The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [193]
“You’re missing the point,” groaned Danby, throwing up his hands in mock despair while the others watched him with amusement (old Danby was off again!). “The point is democracy, plain and simple. Only a few days ago Sinn Fein swept the country in the elections as they did in 1919. For every seat in the Southern Parliament except the four from Trinity they were elected without opposition. Look, sir, I’d even go as far as to say that if the majority of the people actually want to be governed by murderers (though I don’t agree that they are for a minute) rather than by us British then they have a perfect right...after all, it’s their business. I mean, have you even read Rousseau’s Le Contrat social? The fact is that in 1919 the Irish people elected the people they presumably wanted...Why should they elect people they didn’t want? The result was that Sinn Fein won seventy-three seats and the Unionists only won twenty-six...Now if that isn’t a clear expression of the will of the people frankly I don’t know what is!”
“What did they do when they were elected?” demanded Edward, mastering himself with difficulty. “They refused to take their seats in Westminster! Is that responsible behaviour? If they were anything but a worthless bunch of braggarts and corner-boys they’d have gone to do their duty by the people who elected them instead of running around with guns.”
Danby had listened to this outburst, nodding and smil-ing at his plate as if this was exactly what he had expected to hear.
“Very well, then. Why didn’t they go to Westminster? It’s a fair question. Why didn’t they? The answer is because they knew it wouldn’t do any good. What did Parnell ever accomplish? Nothing at all in practical terms. And Redmond? Even less. The point is that the Sinn Feiners knew very well that they could talk themselves blue in the face in the House of Commons without it doing them the least bit of good. They had to make a stand. Now I don’t condone violence, of course, I’m a pacifist...as I think we all are here...” He looked round at the other undergraduates, who nodded their support. “But it can be argued that the source of the violence was not on the Irish side at all. The original and motive violence comes from us British who have been violently repressing them since Cromwell and even before that...”
“Don’t talk such utter bilge, boy!” snapped Edward, a purple flush rising to his cheeks. “I know a murderer when I see one! If you’d lived in Ireland as long as I have you wouldn’t talk such drivel. You talk as if they’re patriots when they’re just a stupid and vicious rabble, out for what they can get!”
“Well, I don’t know that I can altogether agree with you there,” replied Danby with an irritating smile. “Shall we think of a few examples? How about that Lord Mayor of Cork chappie?”
“I know who you mean,” piped Hall-Smith. “The one with the gorgeous name. What was it? MacSwiney...”
“That’s the fellow. Went on hunger-strike and starved himself to death for the cause he believed in. To say that he was out for what he could get is absolute tommy-rot, sir, if you’ll excuse me saying so.”
“A fanatic! His head had been turned by the priests. Bleeding hearts and crucifixes!”
“That sounds suspiciously like bigotry to me, sir,” intervened Maitland, sweetening his impertinence with a dimpled smile.
“Bigotry be damned!” roared Edward in a voice that made the windows rattle. “What’s your name, you ill-mannered pup?”
“Maitland, sir.”
Tight-lipped in an effort to prevent themselves smiling, the undergraduates exchanged covert glances. With a trembling hand Edward reached out for a glass of water and gulped it noisily. Nobody said a word or looked in his direction. Presently he dropped his eyes and seemed surprised to find a plate of roast beef in front of him. Slowly he began to chew it. The meal proceeded in silence except for the chink of plates and cutlery. The blood had drained from Edward’s cheeks. His rasping breath was clearly audible.
Little by little, however,