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  3. DUBLINERS (15/15), by James Joyce (1882-1941).
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DUBLINERS (15/15), by James Joyce (1882-1941).
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•THE DEAD.

•Lily, la fille de la concierge, ne savait plus littéralement où donner de la tête. •À peine avait-elle fait entrer un invité dans le petit office situé derrière le bureau du rez-de-chaussée et l'avait-elle aidé à déposer son pardessus que la sonnette asthmatique de la porte d'entrée retentissait à nouveau et qu'elle devait se précipiter dans le couloir vide pour en faire entrer un nouveau. •Encore heureux qu'elle n'eût pas, en plus, à accueillir les dames. •En effet, Miss Kate et Miss Julia y avaient pensé et avaient transformé la salle de bains de l'étage en vestiaire pour dames. •Miss Kate et Miss Julia étaient là, bavardant, riant et s'agitant, faisant chacune à leur tour le va-et-vient jusqu'au palier en haut de l'escalier, jetant un coup d'œil par-dessus la rampe et appelant Lily pour lui demander qui venait d'arriver.

•C'était toujours une grande affaire que le bal annuel des demoiselles Morkan.
•Tous ceux qui les connaissaient venaient : membres de la famille, anciens amis de la famille, membres de la chorale de Julia, tous les élèves de Kate qui étaient assez grands pour cela, et même certains élèves de Mary Jane. •Personne ne faisait jamais défaut. •Depuis des années et des années et aussi loin que l'on s'en souvienne, il se déroulait de façon exceptionnelle ; depuis que Kate et Julia, après la mort de leur frère Pat, avaient quitté la maison de Stoney Batter et emmené Mary Jane, leur unique nièce, vivre avec elles dans la maison sombre et austère de Usher's Island, où elles louaient l'étage supérieur à Mr Fulham, le négociant en maïs, vivant au rez-de-chaussée. •C'était il y a une bonne trentaine d'années. •Mary Jane, qui n'était alors qu'une petite fille en jupette, était désormais le principal soutien de la famille, car elle tenait l'orgue à Haddington Road. •Elle était passée par l'Académie et organisait chaque année un concert, donné par ses élèves, dans la salle supérieure des Antient Concert Rooms. •Nombre de ses élèves appartenaient aux familles les plus aisées du quartier de Kingstown-Dalkey. •Même à leur âge avancé, ses tantes prenaient part aux diverses tâches. •Julia, bien que sa chevelure fût poivre et sel, était toujours soprano principale à l'église de l'Immaculée Conception, et Kate, devenue trop fragile pour s'agiter, donnait des leçons de musique à des débutants sur le vieux piano carré situé dans une pièce au fond de l'appartement. •Lily, la fille de la concierge, était à leur service. •Bien que leur train de vie fût modeste, elles pensaient qu'il fallait bien manger : faux-filet de bœuf, thé à trois shillings et la meilleure bière. •Comme Lily se trompait rarement dans l'exécution des ordres, elle s'entendait à merveille avec ses trois maîtresses. •Elles étaient pointilleuses, voilà tout. •La seule chose qu'elles ne supportaient pas, c'était qu'on leur répondît.

•Bien sûr, elles avaient de bonnes raisons de se montrer pointilleuses une soirée comme celle-ci. •Il était déjà plus de dix heures et Gabriel et sa femme ne s'étaient toujours pas montrés. •En outre, elles craignaient terriblement que Freddy Malins ne vînt en étant éméché. •Pour rien au monde, elles n'auraient voulu qu'une des élèves de Mary Jane le vît sous l'emprise de l'alcool. Lorsqu'il était dans cet état, il était parfois très difficile à gérer. •Freddy Malins était toujours en retard mais elles se demandaient ce qui pouvait bien retenir Gabriel ; c'est cela qui les amenait toutes les deux minutes à se pencher sur la rampe pour demander à Lily si Gabriel ou Freddy était arrivé.

•— Oh, Mr Conroy, dit Lily à Gabriel en lui ouvrant la porte, Miss Kate et Miss Julia pensaient que vous ne viendriez jamais. •Bonsoir, Mrs Conroy. — Je comprends qu'elles aient pensé cela, répondit Gabriel, mais elles oublient que mon épouse a besoin de trois longues heures pour se préparer. Il resta sur le paillasson, grattant la neige de ses brodequins, tandis que Lily conduisait l'épouse au pied de l'escalier et appelait : — Miss Kate, Mrs Conroy est là. Aussitôt Kate et Julia dévalèrent le sombre escalier. •Toutes deux embrassèrent la femme de Gabriel, lui disant qu'elle devait être morte de froid et demandèrent si Gabriel l'avait accompagnée.

•— Me voici, bon pied, bon œil, tante Kate ! •Allez-y. •Je vous suis, cria-t-il depuis l'entrée sombre.

•Il continua à s'essuyer vigoureusement les pieds tandis que les trois femmes montaient, en riant, dans le vestiaire des dames. •Une légère bande de neige reposait comme un liseré de pélerine sur les épaules de son pardessus et formait comme une empeigne sur le bout de ses caoutchoucs ; et, comme les boutons de son manteau glissaient en crissant à travers les boutonnières raidies par le froid, un air glacé et parfumé venu de l'extérieur s'échappait des fentes et des plis du vêtement.

•— Neige-t-il encore, Mr Conroy ? demanda Lily.

•Elle l'avait précédé au vestiaire afin de l'aider à ôter son pardessus.
•Gabriel sourit aux trois syllabes qu'elle avait articulées pour prononcer son nom, et la regarda. •C'était une jeune fille mince, en pleine croissance, au teint pâle et aux cheveux blonds comme les blés. •L'éclairage du vestiaire la rendait encore plus pâle. •Gabriel l'avait connue lorsqu'elle n'était encore qu'une enfant, souvent assise sur la première marche de l'escalier et jouant avec une poupée de chiffon.

•— Oui, Lily, répondit-il, et je pense que nous allons passer la nuit à nous amuser. Il leva les yeux vers le plafond de l'office qui tremblait sous les pas des gens marchant à l'étage du dessus, écouta un moment le piano, puis jeta un coup d'œil à la jeune fille qui pliait soigneusement son pardessus à l'extrémité d'une étagère.

•— Dis-moi, Lily, questionna-t-il d'un ton amical, tu vas encore à l'école ? — Oh non, monsieur, répondit-elle. •— J'ai arrêté l'école depuis plus d'un an. — Eh bien alors, lui dit gaiement Gabriel, je suppose que nous serons invités à ton mariage un de ces jours avec ton galant, non ? La jeune fille lui jeta un coup d'œil par-dessus son épaule et dit avec beaucoup d'amertume : — Les hommes d'aujourd'hui ne sont que de beaux parleurs et ne cherchent qu'à s'amuser avec vous. Gabriel rougit comme s'il sentait qu'il avait fait une erreur et, sans la regarder, il enleva ses caoutchoucs et frotta ses chaussures en cuir verni avec son cache-nez.

•C'était un jeune homme grand et robuste. •La couleur vive de ses joues montait jusqu'à son front, où elle se dispersait en quelques vagues taches d'un rouge pâle ; et sur son visage glabre miroitaient en permanence les verres brillants et la monture dorée des lunettes qui protégeaient ses yeux inquiets et délicats. •Ses cheveux noirs et brillants, séparés par une raie au milieu en deux ailes retombant derrière ses oreilles, s'enroulaient légèrement en dessous de la marque circulaire laissée par son chapeau.

•Quand il eut fait briller ses chaussures, il se redressa et ajusta son gilet sur son ventre replet. •Puis il sortit rapidement une pièce de sa poche.

•— Oh Lily, dit-il, la lui glissant entre les doigts, c'est Noël, n'est-ce pas ? •Voici juste... une petite... Il se dirigea rapidement vers la porte.

•— Oh, monsieur, non ! s'écria la jeune fille en le suivant. •Vraiment, monsieur, je ne puis accepter. — C'est Noël ! •Noël ! répéta Gabriel, trottinant presque vers l'escalier en faisant un geste de dénégation de la main.

•La jeune fille, voyant qu'il avait gagné les escaliers, lui lança : — Eh bien, merci monsieur. Il attendit sur le seuil du salon que la valse se terminât, écoutant le bruissement soyeux des longues jupes qui frôlaient le parquet et le glissement des pieds. •Il était encore troublé par l'amertume de la jeune fille et sa réplique inattendue.
•Cela avait jeté sur lui une ombre de tristesse qu'il essaya de dissiper en arrangeant ses boutons de manchette et son nœud papillon. •Puis il prit un petit papier dans la poche de son gilet et jeta un coup d'œil aux éléments essentiels qu'il avait notés pour son discours. •Il restait indécis à propos des vers de Robert Browning car il craignait qu'ils ne fussent inadaptés aux auditeurs. •Une citation, de Shakespeare ou tirée des Mélodies de Thomas Moore, qu'ils reconnaîtraient serait préférable. •Le claquement indélicat des talons des hommes et le traînement de leurs pieds lui rappelaient que leur niveau de culture était différent du sien. •Il allait se ridiculiser en leur citant des vers qu'ils ne pouvaient pas comprendre. •Ils allaient penser qu'il faisait étalage de son éducation supérieure. •Il allait essuyer, avec eux, le même échec qu'avec la fille de l'office. •Il s'était trompé de registre. •Son intervention avait été une erreur du début à la fin, un échec total.

•C'est alors que ses tantes et sa femme sortirent du vestiaire des dames.
•Ses tantes étaient deux petites vieilles femmes humblement vêtues. •Tante Julia était plus grande de quelques centimètres. •Ses cheveux, retombant sur les oreilles, étaient gris, et son long visage flasque était également gris, avec des nuances plus sombres. •Bien qu'elle fût charpentée et se tînt droite, son regard amorphe et ses lèvres entrouvertes lui donnaient l'air d'une femme qui ne savait ni où elle était, ni où elle allait. •Tante Kate semblait plus animée. •Son visage, plus avenant que celui de sa sœur, était plissé et ridé comme une vieille pomme rouge, et ses cheveux, également tressés à l'ancienne mode, n'avaient pas perdu leur couleur de noisette mûre.

•Toutes deux embrassèrent Gabriel avec effusion. •C'était leur neveu préféré, le fils de leur défunte sœur aînée, Ellen, épouse de T. J. Conroy du Port et des Docks.

•— Gabriel, Gretta m'informe que vous ne prendrez pas le fiacre pour rentrer ce soir à Monkstown, s'étonna tante Kate.

•— Non, répondit Gabriel en se tournant vers son épouse, cela a été suffisamment pénible l'an dernier, n'est-ce pas ? •Avez-vous oublié, tante Kate, comme Gretta y a pris froid ? •Les vitres du cabriolet ont tremblé pendant tout le trajet, et le vent d'est a soufflé après que nous avons passé Merrion. •Un merveilleux souvenir !... •Gretta a attrapé un terrible refroidissement. Tante Kate fronçait sévèrement les sourcils et hochait la tête à chaque mot.

•— Tu as tout à fait raison, Gabriel, tu as tout à fait raison, dit-elle. •On n'est jamais trop prudent. — Pour ce qui est de Gretta, dit Gabriel, elle rentrerait à pied dans la neige si on la laissait faire. Mrs Conroy rit.

•— Ne faites pas attention à lui, tante Kate, dit-elle. •Il est vraiment très ennuyeux, avec ses abat-jour verts pour protéger les yeux de Tom le soir, les haltères qu'il lui fait soulever, et l'obligation qu'il impose à Eva de finir son stirabout. •Pauvre enfant ! •Et elle en déteste tout simplement la vue ! •Oh, mais vous ne devinerez jamais ce qu'il me fait porter à présent ! Elle éclata de rire et jeta un coup d'œil à son mari, dont les yeux admiratifs et heureux avaient navigué de sa robe à son visage puis ses cheveux. •Les deux tantes rirent aussi de bon cœur car la prévenance de Gabriel était toujours prétexte à blaguer entre elles.

•— Des caoutchoucs ! s'écria Mrs Conroy. •C'est la dernière trouvaille. •Chaque fois qu'il fait humide je dois enfiler mes caoutchoucs. •Même ce soir il voulait que je les porte, mais j'ai refusé. •La prochaine chose qu'il m'achètera sera une tenue de plongée. Gabriel eut un rire agacé et réajusta sa cravate pour se donner une contenance, tandis que Tante Kate se tenait pliée en deux tant elle se réjouissait de la plaisanterie. •Le sourire de Tante Julia s'estompa bientôt et ses yeux sans joie fixèrent le visage de son neveu. •Après un instant, elle demanda : — Et qu'est-ce que c'est des caoutchoucs Gabriel ? — Des caoutchoucs, Julia ! s'exclama sa sœur. •Mon Dieu, tu ne sais donc pas ce que sont des caoutchoucs ? •Tu les mets par-dessus tes... par-dessus tes bottines, n'est-ce pas Gretta ? •C'est de la gutta-percha. •Nous en avons chacun une paire maintenant.
•Gabriel dit que tout le monde en porte sur le continent . — Oh, sur le continent, murmura tante Julia en hochant lentement la tête.

•Gabriel fronça les sourcils et dit, comme s'il était légèrement irrité : — Ce n'est rien de très extraordinaire, mais Gretta trouve cela très drôle parce qu'elle dit que le mot lui rappelle les Christy Minstrels. — Mais dis-moi, Gabriel, fit tante Kate, d'un ton vif. •Bien sûr, tu as fait ce qu'il fallait pour votre chambre. •Gretta disait... — Oh, pour la chambre tout est réglé, répondit Gabriel. •J'en ai réservé une au Gresham. — Parfait, dit tante Kate, c'est de loin le meilleur choix. •Et les enfants, Gretta, vous ne vous faites pas de soucis pour eux ? — Oh, c'est juste pour une nuit, répondit Mrs Conroy. •D'ailleurs Bessie va s'occuper d'eux. — Parfait, redit tante Kate. •Quel réconfort d'avoir une fille comme elle, sur qui on peut compter ! •Cette Lily par exemple, je ne sais pas ce qui lui arrive ces derniers temps. •Elle n'est plus la même qu'avant. Gabriel s'apprêtait à poser des questions à sa tante sur ce point, mais elle s'interrompit brusquement pour suivre du regard sa sœur qui avait redescendu l'escalier et tendait le cou par-dessus la rampe.

•— Non, mais je vous demande un peu, dit-elle presque irritée, où donc Julia va-t-elle ?
•Julia ! •Julia ! •Où vas-tu donc ? Julia, qui avait descendu la moitié d'un étage, revint et annonça calmement : — Freddy est là. Au même moment, des applaudissements et un dernier accord indiquèrent que la valse était terminée. •La porte du salon s'ouvrit de l'intérieur et des couples sortirent. •Tante Kate s'empressa d'attirer Gabriel à l'écart et lui chuchota à l'oreille : — Descends, Gabriel, pour lui souhaiter la bienvenue et assure-toi qu'il va bien. Ne le laisse pas monter s'il est ivre. •Je suis sûre qu'il est saoul. •J'en suis convaincue. Gabriel se dirigea vers l'escalier et se pencha sur la rampe. •Il pouvait entendre deux personnes qui parlaient dans l'office. •Il reconnut alors le rire de Freddy Malins. •Il descendit l'escalier sans aucune discrétion.

•— Quel soulagement que Gabriel soit ici, dit tante Kate à Mrs Conroy. •Je me sens plus tranquille lorsqu'il est là... Julia, Miss Daly et Miss Power prendront un rafraîchissement. •Merci pour votre belle valse, Miss Daly. •C'était un fort joli moment. Au même instant, sortant accompagné de sa partenaire, un homme de haute taille au visage ridé, à la peau basanée, portant une moustache drue et grisonnante, demanda : — Pourrions-nous également avoir des boissons, Miss Morkan ? — Julia, dit brièvement Tante Kate, des rafraîchissements aussi pour Mr Browne et Miss Furlong. •Accompagne-les, Julia, ainsi que Miss Daly et Miss Power. — Je suis le cavalier de ces dames, sourit de toutes ses rides Mr Browne en pinçant les lèvres jusqu'à ce que sa moustache se hérisse. •— Vous savez, Miss Morkan, la raison pour laquelle elles m'aiment tant est... Il ne termina pas sa phrase, mais, voyant que tante Kate était hors de portée de voix, il conduisit immédiatement les trois jeunes femmes dans l'arrière-salle. •Le milieu de la pièce était occupé par deux tables carrées placées bout à bout, sur lesquelles tante Julia et la gouvernante étaient en train de tendre et de lisser une grande nappe. •Sur le buffet étaient disposés des plats et des assiettes, des verres et des paquets de couteaux, de fourchettes et de cuillères. •Le dessus du piano carré fermé servait également de desserte pour les viandes et les douceurs. •Deux jeunes hommes se tenaient debout devant un petit buffet dans un coin et buvaient des jus de fruits.

•Mr Browne y mena ses protégées et les convia, sur le ton de la plaisanterie, à déguster un punch pour dames, chaud, fort et sucré. •Comme elles répondirent qu'elles ne buvaient jamais rien de fort, il leur ouvrit trois bouteilles de limonade. •Ensuite il demanda à l'un des jeunes gens de se pousser, et, prenant une carafe, il se servit une bonne rasade de whisky. •Les jeunes gens le regardèrent avec déférence, tandis qu'il goûtait une gorgée de whisky.

•— Bonté divine, s'exclama-t-il en se réjouissant, ce sont les recommandations du médecin. Son visage fripé se fendit d'un large sourire, et les trois jeunes femmes rirent à sa plaisanterie, balançant leur corps d'avant en arrière, leurs épaules secouées de soubresauts nerveux. •Le plus audacieux dit : — Oh, Mr. Browne, je suis sûr que le médecin n'a jamais ordonné une telle chose. Mr Browne but une nouvelle gorgée de son whisky et répliqua, avec une mimique enjouée : — Eh bien, vous voyez, je suis comme la célèbre Mrs Cassidy, qui aurait dit « Alors, Mary Grimes, si je ne le prends pas, faites-moi le prendre, car je sens que j'en ai besoin. » Son visage animé s'était penché en avant avec une familiarité un peu trop excessive et il avait adopté un accent dublinois très bas, de sorte que les jeunes femmes suivirent instinctivement son discours en silence. •Miss Furlong, qui était l'une des élèves de Mary Jane, demanda à Miss Daly quel était le nom de la jolie valse qu'elle avait jouée ; et Mr Browne, voyant qu'il était délaissé, se tourna promptement vers les deux jeunes hommes qui semblaient l'apprécier davantage.

•Une jeune femme au visage empourpré, vêtue d'une robe violette, entra dans la pièce et frappant dans ses mains, elle s'écria : — « Place aux quadrilles !» •Place aux quadrilles ! Tante Kate arriva sur ses talons et s'exclama : — Avec deux messieurs et trois dames, voyons Marie Jane ! — Oh ! Voici Mr Bergin et Mr Kerrigan, annonça Mary Jane. •Mr Kerrigan, voulez-vous être le cavalier de Miss Power ? •Miss Furlong, puis-je vous proposer Mr Bergin comme cavalier. •Ah ! C'est parfait. — Trois dames, Mary Jane, répéta tante Kate.

•Les deux jeunes gens demandèrent aux dames si elles accepteraient cette danse, puis Mary Jane se tourna vers Miss Daly.

•— Oh ! Miss Daly, vous êtes vraiment adorable d'avoir joué les deux dernières danses, mais, pour tout vous dire, nous manquons cruellement de partenaires féminines ce soir. — Il n'y a aucun problème, Miss Morkan. — J'ai un cavalier idéal pour vous, Mr Bartell D'Arcy, le ténor. •Je lui demanderai de chanter ensuite. •Tout Dublin en raffole. — Une voix extraordinaire, magnifique, renchérit Tante Kate.

•Alors que le piano avait préludé à deux reprises la première partie, Mary Jane fit rapidement sortir ses recrues de la salle. •Ils étaient à peine partis que tante Julia entra lentement dans la pièce, regardant quelque chose dans son dos.

•— Qu'y a-t-il, Julia ? demanda tante Kate avec anxiété. •— Qui est-ce ? Julia, qui portait une pile de serviettes de table, se tourna vers sa sœur et dit simplement, comme si la question l'avait surprise : — Il n'y a que Freddy, Kate... et Gabriel est avec lui. En effet, juste derrière elle, on pouvait voir Gabriel guider Freddy Malins sur le palier. •Ce dernier, un homme d'une quarantaine d'années, avait la taille et la carrure de Gabriel, avec des épaules tombantes. •Son visage était pâteux et blafard, la couleur n'apparaissant qu'aux lobes épais et pendants de ses oreilles ainsi qu'à ses larges narines. •Ses traits étaient grossiers, son nez épaté, son front convexe et fuyant, et ses lèvres exagérément bouffies. •Ses paupières lourdes et sa chevelure ébouriffée et clairsemée lui donnaient un air endormi. •Il riait à gorge déployée d'une histoire qu'il avait racontée à Gabriel dans l'escalier, tout en se frottant vigoureusement l'œil gauche du dos de la main.

•— Bonsoir Freddy, fit tante Julia.

•Freddy Malins souhaita le bonsoir aux demoiselles Morkan d'une manière qui parut désinvolte en raison de la sonorité habituelle de sa voix ; puis, voyant que Mr Browne lui souriait depuis le buffet, il traversa la pièce sur des jambes flageolantes et commença à répéter à voix basse l'histoire qu'il venait de raconter à Gabriel.

•— Il n'a pas l'air trop mal, si ? dit tante Kate à Gabriel.

•Gabriel fronça les sourcils, les releva rapidement et répondit : — Oh, non, c'est à peine perceptible. — N'est-ce pas qu'il est terrible ? dit-elle. •Et sa pauvre mère lui a soutiré la promesse de se tenir correctement pendant le réveillon de Nouvel an. •Allons dans le salon, Gabriel. Avant de quitter la pièce avec Gabriel, elle fit un petit signe à Mr Browne en fronçant les sourcils et en agitant son index en guise d'avertissement. •Mr Browne répondit d'un hochement de tête et, lorsqu'elle fut sortie, dit à Freddy Malins : — Maintenant, Teddy, je vais te servir un bon verre de limonade pour te remonter le moral. Freddy Malins, qui approchait du clou de son histoire, écarta l'offre avec impatience, mais Mr Browne, ayant d'abord attiré l'attention de Freddy Malins sur un désordre dans sa tenue, lui remplit et lui tendit un plein verre de limonade. •De sa main gauche Freddy Malins saisit machinalement le verre, tout en réajustant machinalement sa tenue de sa main droite. •Mr Browne, dont le visage était de nouveau plissé par l'hilarité, se servit un verre de whisky tandis que Freddy Malins, avant même d'avoir atteint le temps fort de son histoire, explosait d'un rire bronchitique sonore et, posant son verre plein à ras bord, commença à se frotter vigoureusement l'œil gauche de son poing gauche, répétant les mots de sa dernière phrase autant que son fou rire le lui permettait.


•Dans le salon devenu silencieux, Gabriel ne parvenait pas à apprécier la partition jouée par Mary Jane, au rythme rapide et certains passages compliqués. •Il aimait la musique mais le morceau qu'elle interprétait n'était pas mélodieux à son goût, et il doutait qu'il le fût pour les autres auditeurs, bien qu'ils l'eussent suppliée de jouer quelque chose. •Attirés par le son du piano, quatre jeunes gens qui avaient quitté la salle du buffet pour écouter dans l'embrasure de la porte, s'éclipsèrent discrètement au bout de quelques minutes. •Les seules personnes qui semblaient suivre la musique étaient Mary Jane elle-même, ses mains courant sur le clavier ou levées pendant les silences comme celles d'une prêtresse dans un moment d'imprécation, et Tante Kate se tenant à côté d'elle pour tourner les pages.

•Les yeux de Gabriel, aveuglés par le parquet trop ciré qui scintillait sous la lumière du lustre imposant, se tournèrent vers le mur au-dessus du piano. •Un tableau de la scène du balcon dans « Roméo et Juliette » était accroché là, à côté d'un canevas représentant les deux princes assassinés dans la Tour que Tante Julia avait brodé en rouge, bleu et marron lorsqu'elle était jeune fille.
•Sans doute l'école qu'elles avaient fréquentée en tant que jeunes filles leur avait enseigné ce type de travail pendant une année. •Sa mère lui avait confectionné, pour un anniversaire, un gilet en tabinet violet, orné de petites têtes de renard, doublé de satin brun avec des boutons ronds en mûrier. •Il était étrange que sa mère ne possédât aucun talent musical, même si tante Kate avait l'habitude de l'appeler le cerveau de la famille Morkan. •Julia et elle avaient toujours semblé un peu fières de leur sœur si sérieuse et maîtresse femme.
•Sa photographie était posée devant le trumeau. •Elle tenait un livre ouvert sur ses genoux et montrait quelque chose à Constantin qui, vêtu d'un costume marin, jouait à ses pieds. •C'était elle qui avait choisi le prénom de ses fils car elle était très sensible à l'honorabilité de sa famille. •Grâce à elle, Constantin était désormais curé en titre à Balbrigan et, grâce à elle encore, Gabriel avait obtenu son diplôme à la « Royal University ». •Une ombre passa sur son visage lorsqu'il se souvint de l'opposition farouche de sa mère à son mariage. •Certaines phrases désobligeantes qu'elle avait utilisées lui restaient en mémoire ; elle avait dit un jour de Gretta qu'elle était « folklorique », ce qui n'était pas du tout le cas. •C'était Gretta qui l'avait soignée pendant toute sa dernière longue maladie, chez eux à Monkstown.

•Il savait que Mary Jane achevait son morceau car elle rejouait l'ouverture en égrenant une gamme après chaque mesure et, tandis qu'il attendait la fin, sa rancœur s'atténua au fond de lui.
•La performance prit fin avec une trille d'octaves dans les aigus et une dernière octave profonde dans le registre grave. •De chaleureux applaudissements acclamèrent Mary Jane alors que, roulant nerveusement ses partitions et toute rougissante, elle s'échappait de la pièce. •Les ovations les plus vives vinrent des quatre jeunes gens se tenant sur le seuil de la porte, ceux-là même qui étaient retournés vers le buffet au début de la prestation, puis étaient revenus lorsque le piano s'était tu.

•Un quadrille de lanciers fut organisé. •Gabriel se retrouva le partenaire de Miss Ivors.
•C'était une jeune fille bavarde, aux manières franches, avec un visage plein de taches de rousseur et des yeux bruns globuleux. •Elle n'avait pas de corsage échancré et la grande broche fixée sur le devant de son col portait une devise et un emblème irlandais.

•Lorsqu'ils furent en place, elle annonça brusquement : — J'ai une revanche à prendre sur toi. — Sur moi ? s'étonna Gabriel.

•Elle hocha la tête gravement.

•De quoi s'agit-il ? demanda Gabriel, souriant devant tant de solennité.

•— Qui est G. C. ? questionna Miss Ivors, tournant les yeux vers lui.

•Gabriel rougit et s'apprêtait à froncer les sourcils, comme s'il ne comprenait pas, lorsqu'elle reprit sans ambages : — Oh, l'agneau qui vient de naître ! •J'ai découvert que vous écriviez pour le « Daily Express ». •Vous n'avez pas honte de vous ? — Pourquoi devrais-je avoir honte ? demanda Gabriel en clignant des yeux et en essayant de sourire.

•— Eh bien, moi, j'ai honte de vous, rétorqua franchement Miss Ivors. •Dire que vous écrivez pour un journal comme celui-là. •Je ne pensais pas que vous étiez « Britiche ». Une expression de perplexité apparut sur le visage de Gabriel. •Il était exact qu'il écrivait une chronique littéraire tous les mercredis dans le « Daily Express », pour laquelle il était payé quinze shillings. •Mais cela ne faisait pas de lui un « Britiche ». •Il appréciait presque plus les livres qu'il recevait pour alimenter sa chronique que le chèque dérisoire. •Il aimait palper les couvertures et tourner les pages des livres fraîchement imprimés. •Presque tous les jours, à la fin de ses cours au collège, il se rendait sur les quais auprès des bouquinistes, Hickey sur Bachelor's Walk, Webb ou Massey sur Aston's Quay, ou O'Clohissey dans la ruelle. •Il ne savait pas comment répondre à l'attaque de la jeune femme. •Il avait envie de dire que la littérature était au-dessus de la politique. •Mais ils étaient amis de longue date et leurs carrières avaient été parallèles, d'abord à l'université, puis comme professeurs : il ne pouvait pas risquer une phrase grandiloquente avec elle. •Il continua à cligner des yeux et à essayer de sourire et murmura timidement qu'il ne voyait rien de politique dans le fait d'écrire des critiques de livres.

•Quand vint leur tour de changer de partenaire, il était terriblement perplexe et distrait. •Miss Ivors lui saisit chaleureusement la main et lui dit d'un ton doux et amical : — Mais, ce n'est qu'une plaisanterie. •Venez, nous changeons maintenant. Quand ils furent à nouveau réunis, elle aborda la question de l'université et Gabriel se sentit plus à l'aise. •Une de ses amies lui avait montré son article sur les poèmes de Browning. •C'est de cette façon qu'elle avait découvert son secret : mais elle avait adoré son analyse. •Puis elle proposa soudainement : — Oh Mr Conroy, viendriez-vous faire une excursion aux Îles d'Aran cet été ? •Nous y resterons un mois entier. •Ce sera splendide dans l'Atlantique. •Vous devriez venir. •Mr Clansy en sera, ainsi que Mr Kilkelly et Kathleen Kearney. •Ce serait sensationnel si Gretta venait aussi. •Elle est de Connacht, n'est-ce pas ? — Sa famille en est originaire, répondit brièvement Gabriel.

•— Mais vous viendrez, n'est-ce pas ? insista Miss Ivors, posant avec empressement sa main chaude sur le bras de Gabriel.

•— Le problème, répondit Gabriel, c'est que je viens juste de m'organiser pour aller... — Pour aller où ? le coupa Miss Ivors.

•— Eh bien, vous savez, tous les ans je pars faire du vélo avec quelques amis et donc... — Mais où ? insista Miss Ivors.

•— Oh, nous allons d'habitude en France ou en Belgique, parfois en Allemagne, répondit Gabriel avec gêne.

•“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.
unit 1
THE DEAD.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 2
Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 3
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.
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unit 4
It was well for her she had not to attend to the ladies also.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 5
But Miss Kate and Miss Julia had thought of that and had converted the bathroom upstairs into a ladies’ dressing-room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 6
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 7
It was always a great affair, the Misses Morkan’s annual dance.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 8
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 9
Never once had it fallen flat.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 10
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.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 11
That was a good thirty years ago if it was a day.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 12
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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unit 13
She had been through the Academy and gave a pupils’ concert every year in the upper room of the Antient Concert Rooms.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 3 days ago
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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 week, 3 days ago
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unit 15
Old as they were, her aunts also did their share.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 16
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 17
Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, did housemaid’s work for them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 18
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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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 week, 2 days ago
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unit 20
They were fussy, that was all.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 21
But the only thing they would not stand was back answers.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 22
Of course they had good reason to be fussy on such a night.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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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 week, 2 days ago
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unit 24
Besides they were dreadfully afraid that Freddy Malins might turn up screwed.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 25
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 26
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 27
“O, Mr Conroy,” said Lily to Gabriel when she opened the door for him, “Miss Kate and Miss Julia thought you were never coming.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 28
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 29
Both of them kissed Gabriel’s wife, said she must be perished alive and asked was Gabriel with her.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 30
“Here I am as right as the mail, Aunt Kate!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 31
Go on up.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 32
I’ll follow,” called out Gabriel from the dark.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 33
He continued scraping his feet vigorously while the three women went upstairs, laughing, to the ladies’ dressing-room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 2 days ago
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unit 34
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 35
“Is it snowing again, Mr Conroy?” asked Lily.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 36
She had preceded him into the pantry to help him off with his overcoat.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 37
Gabriel smiled at the three syllables she had given his surname and glanced at her.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 9 hours ago
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unit 38
She was a slim, growing girl, pale in complexion and with hay-coloured hair.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 39
The gas in the pantry made her look still paler.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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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 week, 1 day ago
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unit 41
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 42
“Tell me, Lily,” he said in a friendly tone, “do you still go to school?” “O no, sir,” she answered.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 43
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 44
He was a stout tallish young man.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 45
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 46
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 47
When he had flicked lustre into his shoes he stood up and pulled his waistcoat down more tightly on his plump body.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 48
Then he took a coin rapidly from his pocket.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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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 week, 1 day ago
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unit 50
Just ... here’s a little....” He walked rapidly towards the door.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 51
“O no, sir!” cried the girl, following him.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 52
“Really, sir, I wouldn’t take it.” “Christmas-time!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 53
Christmas-time!” said Gabriel, almost trotting to the stairs and waving his hand to her in deprecation.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week, 1 day ago
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unit 54
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 55
He was still discomposed by the girl’s bitter and sudden retort.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 56
It had cast a gloom over him which he tried to dispel by arranging his cuffs and the bows of his tie.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 57
He then took from his waistcoat pocket a little paper and glanced at the headings he had made for his speech.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 58
He was undecided about the lines from Robert Browning for he feared they would be above the heads of his hearers.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 59
Some quotation that they would recognise from Shakespeare or from the Melodies would be better.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 60
The indelicate clacking of the men’s heels and the shuffling of their soles reminded him that their grade of culture differed from his.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 61
He would only make himself ridiculous by quoting poetry to them which they could not understand.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 62
They would think that he was airing his superior education.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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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 week ago
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unit 64
He had taken up a wrong tone.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 65
His whole speech was a mistake from first to last, an utter failure.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 66
Just then his aunts and his wife came out of the ladies’ dressing-room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 67
His aunts were two small plainly dressed old women.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 68
Aunt Julia was an inch or so the taller.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 69
Her hair, drawn low over the tops of her ears, was grey; and grey also, with darker shadows, was her large flaccid face.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 1 week ago
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unit 70
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 71
Aunt Kate was more vivacious.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 72
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 73
They both kissed Gabriel frankly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 74
He was their favourite nephew, the son of their dead elder sister, Ellen, who had married T. J. Conroy of the Port and Docks.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 75
“Gretta tells me you’re not going to take a cab back to Monkstown tonight, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 76
“No,” said Gabriel, turning to his wife, “we had quite enough of that last year, hadn’t we?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 77
Don’t you remember, Aunt Kate, what a cold Gretta got out of it?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 78
Cab windows rattling all the way, and the east wind blowing in after we passed Merrion.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 79
Very jolly it was.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 80
Gretta caught a dreadful cold.” Aunt Kate frowned severely and nodded her head at every word.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 81
“Quite right, Gabriel, quite right,” she said.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 82
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 83
“Don’t mind him, Aunt Kate,” she said.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 9 hours ago
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unit 84
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 9 hours ago
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unit 85
The poor child!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 9 hours ago
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unit 86
And she simply hates the sight of it!...
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 9 hours ago
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unit 87
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 6 days, 9 hours ago
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unit 88
The two aunts laughed heartily too, for Gabriel’s solicitude was a standing joke with them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 89
“Goloshes!” said Mrs Conroy.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 90
“That’s the latest.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 91
Whenever it’s wet underfoot I must put on my goloshes.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 92
Tonight even he wanted me to put them on, but I wouldn’t.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 93
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 20 hours ago
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unit 94
The smile soon faded from Aunt Julia’s face and her mirthless eyes were directed towards her nephew’s face.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 20 hours ago
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unit 95
After a pause she asked: “And what are goloshes, Gabriel?” “Goloshes, Julia!” exclaimed her sister.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 20 hours ago
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unit 96
“Goodness me, don’t you know what goloshes are?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 20 hours ago
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unit 97
You wear them over your ... over your boots, Gretta, isn’t it?” “Yes,” said Mrs Conroy.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 98
“Guttapercha things.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 99
We both have a pair now.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 20 hours ago
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unit 100
Gabriel says everyone wears them on the continent.” “O, on the continent,” murmured Aunt Julia, nodding her head slowly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 101
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 102
“Of course, you’ve seen about the room.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 103
Gretta was saying....” “O, the room is all right,” replied Gabriel.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 104
“I’ve taken one in the Gresham.” “To be sure,” said Aunt Kate, “by far the best thing to do.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 105
And the children, Gretta, you’re not anxious about them?” “O, for one night,” said Mrs Conroy.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 106
“Besides, Bessie will look after them.” “To be sure,” said Aunt Kate again.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 107
“What a comfort it is to have a girl like that, one you can depend on!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 108
There’s that Lily, I’m sure I don’t know what has come over her lately.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 109
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 110
“Now, I ask you,” she said almost testily, “where is Julia going?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 111
Julia!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 112
Julia!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 113
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 114
The drawing-room door was opened from within and some couples came out.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 5 days, 11 hours ago
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unit 115
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 116
I’m sure he’s screwed.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 117
I’m sure he is.” Gabriel went to the stairs and listened over the banisters.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 118
He could hear two persons talking in the pantry.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 119
Then he recognised Freddy Malins’ laugh.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 120
He went down the stairs noisily.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 121
“It’s such a relief,” said Aunt Kate to Mrs Conroy, “that Gabriel is here.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 122
I always feel easier in my mind when he’s here.... Julia, there’s Miss Daly and Miss Power will take some refreshment.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 123
Thanks for your beautiful waltz, Miss Daly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 124
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 4 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 125
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.
2 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 126
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 127
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 128
On the sideboard were arrayed dishes and plates, and glasses and bundles of knives and forks and spoons.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 129
The top of the closed square piano served also as a sideboard for viands and sweets.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 130
At a smaller sideboard in one corner two young men were standing, drinking hop-bitters.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 131
Mr Browne led his charges thither and invited them all, in jest, to some ladies’ punch, hot, strong and sweet.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 132
As they said they never took anything strong he opened three bottles of lemonade for them.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 133
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 134
The young men eyed him respectfully while he took a trial sip.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 135
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 136
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 3 days, 13 hours ago
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unit 137
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 23 hours ago
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unit 138
A red-faced young woman, dressed in pansy, came into the room, excitedly clapping her hands and crying: “Quadrilles!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 139
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 140
“Mr Kerrigan, will you take Miss Power?
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 141
Miss Furlong, may I get you a partner, Mr Bergin.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 142
O, that’ll just do now.” “Three ladies, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 143
The two young gentlemen asked the ladies if they might have the pleasure, and Mary Jane turned to Miss Daly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 144
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 145
I’ll get him to sing later on.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 146
All Dublin is raving about him.” “Lovely voice, lovely voice!” said Aunt Kate.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 22 hours ago
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unit 147
As the piano had twice begun the prelude to the first figure Mary Jane led her recruits quickly from the room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 148
They had hardly gone when Aunt Julia wandered slowly into the room, looking behind her at something.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 149
“What is the matter, Julia?” asked Aunt Kate anxiously.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 21 hours ago
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unit 150
“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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 151
The latter, a young man of about forty, was of Gabriel’s size and build, with very round shoulders.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 152
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 153
He had coarse features, a blunt nose, a convex and receding brow, tumid and protruded lips.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 154
His heavy-lidded eyes and the disorder of his scanty hair made him look sleepy.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 155
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 156
“Good-evening, Freddy,” said Aunt Julia.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 16 hours ago
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unit 157
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 12 hours ago
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unit 158
“He’s not so bad, is he?” said Aunt Kate to Gabriel.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 159
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.
3 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 160
“And his poor mother made him take the pledge on New Year’s Eve.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 161
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 162
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 163
Freddy Malins’ left hand accepted the glass mechanically, his right hand being engaged in the mechanical readjustment of his dress.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 164
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 165
Gabriel could not listen while Mary Jane was playing her Academy piece, full of runs and difficult passages, to the hushed drawing-room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 166
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 167
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 2 days, 10 hours ago
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unit 168
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 20 hours ago
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unit 169
Gabriel’s eyes, irritated by the floor, which glittered with beeswax under the heavy chandelier, wandered to the wall above the piano.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 20 hours ago
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unit 170
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 20 hours ago
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unit 171
Probably in the school they had gone to as girls that kind of work had been taught for one year.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 20 hours ago
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unit 172
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 20 hours ago
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unit 173
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 20 hours ago
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unit 174
Both she and Julia had always seemed a little proud of their serious and matronly sister.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 175
Her photograph stood before the pierglass.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 18 hours ago
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unit 176
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 177
It was she who had chosen the name of her sons for she was very sensible of the dignity of family life.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 178
Thanks to her, Constantine was now senior curate in Balbrigan and, thanks to her, Gabriel himself had taken his degree in the Royal University.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 179
A shadow passed over his face as he remembered her sullen opposition to his marriage.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 180
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 181
It was Gretta who had nursed her during all her last long illness in their house at Monkstown.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 182
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 183
The piece ended with a trill of octaves in the treble and a final deep octave in the bass.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 184
Great applause greeted Mary Jane as, blushing and rolling up her music nervously, she escaped from the room.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 185
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 186
Lancers were arranged.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 187
Gabriel found himself partnered with Miss Ivors.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 188
She was a frank-mannered talkative young lady, with a freckled face and prominent brown eyes.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 189
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 190
When they had taken their places she said abruptly: “I have a crow to pluck with you.” “With me?” said Gabriel.
3 Translations, 4 Upvotes, Last Activity 11 hours ago
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unit 191
She nodded her head gravely.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 19 hours ago
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unit 192
“What is it?” asked Gabriel, smiling at her solemn manner.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 18 hours ago
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unit 193
“Who is G. C.?” answered Miss Ivors, turning her eyes upon him.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 18 hours ago
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unit 194
Gabriel coloured and was about to knit his brows, as if he did not understand, when she said bluntly: “O, innocent Amy!
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 195
I have found out that you write for _The Daily Express_.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 196
Now, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” “Why should I be ashamed of myself?” asked Gabriel, blinking his eyes and trying to smile.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 197
“Well, I’m ashamed of you,” said Miss Ivors frankly.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 198
“To say you’d write for a paper like that.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 199
I didn’t think you were a West Briton.” A look of perplexity appeared on Gabriel’s face.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 200
It was true that he wrote a literary column every Wednesday in _The Daily Express_, for which he was paid fifteen shillings.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 201
But that did not make him a West Briton surely.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 202
The books he received for review were almost more welcome than the paltry cheque.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 203
He loved to feel the covers and turn over the pages of newly printed books.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 204
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 205
He did not know how to meet her charge.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 hours ago
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unit 206
He wanted to say that literature was above politics.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 16 minutes ago
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unit 207
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.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 208
He continued blinking his eyes and trying to smile and murmured lamely that he saw nothing political in writing reviews of books.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 209
When their turn to cross had come he was still perplexed and inattentive.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 210
Miss Ivors promptly took his hand in a warm grasp and said in a soft friendly tone: “Of course, I was only joking.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 211
Come, we cross now.” When they were together again she spoke of the University question and Gabriel felt more at ease.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 212
A friend of hers had shown her his review of Browning’s poems.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 213
That was how she had found out the secret: but she liked the review immensely.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 15 minutes ago
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unit 214
Then she said suddenly: “O, Mr Conroy, will you come for an excursion to the Aran Isles this summer?
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 215
We’re going to stay there a whole month.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 216
It will be splendid out in the Atlantic.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 217
You ought to come.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 218
Mr Clancy is coming, and Mr Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 219
It would be splendid for Gretta too if she’d come.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 220
She’s from Connacht, isn’t she?” “Her people are,” said Gabriel shortly.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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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 14 minutes ago
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unit 222
“The fact is,” said Gabriel, “I have just arranged to go——” “Go where?” asked Miss Ivors.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 14 minutes ago
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unit 223
“Well, you know, every year I go for a cycling tour with some fellows and so——” “But where?” asked Miss Ivors.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 11 minutes ago
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unit 224
“Well, we usually go to France or Belgium or perhaps Germany,” said Gabriel awkwardly.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 11 minutes ago
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unit 225
“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.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 226
“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.
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unit 227
Gabriel glanced right and left nervously and tried to keep his good humour under the ordeal which was making a blush invade his forehead.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 228
“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.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 229
Gabriel did not answer for his retort had heated him.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 230
“Why?” repeated Miss Ivors.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 231
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.
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unit 232
He avoided her eyes for he had seen a sour expression on her face.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 233
But when they met in the long chain he was surprised to feel his hand firmly pressed.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 234
She looked at him from under her brows for a moment quizzically until he smiled.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 235
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.
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unit 236
She was a stout feeble old woman with white hair.
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unit 237
Her voice had a catch in it like her son’s and she stuttered slightly.
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unit 238
She had been told that Freddy had come and that he was nearly all right.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 239
Gabriel asked her whether she had had a good crossing.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 240
She lived with her married daughter in Glasgow and came to Dublin on a visit once a year.
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unit 241
She answered placidly that she had had a beautiful crossing and that the captain had been most attentive to her.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 242
She spoke also of the beautiful house her daughter kept in Glasgow, and of all the friends they had there.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 243
While her tongue rambled on Gabriel tried to banish from his mind all memory of the unpleasant incident with Miss Ivors.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 244
Of course the girl or woman, or whatever she was, was an enthusiast but there was a time for all things.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 245
Perhaps he ought not to have answered her like that.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 246
But she had no right to call him a West Briton before people, even in joke.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 247
She had tried to make him ridiculous before people, heckling him and staring at him with her rabbit’s eyes.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 248
He saw his wife making her way towards him through the waltzing couples.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 249
When she reached him she said into his ear: “Gabriel, Aunt Kate wants to know won’t you carve the goose as usual.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 250
Miss Daly will carve the ham and I’ll do the pudding.” “All right,” said Gabriel.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 251
“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.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 252
“Of course I was.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 253
Didn’t you see me?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 254
What row had you with Molly Ivors?” “No row.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 255
Why?
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 256
Did she say so?” “Something like that.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 257
I’m trying to get that Mr D’Arcy to sing.
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unit 258
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.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 259
“O, do go, Gabriel,” she cried.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 260
“I’d love to see Galway again.” “You can go if you like,” said Gabriel coldly.
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unit 261
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.
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unit 262
Her son-in-law brought them every year to the lakes and they used to go fishing.
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unit 263
Her son-in-law was a splendid fisher.
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unit 264
One day he caught a beautiful big fish and the man in the hotel cooked it for their dinner.
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unit 265
Gabriel hardly heard what she said.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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unit 266
Now that supper was coming near he began to think again about his speech and about the quotation.
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unit 267
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.
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unit 268
The room had already cleared and from the back room came the clatter of plates and knives.
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unit 269
Those who still remained in the drawing-room seemed tired of dancing and were conversing quietly in little groups.
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unit 270
Gabriel’s warm trembling fingers tapped the cold pane of the window.
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unit 271
How cool it must be outside!
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unit 272
How pleasant it would be to walk out alone, first along by the river and then through the park!
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unit 273
The snow would be lying on the branches of the trees and forming a bright cap on the top of the Wellington Monument.
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unit 274
How much more pleasant it would be there than at the supper-table!
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unit 275
He ran over the headings of his speech: Irish hospitality, sad memories, the Three Graces, Paris, the quotation from Browning.
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unit 276
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.
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unit 277
Was she sincere?
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unit 278
Had she really any life of her own behind all her propagandism?
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unit 279
There had never been any ill-feeling between them until that night.
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unit 280
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.
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unit 281
Perhaps she would not be sorry to see him fail in his speech.
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unit 282
An idea came into his mind and gave him courage.
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unit 283
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.
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unit 284
What did he care that his aunts were only two ignorant old women?
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unit 285
A murmur in the room attracted his attention.
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unit 286
Mr Browne was advancing from the door, gallantly escorting Aunt Julia, who leaned upon his arm, smiling and hanging her head.
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unit 287
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.
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unit 288
Gabriel recognised the prelude.
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unit 289
It was that of an old song of Aunt Julia’s—_Arrayed for the Bridal_.
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unit 290
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.
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unit 291
To follow the voice, without looking at the singer’s face, was to feel and share the excitement of swift and secure flight.
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unit 292
Gabriel applauded loudly with all the others at the close of the song and loud applause was borne in from the invisible supper-table.
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unit 293
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.
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unit 294
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.
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unit 295
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.
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unit 296
“I was just telling my mother,” he said, “I never heard you sing so well, never.
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unit 297
No, I never heard your voice so good as it is tonight.
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unit 298
Now!
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unit 299
Would you believe that now?
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unit 300
That’s the truth.
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unit 301
Upon my word and honour that’s the truth.
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unit 302
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.
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unit 303
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.
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unit 304
All I can say is I never heard her sing half so well as long as I am coming here.
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unit 305
And that’s the honest truth.” “Neither did I,” said Mr Browne.
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unit 306
“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.
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unit 307
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.
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unit 308
“No,” continued Aunt Kate, “she wouldn’t be said or led by anyone, slaving there in that choir night and day, night and day.
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unit 309
Six o’clock on Christmas morning!
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unit 310
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.
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unit 311
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.
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unit 312
I suppose it is for the good of the Church if the pope does it.
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unit 313
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.
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unit 314
I’m only a stupid old woman and I wouldn’t presume to do such a thing.
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unit 315
But there’s such a thing as common everyday politeness and gratitude.
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unit 316
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.
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unit 317
“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.
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unit 318
But Miss Ivors, who had put on her hat and was buttoning her cloak, would not stay.
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unit 319
She did not feel in the least hungry and she had already overstayed her time.
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unit 320
“But only for ten minutes, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy.
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unit 321
“That won’t delay you.” “To take a pick itself,” said Mary Jane, “after all your dancing.” “I really couldn’t,” said Miss Ivors.
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unit 322
“I am afraid you didn’t enjoy yourself at all,” said Mary Jane hopelessly.
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unit 323
“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.
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unit 324
“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.
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unit 325
“I won’t hear of it,” she cried.
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unit 326
“For goodness’ sake go in to your suppers and don’t mind me.
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unit 327
I’m quite well able to take care of myself.” “Well, you’re the comical girl, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy frankly.
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unit 328
“_Beannacht libh_,” cried Miss Ivors, with a laugh, as she ran down the staircase.
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unit 329
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.
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unit 330
Gabriel asked himself was he the cause of her abrupt departure.
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unit 331
But she did not seem to be in ill humour: she had gone away laughing.
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unit 332
He stared blankly down the staircase.
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unit 333
At the moment Aunt Kate came toddling out of the supper-room, almost wringing her hands in despair.
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unit 334
“Where is Gabriel?” she cried.
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unit 335
“Where on earth is Gabriel?
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unit 336
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.
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unit 337
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.
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unit 338
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.
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unit 339
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.
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unit 340
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.
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unit 341
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.
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unit 342
“Miss Furlong, what shall I send you?” he asked.
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unit 343
“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.
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unit 344
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.
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unit 345
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.
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unit 346
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.
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unit 347
Gabriel began to carve second helpings as soon as he had finished the first round without serving himself.
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unit 348
Everyone protested loudly so that he compromised by taking a long draught of stout for he had found the carving hot work.
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unit 349
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.
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unit 350
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.
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unit 351
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.
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unit 352
“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.
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unit 353
The subject of talk was the opera company which was then at the Theatre Royal.
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unit 354
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.
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unit 355
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.
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unit 356
“Have you heard him?” he asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy across the table.
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unit 357
“No,” answered Mr Bartell D’Arcy carelessly.
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unit 358
“Because,” Freddy Malins explained, “now I’d be curious to hear your opinion of him.
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unit 359
I think he has a grand voice.” “It takes Teddy to find out the really good things,” said Mr Browne familiarly to the table.
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unit 360
“And why couldn’t he have a voice too?” asked Freddy Malins sharply.
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unit 361
“Is it because he’s only a black?” Nobody answered this question and Mary Jane led the table back to the legitimate opera.
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unit 362
One of her pupils had given her a pass for _Mignon_.
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unit 363
Of course it was very fine, she said, but it made her think of poor Georgina Burns.
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unit 364
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.
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unit 365
Those were the days, he said, when there was something like singing to be heard in Dublin.
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unit 366
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.
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unit 367
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.
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unit 368
“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.
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unit 369
“In London, Paris, Milan,” said Mr Bartell D’Arcy warmly.
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unit 370
“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.
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unit 371
“But I may tell you I doubt it strongly.” “O, I’d give anything to hear Caruso sing,” said Mary Jane.
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unit 372
“For me,” said Aunt Kate, who had been picking a bone, “there was only one tenor.
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unit 373
To please me, I mean.
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unit 374
But I suppose none of you ever heard of him.” “Who was he, Miss Morkan?” asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy politely.
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unit 375
“His name,” said Aunt Kate, “was Parkinson.
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unit 376
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.
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unit 377
“I never even heard of him.” “Yes, yes, Miss Morkan is right,” said Mr Browne.
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unit 378
“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.
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unit 379
Gabriel having finished, the huge pudding was transferred to the table.
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unit 380
The clatter of forks and spoons began again.
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unit 381
Gabriel’s wife served out spoonfuls of the pudding and passed the plates down the table.
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unit 382
Midway down they were held up by Mary Jane, who replenished them with raspberry or orange jelly or with blancmange and jam.
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unit 383
The pudding was of Aunt Julia’s making and she received praises for it from all quarters.
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unit 384
She herself said that it was not quite brown enough.
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unit 385
“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.
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unit 386
As Gabriel never ate sweets the celery had been left for him.
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unit 387
Freddy Malins also took a stalk of celery and ate it with his pudding.
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unit 388
He had been told that celery was a capital thing for the blood and he was just then under doctor’s care.
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unit 389
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.
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unit 390
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.
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unit 391
“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.
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unit 392
“I wish we had an institution like that in our Church,” said Mr Browne candidly.
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unit 393
He was astonished to hear that the monks never spoke, got up at two in the morning and slept in their coffins.
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unit 394
He asked what they did it for.
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unit 395
“That’s the rule of the order,” said Aunt Kate firmly.
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unit 396
“Yes, but why?” asked Mr Browne.
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unit 397
Aunt Kate repeated that it was the rule, that was all.
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unit 398
Mr Browne still seemed not to understand.
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unit 399
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.
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unit 400
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.
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unit 401
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.
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unit 402
Gradually as the last glasses were being filled the conversation ceased.
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unit 403
A pause followed, broken only by the noise of the wine and by unsettlings of chairs.
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unit 404
The Misses Morkan, all three, looked down at the tablecloth.
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unit 405
Someone coughed once or twice and then a few gentlemen patted the table gently as a signal for silence.
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unit 406
The silence came and Gabriel pushed back his chair.
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unit 407
The patting at once grew louder in encouragement and then ceased altogether.
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unit 408
Gabriel leaned his ten trembling fingers on the tablecloth and smiled nervously at the company.
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unit 409
Meeting a row of upturned faces he raised his eyes to the chandelier.
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unit 410
The piano was playing a waltz tune and he could hear the skirts sweeping against the drawing-room door.
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unit 411
People, perhaps, were standing in the snow on the quay outside, gazing up at the lighted windows and listening to the waltz music.
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unit 412
The air was pure there.
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unit 413
In the distance lay the park where the trees were weighted with snow.
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unit 414
The Wellington Monument wore a gleaming cap of snow that flashed westward over the white field of Fifteen Acres.
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unit 415
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.
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unit 416
“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.
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unit 417
“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is not the first time that we have gathered together under this hospitable roof, around this hospitable board.
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unit 418
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.
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unit 419
Everyone laughed or smiled at Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia and Mary Jane who all turned crimson with pleasure.
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unit 420
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.
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unit 421
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.
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unit 422
Some would say, perhaps, that with us it is rather a failing than anything to be boasted of.
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unit 423
But granted even that, it is, to my mind, a princely failing, and one that I trust will long be cultivated among us.
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unit 424
Of one thing, at least, I am sure.
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unit 425
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.
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unit 426
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.
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unit 427
It is serious and enthusiastic for these new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I believe, in the main sincere.
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unit 428
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.
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unit 429
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.
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unit 430
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.
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unit 431
“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.
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unit 432
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.
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unit 433
We have all of us living duties and living affections which claim, and rightly claim, our strenuous endeavours.
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unit 434
“Therefore, I will not linger on the past.
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unit 435
I will not let any gloomy moralising intrude upon us here tonight.
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unit 436
Here we are gathered together for a brief moment from the bustle and rush of our everyday routine.
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unit 437
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.
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unit 438
Aunt Julia vainly asked each of her neighbours in turn to tell her what Gabriel had said.
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unit 439
“He says we are the Three Graces, Aunt Julia,” said Mary Jane.
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unit 440
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.
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unit 441
I will not attempt to choose between them.
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unit 442
The task would be an invidious one and one beyond my poor powers.
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unit 443
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.
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unit 444
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.
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unit 445
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.
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unit 446
Aunt Kate was making frank use of her handkerchief and even Aunt Julia seemed moved.
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unit 447
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.
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unit 448
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.
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unit 449
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.
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unit 450
The piercing morning air came into the hall where they were standing so that Aunt Kate said: “Close the door, somebody.
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unit 451
Mrs Malins will get her death of cold.” “Browne is out there, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane.
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unit 452
“Browne is everywhere,” said Aunt Kate, lowering her voice.
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unit 453
Mary Jane laughed at her tone.
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unit 454
“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.
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unit 455
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.
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unit 456
He was dressed in a long green overcoat with mock astrakhan cuffs and collar and wore on his head an oval fur cap.
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unit 457
He pointed down the snow-covered quay from where the sound of shrill prolonged whistling was borne in.
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unit 458
“Teddy will have all the cabs in Dublin out,” he said.
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unit 459
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.
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unit 460
“Who’s playing up there?” asked Gabriel.
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unit 461
“Nobody.
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unit 462
They’re all gone.” “O no, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane.
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unit 463
“Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan aren’t gone yet.” “Someone is fooling at the piano anyhow,” said Gabriel.
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unit 464
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.
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unit 465
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.
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unit 466
“The never-to-be-forgotten Johnny,” said Mary Jane, laughing.
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unit 467
Aunt Kate and Gabriel laughed too.
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unit 468
“Why, what was wonderful about Johnny?” asked Mr Browne.
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unit 469
“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.
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unit 470
And Johnny used to work in the old gentleman’s mill, walking round and round in order to drive the mill.
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unit 471
That was all very well; but now comes the tragic part about Johnny.
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unit 472
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.
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unit 473
“Amen,” said Gabriel.
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unit 474
“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.
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unit 475
Only the mill was there.” “Out from the mansion of his forefathers,” continued Gabriel, “he drove with Johnny.
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unit 476
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.
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unit 477
“Round and round he went,” said Gabriel, “and the old gentleman, who was a very pompous old gentleman, was highly indignant.
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unit 478
‘Go on, sir!
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unit 479
What do you mean, sir?
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unit 480
Johnny!
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unit 481
Johnny!
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unit 482
Most extraordinary conduct!
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unit 483
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.
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unit 484
Mary Jane ran to open it and let in Freddy Malins.
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unit 485
Freddy Malins, with his hat well back on his head and his shoulders humped with cold, was puffing and steaming after his exertions.
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unit 486
“I could only get one cab,” he said.
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unit 487
“O, we’ll find another along the quay,” said Gabriel.
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unit 488
“Yes,” said Aunt Kate.
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unit 489
“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.
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unit 490
Freddy Malins clambered in after her and spent a long time settling her on the seat, Mr Browne helping him with advice.
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unit 491
At last she was settled comfortably and Freddy Malins invited Mr Browne into the cab.
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unit 492
There was a good deal of confused talk, and then Mr Browne got into the cab.
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unit 493
The cabman settled his rug over his knees, and bent down for the address.
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unit 494
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.
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unit 495
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.
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unit 496
As for Freddy Malins he was speechless with laughter.
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unit 497
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.
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unit 498
“Well, drive bang up against Trinity College gates,” said Mr Browne, “and then we’ll tell you where to go.
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unit 499
You understand now?” “Yes, sir,” said the cabman.
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unit 500
“Make like a bird for Trinity College.” “Right, sir,” said the cabman.
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unit 501
The horse was whipped up and the cab rattled off along the quay amid a chorus of laughter and adieus.
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unit 502
Gabriel had not gone to the door with the others.
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unit 503
He was in a dark part of the hall gazing up the staircase.
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unit 504
A woman was standing near the top of the first flight, in the shadow also.
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unit 505
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.
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unit 506
It was his wife.
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unit 507
She was leaning on the banisters, listening to something.
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unit 508
Gabriel was surprised at her stillness and strained his ear to listen also.
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unit 509
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.
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unit 510
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.
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unit 511
There was grace and mystery in her attitude as if she were a symbol of something.
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unit 512
He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of.
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unit 513
If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude.
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unit 514
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.
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unit 515
_Distant Music_ he would call the picture if he were a painter.
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unit 516
The hall-door was closed; and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia and Mary Jane came down the hall, still laughing.
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unit 517
“Well, isn’t Freddy terrible?” said Mary Jane.
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unit 518
“He’s really terrible.” Gabriel said nothing but pointed up the stairs towards where his wife was standing.
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unit 519
Now that the hall-door was closed the voice and the piano could be heard more clearly.
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unit 520
Gabriel held up his hand for them to be silent.
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unit 521
The song seemed to be in the old Irish tonality and the singer seemed uncertain both of his words and of his voice.
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unit 522
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.
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unit 523
“It’s Bartell D’Arcy singing and he wouldn’t sing all the night.
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unit 524
O, I’ll get him to sing a song before he goes.” “O do, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate.
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unit 525
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.
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unit 526
“O, what a pity!” she cried.
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unit 527
“Is he coming down, Gretta?” Gabriel heard his wife answer yes and saw her come down towards them.
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unit 528
A few steps behind her were Mr Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan.
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unit 529
“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.
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unit 530
He went into the pantry hastily and put on his overcoat.
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unit 531
The others, taken aback by his rude speech, could find nothing to say.
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unit 532
Aunt Kate wrinkled her brows and made signs to the others to drop the subject.
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unit 533
Mr D’Arcy stood swathing his neck carefully and frowning.
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unit 534
“It’s the weather,” said Aunt Julia, after a pause.
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unit 535
“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.
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unit 536
“So do I,” said Miss O’Callaghan.
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unit 537
“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.
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unit 538
Mr D’Arcy came from the pantry, fully swathed and buttoned, and in a repentant tone told them the history of his cold.
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unit 539
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.
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unit 540
Gabriel watched his wife, who did not join in the conversation.
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unit 541
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.
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unit 542
She was in the same attitude and seemed unaware of the talk about her.
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unit 543
At last she turned towards them and Gabriel saw that there was colour on her cheeks and that her eyes were shining.
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unit 544
A sudden tide of joy went leaping out of his heart.
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unit 545
“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.
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unit 546
Why?
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unit 547
Do you know it?” “_The Lass of Aughrim_,” she repeated.
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unit 548
“I couldn’t think of the name.” “It’s a very nice air,” said Mary Jane.
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unit 549
“I’m sorry you were not in voice tonight.” “Now, Mary Jane,” said Aunt Kate, “don’t annoy Mr D’Arcy.
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unit 550
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.
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unit 551
Good-night, Gretta!” “Good-night, Aunt Kate, and thanks ever so much.
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unit 552
Good-night, Aunt Julia.” “O, good-night, Gretta, I didn’t see you.” “Good-night, Mr D’Arcy.
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unit 553
Good-night, Miss O’Callaghan.” “Good-night, Miss Morkan.” “Good-night, again.” “Good-night, all.
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unit 554
Safe home.” “Good-night.
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unit 555
Good-night.” The morning was still dark.
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unit 556
A dull yellow light brooded over the houses and the river; and the sky seemed to be descending.
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unit 557
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.
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unit 558
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.
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unit 559
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.
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unit 560
She had no longer any grace of attitude but Gabriel’s eyes were still bright with happiness.
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unit 561
The blood went bounding along his veins; and the thoughts went rioting through his brain, proud, joyful, tender, valorous.
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unit 562
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.
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unit 563
She seemed to him so frail that he longed to defend her against something and then to be alone with her.
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unit 564
Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.
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unit 565
A heliotrope envelope was lying beside his breakfast-cup and he was caressing it with his hand.
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unit 566
Birds were twittering in the ivy and the sunny web of the curtain was shimmering along the floor: he could not eat for happiness.
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unit 567
They were standing on the crowded platform and he was placing a ticket inside the warm palm of her glove.
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unit 568
He was standing with her in the cold, looking in through a grated window at a man making bottles in a roaring furnace.
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unit 569
It was very cold.
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unit 570
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.
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unit 571
It was just as well.
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unit 572
He might have answered rudely.
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unit 573
A wave of yet more tender joy escaped from his heart and went coursing in warm flood along his arteries.
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unit 574
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.
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unit 575
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.
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unit 576
For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul or hers.
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unit 577
Their children, his writing, her household cares had not quenched all their souls’ tender fire.
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unit 578
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?
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unit 579
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.
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unit 580
He longed to be alone with her.
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unit 581
When the others had gone away, when he and she were in their room in the hotel, then they would be alone together.
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unit 582
He would call her softly: “Gretta!” Perhaps she would not hear at once: she would be undressing.
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unit 583
Then something in his voice would strike her.
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unit 584
She would turn and look at him.... At the corner of Winetavern Street they met a cab.
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unit 585
He was glad of its rattling noise as it saved him from conversation.
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unit 586
She was looking out of the window and seemed tired.
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unit 587
The others spoke only a few words, pointing out some building or street.
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unit 588
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.
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unit 589
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.
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unit 590
“Where?” asked Mr Bartell D’Arcy.
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unit 591
Gabriel pointed to the statue, on which lay patches of snow.
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unit 592
Then he nodded familiarly to it and waved his hand.
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unit 593
“Good-night, Dan,” he said gaily.
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unit 594
When the cab drew up before the hotel, Gabriel jumped out and, in spite of Mr Bartell D’Arcy’s protest, paid the driver.
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unit 595
He gave the man a shilling over his fare.
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unit 596
The man saluted and said: “A prosperous New Year to you, sir.” “The same to you,” said Gabriel cordially.
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unit 597
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.
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unit 598
She leaned lightly on his arm, as lightly as when she had danced with him a few hours before.
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unit 599
He had felt proud and happy then, happy that she was his, proud of her grace and wifely carriage.
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unit 600
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.
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unit 601
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.
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unit 602
An old man was dozing in a great hooded chair in the hall.
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unit 603
He lit a candle in the office and went before them to the stairs.
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unit 604
They followed him in silence, their feet falling in soft thuds on the thickly carpeted stairs.
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unit 605
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.
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unit 606
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.
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unit 607
The porter halted on the stairs to settle his guttering candle.
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unit 608
They halted too on the steps below him.
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unit 609
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.
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unit 610
The porter led them along a corridor and opened a door.
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unit 611
Then he set his unstable candle down on a toilet-table and asked at what hour they were to be called in the morning.
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unit 612
“Eight,” said Gabriel.
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unit 613
The porter pointed to the tap of the electric-light and began a muttered apology but Gabriel cut him short.
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unit 614
“We don’t want any light.
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unit 615
We have light enough from the street.
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unit 616
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.
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unit 617
Then he mumbled good-night and went out.
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unit 618
Gabriel shot the lock to.
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unit 619
A ghostly light from the street lamp lay in a long shaft from one window to the door.
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unit 620
Gabriel threw his overcoat and hat on a couch and crossed the room towards the window.
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unit 621
He looked down into the street in order that his emotion might calm a little.
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unit 622
Then he turned and leaned against a chest of drawers with his back to the light.
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unit 623
She had taken off her hat and cloak and was standing before a large swinging mirror, unhooking her waist.
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unit 624
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.
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unit 625
Her face looked so serious and weary that the words would not pass Gabriel’s lips.
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unit 626
No, it was not the moment yet.
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unit 627
“You looked tired,” he said.
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unit 628
“I am a little,” she answered.
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unit 629
“You don’t feel ill or weak?” “No, tired: that’s all.” She went on to the window and stood there, looking out.
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unit 630
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.
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unit 631
“Yes.
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unit 632
What about him?” “Well, poor fellow, he’s a decent sort of chap after all,” continued Gabriel in a false voice.
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unit 633
“He gave me back that sovereign I lent him, and I didn’t expect it, really.
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unit 634
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.
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unit 635
Why did she seem so abstracted?
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unit 636
He did not know how he could begin.
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unit 637
Was she annoyed, too, about something?
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unit 638
If she would only turn to him or come to him of her own accord!
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unit 639
To take her as she was would be brutal.
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unit 640
No, he must see some ardour in her eyes first.
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unit 641
He longed to be master of her strange mood.
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unit 642
“When did you lend him the pound?” she asked, after a pause.
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unit 643
Gabriel strove to restrain himself from breaking out into brutal language about the sottish Malins and his pound.
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unit 644
He longed to cry to her from his soul, to crush her body against his, to overmaster her.
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unit 645
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.
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unit 646
She stood before him for an instant, looking at him strangely.
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unit 647
Then, suddenly raising herself on tiptoe and resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, she kissed him.
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unit 648
“You are a very generous person, Gabriel,” she said.
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unit 649
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.
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unit 650
The washing had made it fine and brilliant.
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unit 651
His heart was brimming over with happiness.
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unit 652
Just when he was wishing for it she had come to him of her own accord.
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unit 653
Perhaps her thoughts had been running with his.
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unit 654
Perhaps she had felt the impetuous desire that was in him, and then the yielding mood had come upon her.
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unit 655
Now that she had fallen to him so easily, he wondered why he had been so diffident.
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unit 656
He stood, holding her head between his hands.
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unit 657
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.
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unit 658
He said again, softly: “Tell me what it is, Gretta.
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unit 659
I think I know what is the matter.
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unit 660
Do I know?” She did not answer at once.
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unit 661
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.
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unit 662
Gabriel stood stock-still for a moment in astonishment and then followed her.
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unit 663
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.
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unit 664
He halted a few paces from her and said: “What about the song?
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unit 665
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.
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unit 666
A kinder note than he had intended went into his voice.
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unit 667
“Why, Gretta?” he asked.
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unit 668
“I am thinking about a person long ago who used to sing that song.” “And who was the person long ago?” asked Gabriel, smiling.
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unit 669
“It was a person I used to know in Galway when I was living with my grandmother,” she said.
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unit 670
The smile passed away from Gabriel’s face.
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unit 671
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.
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unit 672
“Someone you were in love with?” he asked ironically.
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unit 673
“It was a young boy I used to know,” she answered, “named Michael Furey.
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unit 674
He used to sing that song, _The Lass of Aughrim_.
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unit 675
He was very delicate.” Gabriel was silent.
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unit 676
He did not wish her to think that he was interested in this delicate boy.
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unit 677
“I can see him so plainly,” she said after a moment.
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unit 678
“Such eyes as he had: big, dark eyes!
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unit 679
And such an expression in them—an expression!” “O then, you were in love with him?” said Gabriel.
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unit 680
“I used to go out walking with him,” she said, “when I was in Galway.” A thought flew across Gabriel’s mind.
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unit 681
“Perhaps that was why you wanted to go to Galway with that Ivors girl?” he said coldly.
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unit 682
She looked at him and asked in surprise: “What for?” Her eyes made Gabriel feel awkward.
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unit 683
He shrugged his shoulders and said: “How do I know?
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unit 684
To see him, perhaps.” She looked away from him along the shaft of light towards the window in silence.
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unit 685
“He is dead,” she said at length.
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unit 686
“He died when he was only seventeen.
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unit 687
Isn’t it a terrible thing to die so young as that?” “What was he?” asked Gabriel, still ironically.
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unit 688
“He was in the gasworks,” she said.
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unit 689
Gabriel felt humiliated by the failure of his irony and by the evocation of this figure from the dead, a boy in the gasworks.
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unit 690
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.
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unit 691
A shameful consciousness of his own person assailed him.
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unit 692
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.
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unit 693
Instinctively he turned his back more to the light lest she might see the shame that burned upon his forehead.
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unit 694
He tried to keep up his tone of cold interrogation, but his voice when he spoke was humble and indifferent.
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unit 695
“I suppose you were in love with this Michael Furey, Gretta,” he said.
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unit 696
“I was great with him at that time,” she said.
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unit 697
Her voice was veiled and sad.
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unit 698
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?
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unit 699
Consumption, was it?” “I think he died for me,” she answered.
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unit 700
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.
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unit 701
But he shook himself free of it with an effort of reason and continued to caress her hand.
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unit 702
He did not question her again for he felt that she would tell him of herself.
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unit 703
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.
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unit 704
“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.
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unit 705
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.
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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.
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unit 709
“He was very fond of me and he was such a gentle boy.
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unit 710
We used to go out together, walking, you know, Gabriel, like the way they do in the country.
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unit 711
He was going to study singing only for his health.
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unit 712
He had a very good voice, poor Michael Furey.” “Well; and then?” asked Gabriel.
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unit 713
“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.
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unit 714
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.
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unit 715
“I implored of him to go home at once and told him he would get his death in the rain.
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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!
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unit 718
He was standing at the end of the wall where there was a tree.” “And did he go home?” asked Gabriel.
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unit 719
“Yes, he went home.
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unit 720
And when I was only a week in the convent he died and he was buried in Oughterard where his people came from.
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unit 721
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.
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unit 722
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.
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unit 723
She was fast asleep.
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unit 724
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.
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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 726
It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life.
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unit 727
He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife.
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unit 728
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.
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unit 729
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.
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unit 730
Perhaps she had not told him all the story.
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unit 731
His eyes moved to the chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes.
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unit 732
A petticoat string dangled to the floor.
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unit 733
One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen down: the fellow of it lay upon its side.
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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 736
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.
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unit 737
Poor Aunt Julia!
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unit 738
She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse.
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unit 739
He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing _Arrayed for the Bridal_.
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unit 740
Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees.
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unit 741
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.
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unit 742
He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would find only lame and useless ones.
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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 745
He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife.
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unit 746
One by one they were all becoming shades.
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unit 747
Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.
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unit 748
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.
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unit 749
Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes.
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unit 750
He had never felt like that himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love.
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unit 751
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.
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unit 752
Other forms were near.
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unit 753
His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead.
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unit 754
He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence.
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unit 755
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.
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unit 756
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window.
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unit 757
It had begun to snow again.
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unit 758
He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight.
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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.
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unit 761
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.
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unit 762
It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.
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unit 763
It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns.
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unit 764
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.
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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.