尤利西斯-第55章

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ng　sobs；　not　the　least　affected　being　the　aged　prebendary　himself。　Big　strong　men；　officers　of　the　peace　and　genial　giants　of　the　royal　Irish　constabulary；　were　making　frank　use　of　their　handkerchiefs　and　it　is　safe　to　say　that　there　was　not　a　dry　eye　in　that　record　assemblage。　A　most　romantic　incident　occurred　when　a　handsome　young　Oxford　graduate；　noted　for　his　chivalry　towards　the　fair　sex；　stepped　forward　and；　presenting　his　visiting　card；　bankbook　and　genealogical　tree；　solicited　the　hand　of　the　hapless　young　lady；　requesting　her　to　name　the　day；　and　was　accepted　on　the　spot。　Every　lady　in　the　audience　was　presented　with　a　tasteful　souvenir　of　the　occasion　in　the　shape　of　a　skull　and　crossbones　brooch；　a　timely　and　generous　act　which　evoked　a　fresh　outburst　of　emotion：　and　when　the　gallant　young　Oxonian　（the　bearer；　by　the　way；　of　one　of　the　most　timehonoured　names　in　Albion's　history）　placed　on　the　finger　of　his　blushing　fiancée　an　expensive　engagement　ring　with　emeralds　set　in　the　form　of　a　fourleaved　shamrock　excitement　knew　no　bounds。　Nay；　even　the　stern　provostmarshal；　lieutenantcolonel　Tomkin…Maxwell　ffrenchmullan　Tomlinson；　who　presided　on　the　sad　occasion；　he　who　had　blown　a　considerable　number　of　sepoys　from　the　cannonmouth　without　flinching；　could　not　now　restrain　his　natural　emotion。　With　his　mailed　gauntlet　he　brushed　away　a　furtive　tear　and　was　overheard　by　those　privileged　burghers　who　happened　to　be　in　his　immediate　entourage　to　murmur　to　himself　in　a　faltering　undertone：　
　God　blimey　if　she　aint　a　clinker；　that　there　bleeding　tart。　Blimey　it　makes　me　kind　of　bleeding　cry；　straight；　it　does；　when　I　sees　her　cause　I　thinks　of　my　old　mashtub　what's　waiting　for　me　down　Limehouse　way。　
So　then　the　citizens　begin　talking　about　the　Irish　language　and　the　corporation　meeting　and　all　to　that　and　the　shoneens　that　can't　speak　their　own　language　and　Joe　chipping　in　because　he　stuck　someone　for　a　quid　and　Bloom　putting　in　his　old　goo　with　his　twopenny　stump　that　he　cadged　off　Joe　and　talking　about　the　Gaelic　league　and　the　antitreating　league　and　drink；　the　curse　of　Ireland。　Antitreating　is　about　the　size　of　it。　Gob；　he'd　let　you　pour　all　manner　of　drink　down　his　throat　till　the　Lord　would　call　him　before　you'd　ever　see　the　froth　of　his　pint。　And　one　night　I　went　in　with　a　fellow　into　one　of　their　musical　evenings；　song　and　dance　about　she　could　get　up　on　a　truss　of　hay　she　could　my　Maureen　Lay；　and　there　was　a　fellow　with　a　Ballyhooly　blue　ribbon　badge　spiffing　out　of　him　in　Irish　and　a　lot　of　colleen　bawns　going　about　with　temperance　beverages　and　selling　medals　and　oranges　and　lemonade　and　a　few　old　dry　buns；　gob；　flahoolagh　entertainment；　don't　be　talking。　Ireland　sober　is　Ireland　free。　And　then　an　old　fellow　starts　blowing　into　his　bagpipes　and　all　the　gougers　shuffling　their　feet　to　the　tune　the　old　cow　died　of。　And　one　or　two　sky　pilots　having　an　eye　around　that　there　was　no　goings　on　with　the　females；　hitting　below　the　belt。　
So　howandever；　as　I　was　saying；　the　old　dog　seeing　the　tin　was　empty　starts　mousing　around　by　Joe　and　me。　I'd　train　him　by　kindness；　so　I　would；　if　he　was　my　dog。　Give　him　a　rousing　fine　kick　now　and　again　where　it　wouldn't　blind　him。　
　Afraid　he'll　bite　you？　says　the　citizen；　sneering。　
　No；　says　1。　But　he　might　take　my　leg　for　a　lampost。　
So　he　calls　the　old　dog　over。　
　What's　on　you；　Garry？　says　he。　
Then　he　starts　hauling　and　mauling　and　talking　to　him　in　Irish　and　the　old　towser　growling；　letting　on　to　answer；　like　a　duet　in　the　opera。　Such　growling　you　never　heard　as　they　let　off　between　them。　Someone　that　has　nothing　better　to　do　ought　to　write　a　letter　pm　bono　publico　to　the　papers　about　the　muzzling　order　for　a　dog　the　like　of　that。　Growling　and　grousing　and　his　eye　all　bloodshot　from　the　drouth　is　in　it　and　the　hydrophobia　dropping　out　of　his　jaws。　
All　those　who　are　interested　in　the　spread　of　human　culture　among　the　lower　animals　（and　their　name　is　legion）　should　make　a　point　of　not　missing　the　really　marvellous　exhibition　of　cynanthropy　given　by　the　famous　old　Irish　red　wolfdog　setter　formerly　known　by　the　sobriquet　of　Garryowen　and　recently　rechristened　by　his　large　circle　of　friends　and　acquaintances　Owen　Garry。　The　exhibition；　which　is　the　result　of　years　of　training　by　kindness　and　a　carefully　thoughtout　dietary　system；　prises；　among　other　achievements；　the　recitation　of　verse。　Our　greatest　living　phonetic　expert　（wild　horses　shall　not　drag　it　from　us！）　has　left　no　stone　unturned　in　his　efforts　to　delucidate　and　pare　the　verse　recited　and　has　found　it　bears　a　striking　resemblance　（the　italics　are　ours）　to　the　ranns　of　ancient　Celtic　bards。　We　are　not　speaking　so　much　of　those　delightful　lovesongs　with　which　the　writer　who　conceals　his　identity　under　the　graceful　pseudonym　of　the　Little　Sweet　Branch　has　familiarised　the　bookloving　world　but　rather　（as　a　contributor　D。　O。　C。　points　out　in　an　interesting　munication　published　by　an　evening　contemporary）　of　the　harsher　and　more　personal　note　which　is　found　in　the　satirical　effusions　of　the　famous　Raftery　and　of　Donald　MacConsidine　to　say　nothing　of　a　more　modern　lyrist　at　present　very　much　in　the　public　eye。　We　subjoin　a　specimen　which　has　been　rendered　into　English　by　an　eminent　scholar　whose　name　for　the　moment　we　are　not　at　liberty　to　disclose　though　we　believe　our　readers　will　find　the　topical　allusion　rather　more　than　an　indication。　The　metrical　system　of　the　canine　original；　which　recalls　the　intricate　alliterative　and　isosyllabic　rules　of　the　Welsh　englyn；　is　infinitely　more　plicated　but　we　believe　our　readers　will　agree　that　the　spirit　has　been　well　caught。　Perhaps　it　should　be　added　that　the　effect　is　greatly　increased　if　Owen's　verse　be　spoken　somewhat　slowly　and　indistinctly　in　a　tone　suggestive　of　suppressed　rancour。　
The　curse　of　my　curses
Seven　days　every　day
And　seven　dry　Thursdays
On　you；　Barney　Kiernan；
Has　no　sup　of　water
To　cool　my　courage；
And　my　guts　red　roaring
After　Lowry's　lights。
So　he　told　Terry　to　bring　some　water　for　the　dog　and；　gob；　you　could　hear　him　lapping　it　up　a　mile　off。　And　Joe　asked　him　would　he　have　another。　
　I　will；　says　he；　a　chara；　to　show　there's　no　ill　feeling。　
Gob；　he's　not　as　green　as　he's　cabbagelooking。　Arsing　around　from　one　pub　to　another；　leaving　it　to　your　own　honour；　with　old　Giltrap's　dog　and　getting　fed　up　by　the　ratepayers　and　corporators。　Entertainment　for　man　and　beast。　And　says　Joe：　
　Could　you　make　a　hole　in　another　pint？　
　Could　a　swim　duck？　says　I。　
　Same　again；　Terry；　says　Joe。　Are　you　sure　you　won't　have　anything　in　the　way　of　liquid　refreshment？　says　he。　
　Thank　you；　no；　says　Bloom。　As　a　matter　of　fact　I　just　wanted　to　meet　Martin　Cunningham；　don't　you　see；　about　this　insurance　of　poor　Dignam's。　Martin　asked　me　to　go　to　the　house。　You　see；　he；　Dignam；　I　mean；　didn't　serve　any　notice　of　the　assignment　on　the　pany　at　the　time　and　nominally　under　the　act　the　mortgagee　can't　recover　on　the　policy。　
　Holy　Wars；　says　Joe　laughing；　that's　a　good　one　if　old　Shylock　is　landed。　So　the　wife　es　out　top　dog；　what？　
　Well；　that's　a　point；　says　Bloom；　for　the　wife's　admirers。　
　Whose　admirers？　says　Joe。　
　The　wife's　advisers；　I　mean；　says　Bloom。　
Then　he　starts　all　confused　mucking　it　up　about　the　mortgagor　under　the　act　like　the　lord　chancellor　giving　it　out　on　the　bench　and　for　the　benefit　of　the　wife　and　that　a　trust　is　created　but　on　the　other　hand　that　Dignam　owed　Bridgeman　the　money　and　if　now　the　wife　or　the　widow　contested　the　mortgagee's　right　till　he　near　had　the　head　of　me　addled　with　his　mortgagor　under　the　act。　He　was　bloody　safe　he　wasn't　run　in　himself　under　the　act　that　time　as　a　rogue　and　vagabond　only　he　had　a　friend　in　court。　Selling　bazaar　tickets　or　what　do　you　call　it　royal　Hungarian　privileged　lottery。　True　as　you　re　there。　O；　mend　me　to　an　israelite！　Royal　and　privileged　Hungarian　robbery。　
So　Bob　Doran　es　lurching　around　asking　Bloom　to　tell　Mrs　Dignam　he　was　sorry　for　her　trouble　and　he　was　very　sorry　about　the　funeral　and　to　tell　her　that　he　said　and　everyone　who　knew　him　said　that　there　was　never　a　truer；　a　finer　than　poor　little　Willy　that's　dead　to　tell　her。　Choking　with　bloody　foolery。　And　shaking　Bloom's　hand　doing　the　tragic　to　tell　her　that。　Shake　hands；　brother。　You're　a　rogue　and　I'm　another。　
　Let　me；　said　he；　so　far　presume　upon　our　acquaintance　which；　however　slight　it　may　appear　if　judged　by　the　standard　of　mere　time；　is　founded；　as　I　hope　and　believe；　on　a　sentiment　of　mutual　esteem；　as　to　request　of　you　this　favour。　But；　should　I　have　overstepped　the　limits　of　reserve　let　the　sincerity　of　my　feelings　be　the　excuse　for　my　boldness。　
　No；　rejoined　the　other；　I　appreciate　to　the　full　the　motives　which　actuate　your　conduct　and　I　shall　discharge　the　office　you　entrust　to　me　consoled　by　the　reflection　that；　though　the　errand　be　one　of　sorrow；　this　proof　of　your　confidence　sweetens　in　some　measure　the　bitterness　of　the　cup。　
　Then　suffer　me　to　take　your　hand；　said　he。　The　goodness　of　your　heart；　I　feel　sure；　will　dictate　to　you　better　than　my　inadequate　words　the　expressions　which　are　most　suitable　to　convey　an　emotion　whose　poignancy；　were　I　to　give　vent　to　my　feelings；　would　deprive　me　even　of　speech。　
And　off　with　him　and　out　trying　to　walk　straight。　Boosed　at　five　o'clock。　Night　he　was　near　being　lagged　only　Paddy　Leonard　knew　the　bobby；　14　A。　Blind　to　the　world　up　in　a　shebeen　in　Bride　street　after　closing　time；　fornicating　with　two　shawls　and　a　bully　on　guard；　drinking　porter　out　of　teacups。　And　calling　himself　a　Frenchy　for　the　shawls；　Joseph　Manuo；　and　talking　against　the　catholic　religion　and　he　serving　mass　in　Adam　and　Eve's　when　he　was　young　with　his　eyes　shut　who　wrote　the　new　testament　and　the　old　testament　and　hugging　and　snugging。　And　the　two　shawls　killed　with　the　laughing；　picking　his　pockets　the　bloody　fool　and　he　spilling　the　porter　all　over　the　bed　and　the　two　shawls　screeching　laughing　at　one　another。　How　is　your　testament？　Have　you　got　an　old　testament？　Only　Paddy　was　passing　there；　I　tell　you　what。　Then　see　him　of　a　Sunday　with　his　little　concubine　of　a　wife；　and　she　wagging　her　tail　up　the　aisle　of　the　chapel；　with　her　patent　boots　on　her；　no　less；　and　her　violets；　nice　as　pie；　doing　the　little　lady。　Jack　Mooney's　sister。　And　the　old　prostitute　of　a　mother　procuring　rooms　to　street　couples。　Gob；　Jack　made　him　toe　the　line。　Told　him　if　he　didn't　patch　up　the　pot；　Jesus；　he'd　kick　the　shite　out　of　him。　
So　Terry　brought　the　three　pints。　
　Here；　says　Joe；　doing　the　honours。　Here；　citizen。　
　Slan　leat；　says　he。　
　Fortune；　Joe；　says　I。　Good　health；　citizen。　
Gob；　he　had　his　mouth　half　way　down　the　tumbler　already。　Want　a　small　fortune　to　keep　him　in　drinks。　
　Who　is　the　long　fellow　running　for　the　mayoralty；　Alf？　says　Joe。　
　Friend　of　yours；　says　Alf。　
　Nannan？　says　Joe。　The　mimber？　
　I　won't　mention　any　names；　says　Alf。　
　I　thought　so；　says　Joe。　I　saw　him　up　at　that　meeting　now　with　William　Field；　M。　P。；　the　cattle　traders。　　Hairy　Iopas；　says　the　citizen；　that　exploded　volcano；　the　darling　of　all　countries　and　the　idol　of　his　own。　
So　Joe　starts　telling　the　citizen　about　the　foot　and　mouth　disease　and　the　cattle　traders　and　taking　action　in　the　matter　and　the　citizen　sending　them　all　to　the　right