
“There is a stone there
That whoever kisses,
Oh! he never misses
To grow eloquent.
’Tis he may clamber
To a lady’s chamber,
Or become a member
Of Parliament.
“A clever spouter
He’ll sure turn out, or
An out and outer
To be let alone!
Don’t hope to hinder him,
Or to bewilder him,
Sure he’s a pilgrim
From the Blarney Stone!”