The Hard Life Read Online Free Page A

to Stephen’s Green. Oh, I’m up to ye saints. Well up to ye. Do you not think that women have enough suffering, as you call it, bringing babbies into the world? And why do they do that? Is it because they’re mad to sanctify themselves? Well faith no! It’s because the husband is one great torch ablaze with the fires of lust!
    –Collopy, please, Father Fahrt said in mild remonstrance. That attitude is quite wrong. Procreation is the right of a married man. Indeed it is his duty for the greater glory of God. It is a duty enjoined by the sacrament of marriage.
    –Oh is that so, Mr Collopy said loudly, is that so indeed. To bring unfortunate new bosthoons into this vale of tears for more of this suffering of yours, ah? Another woman maybe. Sweet Lord!
    –Now, now, Collopy.
    –Tell me this, Father. Would you say it’s natural for a woman to have children?
    –Provided she is married in a union blessed by the Church—yes. Most natural and most desirable. It is a holy thing to raise children to the greater glory of God. Your catechism will tell you that. The celibate and priestly state is the holiest of all but the station of the married man is not ignoble. And of course the modest married woman is the handmaid of the Lord.
    –Very good, Mr Collopy said warmly. Then tell me this. Is the other business natural?
    –Certainly. Our bodies are sacred temples. It is a function.
    –Very well. What name have you for the dirty ignoramuses who more or less ban that function?
    –It is, ah, thoughtlessness, Father Fahrt said in his mildest voice. Perhaps if a strong hint were dropped …
    – If a hint were dropped , Mr Collopy exploded. If a hint were dropped! Well the dear knows I think you are trying to destroy my temper, Father, and put me out of my wits and make an unfortunate shaughraun out of me. If a hint were dropped, my hat and parsley! Right well you know that I have the trotters wore off me going up the stairs of that filthy Corporation begging them, telling them, ordering them to do something. I have shown you copies of the letters I have sent to that booby the Lord Mayor. That’s one man that knows all about chains, anyhow. What result have I got? Nothing at all but abuse from cornerboys and jacks in office.
    –Has it ever entered your head, Collopy, that perhaps you are not the most tactful of men?
    –Tact, is it? Is that the latest? Give me your glass.
    Another pause for decantation and recollection.
    –What I would like to do, Mr Collopy said sententiously, is write and publish a long storybook about your theories in favour of suffering. Damn the thing you know about suffering yourself. Only people of no experience have theories. Of course you are only spewing out what you were taught in the holy schools. ‘By the sweat of thy brow shalt thou mourn.’ Oh the grand old Catholic Church has always had great praise for sufferers.
    –That phrase you quoted was inaccurate, Collopy.
    –Well, am I supposed to be a deacon or a Bible scholar or what? You won’t find Quakers or swaddlers coming out with any of this guff about suffering. They treat their employees right, they have proper accommodation for them, they know how to make plenty of money honestly and they are as holy—every man-jack of them—as any blooming Jesuit or the Pope of Rome himself.
    –Let us leave the Holy Father out of this dispute, whatever about humble members of my Society, Father Fahrt said piously.
    Suddenly he scratched himself earnestly.
    –Did I hear you right when you said ‘humble’, Father? An humble Jesuit would be like a dog without a tail or a woman without a knickers on her. Did you ever hear tell of the Spanish Inquisition?
    –I did of course, Father Fahrt said unperturbed. The faith was in danger in Spain. If a bad wind will blow out your candle, you will protect your candle with the shade of your hand. Or perhaps some sort of cardboard shield.
    –Cardboard shield? Mr Collopy echoed scornfully. Well, damn the cardboard