 | CHAPTER IV.
HOW FATHER TOM AND HIS HOLINESS DISPUTED IN
METAPHYSICS AND ALGEBRA. Father Tom and the pope, or, A night in the Vatican |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
HOW FATHER TOM AND HIS HOLINESS DISPUTED IN
METAPHYSICS AND ALGEBRA.
God be wid the time when I went to the classical
seminary of Firdramore! when I'd bring my sod
o'turf undher my arm, and sit down on my shnug
boss o'straw, wid my back to the masther and my
shins to the fire, and score my sum in Dives's denominations
or the double rule o'three, or play fox-and-geese
wid purty Jane Cruise that sat next me,
as plisantly as the day was long, widout anyone so
much as saying “Mikey Heffernan, what's that
lodge wid poor ould Mat I had my own way in his
school as free as ever I had in my mother's shebeen.
God be wid them days, I say again, for it's althered
times wid me, I judge, since I got under Carlisle
and Whately. Sich sthrictness! sich ordher! sich
dhrilling, and lecthiring, and tuthoring as they do
get on wid! I wisht to gracious the one half ov
their rules and rigilations was sunk in the say.
And they're getting so sthrict, too, about having
fair play for the heretic childher! We've to have
no more schools in the chapels, nor masses in the
schools. Oh, by this and by that it'll never do at
all! The ould plan was twenty times betther; and,
for my own part, if it wasn't that the clargy supports
them in a manner, and the grant's a thing not
easily done widout these hard times, I'd see if I
couldn't get a sheltered spot nigh-hand the chapel,
and set up again on the good ould principle: and
faix, I think our Metropolitan 'ud stand to me, for
I know that his Grace's motto was ever and always,
that “Ignorance is the thrue mother of piety.”
But I'm running away from my norration entirely,
so I am. “You'll plase to ordher up the housekeeper,
then,” says Father Tom to the Pope, “wid
a pint ov sweet milk in a skillet, and the bulk ov
in a saucer, and I'll show you the way ov producing
a decoction that, I'll be bound, will hunt the
thirst out ov every nook and corner in your Holiness's
blessed carcidge.”
The Pope ordhered up the ingredients, and they
were brought in by the head butler.
“That'll not do at all,” says his Riv'rence,
“the ingredients won't combine in due proportion
unless ye do as I bid yez. Send up the housekeeper,”
says he, “for a faymale hand is ondispinsably
necessary to produce the adaptation ov
the particles and the concurrence ov the corpuscles,
widout which you might boil till morning, and
never fetch the cruds off ov it.”
Well, the Pope whispered to his head butler,
and by-and-by up there comes an ould faggot ov a
Caillean, that was enough to frighten a horse from
his oats.
“Don't thry for to desave me,” says his Riv'rence,
“for it's no use, I tell yez. Send up the
housekeeper, I bid yez: I seen her presarving
gooseberries in the panthry as I came up: she has
eyes as black as a sloe,” says he, “and cheeks like
the rose in June; and sorra taste ov this celestial
mixthir shall crass the lips of man or mortial this
delicate little finger.”
“Misther Maguire,” says the Pope, “it's very
unproper ov you to spake that way ov my housekeeper:
I won't allow it, sir.”
“Honor bright, your Holiness,” says his Riv'rence,
laying his hand on his heart.
“Oh, by this and by that, Misther Maguire,”
says the Pope, “I'll have none ov your insinivations:
I don't care who sees my whole household,”
says he; “I don't care if all the faymales undher
my roof was paraded down the High Street ov
Room,” says he.
“Oh, it's plain to be seen how little you care
who sees them,” says his Riv'rence. “You're
afeared, now, if I was to see your housekeper,
that I'd say she was too handsome.”
“No, I'm not!” says the Pope; “I don't care
who sees her,” says he. “Anthony,” says he to
the head butler, “bid Eliza throw her apron over
her head, and come up here.” Wasn't that stout
in the blessed man? Well, my dear, up she
came, stepping like a three-year-old, and blushing
like the brake o' day: for though her apron
was thrown over her head as she came forrid,
till you could barely see the tip ov her chin—
as I've been tould—yet she let it shlip a bit
to one side, by chance like, jist as she got forninst
the fire, and if she would'nt have given his
Riv'rence a shot, if he had'nt been a priest, it's no
matther.
“Now, my dear,” says he, “you must take that
skillet, and hould it over the fire till the milk
comes to a blood-hate; and the way you'll know
that will be by stirring it ons't or twice wid the
little finger ov your right hand, afore you put in
the butther: not that I misdoubt,” says he, “but
that the same finger's fairer nor the whitest milk
that ever came from the tit.”
“None ov your deludhering talk to the young
woman, sir,” says the Pope, mighty stren. “Stir
the posset as he bids you, Eliza, and then be off
wid yourself,” says he.
“I beg your Holiness's pardon ten thousand
times,” says his Riv'rence; “I'm sure I meant
nothing onproper; I hope I'm uncapable ov any
sich dereliction ov my duty,” says he. “But,
marciful Saver!” he cried out, jumping up on a
suddent, “look behind you, your Holiness—I'm
blest but the room's on fire!”
Sure enough the candle fell down that minit, and
there was some bustle, as you may suppose, getting
things put to rights. And now I have to tell you
ov a raaly onpleasant occurrence. If it was a Prodesan
that was in it, I'd say that while the Pope's
back was turned, Father Tom made free wid the
two lips ov Miss Eliza; but, upon my conscience, I
believe it was a mere mistake that his Holiness fell
into on account of his being an ould man, and not
having aither his eyesight or his hearing very
parfect. At any rate it can't be denied but that he
had a sthrong imprission that sich was the case; for
he wheeled about as quick as thought, jist as his
Riv'rence was sitting down, and charged him wid
the offince plain and plump. “Is it kissing my
housekeeper before my face you are, you villain?”
says he. “Go down out o' this,” says he to Miss
Eliza; “and do you be packing off wid you,” he
says to Father Tom, “for it's not safe, so it isn't,
to have the likes ov you in a house where there's
temptation in your way.”
“Is it me?” says his Riv'rence; “why, what
would your Holiness be at, at all? Sure I wasn't
doing no sich thing.”
“Would you have me doubt the evidence ov
my sinses?” says the Pope; “would you have me
he.
Indeed I would so,” says his Riv'rence, “if they
pretind to have informed your Holiness of any sich
foolishness.”
“Why,” says the Pope; “I seen you afther kissing
Eliza as plain as I see the nose on your face;
I heard the smack you gave her as plain as ever I
heard thundher.”
“And how do you know whether you see the nose
on my face or not?” says his Riv'rence; “and how
do you know whether what you thought was thundher,
was thundher at all? Them operations of the
sinses,” says he, “comprises only particular corporayal
emotions, connected wid sartin confused
perciptions called sinsations, and isn't to be depended
upon at all. If we were to follow them blind
guides, we might jist as well turn heretics at ons't.
'Pon my secret word, your Holiness, it's naither
charitable nor orthodox ov you to set up the testimony
ov your eyes and ears agin the character ov
a clergyman. And now, see how aisy it is to explain
all them phwenomena that perplexed you.
I ris and went over beside the young woman because
the skillet was boiling over, to help her
to save the dhrop ov liquor that was in it; and
neither more nor less nor myself dhrawing the cork
out ov this blessed bottle.”
“Don't offer to thrape that upon me!” says
the Pope; “here's the cork in the bottle still, as
tight as a wedge.”
“I beg your pardon,” says his Riv'rence,
“that's not the cork at all,” says he; “I dhrew
the cork a good two minits ago, and it's very
purtily spitted on the end of this blessed corkshcrew
at this prisint moment; howandiver you
can't see it, because it's only its raal prisence that's
in it. But that appearance that you call a cork,”
says he, “is nothing but the outward spacies and
external qualities of the cortical nathur. Them's
nothing but the accidents ov the cork that you're
looking at and handling; but, as I tould you
afore, the real cork's dhrew, and is here prisint on
the end ov this nate little insthrument, and it was
the noise I made in dhrawing it, and nothing else,
that you mistook for the sound ov the pogue.”
You know there was no conthravening what he
said; and the Pope couldn't openly deny it.
Howandiver he thried to pick a hole in it this
way. “Granting,” says he, “that there is the differ
you say betuxt the reality ov the cork and them
you allidge, that the thrue cork is really prisint
on the end of the shcrew, while the accidents
keep the mouth of the bottle stopped—still,”
says he, “I can't undherstand, though willing to
acquit you, how the dhrawing of the real cork,
that's onpalpable and widout accidents, could produce
the accident ov that sinsible explosion I
heard jist now.”
“All I can say,” says his Riv'rence, “is, that
I'm sinsible it was a raal accident, anyhow.”
“Ay,” says the Pope, “the kiss you gev Eliza,
you mane.”
“No,” says his Riv'rence, “but the report I
made.”
“I don't doubt you,” says the Pope.
“No cork could be dhrew with less noise,” says
his Riv'rence.
“It would be hard for anything to be less nor
nothing, barring algebra,” says the Pope.
“I can prove to the conthrary,” says his Riv'rence.
“This glass ov whiskey is less nor that
tumbler ov punch, and that tumbler ov punch is
nothing to this jug ov scaltheen.”
“Do you judge by superficial misure or by the
liquid contents?” says the Pope.
“Don't stop me betuxt my premisses and my
conclusion,” says his Riv'rence; “Ergo, this glass
ov whiskey is less nor nothing; and for that raison
I see no harm in life in adding it to the contents ov
the same jug, just by way ov a frost-nail.”
“Adding what's less nor nothing,” says the
Pope, “is subthraction according to algebra; so
here goes to make the rule good,” says he, filling his
tumbler wid the blessed stuff, and sitting down
again at the table, for the anger didn't stay two
minits on him, the good-hearted ould sowl.
“Two minuses makes one plus,” says his Riv'rence,
as ready as you plase, “and that'll account
for the increased daycrement I mane to take the
liberty ov producing in the same mixed quantity,”
says he, follying his Holiness's epistolical example.
“By all that's good,” says the Pope, “that's
the best stuff I ever tasted; you call it a mixed
quantity, but I say it's prime.”
“Since it's ov the first ordher, then,” says his
Riv'rence, “we'll have the less deffeequilty in reducing
it to a simple equation.”
“You'll have no fractions at my side, anyhow,”
says the Pope. “Faix, I'm afeard,” says he, “it's
only too aisy ov solution our sum is like to be.”
“Never fear for that,” says his Riv'rence, “I've
you it will take us a long time to exthract the root
ov it, at the rate we're going on.”
“What makes you call the blessed quart an irrational
quantity?” says the Pope.
“Becase it's too much for one, and too little for
two,” says his Riv'rence.
“Clear it ov its co-efficient, and we'll thry,” says
the Pope.
“Hand me over the exponent, then,” says his
Riv'rence.
“What's that?” says the Pope.
“The shcrew, to be sure,” says his Riv'rence.
“What for?” says the Pope.
“To dhraw the cork,” says his Riv'rence.
“Sure the cork's dhrew,” says the Pope.
“But the sperits can't get out on account of the
accidents that's stuck in the neck ov the bottle,”
says his Riv'rence.
“Accident ought to be passable to sperit,” says
the Pope, “and that makes me suspect that the
reality ov the cork's in it afther all.”
“That's a barony-masia,” says his Riv'rence,
“and I'm not bound to answer it. But the fact is,
that it's the accidents ov the sperits too that's in it,
and the reality's passed out through the cortical
we've both been in raal good sperits ever since the
cork was dhrawn, and where else would the raal
sperits come from if they wouldn't come out ov the
bottle?”
“Well, then,” says the Pope, “since we've got
the reality, there's no use throubling ourselves wid
the accidents.”
“Oh, begad,” says his Riv'rence, “the accidents
is very essential too; for a man may be in
the best of good sperits, as far as his immaterial
part goes, and yet need the accidental qualities ov
good liquor to hunt the sinsible thrist out ov him.”
So he dhraws the cork in earnest, and sets about
brewing the other skillet ov scaltheen; but, faix,
he had to get up the ingredients this time by the
hands ov ould Molly; though devil a taste ov her
little finger he'd let widin a yard ov the same decoction.
But, my dear, here's the Freeman's Journal, and
we'll see what's the news afore we finish the residuary
proceedings ov their two Holinesses.
| CHAPTER IV.
HOW FATHER TOM AND HIS HOLINESS DISPUTED IN
METAPHYSICS AND ALGEBRA. Father Tom and the pope, or, A night in the Vatican | |