尤利西斯-第58章

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　The　European　family；　says　J。　J。。。　
　They're　not　European；　says　the　citizen。　I　was　in　Europe　with　Kevin　Egan　of　Paris。　You　wouldn't　see　a　trace　of　them　or　their　language　anywhere　in　Europe　except　in　a　cabinet　d'aisance。　
And　says　John　Wyse：　
　Full　many　a　flower　is　born　to　blush　unseen。　
And　says　Lenehan　that　knows　a　bit　of　the　lingo：　
　Conspuez　les　Anglais！　Perde　Albion！　
He　said　and　then　lifted　he　in　his　rude　great　brawny　strengthy　hands　the　medher　of　dark　strong　foamy　ale　and；　uttering　his　tribal　slogan　Lamh　Dearg　Abu；　he　drank　to　the　undoing　of　his　foes；　a　race　of　mighty　valorous　heroes；　rulers　of　the　waves；　who　sit　on　thrones　of　alabaster　silent　as　the　deathless　gods。　
　What's　up　with　you；　says　I　to　Lenehan。　You　look　like　a　fellow　that　had　lost　a　bob　and　found　a　tanner。　
　Gold　cup；　says　he。　
　Who　won；　Mr　Lenehan？　says　Terry。　
　Throwaway；　says　he；　at　twenty　to　one。　A　rank　outsider。　And　the　rest　nowhere。　
　And　Bass's　mare？　says　Terry。　
　Still　running；　says　he。　We're　all　in　a　cart。　Boylan　plunged　two　quid　on　my　tip　Sceptre　for　himself　and　a　lady　friend。　
　I　had　half　a　crown　myself；　says　Terry；　on　Zinfandel　that　Mr　Flynn　gave　me。　Lord　Howard　de　Walden's。　
　Twenty　to　one；　says　Lenehan。　Such　is　life　in　an　outhouse。　Throwaway；　says　he。　Takes　the　biscuit　and　talking　about　bunions。　Frailty；　thy　name　is　Sceptre。　
So　he　went　over　to　the　biscuit　tin　Bob　Doran　left　to　see　if　there　was　anything　he　could　lift　on　the　nod；　the　old　cur　after　him　backing　his　luck　with　his　mangy　snout　up。　Old　mother　Hubbard　went　to　the　cupboard。　
　Not　there；　my　child；　says　he。　
　Keep　your　pecker　up；　says　Joe。　She'd　have　won　the　money　only　for　the　other　dog。　
And　J。　J。　and　the　citizen　arguing　about　law　and　history　with　Bloom　sticking　in　an　odd　word。　　Some　people；　says　Bloom；　can　see　the　mote　in　others'　eyes　but　they　can't　see　the　beam　in　their　own。　
　Raimeis；　says　the　citizen。　There's　no…one　as　blind　as　the　fellow　that　won't　see；　if　you　know　what　that　means。　Where　are　our　missing　twenty　millions　of　Irish　should　be　here　today　instead　of　four；　our　lost　tribes？　And　our　potteries　and　textiles；　the　finest　in　the　whole　world！　And　our　wool　that　was　sold　in　Rome　in　the　time　of　Juvenal　and　our　flax　and　our　damask　from　the　looms　of　Antrim　and　our　Limerick　lace；　our　tanneries　and　our　white　flint　glass　down　there　by　Ballybough　and　our　Huguenot　poplin　that　we　have　since　Jacquard　de　Lyon　and　our　woven　silk　and　our　Foxford　tweeds　and　ivory　raised　point　from　the　Carmelite　convent　in　New　Ross；　nothing　like　it　in　the　whole　wide　world！　Where　are　the　Greek　merchants　that　came　through　the　pillars　of　Hercules；　the　Gibraltar　now　grabbed　by　the　foe　of　mankind；　with　gold　and　Tyrian　purple　to　sell　in　Wexford　at　the　fair　of　Carmen？　Read　Tacitus　and　Ptolemy；　even　Giraldus　Cambrensis。　Wine；　peltries；　Connemara　marble；　silver　from　Tipperary；　second　to　none；　our　far…famed　horses　even　today；　the　Irish　hobbies；　with　king　Philip　of　Spain　offering　to　pay　customs　duties　for　the　right　to　fish　in　our　waters。　What　do　the　yellowjohns　of　Anglia　owe　us　for　our　ruined　trade　and　our　ruined　hearths？　And　the　beds　of　the　Barrow　and　Shannon　they　won't　deepen　with　millions　of　acres　of　marsh　and　bog　to　make　us　all　die　of　consumption。　
　As　treeless　as　Portugal　we'll　be　soon；　says　John　Wyse；　or　Heligoland　with　its　one　tree　if　something　is　not　done　to　reafforest　the　land。　Larches；　firs；　all　the　trees　of　the　conifer　family　are　going　fast。　I　was　reading　a　report　of　lord　Castletown's。。。　
　Save　them；　says　the　citizen；　the　giant　ash　of　Galway　and　the　chieftain　elm　of　Kildare　with　a　fortyfoot　bole　and　an　acre　of　foliage。　Save　the　trees　of　Ireland　for　the　future　men　of　Ireland　on　the　fair　hills　of　Eire；　O。　
　Europe　has　its　eyes　on　you；　says　Lenehan。　
The　fashionable　international　world　attended　en　masse　this　afternoon　at　the　wedding　of　the　chevalier　Jean　Wyse　de　Neaulan；　grand　high　chief　ranger　of　the　Irish　National　Foresters；　with　Miss　Fir　Conifer　of　Pine　Valley。　Lady　Sylvester　Elmshade；　Mrs　Barbara　Lovebirch；　Mrs　Poll　Ash；　Mrs　Holly　Hazeleyes；　Miss　Daphne　Bays；　Miss　Dorothy　Canebrake；　Mrs　Clyde　Twelvetrees；　Mrs　Rowan　Greene；　Mrs　Helen　Vinegadding；　Miss　Virginia　Creeper；　Miss　Gladys　Beech；　Miss　Olive　Garth；　Miss　Blanche　Maple；　Mrs　Maud　Mahogany；　Miss　Myra　Myrtle；　Miss　Priscilla　Elderflower；　Miss　Bee　Honeysuckle；　Miss　Grace　Poplar；　Miss　O。　Mimosa　San；　Miss　Rachel　Cedarfrond；　the　Misses　Lilian　and　Viola　Lilac；　Miss　Timidity　Aspenall；　Mrs　Kitty　Dewey…Mosse；　Miss　May　Hawthorne；　Mrs　Gloriana　Palme；　Mrs　Liana　Forrest；　Mrs　Arabella　Blackwood　and　Mrs　Norma　Holyoake　of　Oakholme　Regis　graced　the　ceremony　by　their　presence。　The　bride　who　was　given　away　by　her　father；　the　M'Conifer　of　the　Glands；　looked　exquisitely　charming　in　a　creation　carried　out　in　green　mercerised　silk；　moulded　on　an　underslip　of　gloaming　grey；　sashed　with　a　yoke　of　broad　emerald　and　finished　with　a　triple　flounce　of　darkerhued　fringe；　the　scheme　being　relieved　by　bretelles　and　hip　insertions　of　acorn　bronze。　The　maids　of　honour；　Miss　Larch　Conifer　and　Miss　Spruce　Conifer；　sisters　of　the　bride；　wore　very　being　costumes　in　the　same　tone；　a　dainty　motif　of　plume　rose　being　worked　into　the　pleats　in　a　pinstripe　and　repeated　capriciously　in　the　jadegreen　toques　in　the　form　of　heron　feathers　of　paletinted　coral。　Senhor　Enrique　Flor　presided　at　the　organ　with　his　wellknown　ability　and；　in　addition　to　the　prescribed　numbers　of　the　nuptial　mass；　played　a　new　and　striking　arrangement　of　Woodman；　spare　that　tree　at　the　conclusion　of　the　service。　On　leaving　the　church　of　Saint　Fiacre　in　Horto　after　the　papal　blessing　the　happy　pair　were　subjected　to　a　playful　crossfire　of　hazelnuts；　beechmast；　bayleaves；　catkins　of　willow；　ivytod；　hollyberries；　mistletoe　sprigs　and　quicken　shoots。　Mr　and　Mrs　Wyse　Conifer　Neaulan　will　spend　a　quiet　honeymoon　in　the　Black　Forest。　
　And　our　eyes　are　on　Europe；　says　the　citizen。　We　had　our　trade　with　Spain　and　the　French　and　with　the　Flemings　before　those　mongrels　were　pupped；　Spanish　ale　in　Galway；　the　winebark　on　the　winedark　waterway。　
　And　will　again；　says　Joe。　
　And　with　the　help　of　the　holy　mother　of　God　we　will　again；　says　the　citizen；　clapping　his　thigh。　Our　harbours　that　are　empty　will　be　full　again；　Queenstown；　Kinsale；　Galway；　Blacksod　Bay；　Ventry　in　the　kingdom　of　Kerry；　Killybegs；　the　third　largest　harbour　in　the　wide　world　with　a　fleet　of　masts　of　the　Galway　Lynches　and　the　Cavan　O'Reillys　and　the　O'Kennedys　of　Dublin　when　the　earl　of　Desmond　could　make　a　treaty　with　the　emperor　Charles　the　Fifth　himself。　And　will　again；　says　he；　when　the　first　Irish　battleship　is　seen　breasting　the　waves　with　our　own　flag　to　the　fore；　none　of　your　Henry　Tudor's　harps；　no；　the　oldest　flag　afloat；　the　flag　of　the　province　of　Desmond　and　Thomond；　three　crowns　on　a　blue　field；　the　three　sons　of　Milesius。　
And　he　took　the　last　swig　out　of　the　pint；　Moya。　All　wind　and　piss　like　a　tanyard　cat。　Cows　in　Connacht　have　long　horns。　As　much　as　his　bloody　life　is　worth　to　go　down　and　address　his　tall　talk　to　the　assembled　multitude　in　Shanagolden　where　he　daren't　show　his　nose　with　the　Molly　Maguires　looking　for　him　to　let　daylight　through　him　for　grabbing　the　holding　of　an　evicted　tenant。　
　Hear；　hear　to　that；　says　John　Wyse。　What　will　you　have？　
　An　imperial　yeomanry；　says　Lenehan；　to　celebrate　the　occasion。　
　Half　one；　Terry；　says　John　Wyse；　and　a　hands　up。　Terry！　Are　you　asleep？　
　Yes；　sir；　says　Terry。　Small　whisky　and　bottle　of　Allsop。　Right；　sir。　
Hanging　over　the　bloody　paper　with　Alf　looking　for　spicy　bits　instead　of　attending　to　the　general　public。　Picture　of　a　butting　match；　trying　to　crack　their　bloody　skulls；　one　chap　going　for　the　other　with　his　head　down　like　a　bull　at　a　gate。　And　another　one：　Black　Beast　Burned　in　Omaha；　Ga。　A　lot　of　Deadwood　Dicks　in　slouch　hats　and　they　firing　at　a　sambo　strung　up　on　a　tree　with　his　tongue　out　and　a　bonfire　under　him。　Gob；　they　ought　to　drown　him　in　the　sea　after　and　electrocute　and　crucify　him　to　make　sure　of　their　job。　
　But　what　about　the　fighting　navy；　says　Ned；　that　keeps　our　foes　at　bay？　
　I'Il　tell　you　what　about　it；　says　the　citizen。　Hell　upon　earth　it　is。　Read　the　revelations　that's　going　on　in　the　papers　about　flogging　on　the　training　ships　at　Portsmouth。　A　fellow　writes　that　calls　himself　Disgusted　One。　
So　he　starts　telling　us　about　corporal　punishment　and　about　the　crew　of　tars　and　officers　and　rearadmirals　drawn　up　in　cocked　hats　and　the　parson　with　his　protestant　bible　to　witness　punishment　and　a　young　lad　brought　out；　howling　for　his　ma；　and　they　tie　him　down　on　the　buttend　of　a　gun。　
　A　rump　and　dozen；　says　the　citizen；　was　what　that　old　ruffian　sir　John　Beresford　called　it　but　the　modern　God's　Englishman　calls　it　caning　on　the　breech。　
And　says　John　Wyse：　
　'Tis　a　custom　more　honoured　in　the　breach　than　in　the　observance。　
Then　he　was　telling　us　the　master　at　arms　es　along　with　a　long　cane　and　he　draws　out　and　he　flogs　the　bloody　backside　off　of　the　poor　lad　till　he　yells　meila　murder。　
　That's　your　glorious　British　navy；　says　the　citizen；　that　bosses　the　earth。　The　fellows　that　never　will　be　slaves；　with　the　only　hereditary　chamber　on　the　face　of　God's　earth　and　their　land　in　the　hands　of　a　dozen　gamehogs　and　cottonball　barons。　That's　the　great　empire　they　boast　about　of　drudges　and　whipped　serfs。　
　On　which　the　sun　never　rises；　says　Joe。　
　And　the　tragedy　of　it　is；　says　the　citizen；　they　believe　it。　The　unfortunate　yahoos　believe　it。　
They　believe　in　rod；　the　scourger　almighty；　creator　of　hell　upon　earth　and　in　Jacky　Tar；　the　son　of　a　gun；　who　was　conceived　of　unholy　boast；　born　of　the　fighting　navy；　suffered　under　rump　and　dozen；　was　scarified；　flayed　and　curried；　yelled　like　bloody　hell；　the　third　day　he　arose　again　from　the　bed；　steered　into　haven；　sitteth　on　his　beamend　till　further　orders　whence　he　shall　e　to　drudge　for　a　living　and　be　paid。　
But；　says　Bloom；　isn't　discipline　the　same　everywhere？　I　mean　wouldn't　it　be　the　same　here　if　you　put　force　against　force？　
Didn't　I　tell　you？　As　true　as　I'm　drinking　this　porter　if　he　was　at　his　last　gasp　he'd　try　to　downface　you　that　dying　was　living。　
　We'll　put　force　against　force；　says　the　citizen。　We　have　our　greater　Ireland　beyond　the　sea。　They　were　driven　out　of　house　and　home　in　the　black　47。　Their　mudcabins　and　their　shielings　by　the　roadside　were　laid　low　by　the　batteringram　and　the　Times　rubbed　its　hands　and　told　the　whitelivered　Saxons　there　would　soon　be　as　few　Irish　in　Ireland　as　redskins　in　America。　Even　the　grand　Turk　sent　us　his　piastres。　But　the　Sassenach　tried　to　starve　the　nation　at　home　while　the　land　was　full　of　crops　that　the　British　hyenas　bought　and　sold　in　Rio　de　Janeiro。　Ay；　they　drove　out　the　peasants　in　hordes。　Twenty　thousand　of　them　died　in　the　coffinships。　But　those　that　came　to　the　land　of　the　free　remember　the　land　of　bondage。　And　they　will　e　again　and　with　a　vengeance；　no　cravens；　the　sons　of　Granuaile；　the　champions　of　Kathleen　ni　Houlihan。　
　Perfectly　true；　says　Bloom。　But　my　point　was。。。　
　We　are　a　long　time　waiting　for　that　day；　citizen；　says　Ned。　Since　the　poor　old　woman　told　us　that　the　French　were　on　the　sea　and　landed　at　Killala。　
　Ay；　says　John　Wyse。　We　fought　for　the　royal　Stuarts　that　reneged　us　against　the　Williamites　and　they　betrayed　us。　Remember　Limerick　and　the　b