尤利西斯-第59章

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　Ay；　says　John　Wyse。　We　fought　for　the　royal　Stuarts　that　reneged　us　against　the　Williamites　and　they　betrayed　us。　Remember　Limerick　and　the　broken　treatystone。　We　gave　our　best　blood　to　France　and　Spain；　the　wild　geese。　Fontenoy；　eh？　And　Sarsfield　and　O'Donnell；　duke　of　Tetuan　in　Spain；　and　Ulysses　Browne　of　Camus　that　was　fieldmarshal　to　Maria　Teresa。　But　what　did　we　ever　get　for　it？　
　The　French！　says　the　citizen。　Set　of　dancing　masters！　Do　you　know　what　it　is？　They　were　never　worth　a　roasted　fart　to　Ireland。　Aren't　they　trying　to　make　an　Entente　cordiale　now　at　Tay　Pay's　dinnerparty　with　perfidious　Albion？　Firebrands　of　Europe　and　they　always　were？　
　Conspuez　les　Fran？ais；　says　Lenehan；　nobbling　his　beer。　
　And　as　for　the　Prooshians　and　the　Hanoverians；　says　Joe；　haven't　we　had　enough　of　those　sausageeating　bastards　on　the　throne　from　George　the　elector　down　to　the　German　lad　and　the　flatulent　old　bitch　that's　dead？　
Jesus；　I　had　to　laugh　at　the　way　he　came　out　with　that　about　the　old　one　with　the　winkers　on　her　blind　drunk　in　her　royal　palace　every　night　of　God；　old　Vic；　with　her　jorum　of　mountain　dew　and　her　coachman　carting　her　up　body　and　bones　to　roll　into　bed　and　she　pulling　him　by　the　whiskers　and　singing　him　old　bits　of　songs　about　Ehren　on　the　Rhine　and　e　where　the　boose　is　cheaper。　
　Well！　says　J。　J。　We　have　Edward　the　peacemaker　now。　
　Tell　that　to　a　fool；　says　the　citizen。　There's　a　bloody　sight　more　pox　than　pax　about　that　boyo。　Edward　Guelph…Wettin！　
　And　what　do　you　think；　says　Joe；　of　the　holy　boys；　the　priests　and　bishops　of　Ireland　doing　up　his　room　in　Maynooth　in　his　Satanic　Majesty's　racing　colours　and　sticking　up　pictures　of　all　the　horses　his　jockeys　rode。　The　earl　of　Dublin；　no　less。　
　They　ought　to　have　stuck　up　all　the　women　he　rode　himself；　says　little　Alf。　
And　says　J。　J。：　
　Considerations　of　space　influenced　their　lordship's　decision。　
　Will　you　try　another；　citizen？　says　Joe。　
　Yes；　sir；　says　he；　I　will。　
　You？　says　Joe。　
　Beholden　to　you；　Joe；　says　I。　May　your　shadow　never　grow　less。　
　Repeat　that　dose；　says　Joe。　
Bloom　was　talking　and　talking　with　John　Wyse　and　he　quite　excited　with　his　dunducketymudcoloured　mug　on　him　and　his　old　plumeyes　rolling　about。　
　Persecution；　says　he；　all　the　history　of　the　world　is　full　of　it。　Perpetuating　national　hatred　among　nations。　
　But　do　you　know　what　a　nation　means？　says　John　Wyse。　
　Yes；　says　Bloom。　
　What　is　it？　says　John　Wyse。　
　A　nation？　says　Bloom。　A　nation　is　the　same　people　living　in　the　same　place。　
　By　God；　then；　says　Ned；　laughing；　if　that's　so　I'm　a　nation　for　I'm　living　in　the　same　place　for　the　past　five　years。　
So　of　course　everyone　had　a　laugh　at　Bloom　and　says　he；　trying　to　muck　out　of　it：　
　Or　also　living　in　different　places。　
　That　covers　my　case；　says　Joe。　
　What　is　your　nation　if　I　may　ask；　says　the　citizen。　
　Ireland；　says　Bloom。　I　was　born　here。　Ireland。　
The　citizen　said　nothing　only　cleared　the　spit　out　of　his　gullet　and；　gob；　he　spat　a　Red　bank　oyster　out　of　him　right　in　the　corner。　
　After　you　with　the　push；　Joe；　says　he；　taking　out　his　handkerchief　to　swab　himself　dry。　
　Here　you　are；　citizen；　says　Joe。　Take　that　in　your　right　hand　and　repeat　after　me　the　following　words。　
The　muchtreasured　and　intricately　embroidered　ancient　Irish　facecloth　attributed　to　Solomon　of　Droma　and　Manus　Tomaltach　og　MacDonogh；　authors　of　the　Book　of　Ballymote；　was　then　carefully　produced　and　called　forth　prolonged　admiration。　No　need　to　dwell　on　the　legendary　beauty　of　the　cornerpieces；　the　acme　of　art；　wherein　one　can　distinctly　discern　each　of　the　four　evangelists　in　turn　presenting　to　each　of　the　four　masters　his　evangelical　symbol　a　bogoak　sceptre；　8　North　American　puma　（a　far　nobler　king　of　beasts　than　the　British　article；　be　it　said　in　passing）；　a　Kerry　calf　and　a　golden　eagle　from　Carrantuohill。　The　scenes　depicted　on　the　emunctory　field；　showing　our　ancient　duns　and　raths　and　cromlechs　and　grianauns　and　seats　of　learning　and　maledictive　stones；　are　as　wonderfully　beautiful　and　the　pigments　as　delicate　as　when　the　Sligo　illuminators　gave　free　rein　to　their　artistic　fantasy　long　long　ago　in　the　time　of　the　Barmecides。　Glendalough；　the　lovely　lakes　of　Killarney；　the　ruins　of　Clonmacnois；　Cong　Abbey；　Glen　Inagh　and　the　Twelve　Pins；　Ireland's　Eye；　the　Green　Hills　of　Tallaght；　Croagh　Patrick；　the　brewery　of　Messrs　Arthur　Guinness；　Son　and　pany　（Limited）；　Lough　Neagh's　banks；　the　vale　of　Ovoca；　Isolde's　tower；　the　Mapas　obelisk；　Sir　Patrick　Dun's　hospital；　Cape　Clear；　the　glen　of　Aherlow；　Lynch's　castle；　the　Scotch　house；　Rathdown　Union　Workhouse　at　Loughlinstown；　Tullamore　jail；　Castleconnel　rapids；　Kilballymacshonakill；　the　cross　at　Monasterboice；　Jury's　Hotel；　S。　Patrick's　Purgatory；　the　Salmon　Leap；　Maynooth　college　refectory；　Curley's　hole；　the　three　birthplaces　of　the　first　duke　of　Wellington；　the　rock　of　Cashel；　the　bog　of　Allen；　the　Henry　Street　Warehouse；　Fingal's　Cave　…　all　these　moving　scenes　are　still　there　for　us　today　rendered　more　beautiful　still　by　the　waters　of　sorrow　which　have　passed　over　them　and　by　the　rich　incrustations　of　time。　　Shove　us　over　the　drink；　says　I。　Which　is　which？　
　That's　mine；　says　Joe；　as　the　devil　laid　to　the　dead　policeman。　
　And　I　belong　to　a　race　too；　says　Bloom；　that　is　hated　and　persecuted。　Also　now。　This　very　moment。　This　very　instant。　
Gob；　he　near　burnt　his　fingers　with　the　butt　of　his　old　cigar。　
　Robbed；　says　he。　Plundered。　Insulted。　Persecuted。　Taking　what　belongs　to　us　by　right。　At　this　very　moment；　says　he；　putting　up　his　fist；　sold　by　auction　off　in　Morocco　like　slaves　or　cattles。　
　Are　you　talking　about　the　new　Jerusalem？　says　the　citizen。　
　I'm　talking　about　injustice；　says　Bloom。　
　Right；　says　John　Wyse。　Stand　up　to　it　then　with　force　like　men。　
That's　an　almanac　picture　for　you。　Mark　for　a　softnosed　bullet。　Old　lardyface　standing　up　to　the　business　end　of　a　gun。　Gob；　he'd　adorn　a　sweepingbrush；　so　he　would；　if　he　only　had　a　nurse's　apron　on　him。　And　then　he　collapses　all　of　a　sudden；　twisting　around　all　the　opposite；　as　limp　as　a　wet　rag。　
　But　it's　no　use；　says　he。　Force；　hatred；　history；　all　that。　That's　not　life　for　men　and　women；　insult　and　hatred。　And　everybody　knows　that　it's　the　very　opposite　of　that　that　is　really　life。　
　What？　says　Alf。　
　Love；　says　Bloom。　I　mean　the　opposite　of　hatred。　I　must　go　now；　says　he　to　John　Wyse。　Just　round　to　the　court　a　moment　to　see　if　Martin　is　there。　If　he　es　just　say　I'll　be　back　in　a　second。　Just　a　moment。　
Who's　hindering　you？　And　off　he　pops　like　greased　lightning。　
　A　new　apostle　to　the　gentiles；　says　the　citizen。　Universal　love。　
　Well；　says　John　Wyse；　isn't　that　what　we're　told？　Love　your　neighbours。　
　That　chap？　says　the　citizen。　Beggar　my　neighbour　is　his　motto。　Love；　Moya！　He's　a　nice　pattern　of　a　Romeo　and　Juliet。　Love　loves　to　love　love。　Nurse　loves　the　new　chemist。　Constable　14A　loves　Mary　Kelly。　Gerty　MacDowell　loves　the　boy　that　has　the　bicycle。　M。　B。　loves　a　fair　genteman。　Li　Chi　Han　lovey　up　kissy　Cha　Pu　Chow。　Jumbo；　the　elephant；　loves　Alice；　the　elephant。　Old　Mr　Verschoyle　with　the　ear　trumpet　loves　old　Mrs　Verschoyle　with　the　turnedin　eye。　The　man　in　the　brown　macintosh　loves　a　lady　who　is　dead。　His　Majesty　the　King　loves　Her　Majesty　the　Queen。　Mrs　Norman　W。　Tupper　loves　officer　Taylor。　You　love　a　certain　person。　And　this　person　loves　that　other　person　because　everybody　loves　somebody　but　
God　loves　everybody。　
　Well；　Joe；　says　I；　your　very　good　health　and　song。　More　power；　citizen。　
　Hurrah；　there；　says　Joe。　
　The　blessing　of　God　and　Mary　and　Patrick　on　you；　says　the　citizen。　
And　he　ups　with　his　pint　to　wet　his　whistle。　
　We　know　those　canters；　says　he；　preaching　and　picking　your　pocket。　What　about　sanctimonious　Cromwell　and　his　ironsides　that　put　the　women　and　children　of　Drogheda　to　the　sword　with　the　bible　text　God　is　love　pasted　round　the　mouth　of　his　cannon？　The　bible！　Did　you　read　that　skit　in　the　United　Irishman　today　about　that　Zulu　chief　that's　visiting　England？　
　What's　that？　says　Joe。　
So　the　citizen　takes　up　one　of　his　paraphernalia　papers　and　he　starts　reading　out：　
　A　delegation　of　the　chief　cotton　magnates　of　Manchester　was　presented　yesterday　to　His　Majesty　the　Alaki　of　Abeakuta　by　Gold　Stick　in　Waiting；　Lord　Walkup　on　Eggs；　to　tender　to　His　Majesty　the　heartfelt　thanks　of　British　traders　for　the　facilities　afforded　them　in　his　dominions。　The　delegation　partook　of　luncheon　at　the　conclusion　of　which　the　dusky　potentate；　in　the　course　of　a　happy　speech；　freely　translated　by　the　British　chaplain；　the　reverend　Ananias　Praisegod　Barebones；　tendered　his　best　thanks　to　Massa　Walkup　and　emphasised　the　cordial　relations　existing　between　Abeakuta　and　the　British　Empire；　stating　that　he　treasured　as　one　of　his　dearest　possessions　an　illuminated　bible；　the　volume　of　the　word　of　God　and　the　secret　of　England's　greatness；　graciously　presented　to　him　by　the　white　chief　woman；　the　great　squaw　Victoria；　with　a　personal　dedication　from　the　august　hand　of　the　Royal　Donor。　The　Alaki　then　drank　a　lovingcup　of　firstshot　usquebaugh　to　the　toast　Black　and　White　from　the　skull　of　his　immediate　predecessor　in　the　dynasty　Kakachakachak；　surnamed　Forty　Warts；　after　which　he　visited　the　chief　factory　of　Cottonopolis　and　signed　his　mark　in　the　visitors'　book；　subsequently　executing　an　old　Abeakutic　wardance；　in　the　course　of　which　he　swallowed　several　knives　and　forks；　amid　hilarious　applause　from　the　girl　hands。　
　Widow　woman；　says　Ned；　I　wouldn't　doubt　her。　Wonder　did　he　put　that　bible　to　the　same　use　as　I　would。　
　Same　only　more　so；　says　Lenehan。　And　thereafter　in　that　fruitful　land　the　broadleaved　mango　flourished　exceedingly。　
　Is　that　by　Griffith？　says　John　Wyse。　
　No；　says　the　citizen。　It's　not　signed　Shanganagh。　It's　only　initialled：　P。　
　And　a　very　good　initial　too；　says　Joe。　
　That's　how　it's　worked；　says　the　citizen。　Trade　follows　the　flag。　
　Well；　says　J。　J。；　if　they're　any　worse　than　those　Belgians　in　the　Congo　Free　State　they　must　be　bad。　Did　you　read　that　report　by　a　man　what's　this　his　name　is？　
　Casement；　says　the　citizen。　He's　an　Irishman。　
　Yes；　that's　the　man；　says　J。　J。　Raping　the　women　and　girls　and　flogging　the　natives　on　the　belly　to　squeeze　all　the　red　rubber　they　can　out　of　them。　
　I　know　where　he's　gone；　says　Lenehan；　cracking　his　fingers。　
　Who？　says　I。　
　Bloom；　says　he；　the　courthouse　is　a　blind。　He　had　a　few　bob　on　Throwaway　and　he's　gone　to　gather　in　the　shekels。　
　Is　it　that　whiteyed　kaffir？　says　the　citizen；　that　never　backed　a　horse　in　anger　in　his　life。　
　That's　where　he's　gone；　says　Lenehan。　I　met　Bantam　Lyons　going　to　back　that　horse　only　I　put　him　off　it　and　he　told　me　Bloom　gave　him　the　tip。　Bet　you　what　you　like　he　has　a　hundred　shillings　to　five　on。　He's　the　only　man　in　Dublin　has　it。　A　dark　horse。　　He's　a　bloody　dark　horse　himself；　says　Joe。　
　Mind；　Joe；　says　I。　Show　us　the　entrance　out。　
　There　you　are；　says　Terry。　
Goodbye　Ireland　I'm　going　to　Gort。　So　I　just　went　round　to　the　back　of　the　yard　to　pumpship　and　begob　（hundred　shillings　to　five）　while　I　was　letting　off　my　（Throwaway　twenty　to）　letting　off　my　load　gob　says　I　to　myself　I　knew　he　was　uneasy　in　his　（two　pints　off　of　Joe　and　one　in　Slattery's　off）　in　his　mind　to　get　off　the　mark　to　（hundred