The Pension

Irish Jesuit Province

The PensionAuthor(s): Owen DolanSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 46, No. 542 (Aug., 1918), pp. 463-468Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20505109 .

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[ 463 J

THE PENSION.

G PlRANi)A was telling the famous story of Lussymore and his tenacious hump. It was a trying ordeal,

because, from constant repetition, his two littte listeners knew it imostly by heart; their memories were better than his, and they resented the slightest deviation from the orthodox tale. In one direction only, full play was allowed to inventioni. In the matter of eatables the imagi

nation nmight run riot as the audience was prepared, nay,

eager for adlditions. As their diet was largfely imaginary, it was a painful subject to Granda, and to-night he sought to dismiss the fairies' banquet with a few airy words.

A' A-a-and the genitles lhad a grand feast with lemonade and gingerbread, and then '

And budder," sulggested two-year-old Fanny. And buitter,' ag,reed the old man. "Well, the

gentles ' And sausages?" enquired Mary, who had a leaning

towards that delicacy. Slhe was five, and her tastes were more solid thanl Fanny's.

' And sausages," said the patient historian. " And treacle?" " And treacle. Well--" But it were vain to pro

ceed, so hie fell in with their mood, and all three continued

to bid delightediv against each other uintil the whole of

their limited nmenui was exhatusted. Then the story went

on. The fairies obligfingly remiioved lIuIssvbeg's hump and

subsequently adled it, in their anger, to Luawtssymore's alreadv

humpve(d back. Wrong was pu1nished and right triumphed, and tlhen," concluded Granda, " I came away."

" And budder," murmured Fanny, irrelevantly. Granda gathered her into his arms, and in the tlhicken

ing gloom her yellow curls shone against his stained old

coat. I thinik I know somebody that's sleepy," he then

annouinced.



464 THE IRISH M1ONTHLY

This was the recognised signial for bed-time, by io imieans iindisputable as a rule; but to-nighlt the chIildren submwittedt and Granida taxed hiis strengthl to carry the unresistinlg, Faniny into the little room:l wlielh lhe shared with thiei, while Mary tr otted after himii, clinging to hiS coat-tails. The trouble withl Fanny was to prevenit lher falling asleep before disroblig. rTjhe nig,ht-god lhad swooped on lher at the miiere suggestion of bed-time, and when lher lbead touchied

the pillow shie was already dreaiminig. Not, lhowever, beifore

shie had m1.1urm11IUred '"treag,le'' in an ecstatic wxiisper. MAfar y

was of an agfe for prayers, and shie was, if aniythiing, too

wakeful. It was Granda's theory to inipress on lhis dis

ciples all the blessings for whliel) they ought to be grateful.

One woLild tlink lhe iPnihlt be taxedl to discover thiese bless

ings, bLtt lhe was ani optimist, and, even whien lhungry,

he recognised good in the most Unsuspected formis. flail, rain or snow hle always conicluded his list with

" And thanik God for a fine day."

'lJo-night Mary demiuilrred. "' Butt it wasni't a fine day.'

Granda gently reproved this carping spirit. I t was

a beautiful day, Mary."

But it rainied a little, tiny, tiniy bit."

i -t was a, beatutifujl day,'' said Grana, fir ly, andr

Mary s irrendered handsomely. A 2nd tlhanlk G(od for a beauttiful day."

It ended in a drowsy sigh, and in a momlent slhe, too,

was asleepl. (1tranda remainied looking down on the brown

cul]s and] thle yellow onies, smi-iiled, and thieni tiptoed witl

unnecessary catution out of the room. lie closed the dooil

gently behind him and nmoved slowly to the chlair near the

fire. lie was still imumlbling to himself as lie sank paill

fully into it.

(G1od bless them ! God bless them !'

God hlelp thenm, you mean !"

Granda's old eyes groped dimly in the gloomii for the

speaker. lie foutnd hiis daughter and son-in-law seated at

the table.

"Whlat do youi mean?" hie asked; but lhe knew well. " God lhelp them, indeed! What's before tlhem? Star

vation," was the bitter answer.



TIlE PENSION. 465

Granda's lhands tremnbled on the wooden arm-is of the

chair. He stared into the red ashi of the fire. 6 How is the fishing to-niglht, Jami-es?'' he aslked at

length. "Nothing." The curtness of dlespair wTas only too wvell known to the

old mian; it was not the fir st time he lad recognised it.

He stared again into the fire, and sighed. Tim-ies are hard; but

5 -

Btut xvhat?'' demnanded lhls daughlter slhrilly, almnost hysterically. 'H ere's winter coming onl, with five mtouths to feed--'' She ptaused, seeing the old nmani winice. Slhe

was half aslhamed of what she hlad said. 13But it was too

late; she lhad said it.

ie repeated the words (dtilly. ' Five mnouths tco feed.

Five m-loniths to feed.'' He limlself, of course, lie tlhought,

was the fiftlh. A hitter comllpaint against fate suirged througlh this gentle creature. Was lhe grudged what he

ate? Strely at sixty-eighlt oIne may counlt a little oni the

ovratitude of others; of otlhers in whose service one lhas been

brokeni. Hle could look hack on sixtv years of the uinre

mittilng laabour of a farmler-fislermanll, toiling on the sea,

toiling on the land, in the cold spray or thlie blinding' sun,

in the meadow, on the patelh of oats, on the b)og: lhe coufld

see himself hauling with frozeni fingers on the long line,

bending with aching shoulders over the oars, or the spade

or the loy, drenched by tuirns with bog water anid witlh salt

water; and lhe wouild still be working willingly and clheer

fuilly but for the stroke that lhad smiitten him eilit weary

years ago. At first lhe lhad patiently waited, confident in

the return of a strengrth that woull(d remnove the voke of

enforced idleness and bitter dependence; wxven hie realised

that tlis strength was never to be hiis again lie lad begrun

to look forward to the timiie when the mneagre old-ag;e pension

wouild restore his independence, woiuld even-for the ag,ed poor live on little-wotuld even conitriibute towards the feed

ing of the chlildren who now added to the number of lhungry

mxouths. They, indeed, made life bearable-even happy, for hiim. There were but two more years to spend in



466 THE IRISII MONTHLY

waitin,;t in tlinkiln. At thlis roflection a slight wave of renewed lhope anid courag,e flowed throuigh his veins.

I'l Il ave imie penision iln two years,"' he said aloud.

Ay,'' said hiis daughter, thioughtlessly. If yotu ever get it.'

' If I ever get it?"

TJjie old mlani ltrchel forward in hiis chair and stared at

her. A sod of tuirf on the hearth crumbled into ashes with a sott ' swish," and the gleam of liglht betrayed the fear in lots eves.

I-f I ever get it?"

Hiere, indeed, was a new thought, startling in its sudden vividness anid unexpectedness. le lhad never before sus pected thAe possibility of not, attaining to hiis paltry happiness, land it struick hillm now like a blow. Another revelation

couplled itself witlh this in hlis mlind. HadI his daug(fhter anid

son-in-law, duttring all these years, been watching the di slark of life in hiis body? HaTd tley, too, winced when it

burnedI low, and hoped wlheni it flickered briglhtly? He wTronLed thlemii, had lhe buit known it, hut lie never spoke. le

rem-tiained looking pathetically from one to the other for a

longc, timiie, and thien tuirned again to the fire. The room was v-er y (lark now, and the d(1111 red aslhes, briglAt with

conltraist, shAowed him very old, very smiiall, and very broken. He stru"(led to hlis feet witlh a long sigh.

I tliink,'' le quavered, and his voice leld a new, wearyv niote. ' I tlink I'll go to bed now."

Thler-e was no word as he staggered ouit of the room.

Hutsband and wife sat listlesslv staring before them. A

stolny despair hliad taken the place of all their emotions, and

they felt no twinge of conscience at the scene they had

witnessed, indeed they were unconscious of having inflicted pain. The nighlit was chilly, but they did not think of

drawing near to the fire; they were unconscious of the cold

too. \t last tlhe young man rose. He had been a silent,.

indifferenit witness of a drama such as comes buit once in

a life, hut he (lid not know it. Iife had only one problem for himl, the problenm of food.

4I T'm1 going out," he sa,id abruptly. He did not wait

for an answer: indeed, his wife made no sign of having



THE PENSION. 467

heard himi, and without anotlher spoken word the door closed

behindcl Iiiun. It was late, almost dawn, wlhen lie retuirnedl. What

imnpullse lie hiad obeyed in going out he did not know. Bow

far lhe lhad walked lie did not knlow, but it was very far; and

lhe had found himnself at lhome very weary and mnlud-stained and almiiost unconscious of hlis surroundings. He sat dowin in the wooden arml-clhair before the dead ashes of the fire

and fell asleep. Whlen dawn hiad briglhtenied inlto autumInil daylight the

two clhildren in thte, next rooImI awoke simultaneously. To

be a-wake was, with tlhemtl, to be wide-eyed and the daily

rouitine began in a mnomrent. Regardless of the cold and

their airy garments they climy-bed oult of bed and crossed the

room to wlhere Granda slept in the " settle." With mnucli

exertion anid pLlffing Fanny climnbed on to the old mican's kniees.

(iranda,'' began Mary, "' tell. us the story of Lussy

miore anid the gentles.'" d bu urdder,' gurgled Fanniy, whose kinowledg,e of

anecdote and vocabuilary were equally linmited. 13But there was no answer. The famous historian lay on

his back nmotionless, his face was strangely yellow and the

fleslh seemied to be stretelded across his cheek bones. But lie was awake, clearly, because his eyes were open and lie

was staring at the rafters.

(randa," insisted Mary. Slie pulled hiis hand to

waken hliml, but it felt limnp and cold so that she let it go

and hiis arm fell witlh a soft thud against the wooden side of

the settle. The children began to whimper. Fanny

clirnbed off the bed and ran to the other side of the room-,

and AMary backed away from the silent figure, keeping her

eves on the shrunkein arrm which hung limply from his

shioul(ler. Suiddenlv slhe screamed.

The miian in the next roonm woke and listened. Bie heard

Mary scream again, got up) and opened the door. The two

children were sobbing in a corner. " What's the matter? Get into bed. 'Twill waken

Granda." As he spoke he looked over at the old man,

started, and walked slowly across the room. One look told



468 THE IRISH MONTHLY

him all there was to be kniowni. In a flaslh hie realised what

hiad brouiglht on the stroke wlichl lhad fallen in the niglht. IHe thouiglht of the part lhe lhad unconsciou-isly takeni in it,

of the 1)art his wife lhad taken, and of the wild awld bitter

repentance wlich would follow. He drew the bedclothes uip over the stark face and turned to the chlildren.

Take your clotloes and go iinside," lie said quietly,

and take care not to waken youir nmoth-ter."

He stood looking at thenm as Mary gatlhered together

their few garnments and led Fanny away. Their fascinated

eyes kept retnrlring to the object from wlhichl hie was trying to shield them. When the door closed belhind them the

man tuirned andl knelt beside the bed. Niglht had taken

away onie hullngry mouth from that poor house.

OWEN 1)OLAN.

FRANCIS THOMPSON: MYSTIC.

13, T. J. 1HEwn.

(Continluedl).

There are not wanting critics wl]o (leny the imyvstiesme of Thompson's poetry. They say lhe is mlore poet than

mystic. They likeni him to a, restless childl at play. The

glamoour of a tlhouiglht attracts lim; he grasps it eagerly

and dallies rounid it, weaving webs of mlystic fancv till he

tires. Then ainotler thloughc}lt attr-acts hliim, and ihe turnls after it, eager a1s a childl clhasing butterflies. They say

he wants the breathless rush of imagery, of half-veiled, half-expressed raptuire. TIis mysticisnm is hut the garment of hiis poetry, not its soul.

The case suelh critics miiake acgainst Tlhonmison is

strong: so strong that it wotuld( he fruiitless to attempt to deny the clharge absolutely. The truthi is, I think, Tlhomp son's position lies about midway betweein the two extremes.

He is inot completely a yvstic; lhe is not completely a



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The Pension