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双击单词可弹出解释框  时间:2010-07-16 21:14  作者:

I WAS JUST PASSING THE TIME OF DAY WITH OLD TROY O THE D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes.
-- Lo, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush?

-- Soot's luck, says Joe. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

-- Old Troy, says I, was in the force. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.

-- What are you doing round those parts? says Joe.

-- Devil a much, says I. There is a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken Lane - old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him - lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop of my thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

-- Circumcised! says Joe.

-- Ay, says I. A bit off the top. An old plumber named Geraghty. I'm hanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him.

-- That the lay you're on now? says Joe.

-- Ay, says I . How are the mighty fallen! Collector of bad and doubtful debts. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Tell him, says he, I dare him, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so will I, for trading without a licence. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst! Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. He drink me my teas. He eat me my sugars. Because he no pay me my moneys?

For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the vendor, and sold and delivered to Michael E. Geraghty, Esquire, of 29 Arbour Hill in the city of Dublin, Arran quay ward, gentleman, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at three pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and six pence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.

-- Are you a strict t. t.? says Joe.

-- Not taking anything between drinks, says I.

-- What about paying our respects to our friend? says foe.

-- Who? says I. Sure, he's in John of God's off his head, poor man.

-- Drinking his own stuff? says Joe.

-- Ay, says I. Whisky and water on the brain.

-- Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. I want to see the citizen.

-- Barney mavourneen's be it, says I. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?

-- Not a word, says Joe. I was up at that meeting in the City Arms.

-- What was that, Joe? says I.

-- Cattle traders, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. I want to give the citizen the hard word about it.

So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. Jesus, I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. For trading without a licence, says he.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of holy Michan. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gunnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. In the mild breezes of the west and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their first class foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of lovely objects as for example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects. And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Elbana to Slievemargy, the peerless princes of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruachan's land and of Armagh the splendid and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of kings.

And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose and thither come all herds and fatlings and first fruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.

-- I dare him, says he, and I doubledare him. Come out here, Geraghty, you notorious bloody hill and dale robber!

And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwools and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bullocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lush and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs, in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with the dun.

So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there sure enough was the citizen up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink.

There he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.

The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.

-- Stand and deliver, says he.

-- That's all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here.

-- Pass, friends, says he.

Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he:

-- What's your opinion of the times?

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion.

-- I think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says:

-- Foreign wars is the cause of it.

And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket:

-- It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

-- Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I, I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown.

-- Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.

-- Wine of the country, says he.

-- What's yours? says Joe.

-- Ditto MacAnaspey, says I...

-- Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? says he.

-- Never better, a chara, says he. What Garry? Are we going to win? Eh?

And with that he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he near throttled him.

The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freely freckled shaggybearded wide-mouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse (Ulex Europeus). The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the field-lark might easily have lodged her nest. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble.

He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reaching to the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle by a girdle of plaited straw and rushes. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. His nether extremities were encased in high Balbriggan buskins dyed in lichen purple, the feet being shod with brogues of salted cowhide laced with the windpipe of the same beast. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which dangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the Ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal Mac-Mahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castille, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo, Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquillising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him land out a quid. O, as true as I'm telling you. A goodlooking sovereign.

-- And there's more where that came from, says he.

-- Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? says I.

-- Sweat of my brow, says Joe. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze.

-- I saw him before I met you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish.

Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour? O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul.

-- For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house. And look at this blasted rag, says he. Look at this, says he. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent and I'll thank you and the marriages.

And he starts reading them out:

-- Gordon, Barnfield Crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea, the wife of William T. Redmayne, of a son. How's that, eh? Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham Road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, Dean of Worcester, eh? Deaths. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow.

-- I know that fellow, says Joe, from bitter experience.

-- Cockburn. Dimsey, wife of Davie Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning Street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son? How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber?

-- Ah, well, says Joe, handing round the boose. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. Drink that, citizen.

-- I will, says he, honourable person.

-- Health, Joe, says I. And all down the form.

Ah! Owl! Don't be talking! I was blue mouldy for the want of that pint. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth, and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law, and with him his lady wife, a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, and who was sitting up there in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk, blind to the world, only Bob Doran. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the door. And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bath slippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman trotting like a poodle. I thought Alf would split.

-- Look at him, says he. Breen. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with u. p.: up on it to take a li...

And he doubled up.

-- Take a what? says I.

-- Libel action, says he, for ten thousand pounds.

-- O hell! says I.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

-- Bi i dho husht, says he.

-- Who? says Joe.

-- Breen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. O God, I've a pain laughing. U. p.: up. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green Street to look for a G. man.

-- When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? says Joe.

Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf Bergan?

-- Yes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here, Terry, give us a pony. That bloody old fool! Ten thousand pounds. You should have seen long John's eye. U. p...

And he started laughing.

-- Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that Bergan?

-- Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foaming ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.

Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals.

But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the well-beloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop.

-- What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside?

-- What's that? says Joe.

-- Here you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Talking about hanging. I'll show you something you never saw. Hangmen's letters. Look at here.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket.

-- Are you codding? says I.

-- Honest injun, says Alf. Read them.

So Joe took up the letters.

-- Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran.

So I saw there was going to be bit of a dust. Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk:

-- How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

-- I don't know, says Alf. I saw him just now in Capel Street with Paddy Dignam. Only I was running after that.

-- You what? says Joe, throwing down the letters. With who?

-- With Dignam, says Alf.

-- Is it Paddy? says Joe.

-- Yes, says Alf. Why?

-- Don't you know he's dead? says Joe.

-- Paddy Dignam dead? says Alf.

-- Ay, says Joe.

-- Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

-- Who's dead? says Bob Doran.

-- You saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us and harm.

-- What? says Alf. Good Christ, only five... What?... and Willie Murray with him, the two of them there near what-doyoucallhim's... What? Dignam dead?

-- What about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Who's talking about... ?

-- Dead! says Alf. He is no more dead than you are.

-- Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow.

-- Paddy? says Alf.

-- Ay, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

-- Good Christ! says Alf.

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.

In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heaven-world he stated that he was now on the path of pralaya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Mind C.K. doesn't pile it on. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the interment arrangements. Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. He stated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.

-- There he is again, says the citizen, staring out.

-- Who? says I.

-- Bloom, says he. He's on point duty up and down there for the last ten minutes.

And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

Little Alf was knocked bawways. Faith, he was.

-- Good Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him.

And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence:

-- Who said Christ is good?

-- I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

-- Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy Dignam?

-- Ah, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. He's over all his troubles.

But Bob Doran shouts out of him.

-- He's a bloody ruffian I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.

-- The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character.

The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his bloody hat. Fitter for him to go home to the little sleepwalking ***** he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter. Mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

-- The noblest, the truest, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam.

And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.

Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.

-- Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen.

So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

-- O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen to this, will you?

And he starts reading out one.

7, Hunter Street, Liverpool.
To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Dublin.
Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the above-mentioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of February 1900 and i hanged...
-- Show us, Joe, says I.

-- ... private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when...

-- Jesus, says I.

-- ... Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith...

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

-- Hold hard, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir' my teas is five ginnese.

H. Rumbold,

Master Barber.

-- And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen.
-- And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Here, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Hello, Bloom, says he, what will you have?

So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Gob, he's a prudent member and no mistake.

-- Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe.

And Alf was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card with a black border round it.

-- They're all barbers, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.

And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob a skull.

In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord.

So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the codology of the business and the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those Jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on.

-- There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf.

-- What's that? says Joe.

-- The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

-- That so? says Joe.

-- God's truth, says Alf. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.

-- Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, as someone said.

-- That can be explained by science, says Bloom. It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you see, because on account of the...

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon.

The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the best approved traditions of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres, causing the pores of the cobra cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been dominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis.

So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word and he starts gassing out of him about the invincibles and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. Mangy ravenous brute sniffling and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs and round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him:

-- Give us the paw! Give the paw, doggy! Good old doggy. Give us the paw here! Give us the paw!

Arrah! bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the bottom of a Jacob's tin he told Terry to bring. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him a yard long for more. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Phenomenon! The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. Time they were stopping up in the City Arms Pisser Burke told me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings if the three women didn't near roast him it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. Jesus, I had to laugh at Pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat and Bloom with his but don't you see? and but on the other hand. And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody establishment. Phenomenon!

-- The memory of the dead, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

-- Ay, ay, says Joe.

-- You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. What I mean is...

-- Sinn Fein! says the citizen. Sinn fein amhain! The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York Street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their black draped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grand stand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone (the semi-paralysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane), Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virdga Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos. Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Se?or Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Herr Hurhausdirektorprasident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanato riumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocentgeneralhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. An animated altercation (in which all took part) ensued among F.O.T.E.I. as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. In the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, It was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his Junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. The objects (which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches) were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Quietly, unassumingly, Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower the Gladiolus Cruentus. He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have tried (unsuccessfully) to imitate - short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. The arrival of the world-renowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of song (a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers) was easily distinguishable. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Hard by the block stood the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances (specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield), a terracotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of the most precious victim. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish (immediately acceded to) that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeeper's association as a token of his regard and esteem. The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. The hero folded her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring fondly Sheila, my own. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last time. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending 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, comprises, 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 compare 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 communication 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 complicated 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 company 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 comes 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, commend me to an israelite! Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery.

So Bob Doran comes 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 rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. Mister Knowall. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. Pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be in rivers of tears sometimes with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. What's your programme today? Ay. Humane methods. Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

Ga Ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Black Liz is our hen. She lays eggs for us. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Then comes good uncle Leo. He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. Ga ga ga ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook.

-- Anyhow, says Joe. Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the House of Commons.

-- Are you sure, says Bloom, the councillor is going? I wanted to see him, as it happens.

-- Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe, tonight.

-- That's too bad, says Bloom. I wanted particularly. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. I couldn't phone. No. You're sure?

-- Nannan's going too, says Joe. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the park. What do you think of that, citizen? The Sluagh na h-Eireann.

Mr Cowe Conacre (Multifarnham. Nat): Arising out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the Government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

Mr Allfours (Tamoshant. Con): Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the affirmative.

Mr Orelli (Montenotte. Nat): Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phnix park?

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative.

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the treasury bench? (O! O!)

Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question.

Mr Staylewit (Buncombe. Ind.): Don't hesitate to shoot.

(Ironical opposition cheers.)

The speaker: Order! Order!

(The house rises. Cheers.)

-- There's the man, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. There he is sitting there. The man that got away James Stephens. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. What was your best throw, citizen?

-- Na bacleis, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. There was a time I was as good as the next fellow anyhow.

-- Put it there, citizen, says Joe. You were and a bloody sight better.

-- Is that really a fact? says Alf.

-- Yes, says Bloom. That's well known. Do you not know that?

So off they started about Irish sport and shoneen games the like of the lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all of that. And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. Do you see that straw? That's a straw. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'Ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race. The venerable president of this noble order was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient panceltic forefathers. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause o! our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and power handed down to us from ancient ages. L. Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses (happily too familiar to need recalling here) A nation once again in the execution of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enchanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience amongst which were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and the other learned professions. The proceedings then terminated.

Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. William Delany, S. J., L. L. D.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D. D.; the rev. P. J. Kavanagh, C. S. Sp.; the rev. T. Waters, C. C.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P. P.; the rev. P. J. Cleary, O. S. F.; the rev. L. J. Hickey, O. P.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O. S. F. C.; the very rev. B. Gorman. O. D. C.; the rev. T. Maher, S. J.; the very rev. James Murphy, S. J.; the rev. John Lavery, V. F.; the very rev. William Doherty, D. D.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O. M.; the rev. T. Brangan, O. S. A.; the rev. J. Flavin, C. C.; the rev. M. A. Hackett, C. C.; the rev. W. Hurley, C. C.; the rt rev. Mgr M'Manus, V. G.; the rev. B. R. Slattery, O. M. I.; the very rev. M. D. Scally, P. P.; the rev. F. T. Purcell, O. P.; the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P. P.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C. C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.

-- Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match?

-- No, says Joe.

-- I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

-- Who? Blazes? says Joe.

And says Bloom:

-- What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training of the eye.

-- Ay, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run the odds and he swatting all the time.

-- We know him, says the citizen. The traitor's son. We know what put English gold in his pocket.

-- True for you, says Joe.

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf:

-- Now don't you think, Bergan?

-- Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. God, he gave him one last puck in the wind. Queensberry rules and all, made him puke what he never ate.

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. The soldier got to business leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. The men came to handigrips. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and, when the bell went, came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. It was a knockout clean and clever. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight.

-- He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. I hear he's running a concert tour now up in the north.

-- He is, says Joe. Isn't he?

-- Who? says Bloom. Ah, yes. That's quite true. Yes, a kind of summer tour, you see. Just a holiday.

-- Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? says Joe.

-- My wife? says Bloom. She's singing, yes. I think it will be a success too. He's an excellent man to organise. Excellent.

Hoho begob, says I to myself, says I. That explains the milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Concert tour. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Old Whatwhat. I called about the poor and water rate, Mr Boylan. You what? The water rate, Mr Boylan. You whatwhat? That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip. 'Twixt me and you Caddereesh.

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloys, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert.

-- Hello, Ned.

-- Hello, Alf.

-- Hello, Jack.

-- Hello, Joe.

-- God save you, says the citizen.

-- Save you kindly, says J. J. What'll it be, Ned?

-- Half one, says Ned.

So J. J. ordered the drinks.

-- Were you round at the court? says Joe.

-- Yes, says J. J. He'll square that, Ned, says he.

-- Hope so, says Ned.

Now what were those two at? J. J. getting him off the grand jury list and the other give him a leg over the stile. With his name in Stubbs's. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, drinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the pop. What's your name, sir? Dunne, says he. Ay, and done, says I. Gob, ye'll come home by weeping cross one of these days, I'm thinking.

-- Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there, says Alf. U. p. up.

-- Yes, says J. J. Looking for a private detective.

-- Ay, says Ned, and he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined first.

-- Ten thousand pounds, says Alf laughing. God I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury.

-- Was it you did it, Alf? says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

-- Me? says Alf. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.

-- Whatever statement you make, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.

-- Of course an action would lie, says J. J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. U. p. up.

-- Compos your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know that he's balmy? Look at his head. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on with a shoehorn?

-- Yes, says J. J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law.

-- Ha, ha, Alf, says Joe.

-- Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife.

-- Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half and half.

-- How half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he.

-- Half and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh.

-- Nor good red herring, says Joe.

-- That what's I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if you know what that is.

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. And Bloom explained he meant, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of his old fellow's was pew opener to the pope. Picture of him on the wall with his smashall sweeney's moustaches. The signor Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. And who was he, tell us? A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world.

-- And moreover, says J. J., a postcard is publication. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Hole. In my opinion an action might lie.

Six and eightpence, please. Who wants your opinion? Let us drink our pints in peace. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself.

-- Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.

-- Good health, Ned, says J. J.

-- There he is again, says Joe.

-- Where? says Alf.

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.

-- How did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe.

-- Remanded, says J. J.

One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. What? Do you see any green in the white of my eye? Course it was a bloody barney. What? Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. J. J. was telling us there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.

-- Who tried the case? says Joe.

-- Recorder, says Ned.

-- Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

-- Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve in tears on the bench.

-- Ay, says Alf. Reuben J. was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to cry:

-- A most scandalous thing! This poor hardworking man! How many children? Ten, did you say?

-- Yes, your worship. And my wife has the typhoid!

-- And a wife with typhoid fever! Scandalous! Leave the court immediately, sir. No, sir, I'll make no order for payment. How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! A poor hardworking industrious man! I dismiss the case.

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claims of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the county of the city of Dublin. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true delivrance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the King and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict give according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the books. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they swore by the name of Him who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. And straightway the minions of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor.

-- Those are nice things, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all.

-- Because you see, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. That's the whole secret.

-- Rely on me, says Joe.

-- Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. We want no more strangers in our house.

-- O I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. It's just that Keyes you see.

-- Consider that done, says Joe.

-- Very kind of you, says Bloom.

-- The strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We let them come in. We brought them. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here.

-- Decree nisi, says J. J.

And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner behind the barrel, and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when.

-- A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes.

-- And here she is, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. -- Give us a squint at her, says I.

And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. Misconduct of society belle. Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself and her fancy man feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

-- O Jakers, Jenny, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

-- There's hair, Joe, says I. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what?

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast.

-- Well, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? What did those tinkers in the cityhall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language?

O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most obedient city, second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael.

-- It's on the march, says the citizen. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois.

So J. J. puts in a word doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation.

-- Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. To hell with them! The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts.

-- 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 becoming 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 comes 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 come 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 come 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 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 ***** 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 come 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 Company (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 comes 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 shillings is five quid) and when they were in the (dark horse) Pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick (gob, must have done about a gallon) flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's (ow!) all a plan so he could vamoose with the pool if he won or (Jesus, full up I was) trading without a licence (ow!) Ireland my nation says he (hoik! phthook!) never be up to those bloody (there's the last of it) Jerusalem (ah!) cuckoos.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the idea for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the Government and appointing consuls all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Give us a bloody chance. God save Ireland from the likes of that bloody mouseabout. Mr Bloom with his argol bargol. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. Loans by post on easy terms. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Distance no object. No security. Gob he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with everyone.

-- Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse. And there's the man now that'll tell you about it, Martin Cunningham.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

-- Ho, varlet! cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party. Saucy knave! To us!

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Mine host came forth at the summons girding him with his tabard.

-- Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow.

-- Bestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked. Look to our steeds. And for ourselves give us of your best for faith we need it.

-- Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. I know not what to offer your lordships.

-- How now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, so servest thou the king's messengers, Master Taptun?

An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

-- Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you be the king's messengers (God shield His Majesty!) you shall not want for aught. The king's friends (God bless His Majesty!) shall not go afasting in my house I warrant me.

-- Then about! cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?

Mine host bowed again as he made answer:

-- What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?

-- Gadzooks! cried the last speaker. That likes me well. Pistachios!

-- Aha! cried he of the pleasant countenance. A poor house and a bare larder, quotha! 'Tis a merry rogue.

So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.

-- Where is he? says Lenehan. Defrauding widows and orphans.

-- Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

-- That's so, says Martin. Or so they allege.

-- Who made those allegations? says Alf.

-- I, says Joe. I'm the alligator.

-- And after all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow?

-- Why not? says J. J., when he's quite sure which country it is.

-- Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? says Ned. Or who is he? No offence, Crofton.

-- We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

-- Who is Junius? says J. J.

-- He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. We know that in the castle.

-- Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? says Jack Power.

-- Not at all, says Martin. Only namesakes. His name was Virag. The father's name that poisoned himself. He changed it by deed poll, the father did.

-- That's the new Messiah for Ireland! says the citizen. Island of saints and sages!

-- Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. For that matter so are we.

-- Yes, says J. J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

-- Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan.

-- O, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered.

-- En ventre sa mere, says J. J.

-- Do you call that a man? says the citizen.

-- I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.

-- Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power.

-- And who does he suspect? says the citizen.

Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. One of those mixed middlings he is. Lying up in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Do you know what I'm telling you? It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea. Justifiable homicide, so it would. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. Give us your blessing. Not as much as would blind your eye.

-- Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. But where is he? We can't wait.

-- A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. That's what he

is. Virag from Hungary! Ahasuerus I call him. Cursed by God.

-- Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? says Ned.

-- Only one, says Martin. We must be quick. J. J. and S.

-- You Jack? Crofton? Three half ones, Terry.

-- Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.

-- Well, says Martin, rapping for his glass. God bless all here is my prayer.

-- Amen, says the citizen.

-- And I'm sure he will, says Joe.

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratesians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr and S. Isidore Arator and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns. And as they wended their way by Nelson's Pillar, Henry Street, Mary Street, Capel Street, Little Britain Street, chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8,9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the blessed answered his prayers.

-- Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.

-- Que fecit clum et terram.

-- Dominus vobiscum.

-- Et cum spiritu tuo.

And he laid his hands upon the blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed:

-- Deus, cuius vet sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et pasta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et anima tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

-- And so say all of us, says Jack.

-- Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford.

-- Right, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. And butter for fish.

I was just looking round to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but in he comes again letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.

-- I was just round at the courthouse, says he, looking for you. I hope I'm not...

-- No, says Martin, we're ready.

Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver. Mean bloody scut. Stand us a drink itself. Devil a sweet fear! There's a jew for you! All for number one. Cute as a shithouse rat. Hundred to five.

-- Don't tell anyone, says the citizen.

-- Beg your pardon, says he.

-- Come on boys, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Come along now.

-- Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. It's a secret.

And-he bloody dog woke up and let a growl.

-- Bye bye all, says Martin.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be all at sea up with them on the bloody jaunting car.

Off with you, says Martin to the jarvey.

The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop, the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the bark clave the waves.

But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

-- Let me alone, says he.

And begob he got as far as the door and they holding him and he bawls out of him:

-- Three cheers for Israel!

Arrah, sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would.

And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her:

-- Eh, mister! Your fly is open, mister!

And says he:

-- Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. And the Saviour was a jew and his father was a jew. Your God.

-- He had no father, says Martin. That'll do now. Drive ahead.

-- Whose God? says the citizen.

-- Well, his uncle was a jew, says he. Your God was a jew. Christ was a jew like me.

Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

-- By Jesus, says he, I'Il brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Give us that biscuitbox here.

-- Stop! Stop! says Joe.

A-large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyaságos uram Lipóti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Százharminczbrojúgulyás-Dugulás (Meadow of Murmuring Waters). The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczy's March. Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four seas on the summits of the Hill of Howth, Three Rock Mountain, Sugar-loaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M'Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeon-house. Visszontlátlására, kedvés baráton! Visszontlátásra! Gone but not forgotten.

Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre.

-- Where is he till I murder him?

And Ned and J. G. paralysed with the laughing.

-- Bloody wars, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him.

-- Hold one citizen, says Joe. Stop. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. All the lordly Tesidences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island, respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale. Other eyewitnesses depose that they-observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed south west by west. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. The work of salvage, removal of debris human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159, Great Brunswick Street and Messrs T. C. Martin, 77, 78, 79 and 80, North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H. R. H., rear admiral the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson K.G., K.P., H.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.

You never saw the like of it in all your born puff. Gob, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. What? O, Jesus, he did. And he let a volley of oaths after him.

-- Did I kill him, says he, or what?

And he shouting to the bloody dog:

-- After him, Garry! After him, boy!

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. Hundred to five! Jesus, he took the value of it out of him, I promise you.

When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah! Elijah! And he answered with a main cry: Abba! Adonai! And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green Street like a shot off a shovel.

正当我跟首都警察署的老特洛伊在阿伯山[1] 拐角处闲聊的时候,真该死,一个扫烟囱的混蛋走了过来,差点儿把他那家什捅进我的眼睛里。我转过身去, 刚要狠狠地骂他一顿,只见沿着斯托尼·巴特尔街蹒跚踱来的,不是别人, 正是乔·海因斯。





“干不出啥名堂,”我说,“守备队教堂再过去,雏鸡小巷拐角处,有个狡猾透顶的混帐贼--老特洛伊刚才透露给我关于他的一些底细。 他自称在唐郡有座农场,于是就从住在海特斯勃利大街附近一个名叫摩西·赫佐格的侏儒那儿,勒索来大量的茶叶和砂糖。决定要他每星期付三先令。”




“唉,”我说,“英雄们竟倒下了![4]就靠收呆帐和荒帐为业。但是走上一整天也轻易碰不到像他那样声名狼藉的混帐强盗。 他那一脸麻子足盛得下一场阵雨。‘告诉他,’他说:‘我才不怕他呢,’他说,‘他就是再一次派你来,我也一点儿都不怕。要是他派的话,’他说,‘我就让法庭去传讯他。我一定要控告他无执照营业。’然后他吃得肚子都快撑破了。天哪,小个儿犹太佬大发脾气,我忍不住笑起来了。‘他喝的是俺的茶。他吃的是俺的糖。因为他不把欠俺的钱还给俺!对不?”

从都柏林市伍德码头区圣凯文步道十三号的商人摩西·赫佐格(以下称作卖方)那里购入、并出售提交给都柏林市阿伦码头区阿伯斜坡二十九号的绅士迈克尔·E·杰拉蒂[5](以下称作买方)的耐久商品,计有常衡每磅三先令整的特级茶叶常衡五磅,常衡每磅三便士的结晶粒状砂糖常衡三斯通[6]。作为代价,上述买方应付给上述卖方一镑五先令六便士的货款。此款应按周分期付款,每七天支付三先令整。 经上述卖方及其法定继承人、业务后继者、受托人和受让人为一方, 买方及其法定继承人、业务后继者、受托人和受让人为另一方;在上述买方按照经双方同意, 本日所议定的支付方法将款项准时付清卖方之前, 上述买方不得将上述耐久商品予以典当、抵押、出售或用其他方式转让。上述卖方对这些商品仍然享有独占权, 只能凭借他的信誉和意志来处置。




“谁呀?”我说,“他疯了,住进了‘天主的约翰’[7] ),可怜的人。”








于是我们东拉西扯地闲聊着,沿着亚麻厅营房[12])和法院后身走去。乔这个人哪,有钱的时候挺大方,可是像他这副样子,确实从来也没有过钱。天哪, 我可不能原谅那个大白天抢劫的强盗,混帐狡猾的杰拉蒂。 他竟然说什么要控告人家无执照营业。

在美丽的伊尼斯费尔[13]有片土地,神圣的迈昌[14]土地。那儿高高耸立着一座望楼[15],人们从远处就可以望到它。 里面躺着卓绝的死者--将士和煊赫一世的王侯们。他们睡得就像还活着似的。 [16] 那真是一片欢乐的土地,淙淙的溪水,河流里满是嘻戏的鱼:绿鳍鱼、鲽鱼、 石斑鱼、庸蝶、雄黑线鳍[17]、幼鲑、比目鱼、滑菱鲆、鲽形目鱼、绿鳕, 下等杂鱼以及水界的其他不胜枚举的鱼类。在微微的西风和东风中,高耸的树朝四面八方摇摆着它们那优美的茂叶, 飘香的埃及榕、黎巴嫩杉、冲天的法国梧桐、 良种按树以及郁郁葱葱遍布这一地区的其他乔木界瑰宝。可爱的姑娘们紧紧倚着可爱的树木根部,唱着最可爱的歌, 用各种可爱的东西作游戏,诸如金锭、银鱼、成斗的鲱鱼、 一网网的鳝鱼和幼鳕、一篓篓的仔鲑、海里的紫色珍宝以及顽皮的昆虫们。从埃布拉纳至斯利夫马吉[18], 各地的英雄们远远地飘洋过海来向她们求爱。盖世无双的亲王们来自自由的芒斯特、 正义的康诺特、光滑整洁的伦斯特、克鲁亚昌的领地、辉煌的阿马、博伊尔的崇高地区[19]。 他们是王子,即国王的子嗣[20]。

那里还矗立着一座灿烂的宫殿[21]。它那闪闪发光的水晶屋顶,映人了水手们的眼帘。他们乘着特制的三桅帆船,穿越浩淼的海洋, 把当地所有的牲畜、肥禽和初摘的水果,统统运来。由奥康内尔·菲茨蒙[ 22] 向他们收税。他是一位族长--也是族长的后裔。用一辆辆巨大的敞篷马车载来的是田里丰饶的收获:装在浅筐中的花椰菜、成车的菠菜,大块头的菠萝,仰光豆[23],多少斯揣克[24]西红柿,盛在一只只圆桶里的无花果,条播的瑞典芜菁,球形土豆,好几捆约克种以及萨沃伊种彩虹色羽衣甘兰,还有盛在一只只浅箱里的大地之珍珠[ 25] --葱头;此外就是一扁篮一扁篮的蘑菇、乳黄色食用葫芦、饱满的大巢莱、大麦和苔苔,红绿黄褐朽叶色的又甜又大又苦又熟又有斑点的苹果,装在一只只薄木匣里的杨梅,一粗筐一粗筐的醋栗。多汁而皮上毛茸茸的,再就是可供王侯吃的草莓和刚摘下的木莓。





那只混帐杂种狗嗷嗷叫的声音使人起鸡皮疙瘩。要是哪位肯把它宰了, 那可是桩肉体上的善行[35]哩。听说当桑特里[36]的宪警去送蓝色文件[37]时,它竟把他的裤子咬掉了一大块,这话千真万确












“荒唐[ 42] !别胡说八道啦,乔,”我说,“我的喉咙干得厉害,就是喝上它半克朗的酒,也解不了渴。”









泪水与微笑不断地争夺主次的那双眼睛[48],足有一大棵花椰菜那么大。从他那口腔的深窝里,每隔一定时间就吐出一股强烈温暖的气息; 而他那颗坚强的心脏总在响亮、有力而健壮地跳动着,产生有节奏的共鸣, 像雷一般轰隆轰隆的,使大地、高耸的塔顶,以及更高的洞穴的内壁都为之震颤。

他身穿用新近剥下来的公牛皮做的坎肩,长及膝盖,下摆是宽松的苏格兰式百褶短裙。腰间系着用麦秆和灯心草编织的带子。里面穿的是用肠线潦潦草草缝就的鹿皮紧身裤。胫部裹着染成苔紫色的高地巴尔布里艮[49]皮绑腿,脚蹬低跟镂花皮鞋,是用盐腌过的母牛皮制成的,并系着同一牲畜的气管做的鞋带。他的腰带上垂挂着一串海卵石。每当他那可怕的身躯一摆动,就丁当乱响。在这些卵石上,以粗犷而高超的技艺刻着许许多多古代爱尔兰部族的男女英雄的形象:库楚林、百战之康恩、做过九次人质的奈尔[ 50] 、金克拉的布赖恩[51]、玛拉基大王、阿尔特·麦克默拉、沙恩·奥尼尔[52]、约翰·墨菲神父、欧文·罗[ 53] 、帕特里克·萨斯菲尔德[54]、红发休·奥唐奈、红发吉姆·麦克德莫特[55]、索加斯·尤格翰·奥格罗尼[56]、迈克尔·德怀尔、弗朗西斯·希金斯[ 57] 、亨利·乔伊·莫克拉肯[58]、歌利亚[59]、霍勒斯·惠特利[60]、托马斯·康内夫、佩格·沃芬顿[61]、乡村铁匠[62]、穆恩莱特上尉[63]、杯葛上尉[64]、但丁·阿利吉耶里、克里斯托弗·哥伦布、圣弗尔萨[65]、圣布伦丹[66]、麦克马洪[67]元帅、查理曼[68]、西奥博尔德·沃尔夫·托恩[69]、马加比弟兄之母[70]、最后的莫希干人[ 71] 、卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰[72]、攻克戈尔韦的人[73]、使蒙特卡洛的赌场主破产了的人[74]、把关者[75]、没做的女人[76]、本杰明·富兰克林、拿破仑·波拿巴、约翰·劳·沙利文[77]、克莉奥佩特拉、我忠实的宝贝儿[ 78] 、尤利乌斯·恺撒、帕拉切尔苏斯[79]、托马斯·利普顿爵士[ 80] 、威廉·退尔[81]、 米开朗琪罗·海斯[82]、穆罕默德、拉默穆尔的新娘[83]、隐修士彼得[84]、打包商彼得[85]、黑发罗莎琳[86]、帕特里克·威·莎士比亚[87]、布赖恩·孔子[88]、穆尔塔赫·谷登堡[89]、帕特里西奥·委拉斯开兹[90]、内莫船长[91]、特里斯丹和绮瑟[92]、第一任威尔士亲王[93]、托马斯·库克父子[94]、勇敢的少年兵[95]、 爱吻者[96]、迪克·特平[97]、路德维希·贝多芬、金发少女[98]、摇摆的希利[99]、神仆团团员安格斯[100] 、多利丘、西德尼步道、霍斯山[101] 、 瓦伦丁·格雷特雷克斯[102] 、亚当与夏娃[103] ,阿瑟·韦尔斯利[104] 、领袖克罗克[105]、希罗多德[106] 、杀掉巨人的杰克[107] 、乔答摩·佛陀[108] 、 戈黛娃夫人[109] 、基拉尼的百合[110]、恶毒眼巴洛尔[111] 、示巴女王[112] 、阿基·内格尔[113] 、乔·内格尔[114] 、亚历山德罗·伏打[115] 、 杰里迈亚·奥多诺万·罗萨[116]、堂菲利普·奥沙利文·比尔[117] 。他身旁横着一杆用磨尖了的花岗石做成的矛,他脚下卧着一条属于犬类的野兽。它像打呼噜般地喘着气,表明它已沉入了不安宁的睡眠中。这从它嘶哑的嗥叫和痉挛性的动作得到证实。主人不时地抡起用旧石器时代的石头粗糙地做成的大棍子来敲打,以便镇住并抑制它。






是谁通身披挂着黑色铠甲,穿过迈昌的土地[119] 前来?是罗里[122] 的儿子奥布卢姆。正是他。罗里的儿子是无所畏惧的。他是个谨慎的人。

“为亲王街的老太婆[121] 工作着吧,”“市民”说,“为那份领着津贴的机关报。因在议会里宣过誓而受到拘束。瞧瞧这该死的破报,”他说,“瞧瞧这个”, 他说,“《爱尔兰独立日报》,你们看多奇怪,竟然是‘巴涅尔所创办,工人之友’ 哩。不妨听听这份一切为了爱尔兰的《爱尔兰独立日报》上所登的出生通知和讣告吧,我得谢谢你们。还有结婚启事呢。”


“‘埃克塞特市”[122]巴恩菲尔德·新月街的戈登; 住在滨海圣安妮之艾弗利的雷德梅因,威廉·T。雷德梅因之妻生一子。’这怎么样呢? ‘赖特和弗林特; 文森特和吉勒特,罗萨与已故乔治·艾尔弗雷德·吉勒特之女罗莎·玛莉恩, 斯托克维尔[123] 克列帕姆路一七九号,普莱伍德和里兹代尔,在肯辛顿的圣朱德教堂举行婚礼,主婚人为武斯特副主教、十分可敬的弗雷斯特博士。’呃?讣告: ‘住在伦敦白厅小巷的布里斯托;住在斯托克·纽因顿[124] 的卡尔,因患胃炎与心脏病;住在切普斯托[125] 莫特馆的科克伯恩……’”


“‘科克伯恩·迪穆赛,已故海军大将大卫·迪穆赛的妻子;住在托特纳姆的米勒,享年八十五;住在利物浦坎宁街三十五号的伊莎贝拉·海伦·威尔士于六月十二日去世。’一份民族的报纸怎么会刊登这佯的玩艺儿呢,呃, 我的褐色小子[126] ?班特里这个假公济私的马丁·墨菲[127] ,搞的是什么名堂呢?”

“啊,喔,”乔说着把酒递过来,“感谢天主,他们赶在咱们头里啦[128] 。喝吧,‘市民’。”












“不许出声!”[129] 他说。


“布林,”阿尔夫说,“他起先在约翰·亨利·门顿那里,接着又绕到考立斯-沃德事务所去。后来汤姆·罗赤福特碰见了他, 就开玩笑地支使他到副行政司法长官那儿去。噢,天哪,把我肚子都笑疼了。万事休矣:完蛋。那高个儿像是要传讯他似的盯了他一眼,如今那个老疯子到格林街去找警察啦。”






“快点儿,特里[131] 伙计,”阿尔夫说。

特伦斯·奥赖恩听见这话,立刻端来一只透明的杯子,里面满是冒泡的乌道浓啤酒。这是那对高贵的双胞胎邦吉维和邦加耿朗[132] 在他们那神圣的大桶里酿造的。他们像永生的勒达[133]所生的两个儿子一样精明,贮藏大量的蛇麻子[134] 那多汁的浆果,经过堆积,精选,研碎,酿制,再掺上酸汁,把刚兑好的汁液放在圣火上。这对精明的弟兄称得起是大酒桶之王,夜以继日地操劳着。

那么你,豪侠的特伦斯,便按照熟习的风俗[135] ,用透明的杯子盛上甘美的饮料,端给侠肠义胆、美如神明的口渴的他。

然而他,奥伯甘的年轻族长,论慷慨大度决不甘拜他人之下风,遂宽厚大方地付了一枚铸有头像的最贵重的青铜市[136]。上面, 用精巧的冶金工艺浮雕出仪表堂堂的女王像,她是布伦维克家族[137] 的后裔,名叫维多利亚。承蒙上主的恩宠,至高无上的女工陛下君临大不列颠和爱尔兰联合王国以及海外英国领土。 她是女王,信仰的捍卫者,印度的女皇。就是她,战胜了众邦,受到万人的崇敬, 从日出到日落之地[138] ,苍白、浅黑、微红到黝黑皮肤的人们,都晓得并爱戴她。










“威利·默雷[139] 近来怎么样,阿尔夫?”















“也许是的,”乔说,“横竖今儿早晨他们已经擅自把他埋掉了。”[141] 帕狄吗?”阿尔夫说。




在黑暗中,使人感到幽灵的手在晃动。当按照密宗经咒[142] 作的祷告送至应达处时,一抹微弱然而愈益明亮起来的红宝石光泽逐渐映入眼帘。 从头顶和脸上散发出来的吉瓦光,使得虚灵体格外逼真。[143] 信息交流是脑下垂体以及骶骨部和太阳神经丛所释放出的橙色与鲜红色光线促成的。 问起他生前的名字和现在天界何方,他答以如今正在劫末[144] 或回归途中,但仍在星界低域,某些嗜血者手中经受着磨难。被问以当他越过那浩渺的境界后最初的感想如何, 他回答说:原先他所看见的好比是映在镜子里的模糊不清的影像[145] ,然而已经越境者面前随即揭示出发展“我”[146] 这一至高无上的可能性。及至问起来世的生活是否与有着肉身的我们在现世中的经验相仿佛时,他回答说,那些已进入灵界的受宠者曾告诉他说,在他们的住处,现代化家庭用品一应俱全,诸如塔拉梵那、 阿拉瓦塔尔、哈特阿克尔达、沃特克拉撒特[147] 。无比资深的能手沉浸在最纯粹的逸乐的波浪里。他想要一夸脱脱脂牛奶,立刻就给他端来,他显然解了渴。 问他有没有什么口信捎给生者,他告诫所有那些依然处于摩耶[148] 中的人们:要悟正道,因为天界盛传,马尔斯[149] 和朱庇特[150] 已下降到东方的角落来捣乱,而那是白羊宫[151]的势力范围。这时又问,故人这方面有没有特别的愿望, 回答是:“至今犹活在肉身中的尘世间之凡朋俗友们,吾曹向汝等致意。勿容科·凯牟取暴利。”据悉,这里指的是科尼利厄斯[152] ·凯莱赫。他是死者的私人朋友, 也是有名气的H、J.奥尼尔殡仪馆经理,丧事就是他经办的。 告辞之前他要求转告他的爱子帕齐,说帕齐所要找的那只靴子目前在侧屋[153] 的五斗柜底下。这双靴子的后跟还挺结实,只消送到卡伦鞋店去补一下靴底就成了。他说,在来世,他一直记挂着这件事, 心绪极为不宁。务必请代为转告。


他离开了尘寰。噢,迪格纳穆,我们的旭日。他踩在欧洲蕨上的脚步是那样迅疾。额头闪闪发光的帕特里克啊。邦芭[154] ,随着你的风悲叹吧。海洋啊,随着你的旋风悲叹吧。







鲍勃·多兰- 喝醉了,就堕落成整个都柏林最下流的歹徒。他把帽于歪戴在后脑勺上,说:









“该死的泪水快流到眼边。[155]他说着那该死的大话。还不如回家去找他娶的那个梦游症患者小个子浪女人呢。就是一名小执行吏的闺女穆尼。 [156]她娘在哈德威克街开了个娼家,经常在楼梯平台上转悠。在她那儿住过的班塔姆·莱昂斯告诉我,都凌晨两点了她还一丝不挂、整个儿光着身子呆在那儿,来者不拒,一视同仁。






“噢,天哪,麦基奥[157] ,”乔说,他正在读着那些信中的一封,“听听好不好?”






年二月十二日,敝人曾在布特尔监狱绞死乔·甘恩[158] 。






……那一次,比林顿[159] 将凶恶的杀人犯托德·史密

斯[160] 处以绞刑……





霍·郎博尔德[161] 顿首


“他还是个凶猛、残暴的野蛮人[162] 呢,”“市民”说。





“那些家伙都是理发师,”他说,“是从黑乡[ 163] 来的。只要给他们五镑钱,并且管旅费,哪怕自己的亲爹他们也肯下手绞死。”

他还告诉我们,把犯人悬空吊起后,等在下面的两个人就拽他的脚后跟, 好让他彻底咽气。然后他们把绞索切成一截一截的,每副头盖骨按多少先令卖掉。[164]

这些恶狠狠的、操利刃的骑士们都住在黑乡。他们紧握着那致命的绳索。 对,不论是谁,凡是杀过人的必然统统给套住,打发到厄瑞勃斯[165] 去。因为上主曾说,我无论如何不能饶恕此等罪行。

于是,大家聊起死刑的事儿来了。布卢姆自然也闲扯起死刑的来龙去脉以及种种无稽之谈。那条老狗不停地嗅着他。 我听说这些犹太佬身上总发散着一股奇怪的气味,能够吸引周围的狗,还能治服什么。





“千真万确,”阿尔夫说,“我是听基尔门哈姆监狱的看守长说的。他们绞死‘常胜军’的乔·布雷迪[166] 之后,就发生了这种情形。他告诉我,当他们割断绞索把吊死鬼儿撂下来时,那阳物就像一根拨火棍儿似的戳到他们面前。”

“占主导地位的感情到死还是强烈的,”乔说,“正像某人[167] 说过的那样。”

“这可以用科学来解释,”布卢姆说,“不过是个自然现象,不是吗, 因为由于……”


杰出的科学家卢伊特波尔德·布卢门达夫特[168] 教授先生曾提出下述医学根据加以阐明:按照医学上公认的传统学说,颈椎骨的碎折以及伴随而来的脊髓截断,不可避免地会给予人身神经中枢以强烈刺激,从而引起海绵体的弹性细孔急速膨胀,促使血液瞬时注入在人体解剖学上称为阴茎即男性生殖器的这一部位。其结果是:在颈骨断袭导致死亡的那一瞬间[169] ,诱发出专家称之为“生殖器病态地向前上方多产性勃起”这一现象。[170]

“市民”当然急不可耐地等着插嘴的机会。 接着就高谈阔论起“常胜军”啦,激进分子[171] 啦,六七年那帮人[172] 啦,还有那些怕谈到九八年[173]的人什么的。乔也跟他扯起那些为了事业经临时军事法庭审判而被绞死、开膛或流放的人们,以及新爱尔兰,新这个,新那个什么的。说起新爱尔兰,这家伙倒应该去物色一条新狗,可不是嘛。眼下这条畜生浑身长满癞疮,饥肠辘辘,到处嗅来嗅去,打喷嚏,又搔它那疮痂。接着,这狗就转悠到正请阿尔夫喝半品脱酒的鲍勃·多兰跟前,向他讨点儿什么吃的。于是,鲍勃·多兰当然就干起缺德的傻事儿来了。


荒唐![ 174] 也甭去捏该死的什么爪子了,他差点儿从该死的凳子上倒栽葱跌到该死的老狗脑袋上。阿尔夫试图扶住他。他嘴里还喋喋不休他说着种种蠢话,什么训练得靠慈爱之心啦,纯种狗啦,聪明的狗啦。该死的真使你感到厌恶。然后他又从叫特里拿来的印着雅各布商标的罐头底儿上掏出几块陈旧碎饼干。狗把它当作旧靴子那样嘎吱嘎吱吞了下去,舌头耷拉出一码长,还想吃。这条饥饿的该死的杂种狗,几乎连罐头都吞下去嘞。

且说“市民”和布卢姆正围绕刚才那个问题争论着呢:被处死于阿伯山的希尔斯弟兄[175] 和沃尔夫·托恩[176] 啦。罗伯特·埃米特[177]为国捐躯啦,汤米·穆尔关于萨拉·柯伦的笔触--她远离故土[178] 啦。满脸脂肪的布卢姆当然装腔作势地叼着一支浓烈得使人昏迷的雪茄。现象!他娶的那位胖墩儿才是个稀奇透顶的老现象哩:她的后背足有滚木球的球道那么宽。精明鬼伯克告诉我,有一阵子这对夫妻住在市徽饭店,里面有位老太婆[179],带着个疯疯傻傻、令人丢脸[180] 的侄子。布卢姆指望她在遗嘱里赠给自己点儿什么,就试图使她的心肠软下来。于是,就对她百般奉承,和颜悦色地陪她玩比齐克[181]牌戏。 老太婆总是做出一副虔诚的样子,每逢星期五,布卢姆也跟着不吃肉,还带那个蠢才去散步。有一回他领着这个侄子满都柏林转悠。凭着神圣的乡巴佬发誓,布卢姆连一句也没唠叨,直到那家伙醉得像一只炖熟的猫头鹰,这才把他带回来。他说他这么做是为了教给那个侄子酗酒的害处。那个老太婆、布卢姆的老婆和旅店老板娘奥多德太太这三位妇人居然没差点儿把他整个儿烤了,也够不寻常的了。天哪,精明鬼勃克学他们争辩的样儿给我看,我不得不笑。布卢姆说着他那些口头禅,什么“你们不明白吗?要么就是“然而,另一方面”。不瞒您说,我刚刚谈到的那个蠢才从此就成了科普街鲍尔鸡尾酒店的常客:每星期五次,必把那家该死的店里的每一种酒都喝个遍,腰腿瘫软得动弹不了,只好雇马车回去。真是个现象!

“为了纪念死者[182] ,”“市民”举起他那一品脱装的玻璃杯,瞪着布卢姆说。



“我们自己!”[183]“市民”说,“我们自己就够了![184] 我们所爱的朋友站在我们这边,我们所憎恨的仇敌在我们对面。[ 185]”

最后的诀别[186]令人感动之至。丧钟从远远近近的钟楼里不停地响着,教堂幽暗的院子周围,一百面声音闷哑的大鼓发出不祥的警告,不时地被大炮那瓮声瓮气的轰鸣所打断。震耳欲聋的雷鸣和映出骇人景象的耀眼闪电,证明天公的炮火给这本来就已令人毛骨悚然的景色,平添了超自然的威势。瀑布般的大雨从愤怒的苍穹的水门倾泻到聚集在那里的据估计起码也不下五十万大众那未戴帽子的光头上。都柏林市警察署武装队在警察署长的亲自指挥下,在庞大的人群中维持着治安。约克街的铜管乐队和簧管乐队用缠了黑纱的乐器出色地演奏出我们从摇篮里就爱上的那支由于斯佩兰扎的哀戚歌词[187]而最为动人的曲调。这样,使群众得以消磨一下大会开始前的这段时间。为了供临时浩浩荡荡赶来参加的那些乡亲们舒适地享用,还准备了特快游览列车和敞篷软座公共马车。都柏林的街头红歌手利×翰和穆×根[188],像往常那样用诙谐逗乐的腔调唱《拉里被处绞刑的前夕》[189] 。我们这两位无与伦比的小丑在热爱喜剧要素的观众当中兜售刊有歌词的大幅印张,销路极佳。凡是在心灵深处懂得欣赏毫不粗俗的爱尔兰幽默的人,绝不会在乎把自己辛辛苦苦地挣来的几便士掏给他们。男女弃儿医院的娃娃们也挤满一个个窗口俯瞰这一情景,对于出乎意料地添加到今天的游艺中的这一余兴感到欢快。济贫小姊妹会的修女们想出个高明主意:让这些没爹没妈的可怜的娃娃们享受到一次真正富于教育意义的娱乐,值得称赞。来自总督府家宴的宾客包括许多社交界知名淑女,她们在总督伉俪的陪同下,在正面看台的特等席上落座。坐在对面看台上的是衣着鲜艳的外国代表团。通称作绿宝石岛[190]之友。 全体出席的代表团包括骑士团司令官巴奇巴奇·贝尼诺贝诺内[ 191] (这位代表团团长[192] 因半身不遂,只得借助于蒸汽起重机坐下来),皮埃尔保罗·佩蒂特埃珀坦先生[193] ,杰出的滑稽家乌拉基米尔·波克特汉克切夫[194] ,大滑稽家莱奥波尔德·鲁道尔夫·封·施万岑巴德- 赫登塔勒[195] ,玛尔哈·维拉佳·吉萨斯左尼·普特拉佩斯蒂[196]伯爵夫人、海勒姆·Y。邦布斯特、阿塔纳托斯·卡拉梅勒洛斯伯爵[197] 、 阿里巴巴·贝克西西·拉哈特·洛库姆·埃芬迪[198] ,伊达尔戈·卡瓦列罗·堂·佩卡迪洛·伊·帕拉布拉斯·伊·帕特诺斯特·德·拉·马洛拉·德·拉·马拉利亚先生[199] ,赫克波克·哈拉基利[200] ,席鸿章[ 201] 、奥拉夫·克贝尔克德尔森[202] ,特里克·范·特龙普斯先生,[203],潘·波尔阿克斯·帕迪利斯基[204] ,古斯庞德·普鲁库鲁斯托尔·克拉特奇纳布利奇兹伊奇[205] , 勃鲁斯·胡平柯夫[206] ,赫尔豪斯迪莱克托尔普莱西登特·汉斯·丘赤里- 斯托伊尔里先生[207] ,国立体育馆博物馆疗养所及悬肌普通无薪俸讲师通史专家教授博士、里格弗里德·于贝尔阿尔杰曼[208] 。所有的代表对他们被请来目睹的难以名状的野蛮行径,都毫无例外地竭力使用最强烈的各自迥异的言词发表了意见。 于是,关于爱尔兰的主保圣人[209] 的诞辰究竟是三月八号还是九号,绿宝石岛之友们开展了热烈的争辩(大家全都参加了)。在争辩的过程中,使用了炮弹、单刃短弯刀、往返飞镖[210]、老式大口径短程霰弹枪、便器、绞肉机、雨伞、弹弓、指关节保护套[ 211] 、沙袋、铣铁块等武器,尽情地相互大打出手。还派信使专程从布特尔斯唐[212]把娃娃警察麦克法登巡警召了来。他很快就恢复了秩序,并火速提出,生日乃是同月十七号[213] 。这一解答使争辩双方都保住了面子。人人欢迎九尺汉子[214] 这个随机应变的建议,全场一致通过。绿宝石岛之友个个都向麦克法登巡警衷心表示谢忱, 而其中几个正大量淌着血。 骑士团司令官贝尼诺贝诺内被人从大会主席的扶手椅底下解救出来,然后他的法律顾问帕格米米律师[ 215] 解释说,藏在他那三十二个兜[216] 里的形形色色的物品,都是他乘乱从资历较浅的同僚兜里掏出来的,以促使他们恢复理智。这些物品(包括几百位淑女绅士的金表和银表)被立即归还给合法的原主。和谐融洽的气氛笼罩全场。

朗博尔德身穿笔挺的常礼服,佩带着一朵他心爱的血迹斑斑的剑兰花[217] ,安详、谦逊地走上断头台。他凭着轻轻的一声朗博尔德派头的咳嗽通知了自己的到来。这种咳嗽多少人想模仿(却学不来):短促,吃力而富有特色。这位闻名全世界的刽子手到来后,大批围观者报以暴风雨般的欢呼。总督府的贵妇们兴奋得挥着手帕。比她们更容易兴奋的外国使节杂七杂八地喝采着,霍赫、邦在、艾尔珍、吉维奥、钦钦、波拉·克罗尼亚、希普希普、维沃、安拉的叫声混成一片。其中可以清楚地听到歌之国代表那响亮的哎夫维瓦[218] 声(高出两个八度的F音, 令人回忆起阉歌手卡塔拉尼[219] 当年曾经怎样用那尖锐优美的歌声使得我们的高祖母们为之倾倒)。这时已十七点整。扩音器里传出了祈祷的信号。全体与会者立即脱帽,骑士团司令官那顶标志着族长身分的高顶阔边帽(自林齐[220] 那场革命以来,这就归他这一家人所有了),由他身边的侍医皮普[221] 博士摘掉了。当英勇的烈士即将被处死刑之际,一位学识渊博的教长在主持圣教赐与最后慰藉的仪式。本着最崇高的基督教精神,跪在一泓雨水中,将教袍撩到白发苍苍的头上,向慈悲的宝座发出热切恳求的祷告。断头台旁立着绞刑吏那阴森恐怖的身影,脸上罩着一顶可容十加仑的高帽子[222] ,上面钻了两个圆洞,一双眼睛从中炯炯地发出怒火。在等待那致命的信号的当儿,他把凶器的利刃放在筋骨隆隆的手臂上磨砺,要么就迅疾地挨个儿砍掉一群绵羊的头。这是他的仰慕者们为了让他执行这项虽残忍却非完成不可的任务而准备的。他身边的一张漂亮的红木桌上,整整齐齐地排列着肢解用刀、各式各样精工锻成的摘取内脏用的器具(都是举世闻名的、谢菲尔德市约翰·朗德父子公司[223] 刀具制造厂特制的)。还有一只赤土陶制平底锅,成功地把十二指肠、结肠、盲肠、阑尾等摘除后,就装在里面。另外有两个容量可观的牛奶罐:是盛最宝贵的牺牲者那最宝贵的血液用的。猫狗联合收容所[224] 的膳务员也在场。这些容器装满后,就由他运到那家慈善机构去。当局还用意周到地为这场悲剧的中心人物提供了一份丰盛的膳食,包括火腿煎鸡蛋,炸得很好的洋葱配牛排,早餐用热气腾腾的美味面包卷儿,以及提神的茶。他精神抖擞,视死如归,自始至终极其关心这档子事的种种细节。他以当代罕见的克制,不失时机站起来,慷慨激昂地表明了自己临终的一个愿望(并立即得到首肯):要求将这份膳食平均分配给贫病寄宿者协会的会员们,以表示他对他们的关怀和敬重。当那位被遴选出来的新娘涨红了脸,拨开围观者密集的行列冲过来,投进为了她的缘故而即将被送入永恒世界的那个人壮健的胸脯时,大家的情绪高涨到极点[225] 。英雄深情地搂抱着她那苗条的身子,亲昵地低声说:“希拉,我心爱的。”听到这样称她的教名、她深受鼓舞。于是她就以不至于损害他那身囚衣的体面为度,热情地吻着他身上所有那些适当的部位。当他们二人的眼泪汇成一股咸流时,她向他发誓说,她会永远珍视关于他的记忆,决不会忘怀他

这个英勇的小伙子是怎样嘴里哼着歌儿,就像是到克隆土耳克公园[226] 去打爱尔兰曲棍球那样地走向死亡。她使他回忆起幸福的儿童时代那快乐日子。那时他们一道在安娜·利菲河岸上尽情地做着天真烂漫的幼儿游戏。他们忘却了当前这可怕的现实,一道畅怀大笑。所有在场的人,包括可敬的教士,也参加到弥漫全场的欢快气氛中。怪物般万头攒动的观众简直笑得前仰后合。然而不久他们两个人就又被悲哀所压倒,最后一次紧紧地握了手。从他们的泪腺里再一次滔滔地涌出泪水。众多的围观者打心坎里感动了,悲痛欲绝地哽咽起来,连年迈的受俸教士本人也同样哀伤。膀大腰粗的彪形大汉,在场维持治安的官员以及皇家爱尔兰警察部队那些和蔼的巨人都毫无忌惮地用手绢擦拭着。可以蛮有把握地说,在这规模空前的大集会上,没有一双眼睛不曾被泪水润湿。这时一桩最富于浪漫主义色彩的事情发生了:一个以敬重妇女著称的年轻英俊的牛津大学毕业生[227] 走上前去,递上自己的名片、银行存折和家谱,并向那位不幸的少女求婚,恳请她定下日期。她当场就首肯了。在场的每位太大小姐都接受了一件大方雅致的纪念品:一枚骷髅枯骨图案[228] 的饰针。这一既合时宜慷慨的举动重新激发了众人的情绪。于是,这位善于向妇女献殷勤的年轻的牛津大学毕业生(顺便提一下,他拥有阿尔比安[229] 有史以来最享盛名的姓氏)将一枚用几颗绿宝石镶成四叶白花酢浆草状的名贵的订婚戒指,套在他那忸怩得涨红了脸的未婚妻手指上时,人们感到无比兴奋。甚至连主持这一悲惨场面的面容严峻的宪兵司令,那位陆军中校汤姆金- 马克斯韦尔·弗伦奇马伦·汤姆林森,尽管他曾经毫不犹豫地用炮弹把众多印度兵炸得血肉横飞[230] ,当前也抑制不住感情的自然流露了。他伸出有着锁子甲的防护长手套,悄然抹掉一滴泪。[231] 那些有幸站在他身边的随行人员听见他低声喃喃自语着:


于是,“市民”就谈起爱尔兰语啦,市政府会议啦,以及所有那些不会讲本国语言、态度傲慢的自封的绅士啦。乔是由于今天从什么人手里捞到了一镑金币,也来插嘴。布卢姆叼着向乔讨来的值两便士的烟头,探过他那黏乎乎的老脑袋瓜儿,大谈起盖尔语协会啦,反对飨宴联盟[233] 啦,以及爱尔兰的祸害--酗酒。由他来提反对飨宴,倒蛮合适哩。哼,他会让你往他的喉咙里灌各种酒,一直灌到上主把他召走,你也见不到他请的那品脱酒的泡沫儿。有个晚上,我和一个伙伴儿去参加他们的音乐晚会。照例载歌载舞:她能爬上干草堆,她能,我的莫琳·蕾。[234]那儿有个家伙佩带着巴利胡利蓝缓带徽章[235] ,用爱尔兰语唱着绝妙的歌儿。还有好多金发少女[236] 带着不含酒精的饮料到处转悠,兜售纪念章、桔子和柠檬汽水以及一些陈旧发干的小圆面包。哦,丰富多彩的[237] 娱乐,就甭提啦,禁酒的爱尔兰乃是自由的爱尔兰。[238] 接着,一个老家伙吹起风笛来。那些骗子们就都随着老母牛听腻了的曲调[239] 在地上拖曳着脚步,一两个天国的向导四下里监视着,防止人们行为狠亵,对女人动手动脚。






于是,他着手把它拖过来,捉弄了一通,还跟它讲爱尔兰话。老狗咆哮着作为应答,就像歌剧中的二重唱似的。像这样的相互咆哮简直是前所未闻。闲得没事的人应该给报纸写篇《为了公益[240] 》,提出对这样的狗应该下道封口令。这狗又是咆哮,又是呜呜号叫。它喉咙干枯,眼睛挂满了血丝,从口腔里嘀嘀嗒嗒地淌着狂犬症的涎水。

凡是关心对下等动物(它们数目众多[241] )传播人类文化者,切不可漏掉这条著名的爱尔兰老塞特种红毛狼狗。先前它曾以“加里欧文”这一外号闻名,新近在它那范围很广的熟人朋友的圈子内,又被改名为欧文·加里[242] 了。诚然令人惊异的是此狗所显示的“人化”现象。基于多年慈祥的训练和精心安排的食谱,这次表演的众多成就中,还包括诗歌朗诵。当今我国最伟大的语音学专家(任何野马也不得把他从我们当中拖走!)不遗余力地对它所朗诵的诗加以阐释比较,查明此诗与古代凯尔特吟游诗人的作品有着显著的(重点系我们所加)相似之处。这里说的并非读书界所熟悉的那种悦耳的情歌,原作者真名不详,使用的是“可爱的小枝”[243] 一文雅的笔名;而是(正如署名D、O、C、的撰稿人在当代某晚报上发表的饶有兴味的通信中所指出的那种)更辛辣、更动人的调子。眼下颇孚众望的现代派色彩更浓的抒情诗人自不用说,就连在著名的拉夫特里[244] 和多纳尔·麦科康西丁[245] 的讽刺性漫笔中也可以找到。这里我们添加一首由一位卓越学者译成英文的诗作为范例。眼下我们不便将他的大名公诸于世。不过我们相信,读者准能从主题上得到暗示,而不必指名道姓。狗的这首原诗在韵律上使人联想到威尔士四行诗那错综的头韵法和等音节规律,只是要复杂多了。然而我们相信读者会同意,译文巧妙地捕捉了原诗的神髓。也许还应该补充一句:倘若用缓慢而含糊不清的声调来朗读欧文这首诗,那就更能暗示出被抑制的愤懑,效果会大为增加。










“好的,”他说,“伙伴[247] ,以表示我对你没有敌意。”

说实在的,他长得虽然土头土脑,可一点儿也不傻。他从一家酒馆喝到另一家,酒帐嘛,一向叫别人付。他带的那条吉尔特拉普老爷爷[248] 的狗,也是靠纳税人和法人[249] 饲养的。人兽都得到款待。于是,乔说:





“好家伙,”乔笑着说,“要是老夏洛克[250] 陷入困境,那可就有趣儿啦。那么,老婆就占上风了吧?”




接着,他就全都搞混了,胡乱扯起根据法令抵押人什么的,并用大法官在法庭上宣读判决的口吻,说是为了他妻子的利益,已成立信托啦;然而另一方面, 迪格纳穆确实欠了布里奇曼一笔款,倘若现在妻子或遗孀要否定受押人的权利啦, 最后他那根据法令抵押人什么的,几乎把我弄得头昏脑胀了。那回根据法令, 他差点儿就作为无赖或流浪汉被关进去,亏了他在法院有个朋友,这才得以幸免。 售义卖会的入场券,或是匈牙利皇家特许彩票[251] 。这都千真万确。哦,请代我向犹太人致意!匈牙利皇家特许的掠夺。



“哪里的话”,对方回答说,“我充分了解促使你采取这一行动的动机,并会尽力完成您委托我办的事。尽管这是一桩悲哀的使命, 想到您是如此信任我这一事实,这杯苦酒在一定程度上会变甜的。”


随后他就走出去了,吃力地想把步子迈得直一些。刚刚五点钟,就已经喝得醉醺醺的了。有一天晚上,他差点儿给抓起来,幸亏帕迪·伦纳德认得甲十四号警察。直到打烊之后,他还在布赖德街的一家非法出售偷税酒的店里,喝得昏天黑地。他让一个拉客的给放哨,一边跟两个“披肩”[252] 调情, 一边用茶杯大喝黑啤酒。他对那两个“披肩”说,自己是名叫约瑟夫·马努奥的法国佬, 并且大骂天主教。扬言自己年轻时在亚当与夏娃教堂当过弥撒的助祭,闭着眼睛也能说出《新约全书》是谁写的,《旧约全书》又是谁写的。于是,他跟她们搂搂抱抱,狎昵调戏。 两个“披肩”一边笑得死去活来,一边把他兜里的钱包摸走了。可这该死的傻瓜呢, 把黑啤酒洒得满床都是。两个“披肩”相互间尖声叫着,笑着。 说什么:“你的《圣经》怎么样啦?你的《旧约》还在吗?”要知道,就在这当儿, 帕迪刚好从那儿走过。每逢星期天,他就跟他那个小妾般的老婆出门。她脚蹬漆皮靴子, 胸前插着一束可爱的紫罗兰,扭着屁股穿过教堂的甬道,严然一副娇小贵夫人的派头。 那是杰克·穆尼的妹妹。母亲是个老婊子,给露水夫妻提供房间。 哼,杰克管束着那家伙。告诉他,如果不把锅锔上[253] ,他妈的就连屎都给他踢出来。



“祝你健康,[254]” 他说。





“是南南[255] 吗?”乔说,“那个议员吗?”



“长发艾奥帕斯[257] ,”“市民”说,“那座喷火山,各国的宝贝儿,本国的偶像。”

于是,乔对“市民”讲起口蹄疫啦,牲畜商啦,对这些采取的措施啦。“市民”一味唱对台戏。布卢姆也聊起治疥癣用的洗羊液、供牛犊子止咳用的线虫灌服药水,以及牛舌炎的特效药。这是由于他一度曾在废牲畜屠宰场工作过嘛。他手执帐簿和铅笔踱来踱去,光动脑子,五体不勤。到头来由于顶撞了一位畜牧业者,被乔·卡夫解雇拉倒。这是个“万事通”先生,还想向自己的奶奶传授怎样挤鸭奶呢。精明鬼伯克告诉我,住在旅店里那阵子,那个老婆由于浑身长满了八英寸厚的脂肪,往往朝着奥多德太太几乎把眼睛都哭出来了,泪水流成了河。她解不开放屁带[258],“老鳕鱼眼”却边围着她跳华尔兹舞,边教她该怎么解。 今天你有何方案?是啊,要用人道的方式。因为可怜的动物会感到痛苦的。专家们说,不使动物疼痛的最佳治疗方法就是轻轻地处理患部。哼, 大概把手伸到母鸡[259]的下腹去时也那么柔和吧。

嘎嘎嘎啦。喀噜呵,喀噜呵,喀噜呵。黑丽泽是咱们的母鸡。 她为咱们下蛋。下了蛋。她好快活啊。嘎啦。喀噜呵,喀噜呵,喀噜呵。随后好叔叔利奥来啦。他把手伸到黑丽泽下身,拿走那个刚下的蛋。嘎嘎嘎嘎,嘎啦。喀噜呵,喀噜呵,喀噜呵。





“南南也去,”乔说, “关于警察署署长禁止在公园里举行爱尔兰国技比赛的事,协会[260] 要他明天提出质询。‘市民’,你对这有什么看法?爱尔兰军[261]。”

考维·科纳克勒先生(马尔提法纳姆。民。):关于希利拉格[ 262] 选区的议员--尊敬的朋友提出的问题,请允许我向阁下质问一下:政府是否已下令,即便从医学上对这些动物的病理状态提不出任何证据,也要一律予以屠宰呢?


奥尔利·奥赖利先生(蒙特诺特[264] 。民。):是否下达了同样的命令,要把那些胆敢在凤凰公园举行爱尔兰国技比赛的人类这种动物也予以屠宰?


考维·科纳克勒先生:内阁大臣们的政策是否受到了阁下那封著名的米切尔斯镇电报[265] 的启发呢,(一片噢噢声。)


斯忒勒维特先生(邦库姆。独。[267]):要毫不犹豫地射击。[ 268] (在野党讥讽地喝倒彩。)


“正是那个人,”乔说,“使盖尔族的体育复兴了。他就坐在那儿呢。是他把詹姆斯·斯蒂芬斯[269] 放跑了。他是掷十六磅铅球的全爱尔兰冠军。你掷铅球的最高纪录是多少,‘市民’?”





于是他们聊起爱尔兰体育运动来了,谈起绅士派的游戏--草地网球,爱尔兰曲棍球,投掷石头,谈到地地道道的本土风味以及重建国家[271] 等话题。 当然,布卢姆也搬一搬他那一套:说即便一个家伙有着赛船划手那样结实的心脏,激烈的运动也还是有害的。我凭着椅背套断言:倘若你从该死的地板上拾起一根稻草,对布卢姆说:“瞧啊,布卢姆。你看见这根稻草了吗?这是一根稻草哩。”我凭着姑妈敢说:他能就此谈上一个钟头,并且从从容容地继续谈下去。

在爱尔兰军[272]主持下,于小不列颠街[273]的布赖恩·奥西亚楠[274] 。座古色古香大厅里进行了一场极为有趣的讨论:谈到古代盖尔体育运动的复兴,谈到古希腊罗马以及古代爱尔兰的人们怎样懂得体育文化对振兴民族的重要性。这一高尚集会由可敬的主席主持,与会者来自各界。主席做了一番富于启发性的开场白--那是以雄辩有力的辞藻发表的一篇精采有力的演说。接着又以通常那种优良的高水平,针对着复兴我们古代泛凯尔特祖先那历史悠久的竞技和运动之可取性,进行了一场饶有兴趣而富有启发性的讨论。然后我们古代语运动的著名而备受尊敬的学者约瑟夫·麦卡锡·海因斯先生就复兴古代盖尔族的运动和游戏问题,做了雄辩的演说。这些竞技是当年芬恩·麦库尔[275]所朝朝暮暮操练的, 旨在复兴自古以来的无与伦比的尚武传统。利·布卢姆因为站在反对论调的一边,人们对他的发言毁誉参半。身为声乐家的主席,经会众一再要求,并在全场鼓掌声中,极其出色地唱了不朽的托马斯·奥斯本·戴维斯[276]那首永远清新的诗《重建国家》 (幸而它家喻户晓,用不着在此重复了),这样就结束了这场院讨论。说这位资深的爱国斗士演唱得完全超过他平素的水平,无人会有异言。 这位爱尔兰的卡鲁索-加哩波第[277]处于最佳状态。 当他用洪亮声腔高唱那首只有我们的公民才能演唱的久负盛名的国歌时,发挥得真是淋漓尽致。他那卓越高超的嗓音,以其不同凡响的音色大大提高了本来已饮誉全球的声望。会众报以热烈的掌声。听众当中可以看到许多杰出的神职人员和新闻界、律师界以及学术文化界人士。会议就这样结束了。与会的神职人员包括耶稣会法学博士威廉·德拉尼教长;神学博士杰拉尔德·莫洛伊主教;圣神修士团的帕·菲·卡瓦纳神父[278];本堂神父T.沃特斯; 教区神父约翰·M·艾弗斯;圣方济各修道会的P.J.克利里神父[279]; 布道兄弟会的L.J.希基神父;圣方济各托钵修道会的尼古拉斯教长; 赤脚加尔默罗会的B.戈尔曼教长[280];那稣会的T.马尔神父;那稣会的詹姆斯·墨菲教长;地方主教代理约翰·莱弗里神父[281];神学博士威廉·多尔蒂教长;主母会的彼得·费根神父; 圣奥古斯丁隐修会的T.布兰甘神父[282];本堂神父J.弗莱文; 本堂神父马·A·哈克特;本堂神父W.赫尔利[283];至尊的主教总代理麦克马纳斯阁下; 无原罪圣母奉献会的B.R.斯莱特里神父;教区司 铎迈.D.斯卡利教长[284];布道兄弟会的托·F·珀塞尔神父[285];十分可敬的教区蒙席蒂莫西·戈尔曼;本堂神父约·弗拉纳根[286]。在俗人士P·费伊、托·奎克[267]等等。

















“布太太是一颗格外灿烂的明星[301] ,对不?”乔说。


我对自己说,我说:[302]嗬,原来如此! 这就明白了椰子壳里为啥有汁液,动物的胸脯上为啥没毛。布莱泽斯轻轻地吹奏笛子。[303]巡回演出。跟布尔人打仗[304]的时候,住在岛桥[305]那一边的骗子手、贪心鬼丹, 把同一群马卖给政府两次。布莱泽斯就是丹的儿子。那老爷子成天把“什么”挂在嘴上。我登门拜访,并且说:“博伊兰先生,我讨济贫费和水费来啦。”“你什么?”“水费,博伊兰先生。”“你什么,什么呀?”听我的劝告吧,那个花花公子早晚会把那个娘儿们组织到手的。这只是我你之间说的私话。怎么,又来了吗?[306]













眼下这两个人究竟企图干些什么?杰·杰的名字从大陪审团的名单[311]上被勾掉了,另外一位想帮他一把。他的大名刊登在斯塔布斯[312]上。玩纸牌,跟那些戴着时髦的单片眼镜、华而不实的纨袴子弟一道开怀对酌,痛饮香槟酒。其实,传票和扣押令纷至沓来,几乎使他窒息。他赴弗朗西斯街的卡明斯当铺,把金表典当出去。进的是内部办公室,那儿谁都不认得他。当时正碰上我陪着精明鬼到那里去,赎他典当的一双长筒靴子。“先生,你叫什么名字?” “邓恩[313]”他说。“哎,而且这下子完啦[314],”我说。我寻思,迟早有一天,他会弄得寸步难行。


















我确实看出要惹麻烦来了。布卢姆还在解释说,他指的是由于做老婆的不得不追在那个口吃的老傻瓜后面跑跑颠颠,这太残酷了。 将该死的穷鬼布林撒到野外,几乎能被自己的胡子绊倒。老天爷看了都会哭上一场。 残酷得就跟虐待动物一样。嫁给他之后,她一度得意洋洋,鼻孔朝天,因为她公公的一个堂弟在罗马教廷担任教堂领座人。墙上挂着他的一幅肖像,留着斯马沙尔·斯威尼[ 319] 般的小胡子。这位萨默希尔[320] 出生的布利尼先生[ 321] ,意大利人,[322] 教皇手下的祖亚沃兵,[323] 从码头区搬到莫斯街[3 24]去了。告诉咱,他究竟是个什么人?一个无名小卒,住的是两层楼梯带廊子的后屋,房租每周七先令。然而他全身披挂,向世人进行挑战。

“况且,”杰·杰说,“寄了明信片,就等于把事情公布出去了。 萨德格罗夫对霍尔的判例中,明信片就被认为对怀有恶意[325] 这一点提供了充分的证据。依我看,诉讼是能够成立的。”

请付六先令八便士。[326] 谁也不要听你的意见。咱们消消停停地喝酒吧。妈的,连这一点都挺不容易的。






“加拿大那档子诈骗案[327] 怎样啦?”乔说。


一个叫作詹姆斯·沃特,又名萨菲洛,又名斯帕克与斯皮罗的酒糟鼻联谊会[328] 成员在报纸上登广告说,只消出二十先令,他就售给一张赴加拿大的船票。什么?你以为我容易受骗吗,当然,这是一场该死的骗局。哦?米斯郡的老妈子和乡巴佬[329]啦,跟他同一个联谊会的啦,统统上当了。杰·杰告诉我们, 有个叫扎列兹基还是什么名字的犹大老头儿,戴着帽子[330] 在证人席上哭哭啼啼,他以圣摩西的名字发誓说,自己被骗去两镑。



“可怜的老弗雷德里克爵士[331] ,”阿尔夫说,“你可以让他眼睁睁地受骗上当。”


“可不,”阿尔夫说,“前些日子,当吕便·杰控告那个在巴特桥[332] 附近替公司看守石料的可怜的小个子冈姆利的时候, 他本人没给押到被告席上就算他妈的万幸啦。”





牛眼女神月[333] 的十六日,适值神圣不可分的三位一体节日[334] 后的第三周。这时,处女月——苍穹的女儿正当上弦,学识渊博的审判官们恰好来到司法大厅里。助理法官考特尼[335]坐在自己的办公室里发表意见。首席法官安德鲁斯[336] 在不设陪审团的情况下开庭,检验遗嘱。在该遗嘱中,被深切哀悼的已故葡萄酒商雅各布·哈利戴留给了神经不正常的未成年人利文斯通和另一个人各一份动产与不动产。关于[337] 第一债权人对这份呈交上来以供检验其合法性、并最终确定如何予以执行的遗嘱中记载的财产所提出的要求,他正在慎重衡量并深思熟虑。不久,驯鹰者弗雷德里克[338]爵士到格林街这座庄严的法庭上来了。他于五点钟左右人座,以便在都柏林市郡以及所属各地区实施布里恩法律[339]的职权。列席者为由爱阿尔的十二族组成最高评议会,每族限一名。帕特里克族、休族、欧文族、康恩族、奥斯卡族、弗格斯族、芬恩族、德莫特族、科麦克族、凯文族、卡奥尔特族、莪相族[340] ——共计十二名正直而善良的人。他以死在十字架上的上主之名,恳求他们说,要慎重而真实地进行审议,在至高无上的君主——国王陛下与站在法庭上的囚犯之间的诉讼中,做公允的评决,凭着证据,做出正确的判决。他祈求上主庇佑他们,并请他们吻《圣经》。他们这十二名爱阿尔,个个从席位上起立,并以从亘古就存在的上主[341]之名发誓说,他们将为主主持正义。于是,狱卒们立即把严正执法、行动敏捷的侦探们根据密告所逮捕并拘留在主楼里的犯人押出,给他上了手铐脚镣,不准许保释。他们就是要指控他,因为他是个犯罪分子。[342]









“陌生人嘛,”“市民”说,“都怪咱们自己。是咱们放他们进来的,咱们引他们进来的,奸妇和她的姘夫[344] 把萨克森强盗们带到这儿来了。”

“附有条件的离婚判决书[345] ,”杰·杰说。



“她就在这儿哪,”正跟特里一道在柜台上对着一份《警察时报》[346] 咯咯笑着的阿尔夫说,“打扮得花里胡哨的。”


那不过是特里向科尼·凯莱赫借来的美国佬黄色照片中的一张。放大阴部的秘诀。社交界美女的丑闻。芝加哥的一位富有的承包人诺曼·W·塔珀, 发现自己那位漂亮然而不贞的妻子,坐在泰勒军官的腿上。那位穿着灯笼裤的美人儿可不正经,正让情夫抚摩她那痒处呢。诺曼·W·塔琅带着小口径枪蹦进去时,迟了一步, 她刚刚跟泰勒军官干完套环游戏[347]。


“瞧那头发[348] ,乔,”我说,“从那罐头咸牛肉上弄下一截怪味儿的老尾巴尖儿,对不?”



穿戴锃亮铠甲的奥诺兰朝着全爱琳这个位高势大的首领深打一躬,禀明了事情的原委。这座无比忠顺的城市,国内第二大都会的神情肃穆的元老们聚集在索尔塞尔[349] ,照例对天界的神明们祷告一番后,关于该采取何等措施俾能让一衣带水的盖尔族[355]那崇高的语言得以光采地在世间复兴,严肃地进行了审议。

“正进展着哪,”“市民”说,“该死而野蛮的撒克逊佬[ 351] 和他们的土音[352] ,统统都下地狱去吧。”

于是,杰·杰就摆出嘣士派头插嘴说, 光听片面之词可弄不清楚事实的真相,那是照纳尔逊的做法,用瞎了的那只眼睛对着望远镜[353] ,并谈起制定褫夺公权法以弹劾国家[ 354] 。布卢姆尽力支持他,同时讲着做事不可过火, 以免招来麻烦,还说到他们的属地和文明等等。

“你说的是他们的梅毒文明[355] 喽!”“市民”说,“让那跟他们一道下地狱去吧!让那不中用的上帝发出的咒诅, 斜落在那些婊子养的厚耳朵混蛋崽子身上吧,活该!音乐,美术,文学全谈不上,简直没有值得一提的。 他们的任何文明都是从咱们这儿偷去的。鬼模鬼样的私生子那些短舌头的崽子们。”


“他们才不是欧洲民族呢,”“市民”说,“我跟巴黎的凯文·伊根一道在欧洲呆过。欧洲虽广,除了在厕所[356] 里,你一点儿也看不到他们或他们的语言的痕迹。”


“多少朵花生得嫣红,怎奈无人知晓。[357] ”


“打倒英国人!背信弃义的英国![358] ”

说罢,他就用那双粗壮、结实、强有力的大手,举起一大木杯[359] 正在冒泡的烈性黑色浓啤酒,吆喝着本族口号“红手迎胜利[360] ”, 祈求敌族——那宛若永生的众神一般默然坐在雪花石膏宝座上的刚毅勇猛的英雄们,海洋上的霸主[361] ——彻底毁灭。




“‘丢掉’[362] ,他说,“以二十博一。原是一匹冷门儿马。其余的全不在话下。”[363]

“巴斯那匹母马[364] 呢?”特里说。


“我也下了半克朗,”特里说,“根据弗林先生出的点子,把赌注下在‘馨香葡萄酒’身上了。那是霍华德·德沃尔登勋爵[365] 的马。”

“以二十博一,”利内翰说。“马房的生活就是如此。‘丢掉,做了让人失望的事[366] ,”他说,“还闲扯些什么拇趾囊肿胀。脆弱啊,你的名字就是‘权杖,[367]”






“胡说,”,“市民”说,“再也没有比视而不见的人更盲目的了——也不知道你懂不懂得我的意思。咱们这里本来应该有两千万爱尔兰人,如今却只有四百万。咱们失去了的部族都哪儿去啦?[370]还有咱们那全世界最美的陶器和纺织品! 还有尤维纳利斯[371]那个时代在罗马出售的咱们的羊毛, 咱们的亚麻布和那在安特里姆的织布机织出来的花锻,以及咱们的利默里克花边[372]呢? 咱们的鞣皮厂和远处的巴利布[373]附近所生产的白色火石玻璃呢? 打从里昂的雅克以来咱们就拥有的胡格诺府绸[374],咱们的丝织品,咱们的福克斯福特花呢[375], 新罗斯的加尔默罗隐修院所生产的举世无双的象牙针绣[376]呢?当年, 希腊商人从赫刺克勒斯的两根柱子[377]——也就是如今已被人类公敌霸占了的直布罗陀—— 之间穿行前来,以便在韦克斯福德的卡曼集市上出售他们带来的黄金和推罗紫[378], 如今安在?读读塔西佗[379]、托勒密[380],以至吉拉德斯·卡姆布伦希斯[381]吧。 葡萄酒、皮货、康尼马拉大理石[382]、蒂珀雷里所产上好银子[383]。咱们那至今远近驰名的骏马——爱尔兰小马。西班牙的菲利普, 为了取得在咱们领海上的捕渔权,还提出要付关税。[384]在咱们的贸易和家园毁于一旦这一点上, 那些卑鄙的英国佬们欠下了咱们多大的一笔债啊!他们不肯把巴罗河和香农河[385] 的河床挖深,以致好几百万英亩良田都成为沼泽和泥炭地,足以害得咱们大家全部死于肺病。”

“咱们这儿很快就会像葡萄牙那样,连棵树都没有啦,”约翰·怀思说,“或者像黑尔戈兰[386] 那样,只剩下一棵树,除非采取措施来重新植树造林。落叶松啦,冷杉啦,所有的针叶树正在迅速走向毁灭。我读卡斯尔顿勋爵的报告书[387] 来着……”

“救救这些树木吧,”“市民”说,“戈尔韦的巨梣[388] ,以及那棵树干有四十英尺、枝叶茂盛达一英亩的基尔代尔首领榆。啊,为了爱利那秀丽山丘[389] 上的未来的爱尔兰人,救救爱尔兰的树木吧。”


今天下午,众多[390] 国际社交界人士莅临参加爱尔兰国民林务员的高级林务主任琼·怀斯·德诺兰[391] 骑士与松谷的冷杉·针叶树[392]小姐的婚礼, 给爱尔兰增添了光采。贵宾有:西尔威斯特[393]·榆荫夫人、芭芭拉·爱桦太太、 波尔·梣[394] 太太、冬青·榛眼太太[395] 、瑞香·月桂树小姐、多萝西。竹丛小姐、克莱德·十二棵树太太、山揪·格林[396] 太太、海伦·藤蔓生[397] 太太、五叶地锦[ 398] 小姐、格拉迪斯·毕奇小姐[399] 、橄榄·花园小姐、白枫[400]小姐、莫德·红木小姐、迈拉·常春花小姐、 普丽西拉·接骨木花小姐、[401]蜜蜂·忍冬[402]小姐、格蕾丝·白杨小姐、哦·含羞草小姐[403]、蕾切尔·雪松叶[404]小姐、莉莲和薇奥拉·丁香花[405]小姐、羞怯·白杨奥尔[406]小姐、基蒂·杜威一莫斯[407]小姐、五月·山楂[408]小姐、格罗丽亚娜·帕默[409]太太、 莉亚娜·福雷斯特[410]太太、阿拉贝拉[411]·金合欢太太以及奥克霍姆·里吉斯的诺马·圣栎[412]。新娘由她父亲格兰的麦克针叶树[413]挽臂送到新郎跟前。她穿着款式新颖的绿丝光绸长衫,跟里面那件素淡的灰衬衣一样可身。腰系翠绿宽饰带,下摆上镶着颜色更浓郁的三道荷叶边。在这样的底色上,衬托以近似橡子的褐色吊带和臀饰。看上去无比姣好。两位伴娘落叶松·针叶树和云杉·针叶树是新娘的妹妹,穿戴着同一色调非常得体的服饰。 褶子上用极细的线条绣出图案[414]精巧的羽毛状玫瑰。翡翠色的无檐女帽上,也别出心裁地插着淡珊瑚色苍鹭羽毛,与之配衬。 恩里克·弗洛先生[415]以遐迩闻名的技艺奏起风琴:除了婚礼弥撤中所规定的一些乐章外, 仪式结束后还奏了一支动人心弦的新曲调《伐木者,莫砍那棵树》[416]。接受了教皇的祝福[417],临离开庭园内的圣菲亚克[418]教堂时,人们开玩笑地将榛子、椈子、月桂叶、柳絮、繁茂的常春藤叶、冬青果、檞寄生小枝和花揪的嫩条像密集的炮火一般撒在这对幸福的新人身上。怀恩·针叶树·诺兰先生和夫人将到黑森林里去度幽静的蜜月。[419]

“然而,咱们用眼睛盯着欧洲,”“市民”说,“那些杂种还没呱呱落地之前,咱们就跟西班牙人、法国人和佛兰芒人搞起贸易来了[420]。戈尔韦有了西班牙浓啤酒,葡萄紫的大海[421] 上泊满了运酒船。”


“在天主圣母的帮助下,咱们会振作起来的,”“市民”拍着他的大腿说,“咱们那些空空荡荡的港口又会变得满满当当。王后镇,金塞尔,黑草地湾,凯里王国的文特里[422] 。还有基利贝格斯。那是广阔世界上第三大港[423] , 当年德斯蒙德伯爵能够和查理五世皇帝本人直接签订条约[424] 的时候,从港内一眼可以望到戈尔韦的林奇家、卡文的奥赖利家以及都柏林的奥肯尼迪家[425] 那足有一个舰队那么多的桅杆。还会振作起来的,”他说,“到那时, 咱们将会看到第一艘爱尔兰军舰乘风破浪而来,舰头飘着咱们自己的旗子。才不是你亨利·都铎的竖琴[426] 呢。绝不是,那是在船上挂过的最古老的旗子,德斯蒙德和索门德省的旗子, 蓝地上三个王冠、米列修斯[ 427] 的三个儿子。”

于是,他把杯中剩下的一饮而尽。倒挺像那么回事儿的[428] 。 犹如制革厂的猫似的又是放屁又是撤尿[ 429 ] 。康诺特的母牛犄角长。[430] 尽管他势头这么冲,狗命要紧,他才不会到沙那戈尔登[ 431] 去向聚集的群众吹牛呢。由于他抢夺了退租的佃户的家当[432],摩莉·马奎斯们[433] 正在寻找他,要在他身上戳个洞,弄得他简直不敢在那儿露面。


“来杯‘帝国义勇骑兵’[434] ,”利内翰说,“庆祝一番嘛。”

“半下子,特里,”约翰·怀思说,“再要一瓶‘举手’[ 435] 。特里!你睡着了吗?”


不去服侍公众,却寻求下流的刺激,跟阿尔夫一道读那该死的报纸来过瘾。一幅是顶头比赛,低下脑袋,就像公牛撞门似的相互撞去,要撞得使该死的对方开瓢儿。另一幅是《黑兽被焚烧于佐治亚奥马哈》[436]:一大群歪戴帽子的戴德伍德·迪克[437]朝吊在树上的黑鬼[438]开火。他伸出舌头,身子底下燃着篝火。让他坐完电椅并将他钉在十字架上之后,还应该把他丢到大海里。 这样才有把握置他于死地。


“你听我说,”“市民”说,“那是座人间地狱。你去读读几家报纸关于朴次茅斯的练习舰上滥施苔刑所做的那些揭露吧。是个自称感到厌恶[440] 的人写的。”


“臀部着十二杖,”“市民”说,“这是老恶棍约翰·贝雷斯福德[441] 爵士的喊法。然而,现代化的上帝的英国人喊鞭打屁股。”



然后他告诉我们,纠察长手里拿着一根长长的笞杖走了过来,抡起它,对准可怜的小伙子的后屁股就狠抽一通,直到他喊出一千声[443] “杀人啦!”

“这就是你们那称霸世界的光荣的英国海军,”“市民”说,“这些永远不做奴隶的人们[444] 有着天主的地球上唯一世袭的议院[445] ,国上掌握在一打赌徒和装腔作势的贵族手里。这就是他们所夸耀的那个苦役和被鞭打的农奴的伟大帝国。”




“可是,”布卢姆说,“走遍天下,惩罚不都是一样的吗?我的意思是,要是你们以暴力对抗暴力,在这儿[449] 不也一样吗?”


“我们将以暴力对抗暴力,”“市民”说, “在大洋彼岸,我们有更大的爱尔兰[450] 。在黑色的四七年[451] , 他们被赶出了家园。他们的土屋和路旁那些牧羊窝棚被大槌砸坍后, 《泰晤士报》搓着双手告诉那些胆小鬼萨克逊人说: 爱尔兰的爱尔兰人很快就会减到像美国的红皮肤人那么稀少。[452] 甚至连土耳其大公都送来他的比塞塔[453] 。然而撤克逊的混蛋们处心积虑地要把本国老百姓饿死。 当时遍地都是粮食,贪婪的英国人买下来,卖到里约热内卢去。[454] 哎, 他们把庄稼人成群地赶出去。两万名死在棺材船[455] 里。然而抵达自由国土[456] 的人们,对那片被奴役之地[457] 记忆犹新。他们会怀着报复之心回来的。他们不是胆小鬼,而是葛拉纽爱尔[458] 的儿子们,豁牙子凯思林[459] 的斗士们。”



“哎,”约翰·怀思说,“我们为斯图尔特王室战斗过,他们却在威廉那一派面前变了节,背叛了我们。[461] 记住利默里克和那块记载着被撕毁了的条约的石头。[462] 我们那些‘野鹅,为法国和西班牙流尽了最宝贵的血。[463] 丰特努瓦[464] 怎么样?还有萨斯菲尔德[465] 和西班牙的得土安公爵奥唐奈,[466] 以及做过玛丽亚·特蕾莎的陆军元帅的、卡穆的尤利西斯·布朗[467] 。可我们究竟得到了什么?”

“法国人!”“市民”说,“不过是一帮教跳舞的!你晓得那是什么玩艺儿吗?对爱尔兰来说,他们从来连个屁也不值。眼下他们不是正试图在泰·佩[468] 的晚餐会上跟背信弃义的英国达成真诚的谅解[469] 吗?他们从来就是欧洲的纵火犯。”


“还有普鲁士王室和汉诺威王室那帮家伙,”乔说,“从汉诺威选侯乔治到那个日耳曼小伙子以及那个已故自负的老婊子[471], 难道坐到咱们王位上吃香肠的私生子还少了吗?”

天哪,听他描述那个戴遮眼罩的老家伙的事,我不禁笑出声来。老维克每晚在皇宫里大杯大杯地喝苏格兰威士忌酒,灌得烂醉。她的车夫[472] 把她整个儿抱起,往床上一滚。她一把抓住他的络腮胡子,为他唱起《莱茵河畔的埃伦》[473] 和《到酒更便宜的地方去》[474]中她所熟悉的片段。

“喏,”杰·杰说,“如今和平缔造者爱德华[475] 上了台。”

“那是讲给傻瓜听的,”“市民”说,“那位花花公子所缔造的该死的梅毒倒比和平来得多些。爱德华·圭尔夫- 韦亭!”[476]

“你们怎么看,”乔说,“教会里的那帮家伙——爱尔兰的神父主教们,竟然把他在梅努斯[477] 下榻的那间屋子涂成魔鬼陛下的骑装的颜色,还将他那些骑师们骑过的马匹的照片统统贴在那里。而且连都柏林伯爵[478] 的照片也在内。”
























这时,极为珍贵、精心刺绣的古代爱尔兰面中被小心翼翼地取出来,使观者赞赏不已。据传它出自《巴利莫特书》[481] 的著者德罗马的所罗门和马努斯之手,是在托马尔塔赤·麦克多诺格家完成的。至于堪称艺术顶峰的四个角落的旷世之美,就毋庸赘述了。观者足以清清楚楚地辨认出,四部福音书的作者分别向四位大师[482] 赠送福音的象征:一根用泥炭栎木制成的权杖,一头北美洲狮(附带说一句, 它是比英国所产高贵得多的百兽之王),一头凯里小牛以及一只卡朗突奥山[483] 的金鹰。绣在排泄面上的图像,显示出我们的古代山寨、土寨、环列巨石柱群、 古堡的日光间[484]、寺院和咒石堆[485] 。古老的巴米塞德时代[486] 斯莱戈那些书册装饰家们奔放地发挥艺术幻想所描绘的景物还是那样奇妙绚丽,色彩也是那么柔和。二湖谷,基拉尼那些可爱的湖泊,克朗麦克诺伊斯[487] 的废墟,康大寺院,衣纳格峡谷和十二山丘,爱尔兰之眼[ 488] ,塔拉特的绿色丘陵, 克罗阿·帕特里克山[489] ,阿瑟·吉尼斯父子(股份有限)公司的酿酒厂,拉夫·尼格湖畔,奥沃卡峡谷[490] ,伊索德塔,玛帕斯方尖塔[491] ,圣帕特里克·邓恩爵士医院[492] ,克利尔岬角,阿赫尔罗峡谷[493] ,林奇城堡,苏格兰屋, 拉夫林斯顿的拉思唐联合贫民习艺所[494] ,图拉莫尔监狱,卡斯尔克尼尔瀑布,[495]市镇树林约翰之子教堂[496] ,莫纳斯特尔勃衣斯的十字架,朱里饭店,圣帕特里克的炼狱,[497] 鲑鱼飞跃,梅努斯学院饭厅,柯利洞穴,[ 498] 第一任威灵顿公爵的三个诞生地,卡舍尔岩石,[499] 艾伦沼泽,亨利街批发庄,芬戈尔洞[500]——所有这一切动人的[501]情景今天依然为我们而存在。历经忧伤之流的冲刷, 以及随着时光的推移逐渐形成的丰富积累,使它们越发绮丽多姿了。





“被盗劫,”他说,“被掠夺。受凌辱。被迫害。把根据正当权力属于我们的财产拿走。就在此刻,”他伸出拳头来说, “还在摩洛哥[502]当作奴隶或牲畜那么地被拍卖。”




就像是印在月份牌上的一幅图画似的。不啻是个软头子弹的活靶子。一张老迈、满是脂肪的脸蛋儿迎着那执行职务的枪口扬起来, 嘿,只要系上一条保姆的围裙,他最适宜配上一把扫帚了,然后他就会蓦地垮下来,转过身,把脊背掉向敌人,软瘫如一块湿抹布。








爱情思恋着去爱慕爱情。[507]护士爱新来的药剂师。甲十四号警察爱玛丽·凯里。格蒂·麦克道维尔爱那个有辆自行车的男孩子。摩·布爱一位金发绅士。 礼记汉爱吻茶蒲州[508]。大象江勃爱大象艾丽思[509]。 耳朵上装了号筒[509]的弗斯科伊尔老先生爱长了一双斗鸡眼的弗斯科伊尔老太太。 身穿棕色胶布雨衣的人爱一位已故的夫人。[511]国王陛下爱女王陛下。 诺曼·w·塔珀大太爱泰勒军官。你爱某人,而这个人又爱另一个人。每个人都爱某一个人,但是天主爱所有的人。





“我们晓得那些伪善者[512] ,”他说,“一面讲道,一面摸你的包。假虔诚的克伦威尔和他的‘铁甲军,怎么样呢?在德罗赫达他们一面残杀妇孺,[513] 一面又把《圣经》里的‘上帝是爱,这句话贴在炮口上。《圣经》! 你读没读今天的《爱尔兰人联合报》上关于正在访问英国的祖鲁酋长那篇讽刺文章?”[ 514]



“昨日曼彻斯特棉纱业巨头一行, 在金杖侍卫沃尔克普·翁·埃各斯”[515]的沃尔克普勋爵陪同下,前往谒见阿贝库塔的阿拉基[516]陛下, 并为在陛下之领土上对英国商贾所提供之便利,致以衷心谢悃。代表团与陛下共进午餐。 此皮肤微黑之君主于午宴即将结束时,发表愉快的演说,由英国牧师、 可敬的亚拿尼亚·普列斯夏德·贝尔本[517]流畅地译出。陛下对沃尔克普先生[518]深表谢忱。强调阿贝库塔与大英帝国之间的友好关系,并谓承蒙白人女酋长、 伟大而具男子气概之维多利亚女王馈赠插图本《圣经》,彼将珍藏,视为至宝。 书中载有神之宝训以及英国伟大的奥秘,并亲手题以献辞。[519] 随后, 阿拉基高举爱杯(系用卡卡察卡察克王朝先王、绰号四十瘊子之头盖骨做成),痛饮浓烈之‘黑与白’威士忌。[ 520] 然后前往棉都[521] 各主要工厂访问,并在来宾留言簿上签名。最后, 以贵宾表演婀娜多姿之古代阿贝库塔出征舞收尾,其间,舞者当众吞下刀叉数把, 博得少女之狂热喝彩。”

“孀居女人,”内德说,“她干得出来。我倒想知道她会不会给它派上跟我一样的用场[ 522] 。”












“那个白眼卡菲尔吗[525] ?”“市民”说,“他可一辈子从来也没下狠心在马身上赌过。”





再见吧,爱尔兰,我要到戈尔特去。[ 526] 于是,我绕到后院去撒尿。 他妈的(五先令赢回了一百),一边排泄(“丢掉”,以二十博一),卸下重担, 一边对自己说:我晓得他心里(乔请的一品脱酒钱有了,在斯莱特里[527] 喝的一品脱也有了),他心里不安,想转移目标溜掉(一百先令就是五镑哩)。精明鬼伯克告诉我, 当他们在(“黑马”)家赌纸牌的时候,他也假装孩子生病啦(嘿,准足足撤了约莫一加仑)。那个屁股松垮的老婆从楼上通过管道传话说:“她好一点儿啦”或是:“她……”(噢!)其实,这都是花招:要是他赌赢了一大笔,就可以揣着赢头溜之乎也。(哎呀,憋了这么一大泡!)无执照营业。(噢!)他说什么爱尔兰是我的民族。(呜!哎呀!)千万别接近那些该死的(完啦)耶路撒冷(啊!)杜鹃们。[528]

当我好歹回去时,他们正吵得不亦乐乎。约翰·怀思说,正是布卢姆给格里菲思出了个新芬党的主意,让他在自己那份报纸上出各种各样的褐子:什么任意改划选区以谋取私利啦,买通陪审团啦,偷税漏税啦,往世界各地派领事以便兜售爱尔兰工业品啦。反正是抢了彼得再给保罗。呸,要是那双又老又脏的眼睛有意拆我们的台,那就他妈的彻底告吹啦,他妈的给咱个机会吧。天主,把爱尔兰从那帮该死的耗子般的家伙手里拯救出来吧。喜欢抬杠的布卢姆先生,还有上一代那个老诈骗师,老玛土撒拉[ 529]·布卢姆,巧取豪夺的行商。他那些骗钱货和假钻石把全国都坑遍了,然后服上一剂氢氰酸[530] 自杀了事。凭邮贷款,条件优厚。亲笔借据,金额不限。遐迩不拘。无需抵押。嘿,他就像是兰蒂·麦克黑尔的山羊[ 531] ,乐意跟任何人结为旅伴。


果然城堡的马车赶过来了,马丁和杰克·鲍尔坐在上面,还有个姓克罗夫特尔或克罗夫顿[532] 的橙带党人,他在关税局长那里领着津贴,又在布莱克本那儿登了记,也关着一份饷,还用国王的费用游遍全国。此人也许姓克劳福德。

我们的旅客们抵达了这座乡村客栈,纵身跳下坐骑。[ 533]
























“朱尼厄斯[536] 是何许人?”杰·杰说。




“根本不是,”马丁说,“不过是同姓而已。他原来姓维拉格[ 539] ,是他那个服毒自杀的父亲的姓。他父亲凭着一纸单独盖章的证书就把姓改了。”

“这正是爱尔兰的新救世主!”“市民”说,“圣者和贤人的岛屿[540] !”


“是呀,”杰·杰说,“每生一个男孩儿,他们就认为那可能是他们的弥赛亚[541] 。而且我相信,每一个犹太人都总是处于高度亢奋状态,直到他晓得那是个父亲还是母亲[ 542] 。”


“哦,天哪,”内德说,“真应该让你瞧瞧他那个夭折了的儿子出生之前布卢姆那副神态。早在他老婆分娩六星期之前的一天,我就在南边的公共市场碰见他在购买尼夫罐头食品[ 543] 了。”





“他猜疑谁呢?”[545] “市民”说。



“披着羊皮的狼,”“市民”说,“这就是他。从匈牙利来的维拉格!我管他叫作亚哈随鲁[546] 。受到天主的咒诅。”


“只能喝一杯,”马丁说,“我们不能耽误。我要‘约·詹’[547] 和S。”


“在听任那帮家玷污了咱们的海岸之后,”“市民”说,“圣帕特里克恨不得再在巴利金拉尔[548] 登一次陆,好让咱们改邪归正。”




随着圣餐铃的丁零声[549] ,由捧持十字架者领先,辅祭、提香炉的、捧香盒的、诵经的、司阍、执事、副执事以及被祝福的一行人走了过来。 这边是头戴主教冠的大修道院院长、小修道院院长、方济各会修道院院长、修士、托钵修士; 斯波莱托[550] 的本笃会修士、加尔都西会和卡马尔多利会的修士、[551] 西多会和奥利维坦会的修士、[ 552] 奥拉托利会和瓦隆布罗萨会的修士[553] , 以及奥古斯丁会修士、布里吉特会修女[554] ;普雷蒙特雷修会、圣仆会[555] 和圣三一赎奴会修士,彼得·诺拉斯科的孩子们[556] ;还有先知以利亚的孩子们也在主教艾伯特和阿维拉的德肋撒的引导下从加尔默山下来了,穿鞋的和另一派[557] ;褐衣和灰衣托钵修士们,安贫方济各的儿子们[558] ;嘉布遣会[559] 修士们, 科德利埃会修士们,小兄弟会修士们和遵规派修士们[560] ;克拉蕾的女儿们[ 561] , 还有多明我会的儿子们,托钵传教士们,以及遣使会[562] 的儿子们。 再就是圣沃尔斯坦[563] 的修士们,依纳爵的弟子们[564] ,以及可敬的在俗修士埃德蒙·依纳爵·赖斯率领下的圣教学校兄弟会会员们[565]。 随后来的是所有那些圣徒和殉教者们,童贞修女们和忏悔师们。包括圣西尔、圣伊西多勒·阿拉托尔[566] 、 圣小詹姆斯[567]、锡诺普的圣佛卡斯、殷勤的圣朱利安、圣菲利克斯·德坎塔里斯[568]、 柱头修士圣西门、第一个殉教者圣斯蒂芬、天主的圣约翰、[569]、圣费雷欧尔、圣勒加德、圣西奥多图斯、[570] 圣沃尔玛尔、圣理查、 圣味增爵·德保罗[571] 、托迪的圣马丁、图尔的圣马丁[ 572] 、圣阿尔弗烈德、圣约瑟[573] 、圣但尼、圣科尔内留斯、圣利奥波德[ 574] 、圣伯尔纳、圣特伦斯、圣爱德华[575] 、圣欧文·卡尼库鲁斯[ 576] 、圣匿名、圣祖名、圣伪名、圣同名、圣同语源、 圣同义语、圣劳伦斯·奥图尔、丁格尔和科穆帕斯帖拉的圣詹姆斯[577] 、圣科拉姆西尔和圣科伦巴、圣切莱斯廷[578] 、圣科尔曼[579] 、 圣凯文[580] 、圣布伦丹、 圣弗里吉迪安、圣瑟南[581] 、圣法契特纳、圣高隆班、圣加尔、圣弗尔萨[582]、圣芬坦、圣菲亚克、圣约翰·内波玛克、圣托马斯·阿奎那[ 583]、不列塔尼的圣艾夫斯、圣麦昌、圣赫尔曼- 约瑟[584] 、 三个圣青年的主保圣人——圣阿洛伊苏斯·贡萨加、圣斯坦尼斯劳斯·科斯塔卡、圣约翰·勃赤曼斯[585] 、热尔瓦修斯、瑟瓦修斯、博尼费斯[586]等圣徒、圣女布赖德、圣基兰、基尔肯尼的圣卡尼克[587] 、蒂尤厄姆的圣贾拉斯、圣芬巴尔、巴利曼的圣帕平[588] 、 阿洛伊修斯·帕西费 库斯修士、路易斯·贝利克苏斯修士[589] 、利马和维泰博的二位圣女萝丝[590]、伯大尼的圣女玛莎、埃及的圣女玛丽、圣女露西、圣女布里奇特[591] 、圣女阿特拉克塔、圣女迪姆普娜[592] 、 圣女艾塔、圣女玛莉恩·卡尔彭西斯[593] 、 小耶稣的圣修女德肋撒、圣女芭巴拉、圣女斯科拉丝蒂卡,还有圣女乌尔苏拉以及她那一万一千名童贞女[ 594] 。所有这些人都跟光环、后光与光轮一道出现了。 他们手执棕榈叶、竖琴、剑、橄榄冠, 袍子上织出了他们的职能的神圣象征: 角制墨水瓶[595] 、箭、 面包、坛子、脚镣、斧子、树木、桥梁、 浴槽里的娃娃们、 贝壳、行囊[596] 、大剪刀、钥匙、龙[ 597]、百合花、鹿弹、胡须、猪、灯、风箱、蜂窝、长柄杓、星星、蛇[598] 、铁砧、一盒盒的凡士林、钟、 丁字拐、镊子、 鹿角、防水胶靴、老鹰、磨石、盘子上的一双眼球[599] 、蜡烛、洒圣水器、独角兽[600] 。他们一边沿着纳尔逊圆柱、亨利街、玛利街、卡佩尔街、 小不列颠街透迤而行,一边吟唱以“起来吧。发光”[601] 为首句的“将祭经” 《上主显现》,[ 602] 接着又无比甜美地唱着圣歌“示巴的众人”[603]。 他们行着各种神迹:诸如驱逐污灵,使死者复活,使鱼变多,治好跛子和盲人。[604]还找到了种种遗失物品,阐释并应验《圣经》中的话,祝福并做预言。最后, 由玛拉基和帕特里克陪伴着,可敬的奥弗林神父[605]在金布华盖的遮荫下出现了。这几位好神父抵达了指定地点,小布列颠街八、九、十号的伯纳德·基尔南股份有限公司的店堂;这是食品杂货批发商,葡萄酒和白兰地装运商;特准在店内零售啤酒、葡萄酒和烈酒。司仪神父祝福了店堂,焚香熏了那装有直棂的窗户、交叉拱、拱顶、棱、柱头、山墙、上楣、锯齿状拱门、尖顶和圆顶阁,把圣水撒在过梁上,祈求天主祝福这座房舍,一如曾经祝福过亚伯拉罕、以撒和雅各的房舍那样,并且让天主的光明天使们住在里面。神父一面往里走,一面祝福食品与饮料。所有那些被祝福的会众,都应答着他的祷词。










“每年收入一千镑[608] ,兰伯特,”克罗夫顿或姓克劳福德的说。















乳白色的海豚蓦地甩了一下鬃毛,舵手在金色船尾站起来,顶着风扯开帆,使它兜满了风。左舷张起大三角帆,所有的帆都张开,船便向大海航去。众多俊美的宁芙[611] 忽而挨近右舷,忽而凑近左舷,依依不舍地跟在华贵的三桅帆船两侧。她们将闪闪发光的身子盘绕在一起,犹如灵巧的轮匠在车轮的轴心周围嵌上互为姐妹的等距离的轮辐,并从外面将所有一切都用轮辋把她们统统箍住。这样就加快了男人们奔赴沙场或为博得淑女嫣然一笑而争相赶路的步伐。这些殷勤的宁芙们,这些长生不老的姐妹们欣然而来。船破浪前进,她们一路欢笑,在水泡环中嬉戏着。[ 612]

然而,天哪,我正要把杯中残酒一饮而尽时,只见“市民”腾地站起来,因患水肿病呼呼大喘,踉踉跄跄走向门口,用爱尔兰语的“钟、《圣经》与蜡烛”[613],对那家伙发出克伦威尔的诅咒[ 614] ,还呸呸地吐着唾沫。乔和小阿尔夫像小妖精般地围着他,试图使他息怒。





于是,全国的邋遢汉和婊子们都聚到门口来了。马丁叫车把式快赶起来:“市民”乱吼一气,阿尔夫和乔叫他住口[615]。那家伙呢,趾高气扬地大谈其犹太人。二流子们起哄要他发表演说,杰克·鲍尔试图叫他在马车里坐下来,让他闭上该死的嘴巴。有个一只眼睛上蒙着眼罩的二流子,扯着喉咙唱开了:倘若月亮里那个男子是个犹太人,犹太人,犹太人[616] ;有个婊子大喊道:



“门德尔松[617] 是个犹太人,还有卡尔·马克思、梅尔卡丹特和斯宾诺莎。[618] 救世主也是个犹大人,他爹就是个犹太人。你们的天主。”







从首都都柏林及其郊区拥来好几千名满怀赞赏之情的朋友知己们,为曾任皇家印刷厂亚历山大·汤姆公司职员的纳吉亚撒葛斯·乌拉姆·利波蒂·维拉格[619] 送行。他要前往远方的地区撒兹哈明兹布洛尤古里亚斯-都古拉斯[620] 《潺潺流水的牧场》。在大声喝采[621] 声中举行的仪式以洋溢着无比温暖的友爱之情为特征。一幅出自爱尔兰艺术家之手的爱尔兰古代犊皮纸彩饰真迹卷轴,被赠送给这位杰出的现象学家,聊表社会上很大一部分市民之心意。附带还送了一只银匣,是按古代凯尔特风格制成的雅致大方的装饰品,足以反映厂家雅各布与雅各布先生们[622] 的盛誉。启程的旅客受到热烈的欢送。经过选拔的爱尔兰风笛奏起家喻户晓的曲调回到爱琳来》[623] ,紧接着就是《拉科齐进行曲》[624] 。在场的众人显然大受感动。柏油桶和篝火沿着四海[625] 的海岸,在霍斯山、三岩山、糖锥山[626] 布莱岬角、莫恩山、加尔蒂山脉[627] 、牛山、多尼戈尔、斯佩林山岭、纳格尔和博格拉、[ 628] 康尼马拉山、麦吉利卡迪[629] 的雾霭、奥蒂山、贝尔纳山和布卢姆山[630] 燃起。远处,聚集在康布利亚和卡利多尼亚[631] 群山上的众多支持者,对那响彻云霄的喝彩声报以欢呼。最后,在场的众多女性的代表向巨象般的游览船献花表示敬意,接着它便缓缓驶去。它由彩船队护卫着顺流而下时,港务总局、海关、鸽房水电站以及普尔贝格灯塔[632] 都向它点旗致敬。

再见吧,我亲爱的朋友!再见吧![634] 离去了,但是不曾被遗忘。




“一场血腥的战斗,”我说,“我能赶上最后一段福音[634] 。”



他妈的,他把手朝后一抡。竭尽全力抛出去。天主保佑,阳光晃了他的两眼,否则对方会一命呜呼的。哼,凭着那势头,他差点儿把它甩到朗福德郡[635] 去。该死的驽马吓惊了,那条老杂种狗宛如该死的地狱一般追在马车后边。乌合之众大叫大笑,那老马口铁罐头沿街咯嗒咯嗒滚去。

这场灾祸立即造成可怕的后果。根据邓辛克气象台[636] 记录,一共震动了十一次。照梅尔卡利的仪器[637] 记算,统统达到了震级的第五级。五三四年——也就是绢骑士托马斯[638] 起义那一年的地震以来,我岛现存的记录中还没有过如此剧烈的地壳运动。震中好像在首都的客栈码头区至圣麦昌教区一带,面积达四十一英亩二路德一平方杆(或波尔赤)[639] 。司法宫左近的巍峨建筑一古脑儿坍塌了;就连灾变之际正在进行法律方面的重要辩论的那座富丽堂皇的大厦,也全部彻底地化为一片废墟,在场的人恐怕一个不漏地都被活埋了。据目击者报告说,震波伴随着狂暴的旋风性大气变动。搜查队在本岛的偏僻地区发现了一顶帽子,已查明系属于那位备受尊重的法庭书记乔治·弗特里尔[640] 先生;还有一把绸面雨伞——金柄上镌刻着都柏林市记录法官[641] 博学可敬的季审法院院长弗雷德里克·福基纳爵士姓名的首字、盾形纹章以及住宅号码。也就是说,前者位于巨人堤道[642]第三玄武岩埂上;后者埋在古老的金塞尔海岬[643] 附近霍尔奥彭湾的沙滩深达一英尺三英寸的地方。其他目击者还作证说,他们瞥见一颗发白热光的庞然大物,以骇人的速度沿着抛射体的轨道朝西南偏西方向腾空而去。每个钟头都有吊唁及慰问的函电从各大洲各个地方纷至沓来。罗马教皇慨然恩准颁布教令:为了安慰那些从我们当中如此出乎意料地被召唤而去的虔诚的故人之灵,凡是隶属于教廷精神权威的主教管辖区,每座大教堂都应在同一时刻,由教区主教亲自专门举行一场追思已亡日弥撒。一切救助工作,被毁物[644] 及遗体等等的搬运,均托付给大布伦斯威克街一五九号的迈克尔·米德父子公司以及北沃尔街七十七、七十八、七十九和八十号的T与C。马丁公司办理,并由康沃尔公爵麾下轻步兵团的军官和士兵们在海军少将阁下赫尔克里斯·汉尼拔·哈比亚斯·科尔普斯[645] ·安德森爵士殿下的指挥下予以协助。殿下的头衔包括:嘉德勋位爵士、圣帕特里克修会勋位爵士、圣殿骑士团骑士、枢密院顾问官、巴斯高级骑士、下院议员、治安推事、医学士、杰出服务勋位获得者、鸡奸者[646] 、猎狐犬管理官、爱尔兰皇家学会院士、法学士、音乐博士、济贫会委员、都柏林三一学院院士、爱尔兰皇家大学院士、爱尔兰皇家内科医师学会会员和爱尔兰皇家外科医师学会会员。






此刻,看哪,他们所有的人都为极其明亮的光辉所笼罩。他们望到他站在里面的那辆战车升上天去。[647] 于是他们瞅见他在战车里,身披灿烂的光辉,穿着宛若太阳般的衣服,洁白如月亮,是那样地骇人,他们出于敬畏,简直不敢仰望。[648] 这时,天空中发出“以利亚!以利亚!”的呼唤声,他铿锵有力地回答道:“阿爸!阿多尼。”[649]于是他们望到了他——确实是他,儿子布卢姆·以利亚,在众天使簇拥下,于小格林街多诺霍亭上空,以四十五度的斜角,像用铁锹甩起来的土块一般升到灿烂的光辉中去。

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