DUBLINERS (15/15), by James Joyce (1882-1941).
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LOS MUERTOS.

Lily, la hija del portero, tenía los pies literalmente muertos. Apenas había conducido un caballero a la pequeña despensa detrás de la oficina en el piso inferior y lo había ayudado con su abrigo cuando ya sonaba de nuevo la vieja campana de la puerta y tenía que atravesar corriendo el desnudo vestíbulo para dar paso a otro invitado. Menos mal que no tenía que atender también a las señoras. Pero las Srtas. Kate y Julia habían pensado en eso y habían convertido el cuarto de baño de arriba en un vestidor de señoras. La Srta. Kate y la Srta. Julia estaban allí, chismorreando, riendo y alborotando, caminando una detrás de la otra hasta la cabecera de la escalera, asomándose por encima de las barandillas y llamando a Lily para preguntarle quién había venido.

El baile anual de las Srtas. Morkan era siempre un gran acontecimiento.
Todos los que las conocían asistían, miembros de la familia, viejos amigos de la familia, los miembros del coro de Julia, alguna de las alumnas de Kate que había crecido lo suficiente, e incluso algunas de las alumnas de Mary Jane también. Nunca había sido un fracaso. Durante años y años, desde que se tiene memoria, se había celebrado con espléndido despliegue; desde que Kate y Julia, tras la muerte de su hermano Pat, abandonaron la casa de Stoney Batter y se llevaron a Mary Jane, su única sobrina, a vivir con ellas a la oscura y lóbrega casa de Usher's Island, cuya parte superior habían alquilado al Sr. Fulham, el distribuidor de granos de la planta baja. De eso hacía ya treinta años, o más. Mary Jane, que entonces era una chiquilla que usaba vestidos cortos, ahora era el puntal principal de la casa, pues tenía el órgano en Haddington Road. Había terminado la Academia y todos los años daba un concierto de alumnos en la sala superior de las Antient Concert Rooms. Muchas de sus alumnas pertenecían a las mejores familias de la ruta de Kingstown y Dalkey. Tan ancianas como eran, sus tías también hicieron su parte. Julia, aunque era muy canosa, seguía siendo la soprano principal en Adam and Eve’s, y Kate, siendo demasiado débil para salir mucho, daba clases de música a los principiantes en el viejo piano cuadrado en la habitación trasera. Lily, la hija del portero, hacía el trabajo de una criada para ellas. Aunque su vida era modesta, creían en comer bien; lo mejor de todo: solomillos diamante, té de tres chelines y la mejor cerveza negra embotellada. Lily rara vez cometió un error en las órdenes, por lo que se llevaba bien con sus tres amas. Eran quisquillosas, eso era todo. Pero lo único que no soportaban eran las réplicas.

Claro que tenían buenas razones para estar quisquillosas en una noche así. Ya además eran mucho más de las diez y aún no habían señales de Gabriel y su esposa. Además tenían mucho miedo de que Freddy Malins apareciera en malas condiciones. No desearían por nada del mundo que ninguna de las alumnas de Mary Jane lo viera borracho; y cuando estaba así, a veces era muy difícil manejarlo. Freddy Malins siempre llegaba tarde pero se preguntaban qué podía estar reteniendo a Gabriel: y eso era lo que les traía cada dos minutos a las barandillas para preguntarle a Lily si Gabriel o Freddy habían venido.

"Oh, señor Conroy", le dijo Lily a Gabriel cuando le abrió la puerta, "la Srta. Kate y la Srta. Julia creían que nunca vendría. Buenas noches, Sra. Conroy". "Estoy seguro de que lo pensaron", dijo Gabriel, "pero se olvidan de que mi esposa aquí toma tres horas mortales para vestirse". Estaba de pie en la esterilla, raspando la nieve de sus galochas, mientras que Lily llevaba a su esposa al pie de las escaleras y gritaba: "Srta. Kate, aquí está la señora Conroy". Kate y Julia bajaron las escaleras oscuras inmediatamente. Ambos besaron a la mujer de Gabriel, le dijeron que debía morirse de pie y preguntaron si Gabriel estaba con ella.

"¡Aquí estoy, tan correcto como el correo, tía Kate! Sube. Yo iré detrás", gritó Gabriel desde la oscuridad.

Siguió frotándose enérgicamente la suela de los zapatos mientras las tres mujeres subían, riendo, al vestidor de señoras. Una ligera franja de nieve caía como una capa sobre los hombros de su abrigo y como punteras sobre los dedos de sus galochas; y, como los botones de su abrigo se deslizaban con un sonido chirriante a través del friso endurecido por la nieve, un aire frío y fragante del exterior se escapaba por grietas y pliegues.

"¿Está nevando de nuevo, Sr. Conroy?" preguntó Lily.

Lo había precedido en la despensa para ayudarlo con su abrigo.
Gabriel sonrió ante las tres sílabas que le había dado a su apellido y la miró. Era una chica delgada, que aún no había parado de crecer, de tez pálida y con el pelo de color heno. La luz de gas en la despensa la hacía lucir aún más pálida. Gabriel la había conocido cuando era una niña que se sentaba en el último escalón a acunar su muñeca de trapo.

"Sí, Lily", contestó, “y creo que nos espera una noche así”. Levantó la vista hacia el techo de la despensa, que temblaba con el taconeo y el arrastrar de pies en el piso de arriba, escuchó el piano por un momento y luego miró a la chica, que estaba doblando cuidadosamente su abrigo en el extremo de una estantería.

"Dime, Lily", le dijo en tono amistoso, “¿aún vas a la escuela?”. "Oh, no, señor", respondió ella. "He terminado de estudiar por este año y más". "Oh, entonces", dijo Gabriel alegremente, "supongo que iremos a tu boda uno de estos días con tu muchachito, ¿eh?". La muchacha le miró por encima del hombro y dijo con gran amargura: "Los hombres que hay ahora solo son puro bla bla blá y lo que puedan sacarte". Gabriel se coloreó como si sintiera que había cometido un error y, sin mirarla, se quitó las galochas de una patada y, con la bufanda, sacudió con fuerza sus zapatos de charol.

Era un joven robusto y alto. El alto color de sus mejillas subía hasta su frente donde formaba manchas sin forma de color rojo pálido; y en su cara sin pelo centelleaban inquietos los cristales pulidos y los brillantes bordes dorados de las gafas que protegían sus ojos delicados e inquietos. Su brillante cabello negro estaba partido en el medio y cepillado en una larga curva detrás de las orejas donde se enrollaba ligeramente debajo del surco dejado por el sombrero.

Cuando hubo dado bastante brillo a los zapatos, se enderezó y se ajustó el chaleco calándolo sobre su cuerpo regordete. Luego sacó rápidamente una moneda de su bolsillo.

"Oh, Lily", dijo, empujándola en sus manos, "es la época de Navidad, ¿no? Solo ... aquí hay un pequeño ...". Caminó rápidamente hacia la puerta.

"¡Oh, no, señor!", gritó la muchacha, siguiéndole. "De verdad, señor, yo no lo aceptaría". "¡Época de Navidad! ¡Época de Navidad!", dijo Gabriel, casi trotando hacia las escaleras y agitando la mano hacia ella, como restando importancia al regalo.

La muchacha, al ver que él había subido las escaleras, le gritó: "Bien, gracias, señor". Él esperó ante la puerta del salón a que terminara el vals, escuchando las faldas que se agitaban contra ella y el arrastrar de los pies. Aún estaba desconcertado por la amarga e inesperada réplica de la muchacha.
Le había invadido una tristeza que intentó disipar arreglándose los puños y los lazos de la corbata. Luego sacó del bolsillo de su chaqueta un pequeño papel y miró los epígrafes que había preparado para su discurso. Estaba indeciso sobre los versos de Robert Browning porque temía que estuvieran por encima de las cabezas de su audiencia. Alguna cita de Shakespeare o de las Melodías que reconocerían sería mejor. El chasquido brusco de los tacones de los hombres y el arrastrar de las suelas le recordaron que su grado de cultura difería del suyo. Solo se pondría en ridículo al citar poesía que no podían entender. Pensarían que estaba alardeando de su educación superior. Fracasaría con ellos, igual que había fracasado con la chica de la despensa. Había adoptado un estilo equivocado. Toda su charla fue un error de principio a fin, un fracaso absoluto.

En ese momento, sus tías y su esposa salieron del vestidor de señoras.
Sus tías eran dos ancianas pequeñas vestidas con sencillez. La tía Julia era unos dos centímetros más alta. Su cabello, recogido por encima de las orejas, era gris; y también gris pero con sombras más oscuras, era su gran cara flácida. Aunque era robusta y se mantenía erguida, sus ojos lentos y sus labios entreabiertos le daban el aspecto de una mujer que no sabía dónde estaba ni adónde iba. La tía Kate era más vivaz. Su cara, más sana que la de su hermana, era toda pliegues y arrugas, como una marchita manzana roja, y su pelo, peinado también a la antigua, no había perdido su color de castaña madura.

Ambas besaron a Gabriel sin ambages. Era su sobrino favorito, el hijo de su hermana mayor muerta, Ellen, que se había casado con T. J. Conroy de Port and Docks.

"Gretta me dice que no vas a tomar un coche para volver a Monkstown esta noche, Gabriel", dijo la tía Kate.

"No", dijo Gabriel, dirigiéndose a su esposa, "tuvimos bastante de eso el año pasado, ¿verdad? ¿No te acuerdas, tía Kate, el resfriado que cogió Gretta entonces? Las ventanillas del coche traquetearon todo el camino, y entraba el viento del este después de que pasamos Merrion. Fue un viajecito. Gretta pescó un resfriado espantoso". La tía Kate frunció el ceño severamente y asintió con la cabeza a cada palabra.

"Correcto, Gabriel, correcto", dijo. "Nunca se es demasiado precavido". "Pero en cuanto a Gretta", dijo Gabriel, “caminaría a casa en la nieve si la dejaran”. La Sra. Conroy se echó a reír.

''No te preocupes por él, tía Kate'', dijo. ''De verdad es un fastidio terrible, con gafas verdes para los ojos de Tom de noche, y haciéndole hacer las mancuernas, y obligando a Eva a comer el porridge. ¡El pobre niño! ¡Y ella simplemente odia verlo!.... ¡Oh, pero nunca podrás adivinar lo que me hace llevar ahora!'' Empezó a reir y miró a su marido, cuyos admirativos y felices ojos se habían estado paseando de su vestido a su cara y su pelo. Las dos tías rieron a carcajadas también, porque la solicitud de Gabriel era una broma recurrente para ellas.

"¡Galochas!" dijo la Sra. Conroy. "Eso es lo último. En cuanto hay humedad en el suelo, me hace ponerme las galochas. Esta noche hasta él quería ponérmelas, pero no quise. -Lo próximo que me comprará será una escafandra". Gabriel se rio nerviosamente y se dio unas palmaditas tranquilizadoras en la corbata mientras la tía Kate casi se doblaba, de tanto que disfrutaba la broma. Pronto se borró la sonrisa de la cara de tía Julia y sus ojos sin alegría se dirigieron hacia el rostro de su sobrino. Después de una pausa preguntó: "¿Y qué son las galochas, Gabriel?". "¡Chanclos, Julia!", exclamó su hermana. "Dios mío, ¿no sabes lo que son las galochas? Las usas encima de tus... encima de tus botas, Gretta, ¿no es así?". "Sí", dijo la señora Conroy. ''Cosas de gutapercha. Ahora ambas tenemos un par.
Gabriel dice que en el continente, cada uno lleva galochas''. ''Oh, en el continente'', murmuró la tía Julia, asintiendo lentamente con la cabeza.

Gabriel frunció las cejas y dijo, como si estuviera ligeramente enfadado: ''No es nada muy maravilloso, pero Gretta piensa que es divertido porque la palabra le recuerda a Christy Minstrels''. ''Pero dime, Gabriel'', dijo la Tía Kate, con brío y tacto. "Por supuesto, has visto lo de la habitación. Gretta estaba diciendo...". "Oh, la habitación está bien", respondió Gabriel. "He tomado una en el Gresham". "Sin duda", dijo la tía Kate, "es por lejos lo mejor que se puede hacer. Y los niños, Gretta, ¿no estás preocupada por ellos?". "Oh... ¡por una noche...!", dijo la Sra. Conroy. "Además, Bessie los cuidará". "Seguro", volvió a decir tía Kate. ''Qué bien tener una chica como ella, una en la que puede confiar. Está esa Lily, no sé lo que ha ocurrido con ella últimamente. No es la chica que era''. Gabriel estaba a punto de preguntar a su tía acerca de eso pero de repente ella se paró para mirar a su hermana que había bajado las escaleras y estaba mirando por encima de las barandillas.

"Ahora, os lo pregunto", dijo casi con irritación, "¿a dónde va Julia?
¡Julia! ¡Julia! ¿A dónde vas?". Julia, que había bajado medio tramo, volvió y anunció frívolamente: "Aquí está Freddy". Al mismo tiempo unas palmadas y un floreo final del piano anunció que el vals acababa de terminar. La puerta de la sala se abrió desde dentro y algunas parejas salieron. La tía Kate apartó apresuradamente a Gabriel y le susurró al oído: "Baja, como un buen chico, Gabriel, y mira si está bien, y no le dejes subir si está bebido. Estoy segura de que está bebido. Estoy segura de que lo está". Gabriel se dirigió a la escalera y escuchó por encima de las barandillas. Pudo oír a dos personas hablando en la despensa. Entonces reconoció la risa de Freddy Malins. Bajó las escaleras haciendo ruido.

''Es un alivio'', le dijo la tía Kate a la señora Conroy, ''que Gabriel esté aqui. Siempre me siento mejor en mi mente cuando está aqui....Julia...la Srta Daly y la Srta Power tomarán un refresco. Gracias por su hermoso vals, Srta. Daly. Fue un momento precioso". Un hombre alto, con cara arrugada, con el duro bigote canoso y la piel morena, que salía con su pareja dijo: "¿Y podemos tomar un refresco, también, señorita Morkan?". "Julia", dijo la tía Kate sumariamente, "y aquí están el señor Browne y la señorita Furlong. "Hazlos entrar, Julia, con la Srta. Daly y la Srta. Power". "Soy el hombre para las damas", dijo el señor Browne, frunciendo los labios hasta que el bigote se erizó y sonriendo con todas las arrugas. "Sabe, Srta. Morkan, la razón por la que me quieren tanto es...". No terminó la frase, sino que, viendo que la tía Kate estaba fuera del alcance de sus oídos, condujo en seguida a las tres jóvenes a la habitación del fondo. El centro de la habitación estaba ocupado por dos mesas cuadradas colocadas de punta a punta, y sobre ellas la tía Julia y el portero estaban alisando y estirando un gran mantel. En el aparador estaban dispuestos platos y fuentes, vasos y grupos de cuchillos, tenedores y cucharas. La parte superior del cerrado piano cuadrado servía también de aparador para viandas y dulces. En una esquina, junto a un aparador más pequeño, estaban de pie dos jóvenes, bebiendo licores de lúpulo.

El Sr. Browne condujo a sus invitados hasta allí y los invitó a todos, en broma, a un ponche de señoras, caliente, fuerte y dulce. Como dijeron que nunca tomaban cosas fuertes, él abrió tres botellas de limonada para ellas. Luego pidió a uno de los jóvenes que se apartara, y, agarrando el decantador, se llenó una buena medida de whisky. Los jóvenes lo miraron respetuosamente mientras probaba un sorbo .

"Dios me ayude", dijo, sonriendo, "son las órdenes del médico". Su rostro arrugado esbozó una sonrisa más amplia, y las tres jóvenes damas rieron en eco musical a su chiste, balanceando los cuerpos de un lado a otro, con nerviosas sacudidas de los hombros. La más atrevida dijo: "Oh, Sr. Browne, ahora estoy segura de que el doctor nunca ordenó nada por el estilo". El Sr. Browne tomó otro sorbo de su whisky y dijo, con disimulada parodia: "Bueno, ya ve, soy como la famosa Sra. Cassidy, quien, según se dice, expresó: 'Ahora, Mary Grimes, si no lo tomo, hágamelo tomar, porque siento que lo quiero'". El acalorado rostro de Browne se había inclinado hacia delante un poco demasiado confidencialmente y había asumido un acento dublinés muy bajo, de modo que las jóvenes, con un mismo instinto, recibieron sus palabras en silencio. La Srta. Furlong, que era una de las alumnas de Mary Jane, preguntó a la Srta. Daly cómo se llamaba el bonito vals que había tocado; y el Sr. Browne, viéndose ignorado, se volvió prontamente hacia los dos jóvenes que se mostraban más receptivos.

Una chica joven con cara roja, vestida de violeta, entró en la sala, aplaudiendo emocionada y gritando: ''¡Cuadrillas! ¡Cuadrillas!''. Detrás de ella vino la tía Kate, gritando: ''Dos caballeros y tres damas, Mary Jane''. ''Oh, aquí llegan el Sr. Bergin y el Sr. Kerrigan'' dijo Mary Jane. "Sr. Kerrigan, ¿sacará a bailar a la Srta. Power? Srta. Furlong, ¿puedo conseguirle un compañero, el Sr. Bergin? Oh, eso bastará ahora". "Tres damas, Mary Jane", dijo la tía Kate.

Los dos jóvenes caballeros preguntaron a las damas si podían tener el placer, y Mary Jane se volvió hacia la Srta. Daly.

"Oh, Srta. Daly, usted es extremadamente buena, después de haber tocado en los dos últimos bailes, pero realmente estamos muy escasos de damas esta noche". "No me preocupa en lo más mínimo, Srta. Morkan". "Pero tengo un buen compañero para usted, el Sr. Bartell D'Arcy, el tenor. Le haré cantar más tarde. Todo Dublín delira por él''. ''¡Encantadora voz, encantadora voz!'' dijo la tía Kate.

Mientras el piano había tocado dos veces el preludio de la primera figura, Mary Jane condujo a sus reclutas rápidamente fuera de la sala. Apenas se habían ido cuando la tía Julia entró lentamente en la sala, mirando algo detrás de ella.

''¿Qué pasa, Julia?'' preguntó la tía Kate ansiosamente. "¿Quién es?". Julia, que llevaba una pila de servilletas de mesa, se volvió hacia su hermana y dijo, simplemente, como si la pregunta la hubiera sorprendido: "Solo está Freddy, Kate, y Gabriel con él". De hecho, justo detrás de ella podía verse a Gabriel guiando por el rellano a Freddy Malins. Este último, un joven de unos cuarenta años, era de la talla y complexión de Gabriel, con los hombros muy redondos. Su rostro era carnoso y pálido, con un toque de color solo en los gruesos lóbulos colgantes de las orejas y en las anchas aletas de la nariz. Tenía rasgos toscos, nariz roma, frente convexa y retraída, labios hinchados y salientes. Sus ojos de párpados pesados y el desorden de su escaso cabello le daban un aspecto somnoliento. Se estaba riendo a carcajadas en tono agudo de una historia que le había estado contando a Gabriel en la escalera y, al mismo tiempo, se frotaba el ojo izquierdo hacia adelante y hacia atrás con los nudillos del puño izquierdo.

''Buenas noches, Freddy'', dijo la tía Julia.

Freddy Malins se despidió de las señoritas Morkan de una manera que parecía indiferente, por el habitual tono de su voz y luego, viendo que el Sr. Browne le sonreía desde el aparador, cruzó la habitación con las piernas algo temblorosas y empezó a repetir en voz baja la historia que acababa de contarle a Gabriel.

"No es tan malo, ¿verdad?", le dijo tía Kate a Gabriel.

Las cejas de Gabriel estaban sombrías pero las alzó rápidamente y contestó: "Oh, no, apenas se nota". "Ahora, ¿no es un tipo terrible?", dijo ella. "Y su pobre madre le hizo jurar que no tomaría más alcohol en Nochevieja. Pero vamos al salón, Gabriel". Antes de salir de la habitación con Gabriel, hizo una señal al Sr. Browne frunciendo el ceño y agitando el índice en señal de advertencia. El Sr.Browne asintió y, una vez que ella se había ido, le dijo a Freddy Malins: '' Ahora, Teddy, voy a darte un buen vaso de limonada para animarte ''. Freddy Malins quien estaba alcanzando el final de su historia, hizo a un lado el ofrecimiento con impaciencia, pero el señor Browne, tras llamar primero la atención de Freddy Malins sobre un desaliño en su ropa, le llenó y entregó un vaso lleno de limonada. La mano izquierda de Freddy Malins aceptó el vaso mecánicamente, mientras que la derecha se ocupaba de reajustar mecánicamente su ropa. El Sr. Browne, cuyo rostro volvía a arrugarse de risa, se sirvió un vaso de whisky mientras Freddy Malins estallaba, antes de haber llegado al clímax de su relato, en una manía de risa bronquial aguda y, dejando el vaso sin probar y rebosante, empezaba a frotarse el ojo izquierdo hacia adelante y hacia atrás con los nudillos del puño izquierdo, repitiendo palabras de su última frase tan bien como se lo permitía su ataque de risa.


Gabriel no podía escuchar mientras Mary Jane tocaba su pieza de la Academia, llena de carreras y pasajes difíciles, en el salón silencioso. Le gustaba la música, pero la pieza que ella tocaba no tenía melodía para él y dudaba que la tuviera para los demás oyentes, aunque le habían rogado a Mary Jane que tocara algo. Cuatro jóvenes, que habían venido de la sala donde estaban los refrigerios para pararse en la puerta al oír el sonido del piano, se habían marchado tranquilamente en parejas a los pocos minutos. Las únicas personas que parecían seguir la música eran la propia Mary Jane, cuyas manos corrían por el teclado o se levantaban de él en las pausas como las de una sacerdotisa en momentánea imprecación, y la tía Kate, de pie junto a su codo, para dar vuelta la página.

Los ojos de Gabriel, irritados por el suelo que brillaba con cera de abeja bajo la pesada lámpara de araña, se dirigieron a la pared por encima del piano. Allí estaba colgado un cuadro de la escena del balcón en 'Romeo y Julieta', de los dos príncipes asesinados en la torre, la tía Julia había trabajado en lana roja, azul y marrón cuando era niña.
Probablemente se había enseñado ese tipo de trabajo durante un año en la escuela a la que habían ido de niñas. Su madre había trabajado para él como regalo de cumpleaños un chaleco de tabí morado, con cabecitas de zorro encima, forrado de raso marrón y con botones redondos de morera. Era extraño que su madre no hubiera tenido talento musical, aunque la tía Kate solía llamarla la 'cerebrito' de la familia Morkan. Tanto ella como Julia siempre habían parecido un poco orgullosas de su seria y competente hermana.
Su fotografía estaba colocada enfrente del espejo. Se la veía sosteniendo un libro abierto sobre las rodillas y señalaba algo en él a Constantino, que, vestido con un traje de marinero, estaba a sus pies. Era ella que había elegido el nombre de sus hijos porque ella estaba muy sensible a la dignidad de la vida familiar. Gracias a ella, Constantine ahora era vicario mayor en Balbrigan y, gracias a ella, el propio Gabriel se había licenciado en la Real Universidad. Una sombra pasó en su cara cuando se recordó de su hosca oposición a su matrimonio. Ella había usado algunas frases despreciativas que aún le escocían en la memoria; Una vez ella había hablado de Gretta como una mona de campo y eso no era cierto en absoluto de Gretta. Fue Gretta quien la había cuidado durante toda su última y larga enfermedad en la casa de ellos en Monkstown.

Él sabía que Mary Jane debía estar cerca del final de la pieza porque estaba tocando de nuevo la melodía inicial con pasadas de escalas después de cada compás, y mientras esperaba el final, su resentimiento se aplacó.
La pieza terminó con una vibración de octavas en los agudos y una profunda octava final en los graves. Un gran aplauso saludó a Mary Jane mientras, ruborizada y enrollando nerviosamente su música, escapaba de la sala. Los aplausos más enérgicos vinieron de los cuatro jóvenes que estaban en la puerta y que se habían ido a la sala de refrigerios al principio de la pieza, pero habían vuelto cuando el piano se detuvo.

Se organizaron cuadrillas. Gabriel se encontró que era compañero de la señorita Ivors.
Era una joven franca y habladora, de cara pecosa y ojos marrones prominentes. No llevaba un corpiño escotado y el gran broche que llevaba en la parte delantera del cuello tenía un emblema y un lema irlandeses.

Cuando hubieron ocupado sus puestos, ella dijo bruscamente: "Tengo que discutir algo con usted". "¿Conmigo?", dijo Gabriel.

Ella asintió gravemente con la cabeza.

"¿De qué se trata?", preguntó Gabriel, sonriendo ante sus maneras solemnes.

"¿Quién es G. C.?", respondió la Srta. Ivors, volviendo los ojos hacia él.

Gabriel se puso colorado y estaba a punto de fruncir las cejas, como si no comprendiera, cuando ella dijo sin ambages: "¡Oh, inocente Amy! He descubierto que usted escribe para The Daily Express. ''¿No le da vergüenza?''.'' ¿ Por qué me debería dar vergüenza?'' preguntó Gabriel, parpadeando y tratando de sonreír.

''Bueno, yo me avergüenzo de usted'' dijo la Srta Ivors francamente. "Decir que usted escribiría para un periódico como ese. No pensaba que fuera un británico occidental'' . Gabriel pareció perplejo. Era cierto que él escribía una columna literaria cada miércoles en el Daily Express, y que le pagaban quince chelines. Pero,seguro que esto no le convertía en un británico occidental. Los libros que recibía para reseñar eran casi más bienvenidos que el insignificante cheque. Le encantaba tocar las tapas y hojear las páginas de los libros recién impresos. Casi todos los días, cuando terminaba de enseñar en el colegio, solía pasear por los muelles hasta las librerías de segunda mano, a Hickey en Bachelor's Walk, a Webb o Massey en Aston's Quay, o a O'Clohissey en la callejuela. No sabía cómo responder a su acusación. Quiso decir que la literatura estaba por encima de la política. Pero eran amigos desde hacía muchos años y sus carreras habían sido paralelas, primero en la universidad y luego como profesores: no podía arriesgarse a una frase grandilocuente con ella. Él siguió parpadeando, tratando de sonreír y murmuró que no veía nada político en escribir reseñas de libros.

Cuando les llegó el turno de cruzar, él estaba aún perplejo y distraído. La Srta. Ivors le tomó la mano con un cálido apretón y le dijo en un tono suave y amistoso: "Por supuesto, solo estaba bromeando. Vamos, ahora crucemos". Cuando volvieron a estar juntos, ella habló de la cuestión de la Universidad y Gabriel se sintió más tranquilo. Un amigo de ella le había mostrado su reseña de los poemas de Browning. Así fue como ella había descubierto el secreto: pero la reseña le había gustado muchísimo. Entonces ella dijo de repente: "Oh, Sr. Conroy, ¿vendrá de excursión a las Islas Aran este verano? Nos quedaremos allí un mes entero. Va a ser espléndido en el Atlántico. Debería venir. El Sr. Clancy vendrá y el Sr. Kilkelly y Kathleen Kearney. Sería espléndido para Gretta si viniera. Viene de Connacht, creo''. 'Su familia viene de allí'' dijo Gabriel brevemente.

''''Pero usted vendrá, ¿no?'' dijo la Srta Ivors, poniendo su cálida mano ansiosamente en su brazo.

"El hecho es" dijo Gabriel "que acabo de arreglar para ir...". "¿Ir adónde?" preguntó la Srta. Ivors.

"Bueno, ya sabe, todos los años hago una excursión en bicicleta con unos compañeros y...". "¿Pero adónde?" preguntó la Srta. Ivors.

"Bueno, normalmente vamos a Francia o a Bélgica o quizás a Alemania", dijo Gabriel torpemente.

"¿Y por qué vais a Francia y a Bélgica", dijo la Srta. Ivors, "en vez de visitar vuestra propia tierra?". "Bueno, en parte para mantener el contacto con los idiomas y en parte para variar”, dijo Gabriel. "¿Y no tenéis vuestro propio idioma con el que mantener el contacto, el irlandés?", preguntó la señorita Ivors.

"Bueno," dijo Gabriel, "si viene al caso, ya sabe que el irlandés no es mi idioma". Sus vecinos se habían dado vuelta para escuchar el interrogatorio. Gabriel miró a derecha e izquierda nerviosamente y trató de guardar su buen humor ante la ordalía que hacía que un rubor invadiera su frente.

La Srta Ivors siguió: ''¿Y no tiene su propio pueblo a visitar, que usted no conoce, su propia gente, su propio país?'' ''Oh, a decir verdad'', replicó Gabriel de repente, “¡estoy harto de mi propio país, harto de él!”. ''¿Por qué?'', preguntó la señorita Ivors.

Gabriel no contestó porque su réplica le había acalorado.

''¿Por qué?'', repitió la Srta. Ivors.

Debieron dar una vuelta juntos y, como él no le había contestado, la Srta. Ivors le dijo cálidamente: "Por supuesto, no tiene una respuesta". Gabriel trató de disimular su agitación participando en el baile con gran energía. Evitó sus ojos porque había visto una expresión amarga en el rostro de ella. Pero cuando se encontraron en la larga cadena se sorprendió al sentir que su mano le apretaba con firmeza. Ella lo miró inquisitivamente por unos instantes, hasta que él sonrió. Luego, justo cuando la cadena estaba a punto de arrancar de nuevo, se puso de puntillas y le susurró al oído: "¡Británico occidental!". Cuando los lanceros terminaron Gabriel se alejó a un rincón apartado de la sala, donde estaba sentada la madre de Freddy Malins. Era una anciana robusta y débil, con el pelo blanco. Su voz se entrecortaba como la de su hijo y tartamudeaba ligeramente. Le habían dicho que Freddy había llegado y que estaba casi bien. Gabriel la preguntó si había tenido una buena travesía. Ella vivía en Glasgow con su hija que estaba casada y venía a Dublín de visita una vez al año. Le respondió plácidamente que había tenido una hermosa travesía y que el capitán había sido muy atento con ella. Habló también de la hermosa casa que su hija tenía en Glasgow y de todos los amigos que allí tenían. Mientras ella divagaba, Gabriel trató de desterrar de su mente todo recuerdo del desagradable incidente con la Srta. Ivors. Claro que la muchacha o la mujer, o lo que fuera, era una entusiasta, pero había un momento para todo. Tal vez él no debería haberle contestado así. Pero ella no tenía derecho de llamarle un West Briton ante la gente, ni siquiera en broma. Ella había tratado de ridiculizarle ante la gente, interrumpiéndole y mirándole fijamente con sus ojos de conejo

Vío a su esposa viniendo hacia él, entre las parejas que bailaban el vals. Cuando llegó hasta él, le dijo al oído:'' Gabriel, la tia Kate quiere saber si no trincharás el ganso como siempre.
La Srta. Daly va trinchar el jamón y yo haré el postre.'' ''Muy bien'' dijo Gabriel.

"En cuanto termine este vals, hará pasar primero a los más jóvenes para que tengamos la mesa para nosotros solos". "¿Estabas bailando?", preguntó Gabriel.

"Claro que sí. ¿No me viste? ¿Qué pelea tuviste con Molly Ivors?". "Ninguna pelea. ¿Por qué? ¿Ella dijo algo?'' ''Algo así. Estoy tratando de que ese Sr. D'Arcy cante. Está lleno de presunción, creo''. ''No hubo un lio'', dijo Gabriel de mal humor, “sólo que ella quería que me fuera de viaje al oeste de Irlanda y yo le dije que no”. Su mujer juntó las manos con entusiasmo y dio un pequeño salto.

''Oh, tienes que ir, Gabriel'', ella gritó. ''Me agradería ver Galway otra vez''. ''Puedes ir si quieres'' dijo Gabriel friamente.

Ella lo miró por un momento, luego se volvió a la Sra. Malins y dijo: "Aquí tiene un buen marido para usted, Sra. Malins". Mientras ella volvía a enhebrar su camino por la habitación, la Sra. Malins, sin hacer referencia a la interrupción, continuó contándole a Gabriel los hermosos lugares que había en Escocia y los bellos paisajes. Su yerno los llevaba todos los años a los lagos y solían ir a pescar. Su yerno era un espléndido pescador. Un día pescó un hermoso pez muy grande y el hombre del hotel lo cocinó para la cena.

Gabriel casi no escuchó lo que ella decía. Ahora que se acercaba la cena, empezó otra vez a pensar en su discurso y en la cita. Cuando vio a Freddy Malins cruzar la sala para visitar a su madre, Gabriel le dejó la silla libre y se retiró al hueco de la ventana. El salón ya se había desocupado y desde la habitación del fondo llegaba el estrépito de platos y cuchillos. Los que aún permanecían en el salón parecían cansados de bailar y conversaban tranquilamente en pequeños grupos. Los cálidos y temblorosos dedos de Gabriel golpetearon el frío cristal de la ventana. ¡Qué fresco debía hacer afuera! ¡Qué agradable sería pasear solo, primero junto al río y luego por el parque! La nieve debía estar en las ramas de los árboles y formando un casquete brillante en la cima del Monumento a Wellington. ¡Cuánto más agradable sería estar allí y no a la mesa de la cena!

Repasó los epígrafes de su discurso: Hospitalidad irlandesa, tristes recuerdos, las Tres Gracias, París, la cita de Browning. Repitió para sí una frase que había escrito en su reseña: "Uno siente que está escuchando una música de pensamientos atormentados". La señorita Ivors había elogiado la reseña. ¿Era sincera? ¿Tenía realmente vida propia detrás de todas sus declaraciones? Entre ellos nunca había habido rencor hasta esa noche. Le inquietaba pensar que ella estaría a la mesa de la cena, mirándolo con sus ojos críticos e inquisitivos mientras él hablaba. Quizás ella no se lamentaría viéndole fracasar en su discurso. Tuvo una idea que le dió valor. Diría, aludiendo a la tía Kate y a la tía Julia: "Señoras y señores, la generación que ahora está marchitándose entre nosotros puede haber tenido sus defectos, pero por mi parte creo que tenía ciertas cualidades de hospitalidad, de humor, de humanidad, de las que me parece que carece la muy seria e hipereducada nueva generación que está creciendo a nuestro alrededor". Muy bien: esa era una para la Srta. Ivors. ¿Qué le importaba a él que sus tías fueran solo dos ancianas ignorantes?

Un murmullo en la sala atrajo su atención. El Sr. Browne avanzaba desde la puerta, escoltando galantemente a la tía Julia, que se apoyaba en su brazo, sonriendo e inclinando la cabeza. Una irregular salva de aplausos la escoltó también hasta el piano y luego cesó gradualmente, a medida que Mary Jane se sentaba en el taburete y tía Julia, ya sin sonrisa, se daba vuelta a medias, de modo que su voz llegara claramente a la sala. Gabriel reconoció el preludio. Era el de una vieja canción de la tía Julia: 'Arrayed for the Bridal'. Su voz, de tono fuerte y claro, atacó con gran espíritu las notas que adornan el aire y, aunque cantó muy rápido, no se perdió ni la más pequeña de las notas de gracia. Seguir la voz, sin mirar la cara del cantante, era sentir y compartir la emoción de un vuelo rápido y seguro. Gabriel Gabriel aplaudió ruidosamente con todos los otros al final de la canción y se oyeron fuertes aplausos desde la mesa invisible de la cena. Sonó tan genuino que apareció un poco de color en el rostro de la tía Julia cuando se inclinó para volver a colocar en el atril el viejo cancionero encuadernado en cuero que llevaba sus iniciales en la portada. Freddy Malins, que había escuchado con la cabeza inclinada hacia un lado para oírla mejor, seguía aplaudiendo cuando todos los demás habían cesado y hablaba animadamente con su madre, que asentía grave y lentamente con la cabeza. Por fin, cuando ya no pudo aplaudir más, se levantó de golpe y cruzó apresuradamente la sala hacia la tía Julia, cuya mano tomó y estrechó con las dos suyas, sacudiéndola cuando las palabras le fallaban o se le quebraba la voz.

"Estaba diciéndole a mi madre", dijo, "que nunca la había oído a usted cantar tan bien, nunca. No, nunca había oído su voz tan bien como esta noche.
¡Ahora! ¿ Lo creería ahora? Es la verdad. Por mi palabra y honor, esa es la verdad. Nunca he oído su voz tan fresca y tan....tan clara y fresca, nunca''. La tía Julia sonrió ampliamente y murmuró algo sobre cumplidos mientras le soltaba la mano. El Sr. Browne extendió hacia ella su mano abierta y dijo a los que estaban cerca de él en el estilo de un locutor que presenta un prodigio al público: "¡La Srta. Julia Morkan, mi último descubrimiento!". Estaba riéndose a carcajadas cuando Freddy Malins se volvió hacia él y le dijo: "Bueno, Browne, si hablas en serio podrías hacer un descubrimiento peor. Todo lo que puedo decir es que nunca la he oído cantar ni la mitad de bien desde que estoy aquí. Y esa es la pura verdad". "Yo tampoco", dijo el Sr. Browne. "Creo que su voz ha mejorado mucho». La tía Julia se encogió de hombros y dijo con humilde orgullo: "Hace treinta años no tenía mala voz en cuanto a voces se refiere". "A menudo le he dicho a Julia", dijo tía Kate con énfasis, "que en ese coro sencillamente la desperdiciaban. Pero yo nunca lo diría". Se volvió como para apelar al buen sentido de los demás contra una niña obstinada, mientras tía Julia miraba frente a ella, con una vaga sonrisa de reminiscencia jugueteando en su rostro.

''No'', continuó la tía Kate, ''ni la diría ni la dirigiría nadie, esclavizándose allí en ese coro noche y día, noche y día. ¡A las seis de la mañana de Navidad! Y para qué?'' ''Bueno, ¿no es por el honor de Dios, tía Kate?'' preguntó Mary Jane, girando sobre el taburete del piano y sonriendo.

La tía Kate se volvió ferozmente contra su sobrina y le dijo: "Lo sé todo sobre el honor de Dios, Mary Jane, pero creo que no es nada honorable que el Papa eche de los coros a las mujeres que han trabajado como esclavas toda su vida y ponga por sobre ellas a unos mocosos. Supongo que si el Papa lo hace es por el bien de la Iglesia. Pero no es justo, Mary Jane, y no está bien". Se había apasionado y habría seguido defendiendo a su hermana, pues era un tema delicado para ella, pero Mary Jane, al ver que todos los bailarines habían vuelto, intervino pacíficamente: "Ahora, tía Kate, estás escandalizando al Sr. Browne que es de la otra creencia". La tía Kate se volvió hacia el Sr. Browne, que sonreía ante esta alusión a su religión, y dijo apresuradamente: "Oh, no pongo en duda que el Papa tenga razón. Solo soy una vieja estúpida y no me atrevería a hacer tal cosa. Pero existe algo como la cortesía y la gratitud cotidianas. Y si yo estuviera en el lugar de Julia le diría a ese padre Healey directamente a la cara...". "Y además, tía Kate, realmente todos tenemos hambre y cuando tenemos hambre somos muy peleadores", dijo Mary Jane. "Y cuando tenemos sed también somos peleadores", añadió el Sr. Browne.

''Entonces, vamos a cenar'', dijo Mary Jane, '' y terminaremos la discusión después''. En el rellano del salón, Gabriel encontró a su esposa y a Mary Jane intentando convencer a la señorita Ivors de que se quedara a cenar. Pero la Srta Ivors, que se había puesto el sombrero y estaba abotonando la capa, no quiso quedarse. No tenía nada de hambre y ya se había quedado demasiado tiempo.

"Pero sólo por diez minutos, Molly", dijo la señora Conroy. "Eso no la retrasará". "Comer algo, después de tanto baile", dijo Mary Jane. "Realmente no podría", dijo la Srta. Ivors.

"Me temo que no se divirtió en absoluto", dijo sin esperanza Mary Jane.

"Muchísimo, se lo aseguro, pero de verdad que ahora tiene que dejarme marchar", dijo la Srta. Ivors. "Pero, ¿cómo va a llegar a su casa?", preguntó la Sra. Conroy.

"Oh, solo está a dos pasos del muelle". Gabriel dudó un momento y dijo: "Si me lo permite, Srta. Ivors, si está realmente obligada a irse, la acompañaré a casa". Pero la Srta. Ivors se apartó de ellos.

"No quiero oír hablar de eso", gritó. "Por el amor de Dios, vayan a cenar y no se preocupen por mí. Soy muy capaz de cuidarme''. ''Bueno, usted es la chica cómica, Molly'', dijo francamente la señora Conroy.

"¡Dios los bendiga!", exclamó la señorita Ivors, con una risa, mientras bajaba corriendo las escaleras.

Mary Jane la miró, con una expresión de perplejidad, mientras la Sra. Conroy se inclinaba sobre las barandillas para escuchar la puerta del vestíbulo.
Gabriel se preguntó si él era la causa de su abrupta salida. Pero no parecía estar de mal humor: se había ido riendo. Se quedó mirando las escaleras sin comprender.

En ese momento la tía Kate salió tambaleándose del comedor, casi retorciéndose las manos de desesperación.

"¿Dónde está Gabriel?", gritó. "¿Dónde diablos está Gabriel? ¡Están todos esperando ahí dentro, con el escenario a punto, y nadie para trinchar el ganso!". "¡Aquí estoy, tía Kate!", gritó Gabriel, con súbita animación, "listo para trinchar una bandada de gansos, si es necesario". En un extremo de la mesa había un ganso gordo y marrón, y en el otro, sobre un lecho de papel arrugado y salpicado de ramitas de perejil, un gran jamón, desprovisto de la piel exterior y salpicado de crujiente pan rallado, con un prolijo volante de papel alrededor de la tibia, y junto a él un redondel de carne condimentada.
Entre estos extremos opuestos había líneas paralelas de platos de acompañamiento: dos pequeños platos de gelatina, roja y amarilla; un plato llano lleno de trozos de un manjar blanco y mermelada roja, un gran plato verde en forma de hoja con un asa en forma de tallo, en el que había racimos de pasas moradas y almendras peladas, un plato compañero en el que había un sólido rectángulo de higos de Esmirna, un plato de natillas cubierto con nuez moscada rallada, un pequeño cuenco lleno de chocolates y dulces envueltos en papeles dorados y plateados y un jarrón de cristal en el que había unos altos tallos de apio. En el centro de la mesa había dos decantadores cuadrados de vidrio tallado a la antigua usanza uno con oporto y el otro con jerez oscuro, como centinelas de un frutero que sostenía una pirámide de naranjas y manzanas americanas, Sobre el piano cuadrado cerrado estaba esperando un pudin en un enorme plato amarillo y detrás de él había tres escuadrones de botellas de cerveza negra o rubia y minerales, dispuestos según los colores de sus uniformes, los dos primeros negros, con las etiquetas marrones y rojas, el tercer y más pequeño escuadrón blanco, con fajas transversales verdes.

Gabriel se sentó enérgicamente a la cabecera de la mesa y, habiendo mirado el borde del trinchante, hundió su tenedor firmemente en el ganso. Ahora se sentía muy a gusto, ya que era un experto trinchador y nada le gustaba más que encontrarse al frente de una mesa bien cargada.

"Señorita Furlong, ¿qué le doy?" preguntó. "¿Un ala o un trozo de pechuga?". "Solo un trozo pequeño de pechuga". "Srta. Higgins, ¿qué quiere?". "Oh, cualquier cosa, Sr. Conroy". Mientras Gabriel y la Srta. Daly intercambiaban platos de ganso y platos de jamón y ternera condimentada, Lily iba de invitado en invitado con un plato de patatas harinosas calientes envueltas en una servilleta blanca. Esta había sido idea de Mary Jane, que también había sugerido salsa de manzana para el ganso, pero la tía Kate había dicho que el ganso solo, asado sin salsa de manzana, siempre le había parecido suficientemente bueno para ella, y esperaba no comer nunca algo peor. Mary Jane atendió a sus alumnos y se ocupó de que consiguieran las mejores rebanadas y tía Kate y tía Julia abrieron y llevaron al otro lado del piano botellas de cerveza negra y cerveza rubia para los caballeros y botellas de agua mineral para las damas.
Hubo mucha confusión y risas y ruido, ruido de pedidos y de rectificaciones, de cuchillos y tenedores, de corchos y tapones de cristal. Gabriel empezó a trinchar segundas raciones en cuanto hubo terminado la primera ronda, sin haberse servido. Cada uno protestó en voz alta, así que él se conformó con tomar un largo trago de cerveza negra porque había encontrado que trinchar le hizo transpirar. Mary Jane se sentó tranquilamente a cenar, pero tía Kate y tía Julia seguían dando vueltas alrededor de la mesa, pisándose los talones, estorbándose mutuamente y dándose órdenes desoídas. El señor Browne les pidió que se sentaran y comieran sus cenas y también lo hizo Gabriel, pero dijeron que tenían tiempo suficiente así que, por fin, Freddy Malins se puso de pie y, capturando a la tía Kate, la colocó en su silla entre risas generales.

Cuando todo el mundo había sido bien servido Gabriel dijo, sonriendo: "Ahora, si alguien quiere un poco más de lo que la gente vulgar llama relleno, que hable". Un coro de voces lo conminó a empezar su cena y Lily se adelantó con tres papas que le había reservado.

"Muy bien," dijo Gabriel amablemente, mientras tomaba otro trago previo, "tengan la amabilidad de olvidar mi existencia, damas y caballeros, durante unos minutos". Se dispuso a cenar y no tomó parte en la conversación con la que la mesa cubrió la retirada de los platos por parte de Lily. El tema de conversación era la compañía de ópera que se encontraba en aquel momento en el Theatre Royal. El Sr. Bartell D'Arcy, el tenor, un joven de tez morena y bigote elegante, elogió mucho a la contralto principal de la compañía, pero la Srta. Furlong pensaba que tenía un estilo de producción bastante vulgar.
Freddy Malins dijo que había un jefe negro que cantaba en la segunda parte de la pantomima del Gaiety y que tenía una de las mejores voces de tenor que había oído nunca.

"¿Lo ha oído?", le preguntó al Sr. Bartell D'Arcy a través de la mesa.

''No'', contestó el Sr. Bartell d'Arcy con descuido.

Freddy Malins explicó: ''Porque ahora quisiera conocer su opinión sobre él. Creo que tiene una gran voz''. ''Hace falta Teddy para descubrir las cosas realmente buenas''. dijo el Sr. Browne familiarmente a la mesa.

''Y por qué no podría tener una voz, también?'' preguntó Freddy Malins agudamente.
''Es porque es sólo un negro?'' . Nadie contestó la cuestión y Mary Jane condujo la mesa de nuevo a la ópera legítima. Uno de sus alumnos le había dado un pase para 'Mignon'.
Claro que estaba muy bien, dijo, pero le hizo pensar en la pobre Georgina Burns. El Sr. Browne podía remontarse aún más atrás, a las viejas compañías italianas que solían venir a Dublín: Tietjens, Ilma de Murzka, Campanini, el gran Trebelli, Giuglini, Ravelli, Aramburo. Aquellos eran los días, dijo, en los que en Dublín se oía algo parecido al canto. Contó también cómo solía llenarse noche tras noche la galería superior del viejo Royal, cómo un tenor italiano había cantado una noche cinco bises de 'Déjame caer como un soldado', entonando un do agudo cada vez, y cómo los chicos de la galería, en su entusiasmo, a veces desenganchaban los caballos del carruaje de alguna gran 'prima donna' y la llevaban ellos mismos por las calles hasta su hotel. ¿Por qué nunca representaban las grandes óperas antiguas, Dinorah, Lucrecia Borgia? Porque no podían encontrar las voces que podrían cantarles; por eso

''Oh, bueno'', dijo el Sr. Bartell D'Arcy, ''Pienso que hay tan buenos cantantes como antes''. ''¿Dónde están?" preguntó el Sr. Browne, desafiante.

"En Londres, París, Milán", dijo el Sr. Bartell D'Arcy con entusiasmo. ""Supongo que Caruso, por ejemplo, es tan bueno, si no mejor que cualquiera de los hombres que ha mencionado". "Puede que sí", dijo el señor Browne. "Pero puedo decirle, lo dudo mucho". "Oh, daría cualquier cosa por escuchar cantar a Caruso", dijo Mary Jane.

"Para mí", dijo la tía Kate, que había estado hurgando en un hueso, "sólo había un tenor. Que me agradara, quiero decir. Pero supongo que ninguno de ustedes ha oído hablar de él". "¿Quién era, Srta. Morkan?", preguntó cortésmente el Sr. Bartell D'Arcy.

"Su nombre era Parkinson." dijo la tía Kate. "Lo escuché cuando estaba en la plenitud de su vida y creo que entonces tenía la voz de tenor más pura que jamás haya habido en la garganta de un hombre" . "Extraño", dijo el Sr. Bartell D'Arcy. "Nunca había oído hablar de él". "Sí, sí, la Srta. Morkan tiene razón", dijo el Sr. Browne. "Recuerdo haber oído hablar del viejo Parkinson, pero es demasiado antiguo para mí". "Un hermoso tenor inglés, puro, dulce y melodioso", dijo la tía Kate con entusiasmo.

Como Gabriel había terminado, el gran pudin fue transferido a la mesa.
El ruido de tenedores y cucharas comenzó de nuevo. La mujer de Gabriel sirvió cucharadas de pudin y pasó los platos por la mesa. A la mitad los detenía Mary Jane, quien les añadió gelatina de frambuesas o de naranja, o manjar blanco o jalea. El pudin había sido hecho por tía Julia y ésta recibió elogios de todas partes. Pero ella dijo que no estaba lo bastante dorado.

"Bueno, Srta. Morkan" dijo el Sr. Browne, "espero ser lo bastante moreno para usted porque, ya sabe, soy completamente morocho". Todos los caballeros, excepto Gabriel, comieron un poco del pudín por cumplido a la tía Julia. Como Gabriel nunca comía dulces le habían dejado el apio para él. Freddy Malins también tomó un tallo de apio y lo comió con su pudín. Le habían dicho que el apio era muy bueno para la sangre, y en aquel momento estaba bajo tratamiento médico. La Sra. Malins, que había estado en silencio durante toda la cena, dijo que su hijo bajaría a Mount Melleray dentro de más o menos una semana. La mesa habló entonces de Mount Melleray, de lo vigorizante que era el aire allí abajo, de lo hospitalarios que eran los monjes y de cómo nunca pedían un penique a sus huéspedes.

''Y quiere decir'' preguntó el Sr. Browne sin creer, '' que un individuo puede ir y ponerse allí como si fuera un hotel y vivir de la fertilidad de la tierra sin pagar nada'' .''Oh, la mayoría de la gente da una donación al monasterio cuando se va'', dijo Mary Jane.

''Ojalá tuviéramos una institución así en nuestra Iglesia'' dijo el Sr. Bowne sinceramente.

Estaba sorprendido al escuchar que los monjes nunca hablan, se levantaban a las dos de la mañana y dormían en sus ataúdes. Preguntó por qué hacían esto.

''Es la regla de la orden'' dijo la tia Kate, firmemente.

"Sí, pero ¿por qué?" preguntó el señor Browne.

La tía Kate repitió que era la regla y así era. El señor Browne parecía todavia no entender. Freddy Malins le explicó, tan bien como pudo, que los monjes trataban de expiar los pecados cometidos por todos los pecadores del mundo exterior. La explicación no era muy clara porque el señor Browne sonrió y dijo: "Me gusta mucho esa idea pero ¿no les serviría una cómoda cama de muelles tan bien como un ataúd?". El ataúd", dijo Mary Jane, "es para recordarles su último final". Como el tema se había vuelto lúgubre se lo enterró en un silencio de la mesa en medio del cual se pudo oír a la Sra. Malins decir a su vecina en un tono vago: "Son hombres muy buenos, los monjes, hombres muy piadosos". Se pasaban ahora por la mesa, las pasas y las almendras, los higos, las manzanas y las naranjas, los chocolates y los dulces, y la tía Julia invitó a todos los invitados a tomar oporto o jerez. Al principio el Sr. Bartell D'Arcy se negó a tomar ninguna de los dos, pero uno de sus vecinos le dio un codazo y le susurró algo, tras lo cual permitió que le llenaran la copa. Poco a poco, a medida que se iban llenando los ultimos vasos, la conversacion fue cesando. Siguió una pausa, solo interrumpida por el ruido del vino y por el movimiento de las sillas. Las Srtas. Morkan, las tres, miraron hacia el mantel. Alguien tosió una o dos veces y luego unos caballeros dieron suaves golpecitos en la mesa como señal de silencio. Se hizo el silencio y Gabriel empujó hacia atrás su silla.

Los golpecitos de repente se hicieron más fuertes en señal de ánimo y luego cesaron por completo. Gabriel puso sus diez dedos temblorosos sobre el mantel y sonrió nerviosamente a los demás. Viendo una fila de caras levantadas, alzó los ojos hacia la lámpara. El piano estaba tocando una melodía de vals y podía oír las faldas rozando la puerta del salón.
Tal vez había personas afuera en el muelle, bajo la nieve, mirando las ventanas iluminadas y oyendo la melodía del vals. El aire era puro allí. A lo lejos estaba el parque con sus árboles cargados de nieve. El Wellington Monument tenía un brillante gorro nevado refulgiendo hacia el oeste, sobre los blancos campos de Fifteen Acres.

Comenzó: "Señoras y señores: me ha tocado esta noche, como en años anteriores, desempeñar una tarea muy grata, pero una tarea para la que me temo que mis pobres facultades como orador son demasiado inadecuadas". "¡No, no!", dijo el señor Browne.

"Pero, sea como fuere, esta noche solo puedo pedirles que acepten la voluntad para hacerla y que me presten atención durante unos instantes mientras me esfuerzo por expresarles con palabras cuáles son mis sentimientos en esta ocasión.

Señoras y señores, no es la primera vez que nos reunimos bajo este techo hospitalario, en torno a esta mesa hospitalaria. No es la primera vez que hemos sido los destinatarios (o quizás, mejor dicho, las víctimas) de la hospitalidad de ciertas buenas damas". Hizo un círculo en el aire con el brazo e hizo una pausa. Todos rieron o sonrieron a tía Kate, tía Julia y Mary Jane, que se pusieron coloradas de placer. Gabriel prosiguió con más audacia: "Cada año que pasa siento con más fuerza que nuestro país no tiene una tradición que le honre tanto y que deba guardarse tan celosamente como la de su hospitalidad. Es una tradición única, según mi experiencia (y he visitado no pocos lugares en el extranjero), entre las naciones modernas. Quizás algunos dirían que para nosotros es más un defecto que algo de lo que presumir. Pero, aun así, en mi opinión, se trata de un defecto noble, y uno que confío que se cultivará durante mucho tiempo entre nosotros. Por lo menos estoy seguro de una cosa. Mientras este único techo dé cobijo a las buenas damas antes mencionadas -y deseo de todo corazón que así sea durante muchos y largos años-, la tradición de la genuina y cálida hospitalidad irlandesa, que nuestros antepasados nos han transmitido y que nosotros a su vez debemos transmitir a nuestros descendientes, seguirá viva entre nosotros". Un cordial murmullo de aprobación recorrió la mesa. A Gabriel le pasó por la cabeza que la Srta. Ivors no estaba allí y que se había marchado descortésmente, y dijo con confianza en sí mismo: "Señoras y señores: Una nueva generación está creciendo entre nosotros, una generación movida por nuevas ideas y nuevos principios. Es seria y está entusiasmada por estas nuevas ideas y su entusiasmo, incluso cuando está mal dirigido, es, creo, sincero en su mayor parte. Pero vivimos en una época escéptica y, si se me permite la expresión, atormentada por el pensamiento, y a veces temo que esta nueva generación, educada o hipereducada como es, carezca de esas cualidades de humanidad, de hospitalidad, de humor amable que pertenecieron a una época más antigua. Esta noche escuchando a todos estos nombres de grandes cantantes del pasado, pienso, debo confesarlo, que vivíamos en una época menos espaciosa. Sin exagerar, esos dias podrían ser llamados días largos: y si si han ido más allá de la memoria, esperamos, por lo menos, que en reuniones como ésta seguiremos hablando de ellos con orgullo y afecto, aún conservando en nuestros corazones el recuerdo de aquellos grandes muertos cuya fama el mundo no dejará morir de buena gana''. ''¡Oigan, oigan!'', dijo el señor Browne en voz alta.

"Pero sin embargo", continuó Gabriel, su voz cayendo en una inflexión más suave, "siempre hay en las reuniones como esta pensamientos más tristes que se repiten a nuestras mentes: pensamientos del pasado, de la juventud, de los cambios, de las caras ausentes que echamos de menos aquí esta noche. Nuestro paso por la vida está cubierto de tales memorias dolorosas: y si siempre fuéramos a cavilar sobre ellas, no tendríamos ánimo para continuar con valentía nuestro trabajo entre los vivos. Todos nosotros tenemos deberes y afectos vivos que reclaman, y con razón, nuestros arduos esfuerzos.

Por tanto, no me demoraré en el pasado. No permitiré que ninguna sombría reflexión moralizante nos perturbe esta noche. Aquí estamos reunidos por un breve instante extraído del ajetreo y de la prisa de la rutina cotidiana. Estamos aquí reunidos como amigos, con espíritu de compañerismo, como colegas, también hasta cierto punto, con verdadero espíritu de camaradería, y como invitados de... ¿cómo debo llamarlas?... las Tres Gracias del mundo musical dublinés". Ante esta alusión, la mesa estalló en aplausos y risas. La tía Julia pidió en vano a cada uno de sus vecinos, uno por uno, que le contaran lo que había dicho Gabriel.

"Dice que somos las Tres Gracias, tía Julia", dijo Mary Jane.

La tía Julia no entendió, pero miró, sonriendo, a Gabriel, que continuó en la misma tónica: "Señoras y señores, no intentaré representar esta noche el papel que Paris interpretó en otra ocasión. No intentaré elegir entre ellas. La tarea sería desagradable y estaría más allá de mis escasas capacidades. Porque cuando las veo sucesivamente, si es nuestra anfitriona principal, cuyo buen corazón, cuyo demasiado buen corazón, se ha convertido en ejemplo para todos los que la conocen, o su hermana, que parece estar dotada de una juventud perenne y cuyo canto debe haber sido una sorpresa y una revelación para todos nosotros esta noche, o, por último pero no menos importante, cuando considero a nuestra anfitriona más joven, talentosa, alegre, trabajadora y la mejor de las sobrinas, confieso, Señoras y Señores, que no sé a quién de ellas debería otorgar el premio." Gabriel miró a sus tías y, al ver la gran sonrisa en el rostro de la tía Julia y las lágrimas que habían subido a los ojos de la tía Kate, se apresuró a su conclusión. Levantó su copa de oporto galantemente, mientras que cada miembro de la compañía toqueteaba un vaso con expectación, y dijo en voz alta: "Brindemos por las tres juntas. Bebamos por su salud, riqueza, larga vida, felicidad y prosperidad y que sigan ocupando durante mucho tiempo la posición orgullosa y ganada por merecimientos propios en su profesión y la posición de honor y afecto que ocupan en nuestros corazones". Todos los invitados se levantaron, copa en mano, y volviéndose hacia las tres damas sentadas, cantaron al unísono, con el Sr. Browne a la cabeza: 'Porque son unas compañeras alegres, Porque son unas compañeras alegres, Porque son unas compañeras alegres, Lo que nadie puede negar'.

La tía Kate hacía uso franco de su pañuelo y hasta la tía Julia parecía conmovida. Freddy Malins marcaba el compás con su tenedor de pudín y los cantantes se volvían unos hacia otros, como en melodiosa conferencia, mientras cantaban con énfasis: 'A menos que diga una mentira, A menos que diga una mentira'.

Luego, volviéndose una vez más hacia sus anfitrionas, cantaron: 'Porque son unas compañeras alegres, Porque son unas compañeras alegres, Porque son unas compañeras alegres, Lo que nadie puede negar'.

La aclamación que siguió fue llevada más allá de la puerta del comedor por muchos de los otros invitados y renovada una y otra vez, actuando Freddy Malins como director, con su tenedor en alto.


El aire penetrante de la mañana entró en el corredor donde estaban, de modo que la tía Kate dijo: «Que alguien cierre la puerta». La Sra. Malins va morir de frío''. ''Browne está fuera, Tía Kate'', dijo Mary Jane.

“Browne está en todas partes", dijo la tía Kate, bajando la voz.

Mary Jane se rió de su tono.

"En realidad", dijo con picardía, "es muy atento". "Lo han puesto aquí como el gas", dijo la tía Kate en el mismo tono, "durante toda la Navidad". Ella misma se rio esta vez de buen humor y luego añadió rápidamente: "Pero dile que entre, Mary Jane, y cierra la puerta. Espero que no me haya oído". En ese momento se abrió la puerta del vestíbulo y el Sr. Browne entró desde el umbral, riendo como si se le fuera a romper el corazón. Iba vestido con un largo sobretodo verde con puños y cuello de imitación de astracán y llevaba en la cabeza un gorro ovalado de piel. Señaló hacia el muelle cubierto de nieve, desde donde provenía un estridente y prolongado silbido.

"Teddy hará salir a todos los taxis de Dublín", dijo..

Gabriel salió de la pequeña despensa que había detrás de la oficina, con dificultad, se puso el abrigo y, mirando a su alrededor, dijo: ''¿Gretta no ha bajado aún?''. ''Se está vistiendo, Gabriel'', dijo la Tía Kate.

''¿Quién está actuando ahí arriba?'', preguntó Gabriel.

"Nadie. Todos se han ido". "Oh no, tía Kate", dijo Mary Jane. "Bartell D'Arcy y la señorita O'Callaghan aún no se han ido". "De todos modos, alguien está jugando con el piano", dijo Gabriel.

Mary Jane miró a Gabriel y al Sr. Browne y dijo con un escalofrío: "Me da frío verlos a ustedes dos, caballeros, tan abrigados. No me gustaría afrontar vuestro viaje de vuelta a casa a estas horas". "Nada me gustaría más en este momento", dijo el señor Browne con firmeza, "que un buen paseo por el campo o un paseo rápido con un caballo lleno de energía entre las piernas". "En casa solíamos tener un caballo y un carruaje muy buenos", dijo la tía Julia con tristeza.

''El inolvidable Johnny'', dijo Mary Jane, riendo.

La Tía Kate y Gabriel también se rieron.

''¿Por qué? ¿Qué tenía Johnny de maravilloso? '' preguntó el señor Browne.

''El difunto Patrick Morkan, nuestro abuelo, '' explicó Gabriel, ' conocido en sus últimos años como el anciano caballero, era un hervidor de pegamento.''. ''Oh, Gabriel'', dijo la tía Kate, riendo, '' tenía un molino de almidón''. ''Bueno, pegamento o almidón'' dijo Gabriel, ''el viejo caballero tenía un caballo llamado Johnny. Y Johnny trabajaba en el molino del viejo caballero, dando vueltas y vueltas para operarlo. Eso estuvo muy bien; pero ahora viene la parte trágica de la historia de Johnny. Un buen día el viejo caballero pensó que le gustaría salir con el garbo de una revista militar en el parque". "El Señor tenga piedad de su alma", dijo la tía Kate con compasión.

"Amén", dijo Gabriel. "Así que el viejo caballero, como ya he dicho, enjaezó a Johnny y se puso su mejor sombrero alto y su mejor cuello y salió a lo grande en coche de su ancestral mansión en algún lugar cerca de Back Lane, creo". Todos se rieron, incluso la señora Malins, de las maneras de Gabriel y la tía Kate dijo: "Oh, Gabriel, para entonces él no vivía en Back Lane, en realidad. Solo el molino estaba allí". "Fuera de la mansión de sus antepasados", continuó Gabriel, "iba con Johnny. Y todo transcurrió maravillosamente hasta que Johnny llegó a la vista de la estatua del rey Billy: y sea que se enamoró del caballo sobre el que se sienta el rey Billy o sea que pensó que estaba de nuevo en el molino, de cualquier modo empezó a dar vueltas alrededor de la estatua". Gabriel se paseaba en galochas alrededor de la sala, entre las risas de los demás.

"Dio vueltas y vueltas", dijo Gabriel, "y el viejo caballero, que era un viejo caballero muy pomposo, estaba indignadísimo. '¡Vamos, señor!
Qué quiere decir, señor? ¡Johnny! ¡Johnny! ¡Una conducta extraordinaria!
¡ No puede entender el caballo!'' La carcajada que siguió a la imitación del incidente por Gabriel se vio interrumpida por un sonoro golpe en la puerta del vestíbulo. Mary Jane corrió a abrirla y dejó entrar a Freddy Malins. Freddy Malins, con el sombrero bien echado hacia atrás y los hombros encorvados por el frío, resoplaba y emitía vapor después de sus esfuerzos.

"Solo pude conseguir un taxi", dijo.

"Oh, encontraremos otro en el muelle", dijo Gabriel.

"Sí", dijo la tía Kate. "Mejor no tener a la señora Malins parada en la corriente". Su hijo y el Sr. Browne ayudaron a la Sra. Malins a bajar la escalinata y, tras muchas maniobras, la subieron al taxi. Freddy Malins subió despues de ella y pasó mucho tiempo acomodándola en el asiento, con la ayuda y los consejos del Sr. Browne. Por fin, fue instalada confortablemente y Freddy Malins invitó al Sr. Browne a ir en el coche. Hubo un buen rato de conversaciones confusas, y luego el señor Browne se subió al taxi. El taxista le colocó su alfombra sobre las rodillas, y se inclinó para la dirección. La confusión se hizo mayor y el taxista fue dirigido de manera diferente por Freddy Malins y el señor Browne, cada uno de los cuales tenía la cabeza a través de una ventanilla del taxi. La dificultad consistía en saber dónde dejar al Sr. Browne a lo largo de la ruta, y tía Kate, tía Julia y Mary Jane ayudaron a la discusión desde el umbral de la puerta con indicaciones cruzadas y contradicciones y abundancia de risas. En cuanto a Freddy Malins, se quedó mudo de risa. A cada momento asomaba la cabeza por la ventanilla, con gran peligro para su sombrero, y contaba a su madre cómo iba progresando la discusión, hasta que por fin el Sr. Browne gritó al desconcertado taxista por encima del estruendo de las risas de todos: "¿Conoce el Trinity College?": "Sí, señor", respondió el taxista.

"Bueno, pues conduzca hasta la puerta del Trinity College," dijo el señor Browne, "y entonces le diremos adónde tiene que ir. ¿Entiende ahora?". "Sí, señor", dijo el taxista.

''Vaya al Trinity College''. ''Sí, seño'', dijo el taxista.

El caballo fue azotado y el carruaje se alejó traqueteando por el muelle en medio de una oleada de risas y despedidas.

Gabriel no se había ido hasta la puerta con los otros. Estaba en una parte oscura del vestibulo, mirando hacia arriba, hacia la escalera. Una mujer estaba de pie cerca de la parte superior del primer tramo, también en la sombra. No podía ver su cara pero podía ver los paneles color terracota y rosa salmón de su falda, que la sombra hacía parecer blancos y negros. Era su mujer. Estaba apoyada en las barandas, escuchando algo. Gabriel se sorprendió de su inmovilidad y aguzó el oído para oír también. Pero podía oír poco excepto el ruido de la risa y la disputa en los escalones delanteros, algunos acordes golpeados en el piano y algunas notas con la voz de un hombre cantando.

Se quedó inmóvil en el zaguán sombrío, tratando de captar la canción que cantaba aquella voz y contemplando a su mujer. Había gracia y misterio en su pose, como si fuera el símbolo de algo. Se preguntó de qué es un símbolo, una mujer de pie en las escaleras a la sombra, escuchando música distante. Si fuera pintor, la pintaría con esa postura. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. _Distant Music_ he would call the picture if he were a painter.

The hall-door was closed; and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia and Mary Jane came down the hall, still laughing.

“Well, isn’t Freddy terrible?” said Mary Jane. “He’s really terrible.” Gabriel said nothing but pointed up the stairs towards where his wife was standing. Now that the hall-door was closed the voice and the piano could be heard more clearly. Gabriel held up his hand for them to be silent. The song seemed to be in the old Irish tonality and the singer seemed uncertain both of his words and of his voice. The voice, made plaintive by distance and by the singer’s hoarseness, faintly illuminated the cadence of the air with words expressing grief: O, the rain falls on my heavy locks And the dew wets my skin, My babe lies cold.... “O,” exclaimed Mary Jane. “It’s Bartell D’Arcy singing and he wouldn’t sing all the night. O, I’ll get him to sing a song before he goes.” “O do, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate.

Mary Jane brushed past the others and ran to the staircase, but before she reached it the singing stopped and the piano was closed abruptly.

“O, what a pity!” she cried. “Is he coming down, Gretta?” Gabriel heard his wife answer yes and saw her come down towards them. A few steps behind her were Mr Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan.

“O, Mr D’Arcy,” cried Mary Jane, “it’s downright mean of you to break off like that when we were all in raptures listening to you.” “I have been at him all the evening,” said Miss O’Callaghan, “and Mrs Conroy too and he told us he had a dreadful cold and couldn’t sing.” “O, Mr D’Arcy,” said Aunt Kate, “now that was a great fib to tell.” “Can’t you see that I’m as hoarse as a crow?” said Mr D’Arcy roughly.

He went into the pantry hastily and put on his overcoat. The others, taken aback by his rude speech, could find nothing to say. Aunt Kate wrinkled her brows and made signs to the others to drop the subject. Mr D’Arcy stood swathing his neck carefully and frowning.

“It’s the weather,” said Aunt Julia, after a pause.

“Yes, everybody has colds,” said Aunt Kate readily, “everybody.” “They say,” said Mary Jane, “we haven’t had snow like it for thirty years; and I read this morning in the newspapers that the snow is general all over Ireland.” “I love the look of snow,” said Aunt Julia sadly.

“So do I,” said Miss O’Callaghan. “I think Christmas is never really Christmas unless we have the snow on the ground.” “But poor Mr D’Arcy doesn’t like the snow,” said Aunt Kate, smiling.

Mr D’Arcy came from the pantry, fully swathed and buttoned, and in a repentant tone told them the history of his cold. Everyone gave him advice and said it was a great pity and urged him to be very careful of his throat in the night air. Gabriel watched his wife, who did not join in the conversation. She was standing right under the dusty fanlight and the flame of the gas lit up the rich bronze of her hair, which he had seen her drying at the fire a few days before. She was in the same attitude and seemed unaware of the talk about her. At last she turned towards them and Gabriel saw that there was colour on her cheeks and that her eyes were shining. A sudden tide of joy went leaping out of his heart.

“Mr D’Arcy,” she said, “what is the name of that song you were singing?” “It’s called _The Lass of Aughrim_,” said Mr D’Arcy, “but I couldn’t remember it properly. Why? Do you know it?” “_The Lass of Aughrim_,” she repeated. “I couldn’t think of the name.” “It’s a very nice air,” said Mary Jane. “I’m sorry you were not in voice tonight.” “Now, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate, “don’t annoy Mr D’Arcy. I won’t have him annoyed.” Seeing that all were ready to start she shepherded them to the door, where good-night was said: “Well, good-night, Aunt Kate, and thanks for the pleasant evening.” “Good-night, Gabriel. Good-night, Gretta!” “Good-night, Aunt Kate, and thanks ever so much. Good-night, Aunt Julia.” “O, good-night, Gretta, I didn’t see you.” “Good-night, Mr D’Arcy. Good-night, Miss O’Callaghan.” “Good-night, Miss Morkan.” “Good-night, again.” “Good-night, all. Safe home.” “Good-night. Good-night.” The morning was still dark. A dull yellow light brooded over the houses and the river; and the sky seemed to be descending. It was slushy underfoot; and only streaks and patches of snow lay on the roofs, on the parapets of the quay and on the area railings. The lamps were still burning redly in the murky air and, across the river, the palace of the Four Courts stood out menacingly against the heavy sky.

She was walking on before him with Mr Bartell D’Arcy, her shoes in a brown parcel tucked under one arm and her hands holding her skirt up from the slush. She had no longer any grace of attitude but Gabriel’s eyes were still bright with happiness. The blood went bounding along his veins; and the thoughts went rioting through his brain, proud, joyful, tender, valorous.

She was walking on before him so lightly and so erect that he longed to run after her noiselessly, catch her by the shoulders and say something foolish and affectionate into her ear. She seemed to him so frail that he longed to defend her against something and then to be alone with her. Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory. A heliotrope envelope was lying beside his breakfast-cup and he was caressing it with his hand. Birds were twittering in the ivy and the sunny web of the curtain was shimmering along the floor: he could not eat for happiness. They were standing on the crowded platform and he was placing a ticket inside the warm palm of her glove. He was standing with her in the cold, looking in through a grated window at a man making bottles in a roaring furnace. It was very cold. Her face, fragrant in the cold air, was quite close to his; and suddenly he called out to the man at the furnace: “Is the fire hot, sir?” But the man could not hear with the noise of the furnace. It was just as well. He might have answered rudely.

A wave of yet more tender joy escaped from his heart and went coursing in warm flood along his arteries. Like the tender fire of stars moments of their life together, that no one knew of or would ever know of, broke upon and illumined his memory. He longed to recall to her those moments, to make her forget the years of their dull existence together and remember only their moments of ecstasy. For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul or hers. Their children, his writing, her household cares had not quenched all their souls’ tender fire. In one letter that he had written to her then he had said: “Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?” Like distant music these words that he had written years before were borne towards him from the past. He longed to be alone with her. When the others had gone away, when he and she were in their room in the hotel, then they would be alone together. He would call her softly: “Gretta!” Perhaps she would not hear at once: she would be undressing. Then something in his voice would strike her. She would turn and look at him.... At the corner of Winetavern Street they met a cab. He was glad of its rattling noise as it saved him from conversation. She was looking out of the window and seemed tired. The others spoke only a few words, pointing out some building or street. The horse galloped along wearily under the murky morning sky, dragging his old rattling box after his heels, and Gabriel was again in a cab with her, galloping to catch the boat, galloping to their honeymoon.

As the cab drove across O’Connell Bridge Miss O’Callaghan said: “They say you never cross O’Connell Bridge without seeing a white horse.” “I see a white man this time,” said Gabriel.

“Where?” asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy.

Gabriel pointed to the statue, on which lay patches of snow. Then he nodded familiarly to it and waved his hand.

“Good-night, Dan,” he said gaily.

When the cab drew up before the hotel, Gabriel jumped out and, in spite of Mr Bartell D’Arcy’s protest, paid the driver. He gave the man a shilling over his fare. The man saluted and said: “A prosperous New Year to you, sir.” “The same to you,” said Gabriel cordially.

She leaned for a moment on his arm in getting out of the cab and while standing at the curbstone, bidding the others good-night. She leaned lightly on his arm, as lightly as when she had danced with him a few hours before. He had felt proud and happy then, happy that she was his, proud of her grace and wifely carriage. But now, after the kindling again of so many memories, the first touch of her body, musical and strange and perfumed, sent through him a keen pang of lust. Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side; and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure.

An old man was dozing in a great hooded chair in the hall. He lit a candle in the office and went before them to the stairs. They followed him in silence, their feet falling in soft thuds on the thickly carpeted stairs. She mounted the stairs behind the porter, her head bowed in the ascent, her frail shoulders curved as with a burden, her skirt girt tightly about her. He could have flung his arms about her hips and held her still, for his arms were trembling with desire to seize her and only the stress of his nails against the palms of his hands held the wild impulse of his body in check. The porter halted on the stairs to settle his guttering candle. They halted too on the steps below him. In the silence Gabriel could hear the falling of the molten wax into the tray and the thumping of his own heart against his ribs.

The porter led them along a corridor and opened a door. Then he set his unstable candle down on a toilet-table and asked at what hour they were to be called in the morning.

“Eight,” said Gabriel.

The porter pointed to the tap of the electric-light and began a muttered apology but Gabriel cut him short.

“We don’t want any light. We have light enough from the street. And I say,” he added, pointing to the candle, “you might remove that handsome article, like a good man.” The porter took up his candle again, but slowly for he was surprised by such a novel idea. Then he mumbled good-night and went out. Gabriel shot the lock to.

A ghostly light from the street lamp lay in a long shaft from one window to the door. Gabriel threw his overcoat and hat on a couch and crossed the room towards the window. He looked down into the street in order that his emotion might calm a little. Then he turned and leaned against a chest of drawers with his back to the light. She had taken off her hat and cloak and was standing before a large swinging mirror, unhooking her waist. Gabriel paused for a few moments, watching her, and then said: “Gretta!” She turned away from the mirror slowly and walked along the shaft of light towards him. Her face looked so serious and weary that the words would not pass Gabriel’s lips. No, it was not the moment yet.

“You looked tired,” he said.

“I am a little,” she answered.

“You don’t feel ill or weak?” “No, tired: that’s all.” She went on to the window and stood there, looking out. Gabriel waited again and then, fearing that diffidence was about to conquer him, he said abruptly: “By the way, Gretta!” “What is it?” “You know that poor fellow Malins?” he said quickly.

“Yes. What about him?” “Well, poor fellow, he’s a decent sort of chap after all,” continued Gabriel in a false voice. “He gave me back that sovereign I lent him, and I didn’t expect it, really. It’s a pity he wouldn’t keep away from that Browne, because he’s not a bad fellow, really.” He was trembling now with annoyance. Why did she seem so abstracted? He did not know how he could begin. Was she annoyed, too, about something?
If she would only turn to him or come to him of her own accord! To take her as she was would be brutal. No, he must see some ardour in her eyes first. He longed to be master of her strange mood.

“When did you lend him the pound?” she asked, after a pause.

Gabriel strove to restrain himself from breaking out into brutal language about the sottish Malins and his pound. He longed to cry to her from his soul, to crush her body against his, to overmaster her.
But he said: “O, at Christmas, when he opened that little Christmas-card shop in Henry Street.” He was in such a fever of rage and desire that he did not hear her come from the window. She stood before him for an instant, looking at him strangely. Then, suddenly raising herself on tiptoe and resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, she kissed him.

“You are a very generous person, Gabriel,” she said.

Gabriel, trembling with delight at her sudden kiss and at the quaintness of her phrase, put his hands on her hair and began smoothing it back, scarcely touching it with his fingers. The washing had made it fine and brilliant. His heart was brimming over with happiness. Just when he was wishing for it she had come to him of her own accord.
Perhaps her thoughts had been running with his. Perhaps she had felt the impetuous desire that was in him, and then the yielding mood had come upon her. Now that she had fallen to him so easily, he wondered why he had been so diffident.

He stood, holding her head between his hands. Then, slipping one arm swiftly about her body and drawing her towards him, he said softly: “Gretta, dear, what are you thinking about?” She did not answer nor yield wholly to his arm. He said again, softly: “Tell me what it is, Gretta. I think I know what is the matter. Do I know?” She did not answer at once. Then she said in an outburst of tears: “O, I am thinking about that song, _The Lass of Aughrim_.” She broke loose from him and ran to the bed and, throwing her arms across the bed-rail, hid her face. Gabriel stood stock-still for a moment in astonishment and then followed her. As he passed in the way of the cheval-glass he caught sight of himself in full length, his broad, well-filled shirt-front, the face whose expression always puzzled him when he saw it in a mirror and his glimmering gilt-rimmed eyeglasses. He halted a few paces from her and said: “What about the song? Why does that make you cry?” She raised her head from her arms and dried her eyes with the back of her hand like a child. A kinder note than he had intended went into his voice.

“Why, Gretta?” he asked.

“I am thinking about a person long ago who used to sing that song.” “And who was the person long ago?” asked Gabriel, smiling.

“It was a person I used to know in Galway when I was living with my grandmother,” she said.

The smile passed away from Gabriel’s face. A dull anger began to gather again at the back of his mind and the dull fires of his lust began to glow angrily in his veins.

“Someone you were in love with?” he asked ironically.

“It was a young boy I used to know,” she answered, “named Michael Furey. He used to sing that song, _The Lass of Aughrim_. He was very delicate.” Gabriel was silent. He did not wish her to think that he was interested in this delicate boy.

“I can see him so plainly,” she said after a moment. “Such eyes as he had: big, dark eyes! And such an expression in them—an expression!” “O then, you were in love with him?” said Gabriel.

“I used to go out walking with him,” she said, “when I was in Galway.” A thought flew across Gabriel’s mind.

“Perhaps that was why you wanted to go to Galway with that Ivors girl?” he said coldly.

She looked at him and asked in surprise: “What for?” Her eyes made Gabriel feel awkward. He shrugged his shoulders and said: “How do I know? To see him, perhaps.” She looked away from him along the shaft of light towards the window in silence.

“He is dead,” she said at length. “He died when he was only seventeen.
Isn’t it a terrible thing to die so young as that?” “What was he?” asked Gabriel, still ironically.

“He was in the gasworks,” she said.

Gabriel felt humiliated by the failure of his irony and by the evocation of this figure from the dead, a boy in the gasworks. While he had been full of memories of their secret life together, full of tenderness and joy and desire, she had been comparing him in her mind with another. A shameful consciousness of his own person assailed him.
He saw himself as a ludicrous figure, acting as a pennyboy for his aunts, a nervous, well-meaning sentimentalist, orating to vulgarians and idealising his own clownish lusts, the pitiable fatuous fellow he had caught a glimpse of in the mirror. Instinctively he turned his back more to the light lest she might see the shame that burned upon his forehead.

He tried to keep up his tone of cold interrogation, but his voice when he spoke was humble and indifferent.

“I suppose you were in love with this Michael Furey, Gretta,” he said.

“I was great with him at that time,” she said.

Her voice was veiled and sad. Gabriel, feeling now how vain it would be to try to lead her whither he had purposed, caressed one of her hands and said, also sadly: “And what did he die of so young, Gretta? Consumption, was it?” “I think he died for me,” she answered.

A vague terror seized Gabriel at this answer as if, at that hour when he had hoped to triumph, some impalpable and vindictive being was coming against him, gathering forces against him in its vague world.
But he shook himself free of it with an effort of reason and continued to caress her hand. He did not question her again for he felt that she would tell him of herself. Her hand was warm and moist: it did not respond to his touch but he continued to caress it just as he had caressed her first letter to him that spring morning.

“It was in the winter,” she said, “about the beginning of the winter when I was going to leave my grandmother’s and come up here to the convent. And he was ill at the time in his lodgings in Galway and wouldn’t be let out and his people in Oughterard were written to. He was in decline, they said, or something like that. I never knew rightly.” She paused for a moment and sighed.

“Poor fellow,” she said. “He was very fond of me and he was such a gentle boy. We used to go out together, walking, you know, Gabriel, like the way they do in the country. He was going to study singing only for his health. He had a very good voice, poor Michael Furey.” “Well; and then?” asked Gabriel.

“And then when it came to the time for me to leave Galway and come up to the convent he was much worse and I wouldn’t be let see him so I wrote him a letter saying I was going up to Dublin and would be back in the summer and hoping he would be better then.” She paused for a moment to get her voice under control and then went on: “Then the night before I left I was in my grandmother’s house in Nuns’ Island, packing up, and I heard gravel thrown up against the window.
The window was so wet I couldn’t see so I ran downstairs as I was and slipped out the back into the garden and there was the poor fellow at the end of the garden, shivering.” “And did you not tell him to go back?” asked Gabriel.

“I implored of him to go home at once and told him he would get his death in the rain. But he said he did not want to live. I can see his eyes as well as well! He was standing at the end of the wall where there was a tree.” “And did he go home?” asked Gabriel.

“Yes, he went home. And when I was only a week in the convent he died and he was buried in Oughterard where his people came from. O, the day I heard that, that he was dead!” She stopped, choking with sobs and, overcome by emotion, flung herself face downward on the bed, sobbing in the quilt. Gabriel held her hand for a moment longer, irresolutely, and then, shy of intruding on her grief, let it fall gently and walked quietly to the window.


She was fast asleep.

Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange, friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.

Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen down: the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded? From his aunt’s supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merry-making when saying good-night in the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing _Arrayed for the Bridal_. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees.
The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Julia had died. He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very soon.

The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover’s eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love.
The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
unit 1
THE DEAD.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 2
Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 4
It was well for her she had not to attend to the ladies also.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 7
It was always a great affair, the Misses Morkan’s annual dance.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 9
Never once had it fallen flat.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 11
That was a good thirty years ago if it was a day.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 14
Many of her pupils belonged to the better-class families on the Kingstown and Dalkey line.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 15
Old as they were, her aunts also did their share.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 17
Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, did housemaid’s work for them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 19
But Lily seldom made a mistake in the orders so that she got on well with her three mistresses.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 20
They were fussy, that was all.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 21
But the only thing they would not stand was back answers.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 22
Of course they had good reason to be fussy on such a night.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 23
And then it was long after ten o’clock and yet there was no sign of Gabriel and his wife.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 24
Besides they were dreadfully afraid that Freddy Malins might turn up screwed.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 29
unit 30
“Here I am as right as the mail, Aunt Kate!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 31
Go on up.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 32
I’ll follow,” called out Gabriel from the dark.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 35
“Is it snowing again, Mr Conroy?” asked Lily.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 36
She had preceded him into the pantry to help him off with his overcoat.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 37
Gabriel smiled at the three syllables she had given his surname and glanced at her.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 38
She was a slim, growing girl, pale in complexion and with hay-coloured hair.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 39
The gas in the pantry made her look still paler.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 40
Gabriel had known her when she was a child and used to sit on the lowest step nursing a rag doll.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 44
He was a stout tallish young man.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 48
Then he took a coin rapidly from his pocket.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 49
“O Lily,” he said, thrusting it into her hands, “it’s Christmas-time, isn’t it?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 50
Just ... here’s a little....” He walked rapidly towards the door.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 51
“O no, sir!” cried the girl, following him.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 52
“Really, sir, I wouldn’t take it.” “Christmas-time!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 55
He was still discomposed by the girl’s bitter and sudden retort.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 2 weeks ago
unit 56
unit 59
Some quotation that they would recognise from Shakespeare or from the Melodies would be better.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 61
He would only make himself ridiculous by quoting poetry to them which they could not understand.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 62
They would think that he was airing his superior education.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 63
He would fail with them just as he had failed with the girl in the pantry.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 64
He had taken up a wrong tone.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 65
His whole speech was a mistake from first to last, an utter failure.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 66
Just then his aunts and his wife came out of the ladies’ dressing-room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 67
His aunts were two small plainly dressed old women.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 68
Aunt Julia was an inch or so the taller.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 71
Aunt Kate was more vivacious.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 73
They both kissed Gabriel frankly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 76
unit 77
Don’t you remember, Aunt Kate, what a cold Gretta got out of it?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 78
Cab windows rattling all the way, and the east wind blowing in after we passed Merrion.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 79
Very jolly it was.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 80
Gretta caught a dreadful cold.” Aunt Kate frowned severely and nodded her head at every word.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 81
“Quite right, Gabriel, quite right,” she said.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 83
“Don’t mind him, Aunt Kate,” she said.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 85
The poor child!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 86
And she simply hates the sight of it!...
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 88
The two aunts laughed heartily too, for Gabriel’s solicitude was a standing joke with them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 89
“Goloshes!” said Mrs Conroy.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 90
“That’s the latest.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 91
Whenever it’s wet underfoot I must put on my goloshes.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 92
Tonight even he wanted me to put them on, but I wouldn’t.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 96
“Goodness me, don’t you know what goloshes are?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 97
You wear them over your ... over your boots, Gretta, isn’t it?” “Yes,” said Mrs Conroy.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 98
“Guttapercha things.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 99
We both have a pair now.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 102
“Of course, you’ve seen about the room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 103
Gretta was saying....” “O, the room is all right,” replied Gabriel.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 105
unit 106
“Besides, Bessie will look after them.” “To be sure,” said Aunt Kate again.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 107
“What a comfort it is to have a girl like that, one you can depend on!
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 108
There’s that Lily, I’m sure I don’t know what has come over her lately.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 110
“Now, I ask you,” she said almost testily, “where is Julia going?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 111
Julia!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 112
Julia!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 114
The drawing-room door was opened from within and some couples came out.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 116
I’m sure he’s screwed.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 117
I’m sure he is.” Gabriel went to the stairs and listened over the banisters.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 118
He could hear two persons talking in the pantry.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 119
Then he recognised Freddy Malins’ laugh.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 120
He went down the stairs noisily.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 121
“It’s such a relief,” said Aunt Kate to Mrs Conroy, “that Gabriel is here.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 123
Thanks for your beautiful waltz, Miss Daly.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 129
The top of the closed square piano served also as a sideboard for viands and sweets.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 130
At a smaller sideboard in one corner two young men were standing, drinking hop-bitters.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 132
As they said they never took anything strong he opened three bottles of lemonade for them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 134
The young men eyed him respectfully while he took a trial sip.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month, 1 week ago
unit 140
“Mr Kerrigan, will you take Miss Power?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 141
Miss Furlong, may I get you a partner, Mr Bergin.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 142
O, that’ll just do now.” “Three ladies, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 145
I’ll get him to sing later on.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 146
All Dublin is raving about him.” “Lovely voice, lovely voice!” said Aunt Kate.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 149
“What is the matter, Julia?” asked Aunt Kate anxiously.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 154
His heavy-lidded eyes and the disorder of his scanty hair made him look sleepy.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 156
“Good-evening, Freddy,” said Aunt Julia.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 158
“He’s not so bad, is he?” said Aunt Kate to Gabriel.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 160
“And his poor mother made him take the pledge on New Year’s Eve.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 174
unit 175
Her photograph stood before the pierglass.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 179
unit 183
unit 186
Lancers were arranged.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 187
Gabriel found himself partnered with Miss Ivors.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 191
She nodded her head gravely.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 192
“What is it?” asked Gabriel, smiling at her solemn manner.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 193
“Who is G. C.?” answered Miss Ivors, turning her eyes upon him.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 195
I have found out that you write for _The Daily Express_.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 month ago
unit 197
“Well, I’m ashamed of you,” said Miss Ivors frankly.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks ago
unit 198
“To say you’d write for a paper like that.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks ago
unit 199
I didn’t think you were a West Briton.” A look of perplexity appeared on Gabriel’s face.
3 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 201
But that did not make him a West Briton surely.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 202
The books he received for review were almost more welcome than the paltry cheque.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 203
He loved to feel the covers and turn over the pages of newly printed books.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 205
He did not know how to meet her charge.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 206
He wanted to say that literature was above politics.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 209
When their turn to cross had come he was still perplexed and inattentive.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 212
A friend of hers had shown her his review of Browning’s poems.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks ago
unit 213
That was how she had found out the secret: but she liked the review immensely.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 weeks ago
unit 215
We’re going to stay there a whole month.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 216
It will be splendid out in the Atlantic.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 217
You ought to come.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 218
Mr Clancy is coming, and Mr Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 219
It would be splendid for Gretta too if she’d come.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 220
She’s from Connacht, isn’t she?” “Her people are,” said Gabriel shortly.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 221
“But you will come, won’t you?” said Miss Ivors, laying her warm hand eagerly on his arm.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 224
“Well, we usually go to France or Belgium or perhaps Germany,” said Gabriel awkwardly.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 229
Gabriel did not answer for his retort had heated him.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 230
“Why?” repeated Miss Ivors.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 232
He avoided her eyes for he had seen a sour expression on her face.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 233
But when they met in the long chain he was surprised to feel his hand firmly pressed.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 234
She looked at him from under her brows for a moment quizzically until he smiled.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 236
She was a stout feeble old woman with white hair.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 237
Her voice had a catch in it like her son’s and she stuttered slightly.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 238
She had been told that Freddy had come and that he was nearly all right.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 239
Gabriel asked her whether she had had a good crossing.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 240
She lived with her married daughter in Glasgow and came to Dublin on a visit once a year.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 245
Perhaps he ought not to have answered her like that.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 246
But she had no right to call him a West Briton before people, even in joke.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 248
He saw his wife making her way towards him through the waltzing couples.
3 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 250
Miss Daly will carve the ham and I’ll do the pudding.” “All right,” said Gabriel.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 252
“Of course I was.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 253
Didn’t you see me?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 254
What row had you with Molly Ivors?” “No row.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 255
Why?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 256
Did she say so?” “Something like that.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 257
I’m trying to get that Mr D’Arcy to sing.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 259
“O, do go, Gabriel,” she cried.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 260
“I’d love to see Galway again.” “You can go if you like,” said Gabriel coldly.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 262
Her son-in-law brought them every year to the lakes and they used to go fishing.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 263
Her son-in-law was a splendid fisher.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 264
One day he caught a beautiful big fish and the man in the hotel cooked it for their dinner.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 265
Gabriel hardly heard what she said.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks ago
unit 266
unit 268
The room had already cleared and from the back room came the clatter of plates and knives.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 270
Gabriel’s warm trembling fingers tapped the cold pane of the window.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 271
How cool it must be outside!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 272
How pleasant it would be to walk out alone, first along by the river and then through the park!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 274
How much more pleasant it would be there than at the supper-table!
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 277
Was she sincere?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks ago
unit 278
Had she really any life of her own behind all her propagandism?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks ago
unit 279
There had never been any ill-feeling between them until that night.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 weeks ago
unit 281
Perhaps she would not be sorry to see him fail in his speech.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 282
An idea came into his mind and gave him courage.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 284
What did he care that his aunts were only two ignorant old women?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 285
A murmur in the room attracted his attention.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 6 days ago
unit 288
Gabriel recognised the prelude.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 289
It was that of an old song of Aunt Julia’s—_Arrayed for the Bridal_.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 296
“I was just telling my mother,” he said, “I never heard you sing so well, never.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 297
No, I never heard your voice so good as it is tonight.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 5 days ago
unit 298
Now!
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 299
Would you believe that now?
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 300
That’s the truth.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 301
Upon my word and honour that’s the truth.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 304
All I can say is I never heard her sing half so well as long as I am coming here.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 305
And that’s the honest truth.” “Neither did I,” said Mr Browne.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 4 days ago
unit 309
Six o’clock on Christmas morning!
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 312
I suppose it is for the good of the Church if the pope does it.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 314
I’m only a stupid old woman and I wouldn’t presume to do such a thing.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 315
But there’s such a thing as common everyday politeness and gratitude.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 3 days ago
unit 318
But Miss Ivors, who had put on her hat and was buttoning her cloak, would not stay.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 319
She did not feel in the least hungry and she had already overstayed her time.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 320
“But only for ten minutes, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 322
“I am afraid you didn’t enjoy yourself at all,” said Mary Jane hopelessly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 325
“I won’t hear of it,” she cried.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 326
“For goodness’ sake go in to your suppers and don’t mind me.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 2 days ago
unit 328
unit 330
Gabriel asked himself was he the cause of her abrupt departure.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 331
But she did not seem to be in ill humour: she had gone away laughing.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 332
He stared blankly down the staircase.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 333
unit 334
“Where is Gabriel?” she cried.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 335
“Where on earth is Gabriel?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks, 1 day ago
unit 342
“Miss Furlong, what shall I send you?” he asked.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 weeks ago
unit 353
The subject of talk was the opera company which was then at the Theatre Royal.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 5 days ago
unit 356
“Have you heard him?” he asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy across the table.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 5 days ago
unit 357
“No,” answered Mr Bartell D’Arcy carelessly.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 358
“Because,” Freddy Malins explained, “now I’d be curious to hear your opinion of him.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 360
“And why couldn’t he have a voice too?” asked Freddy Malins sharply.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 362
One of her pupils had given her a pass for _Mignon_.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 5 days ago
unit 363
Of course it was very fine, she said, but it made her think of poor Georgina Burns.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 5 days ago
unit 365
Those were the days, he said, when there was something like singing to be heard in Dublin.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 5 days ago
unit 369
“In London, Paris, Milan,” said Mr Bartell D’Arcy warmly.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 372
“For me,” said Aunt Kate, who had been picking a bone, “there was only one tenor.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 373
To please me, I mean.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 375
“His name,” said Aunt Kate, “was Parkinson.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 377
“I never even heard of him.” “Yes, yes, Miss Morkan is right,” said Mr Browne.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 4 days ago
unit 379
Gabriel having finished, the huge pudding was transferred to the table.
3 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
unit 380
The clatter of forks and spoons began again.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
unit 381
Gabriel’s wife served out spoonfuls of the pudding and passed the plates down the table.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
unit 383
The pudding was of Aunt Julia’s making and she received praises for it from all quarters.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
unit 384
She herself said that it was not quite brown enough.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
unit 386
As Gabriel never ate sweets the celery had been left for him.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
unit 387
Freddy Malins also took a stalk of celery and ate it with his pudding.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
unit 392
“I wish we had an institution like that in our Church,” said Mr Browne candidly.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 394
He asked what they did it for.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
unit 395
“That’s the rule of the order,” said Aunt Kate firmly.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
unit 396
“Yes, but why?” asked Mr Browne.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 397
Aunt Kate repeated that it was the rule, that was all.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 398
Mr Browne still seemed not to understand.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 402
Gradually as the last glasses were being filled the conversation ceased.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 403
A pause followed, broken only by the noise of the wine and by unsettlings of chairs.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 404
The Misses Morkan, all three, looked down at the tablecloth.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
unit 406
The silence came and Gabriel pushed back his chair.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
unit 407
The patting at once grew louder in encouragement and then ceased altogether.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
unit 409
Meeting a row of upturned faces he raised his eyes to the chandelier.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
unit 412
The air was pure there.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
unit 413
In the distance lay the park where the trees were weighted with snow.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
unit 422
Some would say, perhaps, that with us it is rather a failing than anything to be boasted of.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 20 hours ago
unit 424
Of one thing, at least, I am sure.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
unit 434
“Therefore, I will not linger on the past.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
unit 435
I will not let any gloomy moralising intrude upon us here tonight.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
unit 436
Here we are gathered together for a brief moment from the bustle and rush of our everyday routine.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
unit 438
Aunt Julia vainly asked each of her neighbours in turn to tell her what Gabriel had said.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 6 hours ago
unit 439
“He says we are the Three Graces, Aunt Julia,” said Mary Jane.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 6 hours ago
unit 441
I will not attempt to choose between them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 6 hours ago
unit 442
The task would be an invidious one and one beyond my poor powers.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 6 hours ago
unit 446
Aunt Kate was making frank use of her handkerchief and even Aunt Julia seemed moved.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 6 hours ago
unit 451
Mrs Malins will get her death of cold.” “Browne is out there, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 6 hours ago
unit 452
“Browne is everywhere,” said Aunt Kate, lowering her voice.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 10 hours ago
unit 453
Mary Jane laughed at her tone.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 10 hours ago
unit 457
unit 458
“Teddy will have all the cabs in Dublin out,” he said.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 6 hours ago
unit 460
“Who’s playing up there?” asked Gabriel.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 6 hours ago
unit 461
“Nobody.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 6 hours ago
unit 462
They’re all gone.” “O no, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 6 hours ago
unit 466
“The never-to-be-forgotten Johnny,” said Mary Jane, laughing.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 5 hours ago
unit 467
Aunt Kate and Gabriel laughed too.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 5 hours ago
unit 468
“Why, what was wonderful about Johnny?” asked Mr Browne.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 5 hours ago
unit 471
That was all very well; but now comes the tragic part about Johnny.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
unit 473
“Amen,” said Gabriel.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 5 hours ago
unit 478
‘Go on, sir!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 479
What do you mean, sir?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 480
Johnny!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 481
Johnny!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 482
Most extraordinary conduct!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 484
Mary Jane ran to open it and let in Freddy Malins.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 486
“I could only get one cab,” he said.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 487
“O, we’ll find another along the quay,” said Gabriel.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 488
“Yes,” said Aunt Kate.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 day, 8 hours ago
unit 491
unit 492
There was a good deal of confused talk, and then Mr Browne got into the cab.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 11 hours ago
unit 493
The cabman settled his rug over his knees, and bent down for the address.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 11 hours ago
unit 496
As for Freddy Malins he was speechless with laughter.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity an hour ago
unit 499
You understand now?” “Yes, sir,” said the cabman.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity an hour ago
unit 500
“Make like a bird for Trinity College.” “Right, sir,” said the cabman.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 hours ago
unit 502
Gabriel had not gone to the door with the others.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 hours ago
unit 503
He was in a dark part of the hall gazing up the staircase.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 hours ago
unit 504
A woman was standing near the top of the first flight, in the shadow also.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 hours ago
unit 506
It was his wife.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 hours ago
unit 507
She was leaning on the banisters, listening to something.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity an hour ago
unit 508
Gabriel was surprised at her stillness and strained his ear to listen also.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity an hour ago
unit 511
There was grace and mystery in her attitude as if she were a symbol of something.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity an hour ago
unit 513
If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity an hour ago
unit 515
_Distant Music_ he would call the picture if he were a painter.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 517
“Well, isn’t Freddy terrible?” said Mary Jane.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 520
Gabriel held up his hand for them to be silent.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 523
“It’s Bartell D’Arcy singing and he wouldn’t sing all the night.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 526
“O, what a pity!” she cried.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 528
A few steps behind her were Mr Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 530
He went into the pantry hastily and put on his overcoat.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 531
The others, taken aback by his rude speech, could find nothing to say.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 532
unit 533
Mr D’Arcy stood swathing his neck carefully and frowning.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 534
“It’s the weather,” said Aunt Julia, after a pause.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 536
“So do I,” said Miss O’Callaghan.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 540
Gabriel watched his wife, who did not join in the conversation.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 542
She was in the same attitude and seemed unaware of the talk about her.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 544
A sudden tide of joy went leaping out of his heart.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 546
Why?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 547
Do you know it?” “_The Lass of Aughrim_,” she repeated.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 551
unit 554
Safe home.” “Good-night.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 555
Good-night.” The morning was still dark.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 564
Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 569
It was very cold.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 571
It was just as well.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 572
He might have answered rudely.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 576
For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul or hers.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 580
He longed to be alone with her.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 583
Then something in his voice would strike her.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 585
He was glad of its rattling noise as it saved him from conversation.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 586
She was looking out of the window and seemed tired.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 587
The others spoke only a few words, pointing out some building or street.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 590
“Where?” asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 591
Gabriel pointed to the statue, on which lay patches of snow.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 592
Then he nodded familiarly to it and waved his hand.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 593
“Good-night, Dan,” he said gaily.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 595
He gave the man a shilling over his fare.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 602
An old man was dozing in a great hooded chair in the hall.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 603
He lit a candle in the office and went before them to the stairs.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 607
The porter halted on the stairs to settle his guttering candle.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 608
They halted too on the steps below him.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 610
The porter led them along a corridor and opened a door.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 612
“Eight,” said Gabriel.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 614
“We don’t want any light.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 615
We have light enough from the street.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 617
Then he mumbled good-night and went out.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 618
Gabriel shot the lock to.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 621
unit 626
No, it was not the moment yet.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 627
“You looked tired,” he said.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 628
“I am a little,” she answered.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 631
“Yes.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 635
Why did she seem so abstracted?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 636
He did not know how he could begin.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 637
Was she annoyed, too, about something?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 638
If she would only turn to him or come to him of her own accord!
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 639
To take her as she was would be brutal.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 640
No, he must see some ardour in her eyes first.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 641
He longed to be master of her strange mood.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 642
“When did you lend him the pound?” she asked, after a pause.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 646
She stood before him for an instant, looking at him strangely.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 648
“You are a very generous person, Gabriel,” she said.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 650
The washing had made it fine and brilliant.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 651
His heart was brimming over with happiness.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 652
Just when he was wishing for it she had come to him of her own accord.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 653
Perhaps her thoughts had been running with his.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 656
He stood, holding her head between his hands.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 658
He said again, softly: “Tell me what it is, Gretta.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 659
I think I know what is the matter.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 660
Do I know?” She did not answer at once.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 662
unit 664
He halted a few paces from her and said: “What about the song?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 666
A kinder note than he had intended went into his voice.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 667
“Why, Gretta?” he asked.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 670
The smile passed away from Gabriel’s face.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 672
“Someone you were in love with?” he asked ironically.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 673
unit 674
He used to sing that song, _The Lass of Aughrim_.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 675
He was very delicate.” Gabriel was silent.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 676
unit 677
“I can see him so plainly,” she said after a moment.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 678
“Such eyes as he had: big, dark eyes!
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 683
He shrugged his shoulders and said: “How do I know?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 685
“He is dead,” she said at length.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 686
“He died when he was only seventeen.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 688
“He was in the gasworks,” she said.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 691
A shameful consciousness of his own person assailed him.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 695
unit 696
“I was great with him at that time,” she said.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 697
Her voice was veiled and sad.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 699
Consumption, was it?” “I think he died for me,” she answered.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 702
unit 706
He was in decline, they said, or something like that.
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unit 707
I never knew rightly.” She paused for a moment and sighed.
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unit 708
“Poor fellow,” she said.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 709
“He was very fond of me and he was such a gentle boy.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 711
He was going to study singing only for his health.
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unit 716
But he said he did not want to live.
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unit 717
I can see his eyes as well as well!
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 719
“Yes, he went home.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 723
She was fast asleep.
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unit 725
So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake.
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unit 730
Perhaps she had not told him all the story.
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unit 731
unit 732
A petticoat string dangled to the floor.
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unit 734
He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before.
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unit 735
From what had it proceeded?
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unit 737
Poor Aunt Julia!
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 743
Yes, yes: that would happen very soon.
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unit 744
The air of the room chilled his shoulders.
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unit 746
One by one they were all becoming shades.
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unit 749
Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes.
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unit 752
Other forms were near.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 753
unit 756
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 757
It had begun to snow again.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 759
The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward.
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unit 760
Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None

THE DEAD.

Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet. Hardly
had she brought one gentleman into the little pantry behind the office
on the ground floor and helped him off with his overcoat than the
wheezy hall-door bell clanged again and she had to scamper along the
bare hallway to let in another guest. It was well for her she had not
to attend to the ladies also. But Miss Kate and Miss Julia had thought
of that and had converted the bathroom upstairs into a ladies’
dressing-room. Miss Kate and Miss Julia were there, gossiping and
laughing and fussing, walking after each other to the head of the
stairs, peering down over the banisters and calling down to Lily to ask
her who had come.

It was always a great affair, the Misses Morkan’s annual dance.
Everybody who knew them came to it, members of the family, old friends
of the family, the members of Julia’s choir, any of Kate’s pupils that
were grown up enough, and even some of Mary Jane’s pupils too. Never
once had it fallen flat. For years and years it had gone off in
splendid style as long as anyone could remember; ever since Kate and
Julia, after the death of their brother Pat, had left the house in
Stoney Batter and taken Mary Jane, their only niece, to live with them
in the dark gaunt house on Usher’s Island, the upper part of which they
had rented from Mr Fulham, the corn-factor on the ground floor. That
was a good thirty years ago if it was a day. Mary Jane, who was then a
little girl in short clothes, was now the main prop of the household,
for she had the organ in Haddington Road. She had been through the
Academy and gave a pupils’ concert every year in the upper room of the
Antient Concert Rooms. Many of her pupils belonged to the better-class
families on the Kingstown and Dalkey line. Old as they were, her aunts
also did their share. Julia, though she was quite grey, was still the
leading soprano in Adam and Eve’s, and Kate, being too feeble to go
about much, gave music lessons to beginners on the old square piano in
the back room. Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, did housemaid’s work for
them. Though their life was modest they believed in eating well; the
best of everything: diamond-bone sirloins, three-shilling tea and the
best bottled stout. But Lily seldom made a mistake in the orders so
that she got on well with her three mistresses. They were fussy, that
was all. But the only thing they would not stand was back answers.

Of course they had good reason to be fussy on such a night. And then it
was long after ten o’clock and yet there was no sign of Gabriel and his
wife. Besides they were dreadfully afraid that Freddy Malins might turn
up screwed. They would not wish for worlds that any of Mary Jane’s
pupils should see him under the influence; and when he was like that it
was sometimes very hard to manage him. Freddy Malins always came late
but they wondered what could be keeping Gabriel: and that was what
brought them every two minutes to the banisters to ask Lily had Gabriel
or Freddy come.

“O, Mr Conroy,” said Lily to Gabriel when she opened the door for him,
“Miss Kate and Miss Julia thought you were never coming. Good-night,
Mrs Conroy.”

“I’ll engage they did,” said Gabriel, “but they forget that my wife
here takes three mortal hours to dress herself.”

He stood on the mat, scraping the snow from his goloshes, while Lily
led his wife to the foot of the stairs and called out:

“Miss Kate, here’s Mrs Conroy.”

Kate and Julia came toddling down the dark stairs at once. Both of them
kissed Gabriel’s wife, said she must be perished alive and asked was
Gabriel with her.

“Here I am as right as the mail, Aunt Kate! Go on up. I’ll follow,”
called out Gabriel from the dark.

He continued scraping his feet vigorously while the three women went
upstairs, laughing, to the ladies’ dressing-room. A light fringe of
snow lay like a cape on the shoulders of his overcoat and like toecaps
on the toes of his goloshes; and, as the buttons of his overcoat
slipped with a squeaking noise through the snow-stiffened frieze, a
cold, fragrant air from out-of-doors escaped from crevices and folds.

“Is it snowing again, Mr Conroy?” asked Lily.

She had preceded him into the pantry to help him off with his overcoat.
Gabriel smiled at the three syllables she had given his surname and
glanced at her. She was a slim, growing girl, pale in complexion and
with hay-coloured hair. The gas in the pantry made her look still
paler. Gabriel had known her when she was a child and used to sit on
the lowest step nursing a rag doll.

“Yes, Lily,” he answered, “and I think we’re in for a night of it.”

He looked up at the pantry ceiling, which was shaking with the stamping
and shuffling of feet on the floor above, listened for a moment to the
piano and then glanced at the girl, who was folding his overcoat
carefully at the end of a shelf.

“Tell me, Lily,” he said in a friendly tone, “do you still go to
school?”

“O no, sir,” she answered. “I’m done schooling this year and more.”

“O, then,” said Gabriel gaily, “I suppose we’ll be going to your
wedding one of these fine days with your young man, eh?”

The girl glanced back at him over her shoulder and said with great
bitterness:

“The men that is now is only all palaver and what they can get out of
you.”

Gabriel coloured as if he felt he had made a mistake and, without
looking at her, kicked off his goloshes and flicked actively with his
muffler at his patent-leather shoes.

He was a stout tallish young man. The high colour of his cheeks pushed
upwards even to his forehead where it scattered itself in a few
formless patches of pale red; and on his hairless face there
scintillated restlessly the polished lenses and the bright gilt rims of
the glasses which screened his delicate and restless eyes. His glossy
black hair was parted in the middle and brushed in a long curve behind
his ears where it curled slightly beneath the groove left by his hat.

When he had flicked lustre into his shoes he stood up and pulled his
waistcoat down more tightly on his plump body. Then he took a coin
rapidly from his pocket.

“O Lily,” he said, thrusting it into her hands, “it’s Christmas-time,
isn’t it? Just ... here’s a little....”

He walked rapidly towards the door.

“O no, sir!” cried the girl, following him. “Really, sir, I wouldn’t
take it.”

“Christmas-time! Christmas-time!” said Gabriel, almost trotting to the
stairs and waving his hand to her in deprecation.

The girl, seeing that he had gained the stairs, called out after him:

“Well, thank you, sir.”

He waited outside the drawing-room door until the waltz should finish,
listening to the skirts that swept against it and to the shuffling of
feet. He was still discomposed by the girl’s bitter and sudden retort.
It had cast a gloom over him which he tried to dispel by arranging his
cuffs and the bows of his tie. He then took from his waistcoat pocket a
little paper and glanced at the headings he had made for his speech. He
was undecided about the lines from Robert Browning for he feared they
would be above the heads of his hearers. Some quotation that they would
recognise from Shakespeare or from the Melodies would be better. The
indelicate clacking of the men’s heels and the shuffling of their soles
reminded him that their grade of culture differed from his. He would
only make himself ridiculous by quoting poetry to them which they could
not understand. They would think that he was airing his superior
education. He would fail with them just as he had failed with the girl
in the pantry. He had taken up a wrong tone. His whole speech was a
mistake from first to last, an utter failure.

Just then his aunts and his wife came out of the ladies’ dressing-room.
His aunts were two small plainly dressed old women. Aunt Julia was an
inch or so the taller. Her hair, drawn low over the tops of her ears,
was grey; and grey also, with darker shadows, was her large flaccid
face. Though she was stout in build and stood erect her slow eyes and
parted lips gave her the appearance of a woman who did not know where
she was or where she was going. Aunt Kate was more vivacious. Her face,
healthier than her sister’s, was all puckers and creases, like a
shrivelled red apple, and her hair, braided in the same old-fashioned
way, had not lost its ripe nut colour.

They both kissed Gabriel frankly. He was their favourite nephew, the
son of their dead elder sister, Ellen, who had married T. J. Conroy of
the Port and Docks.

“Gretta tells me you’re not going to take a cab back to Monkstown
tonight, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate.

“No,” said Gabriel, turning to his wife, “we had quite enough of that
last year, hadn’t we? Don’t you remember, Aunt Kate, what a cold Gretta
got out of it? Cab windows rattling all the way, and the east wind
blowing in after we passed Merrion. Very jolly it was. Gretta caught a
dreadful cold.”

Aunt Kate frowned severely and nodded her head at every word.

“Quite right, Gabriel, quite right,” she said. “You can’t be too
careful.”

“But as for Gretta there,” said Gabriel, “she’d walk home in the snow
if she were let.”

Mrs Conroy laughed.

“Don’t mind him, Aunt Kate,” she said. “He’s really an awful bother,
what with green shades for Tom’s eyes at night and making him do the
dumb-bells, and forcing Eva to eat the stirabout. The poor child! And
she simply hates the sight of it!... O, but you’ll never guess what he
makes me wear now!”

She broke out into a peal of laughter and glanced at her husband, whose
admiring and happy eyes had been wandering from her dress to her face
and hair. The two aunts laughed heartily too, for Gabriel’s solicitude
was a standing joke with them.

“Goloshes!” said Mrs Conroy. “That’s the latest. Whenever it’s wet
underfoot I must put on my goloshes. Tonight even he wanted me to put
them on, but I wouldn’t. The next thing he’ll buy me will be a diving
suit.”

Gabriel laughed nervously and patted his tie reassuringly while Aunt
Kate nearly doubled herself, so heartily did she enjoy the joke. The
smile soon faded from Aunt Julia’s face and her mirthless eyes were
directed towards her nephew’s face. After a pause she asked:

“And what are goloshes, Gabriel?”

“Goloshes, Julia!” exclaimed her sister. “Goodness me, don’t you know
what goloshes are? You wear them over your ... over your boots, Gretta,
isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Conroy. “Guttapercha things. We both have a pair now.
Gabriel says everyone wears them on the continent.”

“O, on the continent,” murmured Aunt Julia, nodding her head slowly.

Gabriel knitted his brows and said, as if he were slightly angered:

“It’s nothing very wonderful but Gretta thinks it very funny because
she says the word reminds her of Christy Minstrels.”

“But tell me, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate, with brisk tact. “Of course,
you’ve seen about the room. Gretta was saying....”

“O, the room is all right,” replied Gabriel. “I’ve taken one in the
Gresham.”

“To be sure,” said Aunt Kate, “by far the best thing to do. And the
children, Gretta, you’re not anxious about them?”

“O, for one night,” said Mrs Conroy. “Besides, Bessie will look after
them.”

“To be sure,” said Aunt Kate again. “What a comfort it is to have a
girl like that, one you can depend on! There’s that Lily, I’m sure I
don’t know what has come over her lately. She’s not the girl she was at
all.”

Gabriel was about to ask his aunt some questions on this point but she
broke off suddenly to gaze after her sister who had wandered down the
stairs and was craning her neck over the banisters.

“Now, I ask you,” she said almost testily, “where is Julia going?
Julia! Julia! Where are you going?”

Julia, who had gone half way down one flight, came back and announced
blandly:

“Here’s Freddy.”

At the same moment a clapping of hands and a final flourish of the
pianist told that the waltz had ended. The drawing-room door was opened
from within and some couples came out. Aunt Kate drew Gabriel aside
hurriedly and whispered into his ear:

“Slip down, Gabriel, like a good fellow and see if he’s all right, and
don’t let him up if he’s screwed. I’m sure he’s screwed. I’m sure he
is.”

Gabriel went to the stairs and listened over the banisters. He could
hear two persons talking in the pantry. Then he recognised Freddy
Malins’ laugh. He went down the stairs noisily.

“It’s such a relief,” said Aunt Kate to Mrs Conroy, “that Gabriel is
here. I always feel easier in my mind when he’s here.... Julia, there’s
Miss Daly and Miss Power will take some refreshment. Thanks for your
beautiful waltz, Miss Daly. It made lovely time.”

A tall wizen-faced man, with a stiff grizzled moustache and swarthy
skin, who was passing out with his partner said:

“And may we have some refreshment, too, Miss Morkan?”

“Julia,” said Aunt Kate summarily, “and here’s Mr Browne and Miss
Furlong. Take them in, Julia, with Miss Daly and Miss Power.”

“I’m the man for the ladies,” said Mr Browne, pursing his lips until
his moustache bristled and smiling in all his wrinkles. “You know, Miss
Morkan, the reason they are so fond of me is——”

He did not finish his sentence, but, seeing that Aunt Kate was out of
earshot, at once led the three young ladies into the back room. The
middle of the room was occupied by two square tables placed end to end,
and on these Aunt Julia and the caretaker were straightening and
smoothing a large cloth. On the sideboard were arrayed dishes and
plates, and glasses and bundles of knives and forks and spoons. The top
of the closed square piano served also as a sideboard for viands and
sweets. At a smaller sideboard in one corner two young men were
standing, drinking hop-bitters.

Mr Browne led his charges thither and invited them all, in jest, to
some ladies’ punch, hot, strong and sweet. As they said they never took
anything strong he opened three bottles of lemonade for them. Then he
asked one of the young men to move aside, and, taking hold of the
decanter, filled out for himself a goodly measure of whisky. The young
men eyed him respectfully while he took a trial sip.

“God help me,” he said, smiling, “it’s the doctor’s orders.”

His wizened face broke into a broader smile, and the three young ladies
laughed in musical echo to his pleasantry, swaying their bodies to and
fro, with nervous jerks of their shoulders. The boldest said:

“O, now, Mr Browne, I’m sure the doctor never ordered anything of the
kind.”

Mr Browne took another sip of his whisky and said, with sidling
mimicry:

“Well, you see, I’m like the famous Mrs Cassidy, who is reported to
have said: ‘Now, Mary Grimes, if I don’t take it, make me take it, for
I feel I want it.’”

His hot face had leaned forward a little too confidentially and he had
assumed a very low Dublin accent so that the young ladies, with one
instinct, received his speech in silence. Miss Furlong, who was one of
Mary Jane’s pupils, asked Miss Daly what was the name of the pretty
waltz she had played; and Mr Browne, seeing that he was ignored, turned
promptly to the two young men who were more appreciative.

A red-faced young woman, dressed in pansy, came into the room,
excitedly clapping her hands and crying:

“Quadrilles! Quadrilles!”

Close on her heels came Aunt Kate, crying:

“Two gentlemen and three ladies, Mary Jane!”

“O, here’s Mr Bergin and Mr Kerrigan,” said Mary Jane. “Mr Kerrigan,
will you take Miss Power? Miss Furlong, may I get you a partner, Mr
Bergin. O, that’ll just do now.”

“Three ladies, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate.

The two young gentlemen asked the ladies if they might have the
pleasure, and Mary Jane turned to Miss Daly.

“O, Miss Daly, you’re really awfully good, after playing for the last
two dances, but really we’re so short of ladies tonight.”

“I don’t mind in the least, Miss Morkan.”

“But I’ve a nice partner for you, Mr Bartell D’Arcy, the tenor. I’ll
get him to sing later on. All Dublin is raving about him.”

“Lovely voice, lovely voice!” said Aunt Kate.

As the piano had twice begun the prelude to the first figure Mary Jane
led her recruits quickly from the room. They had hardly gone when Aunt
Julia wandered slowly into the room, looking behind her at something.

“What is the matter, Julia?” asked Aunt Kate anxiously. “Who is it?”

Julia, who was carrying in a column of table-napkins, turned to her
sister and said, simply, as if the question had surprised her:

“It’s only Freddy, Kate, and Gabriel with him.”

In fact right behind her Gabriel could be seen piloting Freddy Malins
across the landing. The latter, a young man of about forty, was of
Gabriel’s size and build, with very round shoulders. His face was
fleshy and pallid, touched with colour only at the thick hanging lobes
of his ears and at the wide wings of his nose. He had coarse features,
a blunt nose, a convex and receding brow, tumid and protruded lips. His
heavy-lidded eyes and the disorder of his scanty hair made him look
sleepy. He was laughing heartily in a high key at a story which he had
been telling Gabriel on the stairs and at the same time rubbing the
knuckles of his left fist backwards and forwards into his left eye.

“Good-evening, Freddy,” said Aunt Julia.

Freddy Malins bade the Misses Morkan good-evening in what seemed an
offhand fashion by reason of the habitual catch in his voice and then,
seeing that Mr Browne was grinning at him from the sideboard, crossed
the room on rather shaky legs and began to repeat in an undertone the
story he had just told to Gabriel.

“He’s not so bad, is he?” said Aunt Kate to Gabriel.

Gabriel’s brows were dark but he raised them quickly and answered:

“O, no, hardly noticeable.”

“Now, isn’t he a terrible fellow!” she said. “And his poor mother made
him take the pledge on New Year’s Eve. But come on, Gabriel, into the
drawing-room.”

Before leaving the room with Gabriel she signalled to Mr Browne by
frowning and shaking her forefinger in warning to and fro. Mr Browne
nodded in answer and, when she had gone, said to Freddy Malins:

“Now, then, Teddy, I’m going to fill you out a good glass of lemonade
just to buck you up.”

Freddy Malins, who was nearing the climax of his story, waved the offer
aside impatiently but Mr Browne, having first called Freddy Malins’
attention to a disarray in his dress, filled out and handed him a full
glass of lemonade. Freddy Malins’ left hand accepted the glass
mechanically, his right hand being engaged in the mechanical
readjustment of his dress. Mr Browne, whose face was once more
wrinkling with mirth, poured out for himself a glass of whisky while
Freddy Malins exploded, before he had well reached the climax of his
story, in a kink of high-pitched bronchitic laughter and, setting down
his untasted and overflowing glass, began to rub the knuckles of his
left fist backwards and forwards into his left eye, repeating words of
his last phrase as well as his fit of laughter would allow him.

Gabriel could not listen while Mary Jane was playing her Academy piece,
full of runs and difficult passages, to the hushed drawing-room. He
liked music but the piece she was playing had no melody for him and he
doubted whether it had any melody for the other listeners, though they
had begged Mary Jane to play something. Four young men, who had come
from the refreshment-room to stand in the doorway at the sound of the
piano, had gone away quietly in couples after a few minutes. The only
persons who seemed to follow the music were Mary Jane herself, her
hands racing along the keyboard or lifted from it at the pauses like
those of a priestess in momentary imprecation, and Aunt Kate standing
at her elbow to turn the page.

Gabriel’s eyes, irritated by the floor, which glittered with beeswax
under the heavy chandelier, wandered to the wall above the piano. A
picture of the balcony scene in _Romeo and Juliet_ hung there and
beside it was a picture of the two murdered princes in the Tower which
Aunt Julia had worked in red, blue and brown wools when she was a girl.
Probably in the school they had gone to as girls that kind of work had
been taught for one year. His mother had worked for him as a birthday
present a waistcoat of purple tabinet, with little foxes’ heads upon
it, lined with brown satin and having round mulberry buttons. It was
strange that his mother had had no musical talent though Aunt Kate used
to call her the brains carrier of the Morkan family. Both she and Julia
had always seemed a little proud of their serious and matronly sister.
Her photograph stood before the pierglass. She held an open book on her
knees and was pointing out something in it to Constantine who, dressed
in a man-o’-war suit, lay at her feet. It was she who had chosen the
name of her sons for she was very sensible of the dignity of family
life. Thanks to her, Constantine was now senior curate in Balbrigan
and, thanks to her, Gabriel himself had taken his degree in the Royal
University. A shadow passed over his face as he remembered her sullen
opposition to his marriage. Some slighting phrases she had used still
rankled in his memory; she had once spoken of Gretta as being country
cute and that was not true of Gretta at all. It was Gretta who had
nursed her during all her last long illness in their house at
Monkstown.

He knew that Mary Jane must be near the end of her piece for she was
playing again the opening melody with runs of scales after every bar
and while he waited for the end the resentment died down in his heart.
The piece ended with a trill of octaves in the treble and a final deep
octave in the bass. Great applause greeted Mary Jane as, blushing and
rolling up her music nervously, she escaped from the room. The most
vigorous clapping came from the four young men in the doorway who had
gone away to the refreshment-room at the beginning of the piece but had
come back when the piano had stopped.

Lancers were arranged. Gabriel found himself partnered with Miss Ivors.
She was a frank-mannered talkative young lady, with a freckled face and
prominent brown eyes. She did not wear a low-cut bodice and the large
brooch which was fixed in the front of her collar bore on it an Irish
device and motto.

When they had taken their places she said abruptly:

“I have a crow to pluck with you.”

“With me?” said Gabriel.

She nodded her head gravely.

“What is it?” asked Gabriel, smiling at her solemn manner.

“Who is G. C.?” answered Miss Ivors, turning her eyes upon him.

Gabriel coloured and was about to knit his brows, as if he did not
understand, when she said bluntly:

“O, innocent Amy! I have found out that you write for _The Daily
Express_. Now, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Why should I be ashamed of myself?” asked Gabriel, blinking his eyes
and trying to smile.

“Well, I’m ashamed of you,” said Miss Ivors frankly. “To say you’d
write for a paper like that. I didn’t think you were a West Briton.”

A look of perplexity appeared on Gabriel’s face. It was true that he
wrote a literary column every Wednesday in _The Daily Express_, for
which he was paid fifteen shillings. But that did not make him a West
Briton surely. The books he received for review were almost more
welcome than the paltry cheque. He loved to feel the covers and turn
over the pages of newly printed books. Nearly every day when his
teaching in the college was ended he used to wander down the quays to
the second-hand booksellers, to Hickey’s on Bachelor’s Walk, to Webb’s
or Massey’s on Aston’s Quay, or to O’Clohissey’s in the by-street. He
did not know how to meet her charge. He wanted to say that literature
was above politics. But they were friends of many years’ standing and
their careers had been parallel, first at the university and then as
teachers: he could not risk a grandiose phrase with her. He continued
blinking his eyes and trying to smile and murmured lamely that he saw
nothing political in writing reviews of books.

When their turn to cross had come he was still perplexed and
inattentive. Miss Ivors promptly took his hand in a warm grasp and said
in a soft friendly tone:

“Of course, I was only joking. Come, we cross now.”

When they were together again she spoke of the University question and
Gabriel felt more at ease. A friend of hers had shown her his review of
Browning’s poems. That was how she had found out the secret: but she
liked the review immensely. Then she said suddenly:

“O, Mr Conroy, will you come for an excursion to the Aran Isles this
summer? We’re going to stay there a whole month. It will be splendid
out in the Atlantic. You ought to come. Mr Clancy is coming, and Mr
Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney. It would be splendid for Gretta too if
she’d come. She’s from Connacht, isn’t she?”

“Her people are,” said Gabriel shortly.

“But you will come, won’t you?” said Miss Ivors, laying her warm hand
eagerly on his arm.

“The fact is,” said Gabriel, “I have just arranged to go——”

“Go where?” asked Miss Ivors.

“Well, you know, every year I go for a cycling tour with some fellows
and so——”

“But where?” asked Miss Ivors.

“Well, we usually go to France or Belgium or perhaps Germany,” said
Gabriel awkwardly.

“And why do you go to France and Belgium,” said Miss Ivors, “instead of
visiting your own land?”

“Well,” said Gabriel, “it’s partly to keep in touch with the languages
and partly for a change.”

“And haven’t you your own language to keep in touch with—Irish?” asked
Miss Ivors.

“Well,” said Gabriel, “if it comes to that, you know, Irish is not my
language.”

Their neighbours had turned to listen to the cross-examination. Gabriel
glanced right and left nervously and tried to keep his good humour
under the ordeal which was making a blush invade his forehead.

“And haven’t you your own land to visit,” continued Miss Ivors, “that
you know nothing of, your own people, and your own country?”

“O, to tell you the truth,” retorted Gabriel suddenly, “I’m sick of my
own country, sick of it!”

“Why?” asked Miss Ivors.

Gabriel did not answer for his retort had heated him.

“Why?” repeated Miss Ivors.

They had to go visiting together and, as he had not answered her, Miss
Ivors said warmly:

“Of course, you’ve no answer.”

Gabriel tried to cover his agitation by taking part in the dance with
great energy. He avoided her eyes for he had seen a sour expression on
her face. But when they met in the long chain he was surprised to feel
his hand firmly pressed. She looked at him from under her brows for a
moment quizzically until he smiled. Then, just as the chain was about
to start again, she stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear:

“West Briton!”

When the lancers were over Gabriel went away to a remote corner of the
room where Freddy Malins’ mother was sitting. She was a stout feeble
old woman with white hair. Her voice had a catch in it like her son’s
and she stuttered slightly. She had been told that Freddy had come and
that he was nearly all right. Gabriel asked her whether she had had a
good crossing. She lived with her married daughter in Glasgow and came
to Dublin on a visit once a year. She answered placidly that she had
had a beautiful crossing and that the captain had been most attentive
to her. She spoke also of the beautiful house her daughter kept in
Glasgow, and of all the friends they had there. While her tongue
rambled on Gabriel tried to banish from his mind all memory of the
unpleasant incident with Miss Ivors. Of course the girl or woman, or
whatever she was, was an enthusiast but there was a time for all
things. Perhaps he ought not to have answered her like that. But she
had no right to call him a West Briton before people, even in joke. She
had tried to make him ridiculous before people, heckling him and
staring at him with her rabbit’s eyes.

He saw his wife making her way towards him through the waltzing
couples. When she reached him she said into his ear:

“Gabriel, Aunt Kate wants to know won’t you carve the goose as usual.
Miss Daly will carve the ham and I’ll do the pudding.”

“All right,” said Gabriel.

“She’s sending in the younger ones first as soon as this waltz is over
so that we’ll have the table to ourselves.”

“Were you dancing?” asked Gabriel.

“Of course I was. Didn’t you see me? What row had you with Molly
Ivors?”

“No row. Why? Did she say so?”

“Something like that. I’m trying to get that Mr D’Arcy to sing. He’s
full of conceit, I think.”

“There was no row,” said Gabriel moodily, “only she wanted me to go for
a trip to the west of Ireland and I said I wouldn’t.”

His wife clasped her hands excitedly and gave a little jump.

“O, do go, Gabriel,” she cried. “I’d love to see Galway again.”

“You can go if you like,” said Gabriel coldly.

She looked at him for a moment, then turned to Mrs Malins and said:

“There’s a nice husband for you, Mrs Malins.”

While she was threading her way back across the room Mrs Malins,
without adverting to the interruption, went on to tell Gabriel what
beautiful places there were in Scotland and beautiful scenery. Her
son-in-law brought them every year to the lakes and they used to go
fishing. Her son-in-law was a splendid fisher. One day he caught a
beautiful big fish and the man in the hotel cooked it for their dinner.

Gabriel hardly heard what she said. Now that supper was coming near he
began to think again about his speech and about the quotation. When he
saw Freddy Malins coming across the room to visit his mother Gabriel
left the chair free for him and retired into the embrasure of the
window. The room had already cleared and from the back room came the
clatter of plates and knives. Those who still remained in the
drawing-room seemed tired of dancing and were conversing quietly in
little groups. Gabriel’s warm trembling fingers tapped the cold pane of
the window. How cool it must be outside! How pleasant it would be to
walk out alone, first along by the river and then through the park! The
snow would be lying on the branches of the trees and forming a bright
cap on the top of the Wellington Monument. How much more pleasant it
would be there than at the supper-table!

He ran over the headings of his speech: Irish hospitality, sad
memories, the Three Graces, Paris, the quotation from Browning. He
repeated to himself a phrase he had written in his review: “One feels
that one is listening to a thought-tormented music.” Miss Ivors had
praised the review. Was she sincere? Had she really any life of her own
behind all her propagandism? There had never been any ill-feeling
between them until that night. It unnerved him to think that she would
be at the supper-table, looking up at him while he spoke with her
critical quizzing eyes. Perhaps she would not be sorry to see him fail
in his speech. An idea came into his mind and gave him courage. He
would say, alluding to Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia: “Ladies and Gentlemen,
the generation which is now on the wane among us may have had its
faults but for my part I think it had certain qualities of hospitality,
of humour, of humanity, which the new and very serious and
hypereducated generation that is growing up around us seems to me to
lack.” Very good: that was one for Miss Ivors. What did he care that
his aunts were only two ignorant old women?

A murmur in the room attracted his attention. Mr Browne was advancing
from the door, gallantly escorting Aunt Julia, who leaned upon his arm,
smiling and hanging her head. An irregular musketry of applause
escorted her also as far as the piano and then, as Mary Jane seated
herself on the stool, and Aunt Julia, no longer smiling, half turned so
as to pitch her voice fairly into the room, gradually ceased. Gabriel
recognised the prelude. It was that of an old song of Aunt
Julia’s—_Arrayed for the Bridal_. Her voice, strong and clear in tone,
attacked with great spirit the runs which embellish the air and though
she sang very rapidly she did not miss even the smallest of the grace
notes. To follow the voice, without looking at the singer’s face, was
to feel and share the excitement of swift and secure flight. Gabriel
applauded loudly with all the others at the close of the song and loud
applause was borne in from the invisible supper-table. It sounded so
genuine that a little colour struggled into Aunt Julia’s face as she
bent to replace in the music-stand the old leather-bound songbook that
had her initials on the cover. Freddy Malins, who had listened with his
head perched sideways to hear her better, was still applauding when
everyone else had ceased and talking animatedly to his mother who
nodded her head gravely and slowly in acquiescence. At last, when he
could clap no more, he stood up suddenly and hurried across the room to
Aunt Julia whose hand he seized and held in both his hands, shaking it
when words failed him or the catch in his voice proved too much for
him.

“I was just telling my mother,” he said, “I never heard you sing so
well, never. No, I never heard your voice so good as it is tonight.
Now! Would you believe that now? That’s the truth. Upon my word and
honour that’s the truth. I never heard your voice sound so fresh and so
... so clear and fresh, never.”

Aunt Julia smiled broadly and murmured something about compliments as
she released her hand from his grasp. Mr Browne extended his open hand
towards her and said to those who were near him in the manner of a
showman introducing a prodigy to an audience:

“Miss Julia Morkan, my latest discovery!”

He was laughing very heartily at this himself when Freddy Malins turned
to him and said:

“Well, Browne, if you’re serious you might make a worse discovery. All
I can say is I never heard her sing half so well as long as I am coming
here. And that’s the honest truth.”

“Neither did I,” said Mr Browne. “I think her voice has greatly
improved.”

Aunt Julia shrugged her shoulders and said with meek pride:

“Thirty years ago I hadn’t a bad voice as voices go.”

“I often told Julia,” said Aunt Kate emphatically, “that she was simply
thrown away in that choir. But she never would be said by me.”

She turned as if to appeal to the good sense of the others against a
refractory child while Aunt Julia gazed in front of her, a vague smile
of reminiscence playing on her face.

“No,” continued Aunt Kate, “she wouldn’t be said or led by anyone,
slaving there in that choir night and day, night and day. Six o’clock
on Christmas morning! And all for what?”

“Well, isn’t it for the honour of God, Aunt Kate?” asked Mary Jane,
twisting round on the piano-stool and smiling.

Aunt Kate turned fiercely on her niece and said:

“I know all about the honour of God, Mary Jane, but I think it’s not at
all honourable for the pope to turn out the women out of the choirs
that have slaved there all their lives and put little whipper-snappers
of boys over their heads. I suppose it is for the good of the Church if
the pope does it. But it’s not just, Mary Jane, and it’s not right.”

She had worked herself into a passion and would have continued in
defence of her sister for it was a sore subject with her but Mary Jane,
seeing that all the dancers had come back, intervened pacifically:

“Now, Aunt Kate, you’re giving scandal to Mr Browne who is of the other
persuasion.”

Aunt Kate turned to Mr Browne, who was grinning at this allusion to his
religion, and said hastily:

“O, I don’t question the pope’s being right. I’m only a stupid old
woman and I wouldn’t presume to do such a thing. But there’s such a
thing as common everyday politeness and gratitude. And if I were in
Julia’s place I’d tell that Father Healey straight up to his face....”

“And besides, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane, “we really are all hungry and
when we are hungry we are all very quarrelsome.”

“And when we are thirsty we are also quarrelsome,” added Mr Browne.

“So that we had better go to supper,” said Mary Jane, “and finish the
discussion afterwards.”

On the landing outside the drawing-room Gabriel found his wife and Mary
Jane trying to persuade Miss Ivors to stay for supper. But Miss Ivors,
who had put on her hat and was buttoning her cloak, would not stay. She
did not feel in the least hungry and she had already overstayed her
time.

“But only for ten minutes, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy. “That won’t delay
you.”

“To take a pick itself,” said Mary Jane, “after all your dancing.”

“I really couldn’t,” said Miss Ivors.

“I am afraid you didn’t enjoy yourself at all,” said Mary Jane
hopelessly.

“Ever so much, I assure you,” said Miss Ivors, “but you really must let
me run off now.”

“But how can you get home?” asked Mrs Conroy.

“O, it’s only two steps up the quay.”

Gabriel hesitated a moment and said:

“If you will allow me, Miss Ivors, I’ll see you home if you are really
obliged to go.”

But Miss Ivors broke away from them.

“I won’t hear of it,” she cried. “For goodness’ sake go in to your
suppers and don’t mind me. I’m quite well able to take care of myself.”

“Well, you’re the comical girl, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy frankly.

“_Beannacht libh_,” cried Miss Ivors, with a laugh, as she ran down the
staircase.

Mary Jane gazed after her, a moody puzzled expression on her face,
while Mrs Conroy leaned over the banisters to listen for the hall-door.
Gabriel asked himself was he the cause of her abrupt departure. But she
did not seem to be in ill humour: she had gone away laughing. He stared
blankly down the staircase.

At the moment Aunt Kate came toddling out of the supper-room, almost
wringing her hands in despair.

“Where is Gabriel?” she cried. “Where on earth is Gabriel? There’s
everyone waiting in there, stage to let, and nobody to carve the
goose!”

“Here I am, Aunt Kate!” cried Gabriel, with sudden animation, “ready to
carve a flock of geese, if necessary.”

A fat brown goose lay at one end of the table and at the other end, on
a bed of creased paper strewn with sprigs of parsley, lay a great ham,
stripped of its outer skin and peppered over with crust crumbs, a neat
paper frill round its shin and beside this was a round of spiced beef.
Between these rival ends ran parallel lines of side-dishes: two little
minsters of jelly, red and yellow; a shallow dish full of blocks of
blancmange and red jam, a large green leaf-shaped dish with a
stalk-shaped handle, on which lay bunches of purple raisins and peeled
almonds, a companion dish on which lay a solid rectangle of Smyrna
figs, a dish of custard topped with grated nutmeg, a small bowl full of
chocolates and sweets wrapped in gold and silver papers and a glass
vase in which stood some tall celery stalks. In the centre of the table
there stood, as sentries to a fruit-stand which upheld a pyramid of
oranges and American apples, two squat old-fashioned decanters of cut
glass, one containing port and the other dark sherry. On the closed
square piano a pudding in a huge yellow dish lay in waiting and behind
it were three squads of bottles of stout and ale and minerals, drawn up
according to the colours of their uniforms, the first two black, with
brown and red labels, the third and smallest squad white, with
transverse green sashes.

Gabriel took his seat boldly at the head of the table and, having
looked to the edge of the carver, plunged his fork firmly into the
goose. He felt quite at ease now for he was an expert carver and liked
nothing better than to find himself at the head of a well-laden table.

“Miss Furlong, what shall I send you?” he asked. “A wing or a slice of
the breast?”

“Just a small slice of the breast.”

“Miss Higgins, what for you?”

“O, anything at all, Mr Conroy.”

While Gabriel and Miss Daly exchanged plates of goose and plates of ham
and spiced beef Lily went from guest to guest with a dish of hot floury
potatoes wrapped in a white napkin. This was Mary Jane’s idea and she
had also suggested apple sauce for the goose but Aunt Kate had said
that plain roast goose without any apple sauce had always been good
enough for her and she hoped she might never eat worse. Mary Jane
waited on her pupils and saw that they got the best slices and Aunt
Kate and Aunt Julia opened and carried across from the piano bottles of
stout and ale for the gentlemen and bottles of minerals for the ladies.
There was a great deal of confusion and laughter and noise, the noise
of orders and counter-orders, of knives and forks, of corks and
glass-stoppers. Gabriel began to carve second helpings as soon as he
had finished the first round without serving himself. Everyone
protested loudly so that he compromised by taking a long draught of
stout for he had found the carving hot work. Mary Jane settled down
quietly to her supper but Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia were still toddling
round the table, walking on each other’s heels, getting in each other’s
way and giving each other unheeded orders. Mr Browne begged of them to
sit down and eat their suppers and so did Gabriel but they said they
were time enough so that, at last, Freddy Malins stood up and,
capturing Aunt Kate, plumped her down on her chair amid general
laughter.

When everyone had been well served Gabriel said, smiling:

“Now, if anyone wants a little more of what vulgar people call stuffing
let him or her speak.”

A chorus of voices invited him to begin his own supper and Lily came
forward with three potatoes which she had reserved for him.

“Very well,” said Gabriel amiably, as he took another preparatory
draught, “kindly forget my existence, ladies and gentlemen, for a few
minutes.”

He set to his supper and took no part in the conversation with which
the table covered Lily’s removal of the plates. The subject of talk was
the opera company which was then at the Theatre Royal. Mr Bartell
D’Arcy, the tenor, a dark-complexioned young man with a smart
moustache, praised very highly the leading contralto of the company but
Miss Furlong thought she had a rather vulgar style of production.
Freddy Malins said there was a negro chieftain singing in the second
part of the Gaiety pantomime who had one of the finest tenor voices he
had ever heard.

“Have you heard him?” he asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy across the table.

“No,” answered Mr Bartell D’Arcy carelessly.

“Because,” Freddy Malins explained, “now I’d be curious to hear your
opinion of him. I think he has a grand voice.”

“It takes Teddy to find out the really good things,” said Mr Browne
familiarly to the table.

“And why couldn’t he have a voice too?” asked Freddy Malins sharply.
“Is it because he’s only a black?”

Nobody answered this question and Mary Jane led the table back to the
legitimate opera. One of her pupils had given her a pass for _Mignon_.
Of course it was very fine, she said, but it made her think of poor
Georgina Burns. Mr Browne could go back farther still, to the old
Italian companies that used to come to Dublin—Tietjens, Ilma de Murzka,
Campanini, the great Trebelli, Giuglini, Ravelli, Aramburo. Those were
the days, he said, when there was something like singing to be heard in
Dublin. He told too of how the top gallery of the old Royal used to be
packed night after night, of how one night an Italian tenor had sung
five encores to _Let me like a Soldier fall_, introducing a high C
every time, and of how the gallery boys would sometimes in their
enthusiasm unyoke the horses from the carriage of some great _prima
donna_ and pull her themselves through the streets to her hotel. Why
did they never play the grand old operas now, he asked, _Dinorah,
Lucrezia Borgia?_ Because they could not get the voices to sing them:
that was why.

“Oh, well,” said Mr Bartell D’Arcy, “I presume there are as good
singers today as there were then.”

“Where are they?” asked Mr Browne defiantly.

“In London, Paris, Milan,” said Mr Bartell D’Arcy warmly. “I suppose
Caruso, for example, is quite as good, if not better than any of the
men you have mentioned.”

“Maybe so,” said Mr Browne. “But I may tell you I doubt it strongly.”

“O, I’d give anything to hear Caruso sing,” said Mary Jane.

“For me,” said Aunt Kate, who had been picking a bone, “there was only
one tenor. To please me, I mean. But I suppose none of you ever heard
of him.”

“Who was he, Miss Morkan?” asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy politely.

“His name,” said Aunt Kate, “was Parkinson. I heard him when he was in
his prime and I think he had then the purest tenor voice that was ever
put into a man’s throat.”

“Strange,” said Mr Bartell D’Arcy. “I never even heard of him.”

“Yes, yes, Miss Morkan is right,” said Mr Browne. “I remember hearing
of old Parkinson but he’s too far back for me.”

“A beautiful pure sweet mellow English tenor,” said Aunt Kate with
enthusiasm.

Gabriel having finished, the huge pudding was transferred to the table.
The clatter of forks and spoons began again. Gabriel’s wife served out
spoonfuls of the pudding and passed the plates down the table. Midway
down they were held up by Mary Jane, who replenished them with
raspberry or orange jelly or with blancmange and jam. The pudding was
of Aunt Julia’s making and she received praises for it from all
quarters. She herself said that it was not quite brown enough.

“Well, I hope, Miss Morkan,” said Mr Browne, “that I’m brown enough for
you because, you know, I’m all brown.”

All the gentlemen, except Gabriel, ate some of the pudding out of
compliment to Aunt Julia. As Gabriel never ate sweets the celery had
been left for him. Freddy Malins also took a stalk of celery and ate it
with his pudding. He had been told that celery was a capital thing for
the blood and he was just then under doctor’s care. Mrs Malins, who had
been silent all through the supper, said that her son was going down to
Mount Melleray in a week or so. The table then spoke of Mount Melleray,
how bracing the air was down there, how hospitable the monks were and
how they never asked for a penny-piece from their guests.

“And do you mean to say,” asked Mr Browne incredulously, “that a chap
can go down there and put up there as if it were a hotel and live on
the fat of the land and then come away without paying anything?”

“O, most people give some donation to the monastery when they leave.”
said Mary Jane.

“I wish we had an institution like that in our Church,” said Mr Browne
candidly.

He was astonished to hear that the monks never spoke, got up at two in
the morning and slept in their coffins. He asked what they did it for.

“That’s the rule of the order,” said Aunt Kate firmly.

“Yes, but why?” asked Mr Browne.

Aunt Kate repeated that it was the rule, that was all. Mr Browne still
seemed not to understand. Freddy Malins explained to him, as best he
could, that the monks were trying to make up for the sins committed by
all the sinners in the outside world. The explanation was not very
clear for Mr Browne grinned and said:

“I like that idea very much but wouldn’t a comfortable spring bed do
them as well as a coffin?”

“The coffin,” said Mary Jane, “is to remind them of their last end.”

As the subject had grown lugubrious it was buried in a silence of the
table during which Mrs Malins could be heard saying to her neighbour in
an indistinct undertone:

“They are very good men, the monks, very pious men.”

The raisins and almonds and figs and apples and oranges and chocolates
and sweets were now passed about the table and Aunt Julia invited all
the guests to have either port or sherry. At first Mr Bartell D’Arcy
refused to take either but one of his neighbours nudged him and
whispered something to him upon which he allowed his glass to be
filled. Gradually as the last glasses were being filled the
conversation ceased. A pause followed, broken only by the noise of the
wine and by unsettlings of chairs. The Misses Morkan, all three, looked
down at the tablecloth. Someone coughed once or twice and then a few
gentlemen patted the table gently as a signal for silence. The silence
came and Gabriel pushed back his chair.

The patting at once grew louder in encouragement and then ceased
altogether. Gabriel leaned his ten trembling fingers on the tablecloth
and smiled nervously at the company. Meeting a row of upturned faces he
raised his eyes to the chandelier. The piano was playing a waltz tune
and he could hear the skirts sweeping against the drawing-room door.
People, perhaps, were standing in the snow on the quay outside, gazing
up at the lighted windows and listening to the waltz music. The air was
pure there. In the distance lay the park where the trees were weighted
with snow. The Wellington Monument wore a gleaming cap of snow that
flashed westward over the white field of Fifteen Acres.

He began:

“Ladies and Gentlemen,

“It has fallen to my lot this evening, as in years past, to perform a
very pleasing task but a task for which I am afraid my poor powers as a
speaker are all too inadequate.”

“No, no!” said Mr Browne.

“But, however that may be, I can only ask you tonight to take the will
for the deed and to lend me your attention for a few moments while I
endeavour to express to you in words what my feelings are on this
occasion.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is not the first time that we have gathered
together under this hospitable roof, around this hospitable board. It
is not the first time that we have been the recipients—or perhaps, I
had better say, the victims—of the hospitality of certain good ladies.”

He made a circle in the air with his arm and paused. Everyone laughed
or smiled at Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia and Mary Jane who all turned
crimson with pleasure. Gabriel went on more boldly:

“I feel more strongly with every recurring year that our country has no
tradition which does it so much honour and which it should guard so
jealously as that of its hospitality. It is a tradition that is unique
as far as my experience goes (and I have visited not a few places
abroad) among the modern nations. Some would say, perhaps, that with us
it is rather a failing than anything to be boasted of. But granted even
that, it is, to my mind, a princely failing, and one that I trust will
long be cultivated among us. Of one thing, at least, I am sure. As long
as this one roof shelters the good ladies aforesaid—and I wish from my
heart it may do so for many and many a long year to come—the tradition
of genuine warm-hearted courteous Irish hospitality, which our
forefathers have handed down to us and which we in turn must hand down
to our descendants, is still alive among us.”

A hearty murmur of assent ran round the table. It shot through
Gabriel’s mind that Miss Ivors was not there and that she had gone away
discourteously: and he said with confidence in himself:

“Ladies and Gentlemen,

“A new generation is growing up in our midst, a generation actuated by
new ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for these
new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I
believe, in the main sincere. But we are living in a sceptical and, if
I may use the phrase, a thought-tormented age: and sometimes I fear
that this new generation, educated or hypereducated as it is, will lack
those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humour which
belonged to an older day. Listening tonight to the names of all those
great singers of the past it seemed to me, I must confess, that we were
living in a less spacious age. Those days might, without exaggeration,
be called spacious days: and if they are gone beyond recall let us
hope, at least, that in gatherings such as this we shall still speak of
them with pride and affection, still cherish in our hearts the memory
of those dead and gone great ones whose fame the world will not
willingly let die.”

“Hear, hear!” said Mr Browne loudly.

“But yet,” continued Gabriel, his voice falling into a softer
inflection, “there are always in gatherings such as this sadder
thoughts that will recur to our minds: thoughts of the past, of youth,
of changes, of absent faces that we miss here tonight. Our path through
life is strewn with many such sad memories: and were we to brood upon
them always we could not find the heart to go on bravely with our work
among the living. We have all of us living duties and living affections
which claim, and rightly claim, our strenuous endeavours.

“Therefore, I will not linger on the past. I will not let any gloomy
moralising intrude upon us here tonight. Here we are gathered together
for a brief moment from the bustle and rush of our everyday routine. We
are met here as friends, in the spirit of good-fellowship, as
colleagues, also to a certain extent, in the true spirit of
_camaraderie_, and as the guests of—what shall I call them?—the Three
Graces of the Dublin musical world.”

The table burst into applause and laughter at this allusion. Aunt Julia
vainly asked each of her neighbours in turn to tell her what Gabriel
had said.

“He says we are the Three Graces, Aunt Julia,” said Mary Jane.

Aunt Julia did not understand but she looked up, smiling, at Gabriel,
who continued in the same vein:

“Ladies and Gentlemen,

“I will not attempt to play tonight the part that Paris played on
another occasion. I will not attempt to choose between them. The task
would be an invidious one and one beyond my poor powers. For when I
view them in turn, whether it be our chief hostess herself, whose good
heart, whose too good heart, has become a byword with all who know her,
or her sister, who seems to be gifted with perennial youth and whose
singing must have been a surprise and a revelation to us all tonight,
or, last but not least, when I consider our youngest hostess, talented,
cheerful, hard-working and the best of nieces, I confess, Ladies and
Gentlemen, that I do not know to which of them I should award the
prize.”

Gabriel glanced down at his aunts and, seeing the large smile on Aunt
Julia’s face and the tears which had risen to Aunt Kate’s eyes,
hastened to his close. He raised his glass of port gallantly, while
every member of the company fingered a glass expectantly, and said
loudly:

“Let us toast them all three together. Let us drink to their health,
wealth, long life, happiness and prosperity and may they long continue
to hold the proud and self-won position which they hold in their
profession and the position of honour and affection which they hold in
our hearts.”

All the guests stood up, glass in hand, and turning towards the three
seated ladies, sang in unison, with Mr Browne as leader:

For they are jolly gay fellows,
For they are jolly gay fellows,
For they are jolly gay fellows,
Which nobody can deny.

Aunt Kate was making frank use of her handkerchief and even Aunt Julia
seemed moved. Freddy Malins beat time with his pudding-fork and the
singers turned towards one another, as if in melodious conference,
while they sang with emphasis:

Unless he tells a lie,
Unless he tells a lie.

Then, turning once more towards their hostesses, they sang:

For they are jolly gay fellows,
For they are jolly gay fellows,
For they are jolly gay fellows,
Which nobody can deny.

The acclamation which followed was taken up beyond the door of the
supper-room by many of the other guests and renewed time after time,
Freddy Malins acting as officer with his fork on high.

The piercing morning air came into the hall where they were standing so
that Aunt Kate said:

“Close the door, somebody. Mrs Malins will get her death of cold.”

“Browne is out there, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane.

“Browne is everywhere,” said Aunt Kate, lowering her voice.

Mary Jane laughed at her tone.

“Really,” she said archly, “he is very attentive.”

“He has been laid on here like the gas,” said Aunt Kate in the same
tone, “all during the Christmas.”

She laughed herself this time good-humouredly and then added quickly:

“But tell him to come in, Mary Jane, and close the door. I hope to
goodness he didn’t hear me.”

At that moment the hall-door was opened and Mr Browne came in from the
doorstep, laughing as if his heart would break. He was dressed in a
long green overcoat with mock astrakhan cuffs and collar and wore on
his head an oval fur cap. He pointed down the snow-covered quay from
where the sound of shrill prolonged whistling was borne in.

“Teddy will have all the cabs in Dublin out,” he said.

Gabriel advanced from the little pantry behind the office, struggling
into his overcoat and, looking round the hall, said:

“Gretta not down yet?”

“She’s getting on her things, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate.

“Who’s playing up there?” asked Gabriel.

“Nobody. They’re all gone.”

“O no, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane. “Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan
aren’t gone yet.”

“Someone is fooling at the piano anyhow,” said Gabriel.

Mary Jane glanced at Gabriel and Mr Browne and said with a shiver:

“It makes me feel cold to look at you two gentlemen muffled up like
that. I wouldn’t like to face your journey home at this hour.”

“I’d like nothing better this minute,” said Mr Browne stoutly, “than a
rattling fine walk in the country or a fast drive with a good spanking
goer between the shafts.”

“We used to have a very good horse and trap at home,” said Aunt Julia
sadly.

“The never-to-be-forgotten Johnny,” said Mary Jane, laughing.

Aunt Kate and Gabriel laughed too.

“Why, what was wonderful about Johnny?” asked Mr Browne.

“The late lamented Patrick Morkan, our grandfather, that is,” explained
Gabriel, “commonly known in his later years as the old gentleman, was a
glue-boiler.”

“O now, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate, laughing, “he had a starch mill.”

“Well, glue or starch,” said Gabriel, “the old gentleman had a horse by
the name of Johnny. And Johnny used to work in the old gentleman’s
mill, walking round and round in order to drive the mill. That was all
very well; but now comes the tragic part about Johnny. One fine day the
old gentleman thought he’d like to drive out with the quality to a
military review in the park.”

“The Lord have mercy on his soul,” said Aunt Kate compassionately.

“Amen,” said Gabriel. “So the old gentleman, as I said, harnessed
Johnny and put on his very best tall hat and his very best stock collar
and drove out in grand style from his ancestral mansion somewhere near
Back Lane, I think.”

Everyone laughed, even Mrs Malins, at Gabriel’s manner and Aunt Kate
said:

“O now, Gabriel, he didn’t live in Back Lane, really. Only the mill was
there.”

“Out from the mansion of his forefathers,” continued Gabriel, “he drove
with Johnny. And everything went on beautifully until Johnny came in
sight of King Billy’s statue: and whether he fell in love with the
horse King Billy sits on or whether he thought he was back again in the
mill, anyhow he began to walk round the statue.”

Gabriel paced in a circle round the hall in his goloshes amid the
laughter of the others.

“Round and round he went,” said Gabriel, “and the old gentleman, who
was a very pompous old gentleman, was highly indignant. ‘Go on, sir!
What do you mean, sir? Johnny! Johnny! Most extraordinary conduct!
Can’t understand the horse!’”

The peal of laughter which followed Gabriel’s imitation of the incident
was interrupted by a resounding knock at the hall door. Mary Jane ran
to open it and let in Freddy Malins. Freddy Malins, with his hat well
back on his head and his shoulders humped with cold, was puffing and
steaming after his exertions.

“I could only get one cab,” he said.

“O, we’ll find another along the quay,” said Gabriel.

“Yes,” said Aunt Kate. “Better not keep Mrs Malins standing in the
draught.”

Mrs Malins was helped down the front steps by her son and Mr Browne
and, after many manœuvres, hoisted into the cab. Freddy Malins
clambered in after her and spent a long time settling her on the seat,
Mr Browne helping him with advice. At last she was settled comfortably
and Freddy Malins invited Mr Browne into the cab. There was a good deal
of confused talk, and then Mr Browne got into the cab. The cabman
settled his rug over his knees, and bent down for the address. The
confusion grew greater and the cabman was directed differently by
Freddy Malins and Mr Browne, each of whom had his head out through a
window of the cab. The difficulty was to know where to drop Mr Browne
along the route, and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia and Mary Jane helped the
discussion from the doorstep with cross-directions and contradictions
and abundance of laughter. As for Freddy Malins he was speechless with
laughter. He popped his head in and out of the window every moment to
the great danger of his hat, and told his mother how the discussion was
progressing, till at last Mr Browne shouted to the bewildered cabman
above the din of everybody’s laughter:

“Do you know Trinity College?”

“Yes, sir,” said the cabman.

“Well, drive bang up against Trinity College gates,” said Mr Browne,
“and then we’ll tell you where to go. You understand now?”

“Yes, sir,” said the cabman.

“Make like a bird for Trinity College.”

“Right, sir,” said the cabman.

The horse was whipped up and the cab rattled off along the quay amid a
chorus of laughter and adieus.

Gabriel had not gone to the door with the others. He was in a dark part
of the hall gazing up the staircase. A woman was standing near the top
of the first flight, in the shadow also. He could not see her face but
he could see the terracotta and salmon-pink panels of her skirt which
the shadow made appear black and white. It was his wife. She was
leaning on the banisters, listening to something. Gabriel was surprised
at her stillness and strained his ear to listen also. But he could hear
little save the noise of laughter and dispute on the front steps, a few
chords struck on the piano and a few notes of a man’s voice singing.

He stood still in the gloom of the hall, trying to catch the air that
the voice was singing and gazing up at his wife. There was grace and
mystery in her attitude as if she were a symbol of something. He asked
himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening
to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her
in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her
hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show
off the light ones. _Distant Music_ he would call the picture if he
were a painter.

The hall-door was closed; and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia and Mary Jane came
down the hall, still laughing.

“Well, isn’t Freddy terrible?” said Mary Jane. “He’s really terrible.”

Gabriel said nothing but pointed up the stairs towards where his wife
was standing. Now that the hall-door was closed the voice and the piano
could be heard more clearly. Gabriel held up his hand for them to be
silent. The song seemed to be in the old Irish tonality and the singer
seemed uncertain both of his words and of his voice. The voice, made
plaintive by distance and by the singer’s hoarseness, faintly
illuminated the cadence of the air with words expressing grief:

O, the rain falls on my heavy locks
And the dew wets my skin,
My babe lies cold....

“O,” exclaimed Mary Jane. “It’s Bartell D’Arcy singing and he wouldn’t
sing all the night. O, I’ll get him to sing a song before he goes.”

“O do, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate.

Mary Jane brushed past the others and ran to the staircase, but before
she reached it the singing stopped and the piano was closed abruptly.

“O, what a pity!” she cried. “Is he coming down, Gretta?”

Gabriel heard his wife answer yes and saw her come down towards them. A
few steps behind her were Mr Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan.

“O, Mr D’Arcy,” cried Mary Jane, “it’s downright mean of you to break
off like that when we were all in raptures listening to you.”

“I have been at him all the evening,” said Miss O’Callaghan, “and Mrs
Conroy too and he told us he had a dreadful cold and couldn’t sing.”

“O, Mr D’Arcy,” said Aunt Kate, “now that was a great fib to tell.”

“Can’t you see that I’m as hoarse as a crow?” said Mr D’Arcy roughly.

He went into the pantry hastily and put on his overcoat. The others,
taken aback by his rude speech, could find nothing to say. Aunt Kate
wrinkled her brows and made signs to the others to drop the subject. Mr
D’Arcy stood swathing his neck carefully and frowning.

“It’s the weather,” said Aunt Julia, after a pause.

“Yes, everybody has colds,” said Aunt Kate readily, “everybody.”

“They say,” said Mary Jane, “we haven’t had snow like it for thirty
years; and I read this morning in the newspapers that the snow is
general all over Ireland.”

“I love the look of snow,” said Aunt Julia sadly.

“So do I,” said Miss O’Callaghan. “I think Christmas is never really
Christmas unless we have the snow on the ground.”

“But poor Mr D’Arcy doesn’t like the snow,” said Aunt Kate, smiling.

Mr D’Arcy came from the pantry, fully swathed and buttoned, and in a
repentant tone told them the history of his cold. Everyone gave him
advice and said it was a great pity and urged him to be very careful of
his throat in the night air. Gabriel watched his wife, who did not join
in the conversation. She was standing right under the dusty fanlight
and the flame of the gas lit up the rich bronze of her hair, which he
had seen her drying at the fire a few days before. She was in the same
attitude and seemed unaware of the talk about her. At last she turned
towards them and Gabriel saw that there was colour on her cheeks and
that her eyes were shining. A sudden tide of joy went leaping out of
his heart.

“Mr D’Arcy,” she said, “what is the name of that song you were
singing?”

“It’s called _The Lass of Aughrim_,” said Mr D’Arcy, “but I couldn’t
remember it properly. Why? Do you know it?”

“_The Lass of Aughrim_,” she repeated. “I couldn’t think of the name.”

“It’s a very nice air,” said Mary Jane. “I’m sorry you were not in
voice tonight.”

“Now, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate, “don’t annoy Mr D’Arcy. I won’t have
him annoyed.”

Seeing that all were ready to start she shepherded them to the door,
where good-night was said:

“Well, good-night, Aunt Kate, and thanks for the pleasant evening.”

“Good-night, Gabriel. Good-night, Gretta!”

“Good-night, Aunt Kate, and thanks ever so much. Good-night, Aunt
Julia.”

“O, good-night, Gretta, I didn’t see you.”

“Good-night, Mr D’Arcy. Good-night, Miss O’Callaghan.”

“Good-night, Miss Morkan.”

“Good-night, again.”

“Good-night, all. Safe home.”

“Good-night. Good-night.”

The morning was still dark. A dull yellow light brooded over the houses
and the river; and the sky seemed to be descending. It was slushy
underfoot; and only streaks and patches of snow lay on the roofs, on
the parapets of the quay and on the area railings. The lamps were still
burning redly in the murky air and, across the river, the palace of the
Four Courts stood out menacingly against the heavy sky.

She was walking on before him with Mr Bartell D’Arcy, her shoes in a
brown parcel tucked under one arm and her hands holding her skirt up
from the slush. She had no longer any grace of attitude but Gabriel’s
eyes were still bright with happiness. The blood went bounding along
his veins; and the thoughts went rioting through his brain, proud,
joyful, tender, valorous.

She was walking on before him so lightly and so erect that he longed to
run after her noiselessly, catch her by the shoulders and say something
foolish and affectionate into her ear. She seemed to him so frail that
he longed to defend her against something and then to be alone with
her. Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his
memory. A heliotrope envelope was lying beside his breakfast-cup and he
was caressing it with his hand. Birds were twittering in the ivy and
the sunny web of the curtain was shimmering along the floor: he could
not eat for happiness. They were standing on the crowded platform and
he was placing a ticket inside the warm palm of her glove. He was
standing with her in the cold, looking in through a grated window at a
man making bottles in a roaring furnace. It was very cold. Her face,
fragrant in the cold air, was quite close to his; and suddenly he
called out to the man at the furnace:

“Is the fire hot, sir?”

But the man could not hear with the noise of the furnace. It was just
as well. He might have answered rudely.

A wave of yet more tender joy escaped from his heart and went coursing
in warm flood along his arteries. Like the tender fire of stars moments
of their life together, that no one knew of or would ever know of,
broke upon and illumined his memory. He longed to recall to her those
moments, to make her forget the years of their dull existence together
and remember only their moments of ecstasy. For the years, he felt, had
not quenched his soul or hers. Their children, his writing, her
household cares had not quenched all their souls’ tender fire. In one
letter that he had written to her then he had said: “Why is it that
words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no
word tender enough to be your name?”

Like distant music these words that he had written years before were
borne towards him from the past. He longed to be alone with her. When
the others had gone away, when he and she were in their room in the
hotel, then they would be alone together. He would call her softly:

“Gretta!”

Perhaps she would not hear at once: she would be undressing. Then
something in his voice would strike her. She would turn and look at
him....

At the corner of Winetavern Street they met a cab. He was glad of its
rattling noise as it saved him from conversation. She was looking out
of the window and seemed tired. The others spoke only a few words,
pointing out some building or street. The horse galloped along wearily
under the murky morning sky, dragging his old rattling box after his
heels, and Gabriel was again in a cab with her, galloping to catch the
boat, galloping to their honeymoon.

As the cab drove across O’Connell Bridge Miss O’Callaghan said:

“They say you never cross O’Connell Bridge without seeing a white
horse.”

“I see a white man this time,” said Gabriel.

“Where?” asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy.

Gabriel pointed to the statue, on which lay patches of snow. Then he
nodded familiarly to it and waved his hand.

“Good-night, Dan,” he said gaily.

When the cab drew up before the hotel, Gabriel jumped out and, in spite
of Mr Bartell D’Arcy’s protest, paid the driver. He gave the man a
shilling over his fare. The man saluted and said:

“A prosperous New Year to you, sir.”

“The same to you,” said Gabriel cordially.

She leaned for a moment on his arm in getting out of the cab and while
standing at the curbstone, bidding the others good-night. She leaned
lightly on his arm, as lightly as when she had danced with him a few
hours before. He had felt proud and happy then, happy that she was his,
proud of her grace and wifely carriage. But now, after the kindling
again of so many memories, the first touch of her body, musical and
strange and perfumed, sent through him a keen pang of lust. Under cover
of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side; and, as they
stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives
and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with
wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure.

An old man was dozing in a great hooded chair in the hall. He lit a
candle in the office and went before them to the stairs. They followed
him in silence, their feet falling in soft thuds on the thickly
carpeted stairs. She mounted the stairs behind the porter, her head
bowed in the ascent, her frail shoulders curved as with a burden, her
skirt girt tightly about her. He could have flung his arms about her
hips and held her still, for his arms were trembling with desire to
seize her and only the stress of his nails against the palms of his
hands held the wild impulse of his body in check. The porter halted on
the stairs to settle his guttering candle. They halted too on the steps
below him. In the silence Gabriel could hear the falling of the molten
wax into the tray and the thumping of his own heart against his ribs.

The porter led them along a corridor and opened a door. Then he set his
unstable candle down on a toilet-table and asked at what hour they were
to be called in the morning.

“Eight,” said Gabriel.

The porter pointed to the tap of the electric-light and began a
muttered apology but Gabriel cut him short.

“We don’t want any light. We have light enough from the street. And I
say,” he added, pointing to the candle, “you might remove that handsome
article, like a good man.”

The porter took up his candle again, but slowly for he was surprised by
such a novel idea. Then he mumbled good-night and went out. Gabriel
shot the lock to.

A ghostly light from the street lamp lay in a long shaft from one
window to the door. Gabriel threw his overcoat and hat on a couch and
crossed the room towards the window. He looked down into the street in
order that his emotion might calm a little. Then he turned and leaned
against a chest of drawers with his back to the light. She had taken
off her hat and cloak and was standing before a large swinging mirror,
unhooking her waist. Gabriel paused for a few moments, watching her,
and then said:

“Gretta!”

She turned away from the mirror slowly and walked along the shaft of
light towards him. Her face looked so serious and weary that the words
would not pass Gabriel’s lips. No, it was not the moment yet.

“You looked tired,” he said.

“I am a little,” she answered.

“You don’t feel ill or weak?”

“No, tired: that’s all.”

She went on to the window and stood there, looking out. Gabriel waited
again and then, fearing that diffidence was about to conquer him, he
said abruptly:

“By the way, Gretta!”

“What is it?”

“You know that poor fellow Malins?” he said quickly.

“Yes. What about him?”

“Well, poor fellow, he’s a decent sort of chap after all,” continued
Gabriel in a false voice. “He gave me back that sovereign I lent him,
and I didn’t expect it, really. It’s a pity he wouldn’t keep away from
that Browne, because he’s not a bad fellow, really.”

He was trembling now with annoyance. Why did she seem so abstracted? He
did not know how he could begin. Was she annoyed, too, about something?
If she would only turn to him or come to him of her own accord! To take
her as she was would be brutal. No, he must see some ardour in her eyes
first. He longed to be master of her strange mood.

“When did you lend him the pound?” she asked, after a pause.

Gabriel strove to restrain himself from breaking out into brutal
language about the sottish Malins and his pound. He longed to cry to
her from his soul, to crush her body against his, to overmaster her.
But he said:

“O, at Christmas, when he opened that little Christmas-card shop in
Henry Street.”

He was in such a fever of rage and desire that he did not hear her come
from the window. She stood before him for an instant, looking at him
strangely. Then, suddenly raising herself on tiptoe and resting her
hands lightly on his shoulders, she kissed him.

“You are a very generous person, Gabriel,” she said.

Gabriel, trembling with delight at her sudden kiss and at the
quaintness of her phrase, put his hands on her hair and began smoothing
it back, scarcely touching it with his fingers. The washing had made it
fine and brilliant. His heart was brimming over with happiness. Just
when he was wishing for it she had come to him of her own accord.
Perhaps her thoughts had been running with his. Perhaps she had felt
the impetuous desire that was in him, and then the yielding mood had
come upon her. Now that she had fallen to him so easily, he wondered
why he had been so diffident.

He stood, holding her head between his hands. Then, slipping one arm
swiftly about her body and drawing her towards him, he said softly:

“Gretta, dear, what are you thinking about?”

She did not answer nor yield wholly to his arm. He said again, softly:

“Tell me what it is, Gretta. I think I know what is the matter. Do I
know?”

She did not answer at once. Then she said in an outburst of tears:

“O, I am thinking about that song, _The Lass of Aughrim_.”

She broke loose from him and ran to the bed and, throwing her arms
across the bed-rail, hid her face. Gabriel stood stock-still for a
moment in astonishment and then followed her. As he passed in the way
of the cheval-glass he caught sight of himself in full length, his
broad, well-filled shirt-front, the face whose expression always
puzzled him when he saw it in a mirror and his glimmering gilt-rimmed
eyeglasses. He halted a few paces from her and said:

“What about the song? Why does that make you cry?”

She raised her head from her arms and dried her eyes with the back of
her hand like a child. A kinder note than he had intended went into his
voice.

“Why, Gretta?” he asked.

“I am thinking about a person long ago who used to sing that song.”

“And who was the person long ago?” asked Gabriel, smiling.

“It was a person I used to know in Galway when I was living with my
grandmother,” she said.

The smile passed away from Gabriel’s face. A dull anger began to gather
again at the back of his mind and the dull fires of his lust began to
glow angrily in his veins.

“Someone you were in love with?” he asked ironically.

“It was a young boy I used to know,” she answered, “named Michael
Furey. He used to sing that song, _The Lass of Aughrim_. He was very
delicate.”

Gabriel was silent. He did not wish her to think that he was interested
in this delicate boy.

“I can see him so plainly,” she said after a moment. “Such eyes as he
had: big, dark eyes! And such an expression in them—an expression!”

“O then, you were in love with him?” said Gabriel.

“I used to go out walking with him,” she said, “when I was in Galway.”

A thought flew across Gabriel’s mind.

“Perhaps that was why you wanted to go to Galway with that Ivors girl?”
he said coldly.

She looked at him and asked in surprise:

“What for?”

Her eyes made Gabriel feel awkward. He shrugged his shoulders and said:

“How do I know? To see him, perhaps.”

She looked away from him along the shaft of light towards the window in
silence.

“He is dead,” she said at length. “He died when he was only seventeen.
Isn’t it a terrible thing to die so young as that?”

“What was he?” asked Gabriel, still ironically.

“He was in the gasworks,” she said.

Gabriel felt humiliated by the failure of his irony and by the
evocation of this figure from the dead, a boy in the gasworks. While he
had been full of memories of their secret life together, full of
tenderness and joy and desire, she had been comparing him in her mind
with another. A shameful consciousness of his own person assailed him.
He saw himself as a ludicrous figure, acting as a pennyboy for his
aunts, a nervous, well-meaning sentimentalist, orating to vulgarians
and idealising his own clownish lusts, the pitiable fatuous fellow he
had caught a glimpse of in the mirror. Instinctively he turned his back
more to the light lest she might see the shame that burned upon his
forehead.

He tried to keep up his tone of cold interrogation, but his voice when
he spoke was humble and indifferent.

“I suppose you were in love with this Michael Furey, Gretta,” he said.

“I was great with him at that time,” she said.

Her voice was veiled and sad. Gabriel, feeling now how vain it would be
to try to lead her whither he had purposed, caressed one of her hands
and said, also sadly:

“And what did he die of so young, Gretta? Consumption, was it?”

“I think he died for me,” she answered.

A vague terror seized Gabriel at this answer as if, at that hour when
he had hoped to triumph, some impalpable and vindictive being was
coming against him, gathering forces against him in its vague world.
But he shook himself free of it with an effort of reason and continued
to caress her hand. He did not question her again for he felt that she
would tell him of herself. Her hand was warm and moist: it did not
respond to his touch but he continued to caress it just as he had
caressed her first letter to him that spring morning.

“It was in the winter,” she said, “about the beginning of the winter
when I was going to leave my grandmother’s and come up here to the
convent. And he was ill at the time in his lodgings in Galway and
wouldn’t be let out and his people in Oughterard were written to. He
was in decline, they said, or something like that. I never knew
rightly.”

She paused for a moment and sighed.

“Poor fellow,” she said. “He was very fond of me and he was such a
gentle boy. We used to go out together, walking, you know, Gabriel,
like the way they do in the country. He was going to study singing only
for his health. He had a very good voice, poor Michael Furey.”

“Well; and then?” asked Gabriel.

“And then when it came to the time for me to leave Galway and come up
to the convent he was much worse and I wouldn’t be let see him so I
wrote him a letter saying I was going up to Dublin and would be back in
the summer and hoping he would be better then.”

She paused for a moment to get her voice under control and then went
on:

“Then the night before I left I was in my grandmother’s house in Nuns’
Island, packing up, and I heard gravel thrown up against the window.
The window was so wet I couldn’t see so I ran downstairs as I was and
slipped out the back into the garden and there was the poor fellow at
the end of the garden, shivering.”

“And did you not tell him to go back?” asked Gabriel.

“I implored of him to go home at once and told him he would get his
death in the rain. But he said he did not want to live. I can see his
eyes as well as well! He was standing at the end of the wall where
there was a tree.”

“And did he go home?” asked Gabriel.

“Yes, he went home. And when I was only a week in the convent he died
and he was buried in Oughterard where his people came from. O, the day
I heard that, that he was dead!”

She stopped, choking with sobs and, overcome by emotion, flung herself
face downward on the bed, sobbing in the quilt. Gabriel held her hand
for a moment longer, irresolutely, and then, shy of intruding on her
grief, let it fall gently and walked quietly to the window.

She was fast asleep.

Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully
on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn
breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her
sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her
husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as
though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious
eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of
what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty,
a strange, friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to
say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew
that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved
death.

Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair
over which she had thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string
dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen
down: the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of
emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded? From his aunt’s
supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the
merry-making when saying good-night in the hall, the pleasure of the
walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon
be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had
caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was
singing _Arrayed for the Bridal_. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in
that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees.
The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside
him, crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Julia had died. He
would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and
would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very
soon.

The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself
cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by
one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other
world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally
with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her
heart for so many years that image of her lover’s eyes when he had told
her that he did not wish to live.

Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that
himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love.
The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness
he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping
tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where
dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not
apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was
fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which
these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and
dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had
begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark,
falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to
set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow
was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark
central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of
Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous
Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely
churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly
drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the
little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard
the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like
the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.