Section 46 of 74 - Table of Contents
Meanwhile the skill and patience of the physician had brought about a
happy ACCOUCHEMENT. It had been a weary weary while both for patient and
doctor. All that surgical skill could do was done and the brave woman had
manfully helped. She had. She had fought the good fight and now she was
very very happy. Those who have passed on, who have gone before, are
happy too as they gaze down and smile upon the touching scene. Reverently
look at her as she reclines there with the motherlight in her eyes, that
longing hunger for baby fingers (a pretty sight it is to see), in the
first bloom of her new motherhood, breathing a silent prayer of
thanksgiving to One above, the Universal Husband. And as her loving eyes
behold her babe she wishes only one blessing more, to have her dear Doady
there with her to share her joy, to lay in his arms that mite of God's
clay, the fruit of their lawful embraces. He is older now (you and I may
whisper it) and a trifle stooped in the shoulders yet in the whirligig of
years a grave dignity has come to the conscientious second accountant of
the Ulster bank, College Green branch. O Doady, loved one of old,
faithful lifemate now, it may never be again, that faroff time of the
roses! With the old shake of her pretty head she recalls those days. God!
How beautiful now across the mist of years! But their children are
grouped in her imagination about the bedside, hers and his, Charley, Mary
Alice, Frederick Albert (if he had lived), Mamy, Budgy (Victoria
Frances), Tom, Violet Constance Louisa, darling little Bobsy (called
after our famous hero of the South African war, lord Bobs of Waterford
and Candahar) and now this last pledge of their union, a Purefoy if ever
there was one, with the true Purefoy nose. Young hopeful will be
christened Mortimer Edward after the influential third cousin of Mr
Purefoy in the Treasury Remembrancer's office, Dublin Castle. And so time
wags on: but father Cronion has dealt lightly here. No, let no sigh break
from that bosom, dear gentle Mina. And Doady, knock the ashes from your
pipe, the seasoned briar you still fancy when the curfew rings for you
(may it be the distant day!) and dout the light whereby you read in the
Sacred Book for the oil too has run low, and so with a tranquil heart to
bed, to rest. He knows and will call in His own good time. You too have
fought the good fight and played loyally your man's part. Sir, to you my
hand. Well done, thou good and faithful servant!
There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evil
memories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart
but they abide there and wait. He may suffer their memory to grow dim,
let them be as though they had not been and all but persuade himself that
they were not or at least were otherwise. Yet a chance word will call
them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in the most
various circumstances, a vision or a dream, or while timbrel and harp
soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquility of the evening or
at the feast, at midnight, when he is now filled with wine. Not to insult
over him will the vision come as over one that lies under her wrath, not
for vengeance to cut him off from the living but shrouded in the piteous
vesture of the past, silent, remote, reproachful.
The stranger still regarded on the face before him a slow recession of
that false calm there, imposed, as it seemed, by habit or some studied
trick, upon words so embittered as to accuse in their speaker an
unhealthiness, a FLAIR, for the cruder things of life. A scene disengages
itself in the observer's memory, evoked, it would seem, by a word of so
natural a homeliness as if those days were really present there (as some
thought) with their immediate pleasures. A shaven space of lawn one soft
May evening, the wellremembered grove of lilacs at Roundtown, purple and
white, fragrant slender spectators of the game but with much real
interest in the pellets as they run slowly forward over the sward or
collide and stop, one by its fellow, with a brief alert shock. And yonder
about that grey urn where the water moves at times in thoughtful
irrigation you saw another as fragrant sisterhood, Floey, Atty, Tiny and
their darker friend with I know not what of arresting in her pose then,
Our Lady of the Cherries, a comely brace of them pendent from an ear,
bringing out the foreign warmth of the skin so daintily against the cool
ardent fruit. A lad of four or five in linseywoolsey (blossomtime but
there will be cheer in the kindly hearth when ere long the bowls are
gathered and hutched) is standing on the urn secured by that circle of
girlish fond hands. He frowns a little just as this young man does now
with a perhaps too conscious enjoyment of the danger but must needs
glance at whiles towards where his mother watches from the PIAZZETTA
giving upon the flowerclose with a faint shadow of remoteness or of
reproach (ALLES VERGANGLICHE) in her glad look.
Mark this farther and remember. The end comes suddenly. Enter that
antechamber of birth where the studious are assembled and note their
faces. Nothing, as it seems, there of rash or violent. Quietude of
custody, rather, befitting their station in that house, the vigilant
watch of shepherds and of angels about a crib in Bethlehem of Juda long
ago. But as before the lightning the serried stormclouds, heavy with
preponderant excess of moisture, in swollen masses turgidly distended,
compass earth and sky in one vast slumber, impending above parched field
and drowsy oxen and blighted growth of shrub and verdure till in an
instant a flash rives their centres and with the reverberation of the
thunder the cloudburst pours its torrent, so and not otherwise was the
transformation, violent and instantaneous, upon the utterance of the
word.
Burke's! outflings my lord Stephen, giving the cry, and a tag and bobtail
of all them after, cockerel, jackanapes, welsher, pilldoctor, punctual
Bloom at heels with a universal grabbing at headgear, ashplants, bilbos,
Panama hats and scabbards, Zermatt alpenstocks and what not. A dedale of
lusty youth, noble every student there. Nurse Callan taken aback in the
hallway cannot stay them nor smiling surgeon coming downstairs with news
of placentation ended, a full pound if a milligramme. They hark him on.
The door! It is open? Ha! They are out, tumultuously, off for a minute's
race, all bravely legging it, Burke's of Denzille and Holles their
ulterior goal. Dixon follows giving them sharp language but raps out an
oath, he too, and on. Bloom stays with nurse a thought to send a kind
word to happy mother and nurseling up there. Doctor Diet and Doctor
Quiet. Looks she too not other now? Ward of watching in Horne's house has
told its tale in that washedout pallor. Then all being gone, a glance of
motherwit helping, he whispers close in going: Madam, when comes the
storkbird for thee?
The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, life essence
celestial, glistening on Dublin stone there under starshiny COELUM. God's
air, the Allfather's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe
it deep into thee. By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, thou hast done a doughty
deed and no botch! Thou art, I vow, the remarkablest progenitor barring
none in this chaffering allincluding most farraginous chronicle.
Astounding! In her lay a Godframed Godgiven preformed possibility which
thou hast fructified with thy modicum of man's work. Cleave to her!
Serve! Toil on, labour like a very bandog and let scholarment and all
Malthusiasts go hang. Thou art all their daddies, Theodore. Art drooping
under thy load, bemoiled with butcher's bills at home and ingots (not
thine!) in the countinghouse? Head up! For every newbegotten thou shalt
gather thy homer of ripe wheat. See, thy fleece is drenched. Dost envy
Darby Dullman there with his Joan? A canting jay and a rheumeyed curdog
is all their progeny. Pshaw, I tell thee! He is a mule, a dead
gasteropod, without vim or stamina, not worth a cracked kreutzer.
Copulation without population! No, say I! Herod's slaughter of the
innocents were the truer name. Vegetables, forsooth, and sterile
cohabitation! Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! She is a hoary
pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever,
bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, bilious
attacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins. A truce to threnes and
trentals and jeremies and all such congenital defunctive music! Twenty
years of it, regret them not. With thee it was not as with many that will
and would and wait and never--do. Thou sawest thy America, thy lifetask,
and didst charge to cover like the transpontine bison. How saith
Zarathustra? DEINE KUH TRUBSAL MELKEST DU. NUN TRINKST DU DIE SUSSE MILCH
DES EUTERS. See! it displodes for thee in abundance. Drink, man, an
udderful! Mother's milk, Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milk too of
those burgeoning stars overhead rutilant in thin rainvapour, punch milk,
such as those rioters will quaff in their guzzling den, milk of madness,
the honeymilk of Canaan's land. Thy cow's dug was tough, what? Ay, but
her milk is hot and sweet and fattening. No dollop this but thick rich
bonnyclaber. To her, old patriarch! Pap! PER DEAM PARTULAM ET PERTUNDAM
NUNC EST BIBENDUM!
All off for a buster, armstrong, hollering down the street. Bonafides.
Where you slep las nigh? Timothy of the battered naggin. Like ole Billyo.
Any brollies or gumboots in the fambly? Where the Henry Nevil's sawbones
and ole clo? Sorra one o' me knows. Hurrah there, Dix! Forward to the
ribbon counter. Where's Punch? All serene. Jay, look at the drunken
minister coming out of the maternity hospal! BENEDICAT VOS OMNIPOTENS
DEUS, PATER ET FILIUS. A make, mister. The Denzille lane boys. Hell,
blast ye! Scoot. Righto, Isaacs, shove em out of the bleeding limelight.
Yous join uz, dear sir? No hentrusion in life. Lou heap good man. Allee
samee dis bunch. EN AVANT, MES ENFANTS! Fire away number one on the gun.
Burke's! Burke's! Thence they advanced five parasangs. Slattery's mounted
foot. Where's that bleeding awfur? Parson Steve, apostates' creed! No,
no, Mulligan! Abaft there! Shove ahead. Keep a watch on the clock.
Chuckingout time. Mullee! What's on you? MA MERE M'A MARIEE. British
Beatitudes! RETAMPLATAN DIGIDI BOUMBOUM. Ayes have it. To be printed and
bound at the Druiddrum press by two designing females. Calf covers of
pissedon green. Last word in art shades. Most beautiful book come out of
Ireland my time. SILENTIUM! Get a spurt on. Tention. Proceed to nearest
canteen and there annex liquor stores. March! Tramp, tramp, tramp, the
boys are (atitudes!) parching. Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs
battleships, buggery and bishops. Whether on the scaffold high. Beer,
beef, trample the bibles. When for Irelandear. Trample the trampellers.
Thunderation! Keep the durned millingtary step. We fall. Bishops
boosebox. Halt! Heave to. Rugger. Scrum in. No touch kicking. Wow, my
tootsies! You hurt? Most amazingly sorry!
Query. Who's astanding this here do? Proud possessor of damnall. Declare
misery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this week
gone. Yours? Mead of our fathers for the UBERMENSCH. Dittoh. Five number
ones. You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabby's caudle. Stimulate
the caloric. Winding of his ticker. Stopped short never to go again when
the old. Absinthe for me, savvy? CARAMBA! Have an eggnog or a prairie
oyster. Enemy? Avuncular's got my timepiece. Ten to. Obligated awful.
Don't mention it. Got a pectoral trauma, eh, Dix? Pos fact. Got bet be a
boomblebee whenever he wus settin sleepin in hes bit garten. Digs up near
the Mater. Buckled he is. Know his dona? Yup, sartin I do. Full of a
dure. See her in her dishybilly. Peels off a credit. Lovey lovekin. None
of your lean kine, not much. Pull down the blind, love. Two Ardilauns.
Same here. Look slippery. If you fall don't wait to get up. Five, seven,
nine. Fine! Got a prime pair of mincepies, no kid. And her take me to
rests and her anker of rum. Must be seen to be believed. Your starving
eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart, O gluepot. Sir? Spud
again the rheumatiz? All poppycock, you'll scuse me saying. For the hoi
polloi. I vear thee beest a gert vool. Well, doc? Back fro Lapland? Your
corporosity sagaciating O K? How's the squaws and papooses? Womanbody
after going on the straw? Stand and deliver. Password. There's hair. Ours
the white death and the ruddy birth. Hi! Spit in your own eye, boss!
Mummer's wire. Cribbed out of Meredith. Jesified, orchidised, polycimical
jesuit! Aunty mine's writing Pa Kinch. Baddybad Stephen lead astray
goodygood Malachi.
Hurroo! Collar the leather, youngun. Roun wi the nappy. Here, Jock braw
Hielentman's your barleybree. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot
boil! My tipple. MERCI. Here's to us. How's that? Leg before wicket.
Don't stain my brandnew sitinems. Give's a shake of peppe, you there.
Catch aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig? Shrieks of silence. Every
cove to his gentry mort. Venus Pandemos. LES PETITES FEMMES. Bold bad
girl from the town of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. Hauding
Sara by the wame. On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me had
left but the name. What do you want for ninepence? Machree, macruiskeen.
Smutty Moll for a mattress jig. And a pull all together. EX!
Waiting, guvnor? Most deciduously. Bet your boots on. Stunned like,
seeing as how no shiners is acoming. Underconstumble? He've got the chink
AD LIB. Seed near free poun on un a spell ago a said war hisn. Us come
right in on your invite, see? Up to you, matey. Out with the oof. Two bar
and a wing. You larn that go off of they there Frenchy bilks? Won't wash
here for nuts nohow. Lil chile velly solly. Ise de cutest colour coon
down our side. Gawds teruth, Chawley. We are nae fou. We're nae tha fou.
Au reservoir, mossoo. Tanks you.
'Tis, sure. What say? In the speakeasy. Tight. I shee you, shir. Bantam,
two days teetee. Bowsing nowt but claretwine. Garn! Have a glint, do.
Gum, I'm jiggered. And been to barber he have. Too full for words. With a
railway bloke. How come you so? Opera he'd like? Rose of Castile. Rows of
cast. Police! Some H2O for a gent fainted. Look at Bantam's flowers.
Gemini. He's going to holler. The colleen bawn. My colleen bawn. O,
cheese it! Shut his blurry Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winner
today till I tipped him a dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of Stephen
Hand as give me the jady coppaleen. He strike a telegramboy paddock wire
big bug Bass to the depot. Shove him a joey and grahamise. Mare on form
hot order. Guinea to a goosegog. Tell a cram, that. Gospeltrue. Criminal
diversion? I think that yes. Sure thing. Land him in chokeechokee if the
harman beck copped the game. Madden back Madden's a maddening back. O
lust our refuge and our strength. Decamping. Must you go? Off to mammy.
Stand by. Hide my blushes someone. All in if he spots me. Come ahome, our
Bantam. Horryvar, mong vioo. Dinna forget the cowslips for hersel.
Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock. Of John Thomas, her
spouse. No fake, old man Leo. S'elp me, honest injun. Shiver my timbers
if I had. There's a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me tell? Vel, I
ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha mishinnah.
Through yerd our lord, Amen.
You move a motion? Steve boy, you're going it some. More bluggy
drunkables? Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder of
most extreme poverty and one largesize grandacious thirst to terminate
one expensive inaugurated libation? Give's a breather. Landlord,
landlord, have you good wine, staboo? Hoots, mon, a wee drap to pree. Cut
and come again. Right. Boniface! Absinthe the lot. NOS OMNES BIBERIMUS
VIRIDUM TOXICUM DIABOLUS CAPIAT POSTERIORIA NOSTRIA. Closingtime, gents.
Eh? Rome boose for the Bloom toff. I hear you say onions? Bloo? Cadges
ads. Photo's papli, by all that's gorgeous. Play low, pardner. Slide.
BONSOIR LA COMPAGNIE. And snares of the poxfiend. Where's the buck and
Namby Amby? Skunked? Leg bail. Aweel, ye maun e'en gang yer gates.
Checkmate. King to tower. Kind Kristyann wil yu help yung man hoose frend
tuk bungellow kee tu find plais whear tu lay crown of his hed 2 night.
Crickey, I'm about sprung. Tarnally dog gone my shins if this beent the
bestest puttiest longbreak yet. Item, curate, couple of cookies for this
child. Cot's plood and prandypalls, none! Not a pite of sheeses? Thrust
syphilis down to hell and with him those other licensed spirits. Time,
gents! Who wander through the world. Health all! A LA VOTRE!
Golly, whatten tunket's yon guy in the mackintosh? Dusty Rhodes. Peep at
his wearables. By mighty! What's he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril, by
James. Wants it real bad. D'ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the
Richmond? Rawthere! Thought he had a deposit of lead in his penis.
Trumpery insanity. Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was once a
prosperous cit. Man all tattered and torn that married a maiden all
forlorn. Slung her hook, she did. Here see lost love. Walking Mackintosh
of lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in. Schedule time. Nix for the hornies.
Pardon? Seen him today at a runefal? Chum o' yourn passed in his checks?
Ludamassy! Pore piccaninnies! Thou'll no be telling me thot, Pold veg!
Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos fren Padney was took off in black
bag? Of all de darkies Massa Pat was verra best. I never see the like
since I was born. TIENS, TIENS, but it is well sad, that, my faith, yes.
O, get, rev on a gradient one in nine. Live axle drives are souped. Lay
you two to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. Jappies? High angle
fire, inyah! Sunk by war specials. Be worse for him, says he, nor any
Rooshian. Time all. There's eleven of them. Get ye gone. Forward, woozy
wobblers! Night. Night. May Allah the Excellent One your soul this night
ever tremendously conserve.
Your attention! We're nae tha fou. The Leith police dismisseth us. The
least tholice. Ware hawks for the chap puking. Unwell in his abominable
regions. Yooka. Night. Mona, my true love. Yook. Mona, my own love. Ook.
Hark! Shut your obstropolos. Pflaap! Pflaap! Blaze on. There she goes.
Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up! Pflaap! Tally ho. You not
come? Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaap!
Lynch! Hey? Sign on long o' me. Denzille lane this way. Change here for
Bawdyhouse. We two, she said, will seek the kips where shady Mary is.
Righto, any old time. LAETABUNTUR IN CUBILIBUS SUIS. You coming long?
Whisper, who the sooty hell's the johnny in the black duds? Hush! Sinned
against the light and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to
judge the world by fire. Pflaap! UT IMPLERENTUR SCRIPTURAE. Strike up a
ballad. Then outspake medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy.
Christicle, who's this excrement yellow gospeller on the Merrion hall?
Elijah is coming! Washed in the blood of the Lamb. Come on you
winefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences! Come on, you dog-
gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed
fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on, you triple
extract of infamy! Alexander J Christ Dowie, that's my name, that's
yanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok.
The Deity aint no nickel dime bumshow. I put it to you that He's on the
square and a corking fine business proposition. He's the grandest thing
yet and don't you forget it. Shout salvation in King Jesus. You'll need
to rise precious early you sinner there, if you want to diddle the
Almighty God. Pflaaaap! Not half. He's got a coughmixture with a punch in
it for you, my friend, in his back pocket. Just you try it on.
* * * * * * *
Prev
Next
All
Printer Friendly Version | Send this page to a friend | Discuss this Book
Your email address is safe with us. View our Privacy policy.
 |
 |
|
|
The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan Sections: 50 What's this? Table of Contents |
 Non FictionShort StoriesPoetryPlaysSci FiPhilosophyReligionBiography |
VideoSquares.com
