Liam O'Flaherty - Land

“We are all evil,” said Raoul, “judged by the standard of perfection.”

“You have a glib tongue,” said the priest. “That’s why you are so dangerous.”

“I beg of you to hear me,” said Raoul.

“Go away,” the priest shouted. “I have my soul to save.”

Raoul sighed and folded his arms on his chest. There was silence for a long time.

“Are you gone?” the priest called out from within.

Raoul smiled and then walked on tip-toe to one side. He put his fingers to his beard and waited. The priest came out of the hut after a little while and looked all round. Seeing Raoul, he became very angry.

“So you are still here,” he cried. “Didn’t I tell you to go?”

He approached Raoul aggressively. He was in his shirt-sleeves and his trousers were tied at the waist by a piece of rough string. He had got very haggard during the past weeks. There was hardly a scrap of flesh on his dark face.

“I insist on speaking to you, face to face,” Raoul said firmly. You must be patient with me. You know very well that I wouldn’t insult your privacy in this brutal way without good reason.”

“Very well, then,” the priest said, coming abruptly to a halt. “Say what you have to say quickly.”

“First of all,” said Raoul, “allow me to apologise for causing you pain.”

“You are shameless,” said the priest in disgust. “You drive a poor sinner to his death and then you apologise.”

“I’m not apologising for driving him to his death,” said Raoul.

“For what then?” said the priest.

“For not explaining to you why I acted as I did,” said Raoul. “You see, I thought you and I understood one another that day we shook hands in my study.”

“I didn’t understand you that day,” said the priest. “I do now. I know now what sort of man you are.”

“Indeed!” said Raoul, beginning to get heated. “What sort of a man am I?”

“You’d destroy the whole of humanity for the sake of proving a theory correct,” said the priest. “In other words, you are completely inhuman. The only really strong impulse in you is curiosity. Nowadays, it is fashionable to call that kind of curiosity intellectual speculation. Innumerable crimes are committed in its name. To me, though, it is no less contemptible than the curiosity of a village woman, who peeps through a crack in a door at something scandalous. The worst evil of all is inhumanity, to do wicked things in cold blood, to have no sympathy with sinners or with those who suffer.”

“You do me an injustice,” said Raoul. “I’m not in the habit of defending myself. That I do so now is because it is not I who am accused. You are really denouncing the right of the people to sit in judgment on those who sin against them.”

“You are playing with words as usual,” said the priest.

“I assume full responsibility for Bodkin’s death,” said Raoul. “I knew he would kill himself if you were removed from his house. Indeed, I got worried when the days passed and he delayed taking the final and inevitable step.”

“That is a monstrous admission,” said Father Francis.

“I deny that,” said Raoul. “When a nation is conquered it loses the right to administer justice over its territory. The conqueror alone imposes his will by force. Therefore, there is no justice. Why? Justice is the discipline necessary for maintaining the nation’s moral and racial health. The conqueror, on the other hand, uses it simply as a means of debasing the moral and physical condition of the enslaved nation.”

“What are you driving at?” said the priest irritably. “I asked you to be quick. Stop beating about the bush.”

“An enslaved nation is forced to find means other than the traditional ones,” said Raoul, “for imposing its will on defaulters.”

“I see,” said the priest. “You are trying to put me in a false position. I don’t object to punishment. It is to torture I object.”

“All punishment is torture,” said Raoul, “unless it is imposed in a moment of passion. Legal punishment is always deliberate and in cold blood.”

“Punishment becomes torture,” shouted the priest, “only when it gives pleasure to those who impose it.”

“So you really believe that the manner of Bodkin’s death gave me pleasure,” said Raoul.

“I do,” said the priest. “What was the favour you came to ask?”

Raoul remained silent for some time, looking at the ground.

“My daughter is getting married,” he said at length, “and wishes to become a Catholic. I came to ask your help in preparing her reception into the Church.”

“Who is the man?” said the priest suspiciously.

“Michael O’Dwyer,” said Raoul. “I hoped you would honour me by staying at Manister Lodge as my guest, while instructing Lettice in Catholic dogma.”

“That’s not really why you came,” said the priest.

The two men now looked one another straight between the eyes. Then Raoul sighed, shrugged his shoulders and began to walk away. Father Francis barred his advance.

“Now that you are here,” said the priest angrily, “I insist that you tell me the real reason for your coming.”

“Let me pass,” said Raoul. “The truth would only make you more unhappy.”

“I insist,” said the priest.

“Very well,” said Raoul. “The people stoned my servant today in the village because of Bodkin’s suicide and your eviction from your quarters in the tavern. When my daughter and Michael announced …”

“You want to use me as a shield,” said Father Francis.

“It was a shabby thing to do,” said Raoul.

“Say no more,” said Father Francis, stepping aside. “Go your way.”

Raoul bowed and then walked away briskly. The priest stood motionless for a while, with his back to Raoul. Then he suddenly uttered a loud cry and turned round. Raoul halted. He also turned.

“Forgive me,” cried Father Francis as he came running with outstretched arms. “Forgive my rudeness.”

“My dear friend,” said Raoul, also stretching out his hands and speaking with deep emotion, “it is I who beg forgiveness.”

“No, no,” cried Father Francis, as they clasped hands. “It is I who have been unjust and poor in spirit.”

He kissed Raoul’s hand with reverence. Then the two men put their hands on each other’s shoulders and smiled happily.

“This is a great moment,” Raoul said.

“I’ll gladly come to live at your house,” said Father Francis.

“From now on,” cried Raoul exultantly, ‘I’m certain that we’re going to understand one another.”

“I was jealous of you,” Father Francis said. “I got jealous when O’Dwyer began to be influenced by you. I have been sulking in my tent ever since, finding fault with everything you did.”

“From now on,” said Raoul, “you are going to be a tower of strength to me.”

“Come into the house,” Father Francis said, “while I put my things together. Then I’ll come with you.”

He took Raoul by the arm and they walked towards the hut.

“I have a stool for you to sit on,” the priest continued, looking towards Raoul as he walked, “and there is a cup of milk that a neighbour woman gave me this morning. Oh! The people are very kind to me. They come from far away with presents for me. I feel ashamed of myself for taking half the things they bring. All I have to give them in return is my blessing. What good is the blessing of a terrible sinner like myself? Oh! Indeed, I’m a terrible sinner for having deserted the people at a time like this. From now on, though, I’m going to do my share, shoulder to shoulder with Michael and yourself. I’ll not be mean or whinging any more. Stoop down now and enter, in God’s name. It’s dark inside, but I have a small piece of candle that I’ll light for you.”