My New Curate

Augustine Sheehan Patrick

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. It is all my own fault. I was too free with my tongue. I said in a moment of bitterness: What can a Bishop do with a parish priest? He's independent of him. It was not grammatical, and it was not respectful. But the bad grammar and the impertinence were carried to his Lordship, and he answered: What can I do? I can send him a curate who will break his heart in six weeks.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819912460
• Langue: English

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CHAPTER I
THE CHANGE
It is all my own fault. I was too free with mytongue. I said in a moment of bitterness: "What can a Bishop dowith a parish priest? He's independent of him." It was notgrammatical, and it was not respectful. But the bad grammar and theimpertinence were carried to his Lordship, and he answered: "Whatcan I do ? I can send him a curate who will break his heartin six weeks."
I was not too much surprised, then, when one eveningmy dear old friend and curate, Father Tom Laverty, came to me, withtears in his eyes and an open letter in his hand: – "I am off,Father Dan. Look at this!"
It was a succinct, laconic order to present himselfto a parish priest twenty miles distant, and to be in time todischarge his duties in that parish the following Saturday andSunday, for his jurisdiction was transferred, etc.
It was a hard stroke. I was genuinely attached toFather Tom. We had the same tastes and habits, – easy, contented,conservative, with a cordial dislike of innovations of any kind. Weheld the same political opinions, preached the same sermons,administered the Sacraments in the old way, and had a reverence forantiquities in general. It was a sad break in my life to part withhim; and it is a harmless vanity on my part to say that he wassorry to part from me. "I suppose there's no help for it?" said he."No," said I; "but if you care – " "No use," said he; "when he has made up his mind you might as well be talking to amilestone." "And you must be off to-morrow?" said I, consulting thebishop's letter. "Yes," said he, "short shrift." "And who am Igetting?" I wondered. "Hard to guess," said he. He was in no humorfor conversation.
The following week, that most melancholy ofprocessions, a curate's furniture en route , filed slowlythrough the village, and out along the highroad, that led throughbog and fen, and by lake borders to the town of N – – . First camethree loads of black turf, carefully piled and roped; then twoloads of hay; a cow with a yearling calf; and lastly, the housefurniture, mostly of rough deal. The articles, that would be hardlygood enough for one of our new laborers' cottages, were crowned bya kitchen table, its four legs pointing steadily to the firmament,like an untrussed fowl's, and between them, carefully roped, wasthe plague and the pet of the village, Nanny the goat, with herlittle kid beside her. What Nanny could not do in the way ofmischief was so insignificant, that it need not be told. But theCeltic vocabulary, particularly rich in expletives, failed to meetthe ever-growing vituperative wants of the villagers. They had tofall back on the Saxon, and call her a "rep," "a rip," "de ribble,"etc., etc. I walked side by side with Father Laverty, who, withhead bent on his breast, scarcely noticed the lamentations of thewomen, who came to their cross-doors, and poured out a Jeremiad oflamentations that made me think my own well-meant ministrationswere but scantily appreciated. "Wisha, God be wid you, Father,wherever you go!" "Wisha, may your journey thry wid you. Sure 't iswe'll miss you!" "Yerra, what'll the poor do now, whin he's gone?""Bishop, inagh, 't is aisy for him wid his ring and his mitre, andhis grand carriage. Couldn't he let him alone?" "Father," said ayoung girl, earnestly, her black hair blinding her eyes, "may Godbe with you." She ran after him. "Pray for me," she whispered. "Youdon't know all the good you done me." She hadn't been verysensible.
He turned towards her. "Yes! Nance, I'll rememberyou. And don't forget all that I told you."
He held out his hand. It was such an honor, such acondescension, that she blushed scarlet: and hastily rubbing herhand in her apron, she grasped his. "May God Almighty bless you,"she said.
But the great trial came when we were passing theschool-house. It was after three o'clock, the time for breaking up:and there at the wall were all the little boys and the sheilas with their wide eyes full of sorrow. He passed byhastily, never looking up. His heart was with these children. Ibelieve the only real pleasure he ever allowed himself was to goamongst them, teach them, amuse them, and listen to their littlesongs. And now – "Good by, Father – " "Good by, Father – "
Then, Alice Moylan gave a big "boo-hoo!" and in amoment they were all in tears; and I, too, began to wink, in aqueer way, at the landscape.
At last, we came to the little bridge that humpsitself over the trout stream. Many a summer evening we had madethis the terminus of our evening's walk; for I was feeble enough onmy limbs, though my head is as clear as a boy's of seventeen. Andhere we used to lean over the parapet, and talk of all things,politics, literature (the little we knew of it), the old classics,college stories, tales of the mission, etc.; and now we were topart. "Good by, Father Tom," I said. "You know, there's always abite and a sup and a bed, whenever you come hither. Good by. Godknows, I'm sorry to part with you." "Good by," he said. Not anotherword. I watched and waited, till I saw the melancholy processionfade away, and until he became a speck on the horizon. Then, with aheavy heart I turned homewards.
If I had the least doubt about the wonderfulelasticity of the Irish mind, or its talent for adaptation, itwould have been dispelled as I passed again through the village. Ihad no idea I was so popular, or that my little labors were sowarmly appreciated. "Well, thank God, we have himself whatever."
Gentle reader, "himself" and "herself" are twopronouns, that in our village idioms mean the master and mistressof the situation, beyond whom there is no appeal. "Wisha, the Lordspare him to us. God help us, if he wint." "The heads of ourChurch, God spare them long! Wisha, your reverence might have acopper about you to help a poor lone widow?"
I must say this subtle flattery did not raise mydrooped spirits. I went home, sat down by my little table, and gavemyself up to gloomy reflections.
It must have been eight o'clock, or more, for thetwilight had come down, and my books and little pictures werelooking misty, when a rat-tat-tat rang at the door. I didn't hearthe car, for the road was muddy, I suppose; but I straightenedmyself up in my arm-chair, and drew my breviary towards me. I hadread my Matins and Lauds for the following day, before dinner; Ialways do, to keep up the old tradition amongst the Irish priests;but I read somewhere that it is always a good thing to edify peoplewho come to see you. And I didn't want any one to suspect that Ihad been for a few minutes asleep. In a moment, Hannah, my oldhousekeeper, came in. She held a tiny piece of card between herfingers, which were carefully covered with her check apron, lestshe should soil it. I took it – while I asked – "Who is it?" "Idon't know, your reverence." "Is 't a priest?" "No, but I thinkhe's a gintleman," she whispered. "He talks like the people up atthe great house."
She got a candle, and I read: –
Rev. Edward Letheby, B. A., C. C. "'Tis the newcurate," I said. "Oyeh," said Hannah, whose dread and admirationfor the "strange gintleman" evaporated, when she found he was amere curate.
I went out and welcomed with what warmth I could mynew coöperator. It was too dark for me to see what manner of man hewas; but I came to some rapid conclusions from the way he spoke. Hebit off his words, as riflemen bite their cartridges, he chiselledevery consonant, and gave full free scope to every vowel. This wasall the accent he had, an accent of precision and determination andformalism, that struck like a knell, clear and piercing on myheart. "I took the liberty of calling, Sir," he said, "and I hopeyou will excuse my troubling you at such an unseasonable hour; butI am utterly unacquainted with the locality, and I should bethankful to you if you would refer me to a hotel." "There's but onehotel in the village," I replied slowly. "It has also the advantageof being the post-office, and the additional advantage of being anemporium for all sorts of merchandise, from a packet of pins toReckitt's blue, and from pigs' crubeens to the best Limerickflitches. There's a conglomeration of smells," I continued, "thatwould shame the City on the Bosphorus; and there are some nicevisitors there now in the shape of two Amazons who are going togive selections from 'Maritana' in the school-house this evening;and a drunken acrobat, the leavings of the last circus." "Goodheavens," he said under his breath.
I think I astonished him, as I was determined to do.Then I relented, as I had the victory. "If, however," said I, "youcould be content with the humble accommodation and poor fare thatthis poor presbytery affords, I shall be delighted to have you asmy guest, until you can secure your own little domicile." "I thankyou very much, Sir," said he, "you are extremely kind. Would youpardon me a moment, whilst I dismiss the driver and bring in myportmanteau?"
He was a little humbled and I was softened. But Iwas determined to maintain my dignity.
He followed me into the parlor, where the lamp wasnow lighting, and I had a good opportunity of observing him. Ialways sit with my back to the light, which has the doubleadvantage of obscuring my own features and lighting up the featuresof those whom I am addressing. He sat opposite me, straight as anarrow. One hand was gloved; he was toying gently with the otherglove. But he was a fine fellow. Fairly tall, square shouldered,not a bit stout, but clean cut from head to spur, I thought Ishould not like to meet him in a wrestling bout, or try a collisionover a football. He had a mass of black hair, glossy and curled,and parted at the left side. Large, blue-black luminous eyes, thatlooked you squarely in the face, were hardly as expressive as aclear mouth that now in repose seemed too quiet even for breathing.He was dressed ad – – . Pardon me, dear reader, I have hadto brush up my classics, and Horace is like a spring eruption.There was not a line of white visible above his black co