Chapter 61
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Fair and Square (3)
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In politics, it’s not always possible for everyone to share the same opinion.
If the differences are irreconcilable, one might have to join another party. But if circumstances don’t allow for that, different opinions are forced to coexist within the same party.
O'Connell's Repeal Association didn't seem to have reached that point yet, but the signs were beginning to show.
“William Smith O'Brien is one of the leaders of a faction within our party called Young Ireland. As you seem to be aware, the Young Ireland faction is a gathering of those who think a little differently than I do.”
“I have heard there are many who claim your methods are not particularly efficient, Mr. O’Connell.”
“That is because I am of the mind that violence should never be used, under any circumstances. It seems there are young men who find this a bit frustrating.”
The Young Ireland faction was, quite literally, a group composed of young, passionate Irish nationalists.
In the original history, this group became active a few years later than now, but it seemed their emergence had been hastened by O’Connell's rapid rise.
“But considering the results you’ve achieved, Mr. O’Connell, I doubt anyone could dare criticize your methods as inefficient.”
“Of course, they wouldn't say such things to my face. But now that our power has grown, it’s inevitable that some would suggest we should push more actively, a bit more aggressively. Young men are always full of vigor, are they not?”
“To me, it looks like nothing more than childish whining. Are there many within the party who sympathize with them?”
“No. If there were, I wouldn't be standing by like this. Besides the O’Brien you just mentioned, perhaps John Mitchel or Osborn Davis? O’Brien is the one who most actively advocates for the use of violent means, but he doesn't have much support.”
I could understand why O’Connell wasn’t taking direct action.
Had their faction been large enough to cause a rift in the party, it would be a different story. But if O’Brien’s opinion was a minority view even within the Young Ireland faction, O’Connell must have judged it unnecessary to step in and suppress it.
When a group grows larger, all sorts of voices are bound to emerge from within.
Knowing O'Connell's character, he likely decided it wouldn't look good for the party leader to personally crush such minor dissents.
“Still, O’Brien is a Member of the House of Commons, is he not? Even if he lacks support, openly challenging your methods seems a bit seditious.”
“Of course, the idea of using violence is not even worth discussing, but the rest is not without room for debate, so I have been contemplating it myself. Unlike me, who believes we must focus on English education, the young ones insist we should cast English aside and learn only Irish… These are matters to be resolved through discussion; I cannot simply push my own opinion as the only right one.”
“I understand, as language and nationalism are inextricably linked.”
It was true that O’Connell’s argument—that one must be able to speak English, the language of Britain, at a high level while advocating for independence—was somewhat incongruous.
Of course, O’Connell’s reasoning was rational.
English was set to become a global common language, and mastering it would be an immense competitive advantage, so it shouldn't be shunned.
Conversely, the young Irish nationalists believed that learning English would lead to neglecting the Irish language, which would in turn weaken Irish national identity.
On this point, at least, both sides had valid arguments, so it wasn't a matter where one side's opinion could be forced upon the other.
O'Brien was simply one of the more extreme voices among those who challenged O'Connell's policies.
“But why bring this up all of a sudden? I don’t see how this is related to the Whig Party’s attempts to attack me.”
“That’s what I need to start digging into now. Thanks to you, Mr. O’Connell, I think I have a lead.”
“Is that so? Then I am glad.”
“But to get the full story, I’ll need to hear it from the man himself. And common sense dictates he’s not going to tell me anything, is he?”
To the Young Ireland faction, which criticized even the moderate O’Connell, I was likely seen as nothing less than a traitor obstructing Irish independence.
A calm assessment of who was more beneficial to Ireland would provide a clear answer, but extremists are not known for such considerations.
Of course, these young men might not be that far gone, but one thing was certain: they would not be friendly toward me.
“Should I try to arrange a meeting when the opportunity arises?”
“No. If you did, the Whigs would find out I’m meeting with O’Brien. And if the conversation doesn't go well, he might tell them everything. So, I will handle the contact myself. However, to do it without anyone knowing, I may have to resort to certain methods, so I ask for your understanding on that point.”
“I say this just in case, but you’re not planning to harm him, are you?”
“Of course not.”
A civilized man such as myself would never resort to physically striking or killing a Member of the House of Commons.
I would merely instill a tiny bit of fear that, if things went south, such an outcome might be possible.
If there was one thing I agreed with from the Young Ireland faction, it was their assertion that violence should be used when necessary.
However, having said that, I trust they are prepared to be on the receiving end of it themselves.
And if they aren't? Then they can thank me for the valuable experience they are about to have.
***
London, July 1837.
About three weeks had passed since the death of the former king, William IV.
The funeral was held as scheduled in a solemn atmosphere at St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle.
In accordance with the custom that the reigning monarch does not attend the predecessor's funeral, Victoria did not make an appearance.
The absence of the current monarch from the former's funeral was meant to emphasize the end of one era and the beginning of a new one.
Instead, the late king’s younger brother, the Duke of Sussex, represented the Queen, leading the funeral procession directly behind the coffin.
The chapel was filled with prominent figures from all walks of life, as well as all the members of the House of Lords and the House of Commons. The Archbishop of Canterbury delivered the eulogy.
“...Thus, the late king dedicated his entire life to his country, bringing progress to this nation through various social reforms. We pray that His Majesty King William IV finds eternal rest by the Lord’s side, and for the future of our newly crowned Queen…”
As the choir followed the eulogy with a hymn, William Smith O'Brien couldn't suppress a bitter smile.
What a comedy this was.
The king of this country had died, so why did he and all the other Irish representatives have to be here, acting out a play of sorrow?
Of course, when the king of a neighboring country dies, it is proper to send a representative to offer condolences.
But that was one thing. For every single member to troop over to Windsor Castle and attend the funeral was still hard to accept.
Ireland is now part of Britain, so the members of the House of Commons must fulfill their duties?
That was nothing but the logic of an oppressor.
Anyone who truly cared for the future of Ireland should have at least raised an objection, but the reality was that most simply resigned themselves to it, believing it couldn't be helped.
‘Just as I thought. O’Connell’s methods have their limits.’
Some said he was hostile toward Daniel O'Connell, but that was utter nonsense.
O'Connell was a great politician who deserved everyone's respect. There was not a shred of falsehood in this sentiment.
He simply believed that now that Ireland had gained more power and had the opportunity to expand its influence, it was time for a change in policy.
Otherwise, there was no guarantee that opportunists who ride the tide, like that detestable Earl of Arran, Killian Gore, wouldn't emerge.
‘That trash, a traitor to his own people. The day Ireland gains its independence, I will see to it that his neck is the first to be hanged.’
O’Brien, maintaining his composure as best he could, glanced at Killian’s despicable face as he stood near the Tory members, eyes closed in prayer.
To be honest, he disliked the English, but the one he loathed most was that man.
A bastard with Irish blood who lived as Britain's most faithful lapdog.
If he had just lived that way on his own, O’Brien wouldn’t have cared, but the biggest problem was the influence the man had on Ireland.
Northern Ireland was already the Earl of Arran’s fiefdom, and even in the central and southern regions, the number of people who admired him was growing.
To top it all off, his aunt, Cecilia Underwood, had recently received a title from the Queen and officially joined the royal family.
The people of Ireland were beginning to see this as proof that even an Irish person could succeed in Britain.
Dangerous. This was an incredibly dangerous trend.
‘I have no choice but to accept their offer.’
To return this maddening country to its proper state, there was no other way.
He had to administer a potent medicine, one that would bring with it great shock and pain.
Even if it meant stabbing his revered benefactor in the back.
For the sake of Ireland, wouldn’t O’Connell gladly bear that cross?
Having rationalized his decision, O'Brien was one of the first to leave Windsor Castle after the funeral ended.
He didn't want to spend another second in this disgusting place.
Climbing into the carriage he had waiting, he closed his eyes and organized his plans.
He would meet with the Whig contact next week to finalize the details.
The preparations were already perfect; from now on, the most important thing was to be careful not to leave a trail.
Just then, O’Brien glanced out the window and felt that something was off.
“Hmm? I don’t think we came this way. Are we going in the right direction?”
“…”
“Hey! Why aren’t you answering? I asked if we are going the right way!”
*Clatter! Screech!*
The carriage suddenly lurched to a halt, and O'Brien was thrown forward, his face slamming into the seat in front of him.
“Wha-what! What’s going on…?”
Rubbing his nose, O’Brien stood up and opened the carriage door, only to freeze as his eyes met those of several masked men staring back at him.
“William Smith O’Brien, is that you?”
“You-you scoundrels! Do you know who I am? I am a member of this country’s House of Commons…”
“So we got the right one. If you try anything foolish, we’ll shoot you on the spot. If you want to live, come with us.”
He never imagined there would be ruffians who would dare to kidnap a Member of the British House of Commons in broad daylight.
And to commit such a bold crime at a place where the nobility had gathered for the king’s funeral?
The culprits were either incredibly capable, or they were completely and utterly insane.
Either way, it was dangerous, so O’Brien decided to comply with their demands for now.
As he was led away, he caught a glimpse of his original coachman, slumped over and unconscious in his seat.
Who in the world were these people, committing such an absurd act?
Whatever their identity, he had to pretend to be as compliant as possible and figure out who they were.
Then, he would make them pay the price for this outrage.
It was a completely unforeseen situation, but O’Brien held onto his wits and slowly began to walk.
***
Kidnapping a British Member of Parliament was an act that, if discovered, one could never walk away from unscathed.
Since no fool in this world would be unaware of that, those who committed such an act had to exude an aura of being able to handle the consequences.
The large cellar was decorated to look like the hideout of a massive secret organization.
O’Brien was dragged by my men into a room with a screen set up to hide my face.
It hadn't been too difficult, as I had thoroughly investigated the route of O'Brien's carriage, the identity of his coachman, and his usual habits.
The detectives I hired were reliable men who didn't shy away from this kind of work, which made it easy to create a convincing atmosphere.
“You’ve finally arrived.”
My voice, deliberately lowered, echoed from behind the screen, causing O’Brien to flinch.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you must realize that silencing me won’t be the end of this. You have just provoked the Parliament of this nation.”
“Heh heh heh, the Parliament of this nation? After clamoring on and on that Ireland must be independent from Britain, you now claim to be a member of the British House of Commons when you’re in a pinch? What a convenient change of tune.”
“…What did you say?”
“Don’t you find it hypocritical to invoke the authority of the British House of Commons when you’re in trouble, even as you chant ‘Ireland, Ireland’ with your lips? Or was your usual persona just a facade?”
“A facade? A facade, you say!”
My words must have struck a nerve, because O’Brien forgot he had been kidnapped and glared in my direction.
The more agitated he became, the better, so I continued to sneer, provoking him further.
“That’s the only way to see it. And that is precisely why you’ve been dragged here.”
“The reason I was dragged here? So you’re not just after money. Who sent you? The Tories? Or some of O’Connell’s fanatical supporters who dislike me? Too bad for you, but I have no intention of doing what you want, no matter what you do. I won’t say a word, no matter what you ask.”
“You seem to be gravely mistaken. We want nothing from you. The reason we took such a risk to bring you here is to execute a damned turncoat.”
“…A turncoat?”
O’Brien blinked blankly, as if his brain hadn't fully processed the word he'd just heard.
It goes without saying that mixing threats and violence with parliamentary politics was not unique to the 19th century.
In fact, such incidents became even more commonplace in the 20th century, and even in the 21st, there were many places where political thugs and mafias had yet to be eradicated.
This meant that no matter how bizarre my nefarious acts in the 19th century were, as long as they happened in the political arena, they were methods I had seen or heard of somewhere before.
Moreover, I myself had not lived in clean waters, having encountered all sorts of filth and a diverse array of human characters.
Therefore, it wasn't difficult to grasp the disposition of a man like O'Brien.
What drove this man was not personal gain.
He was the type to act, armed with the conviction that he was doing what was best for Ireland.
This type wouldn't yield to threats or persuasion. In fact, it would likely have the opposite effect.
For someone with an extreme conviction, who is willing to die for their cause, the most effective approach is not the threat of death, but to have their conviction devalued as insufficient.
“You are trash, trying to save your own skin by selling out the future of Ireland. We are all brothers, united to punish scum like you.”
I drove the final point home, not in English, but in fluent Irish. O’Brien’s eyes twitched.
Incomprehension, bewilderment, confusion, anxiety.
A mix of all these emotions laced his voice as he shouted urgently.
“What nonsense is this! How dare you! How dare you call me a turncoat? In all of Ireland, there is no one who has the right to say such a thing to me!”
“Are you trying to make pathetic excuses? Surely you don’t think we would do this without evidence? We have been gathering information from all walks of life with the sole purpose of eliminating those who would harm our compatriots for the sake of Ireland. And we have already disposed of a considerable number of such trash, disguised as accidents or illnesses.”
“…What does that mean…”
“Of course, we’ve been careful not to touch active members of Parliament or nobles, as that would cause too much of a stir. But even so, we cannot stand by and watch a shameless piece of filth who would betray his homeland and side with the English, can we?”
O’Brien’s face turned pale as he finally seemed to realize what he was being accused of.
The ironclad expression of a man who seemed unyielding even under threat completely crumbled.
“Betray the homeland? Nonsense! You! How dare you insult me with such drivel? No, I see it now! You must be English spies! I don’t know what you were promised in return for handing me over, but you should be ashamed of yourselves, you bastards!”
“Your acting is first-rate. Us, English spies? Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re going to deny it to the end, then I’ll tell you everything. Ahead of the upcoming election, the Whig Party has been personally contacting Irish MPs to induce their betrayal. But their efforts were in vain, as all the other members refused them flatly.”
“That’s…”
“But you. You were the only one who was found to be in continuous contact with the Whigs. So we have been investigating you. And just as we suspected, it seems you recently made some sort of secret pact with them. While the other members refused the Whigs’ temptations for the sake of Ireland.”
At my cold words, O’Brien’s eyes shook as if an earthquake had struck.
He surely no longer saw us as some crude, reckless gang of thugs.
“We cannot let a dangerous person who has made a secret pact with the Whigs right before an election live. Besides, there may be other traitors we haven't yet discovered. Your death will serve as a warning bell for all betrayers. An active MP found dead will certainly cause an uproar, but we will gladly endure it for the better future of our compatriots. Unlike Daniel O'Connell, we are always ready to shed blood for Ireland.”
As soon as I finished speaking, one of my men pulled a pistol from his coat and aimed it at O’Brien’s head.
“W-wait! You’ve misunderstood something! I am not a traitor!”
“All those who have died at our hands said the same thing, without exception. On the day Ireland becomes independent, your name will be remembered as a traitor to the motherland, cursed for a hundred, a thousand years to come. Now, fall into hell, regretting your betrayal of your country…”
“No! It’s not true! You fools! My contact with the Whigs was not a betrayal, it was for Ireland! If you’re going to investigate, do it thoroughly! Hear me out first, and then judge again whether I am a traitor or not!”
Just as I thought. He doesn't fear for his life, but he can't stand having his conviction denied.
The man aiming at O’Brien’s head lowered his pistol. I, my face hidden by a mask, pushed aside the screen and stepped out.
“Let me hear this proof that you did not betray us. But be warned, if I judge it to be a lie to escape the situation, I will kill you without hesitation.”
“Hmph… You idiotic fools. In return, if it is proven that I did not betray anyone, you will bow your head and apologize to me. And you will cooperate with my plan. Can you do that?”
That was exactly what I had hoped he would suggest. How very kind of him.
I stared at O’Brien in silence for a moment before slowly nodding and sitting down in front of him.
“Speak.”
“…Very well. Listen carefully, and judge for yourself.”
Yes. This was it.
After all, watching a confession show is far more entertaining than torture.