James Joyce - "The dead" - 1914 - Classic Short Stories - AI Narrator

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Speaker 1 (00:00):
James Joyce The Dead, published in nineteen fourteen. 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 bear hallway to
let in another guest. It was well for her. She

(00:22):
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

(00:45):
great affair the Missus 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 four years and years it had gone off in
splendid style as long as anyone could remember. Ever since,

(01:08):
Kate and Julia, after the death of their brother Pat,
had left the house in Stony 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 mister 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

(01:28):
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 Anti End concert Rooms. Many of her pupils belonged
to better class families on the Kingstown and Dokey line,
old as they were. Her aunts also did their share. Julia,

(01:51):
though she was quite gray, was still the leading soprano
in Adam and Eves, 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 housemaids work for them. Though their life was modest.
They believed in eating well, the best of everything, diamond

(02:13):
bone surloins, 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

(02:35):
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. Freddie Mallins always came late, but they wondered
what could be keeping Gabriel, and that was what brought

(02:57):
them every two minutes to the banisters to ask Lily,
had Gabriel or Freddy come? Oh, mister Conroy, said Lily
to Gabriel when she opened the door for him. Miss
Kate and Miss Julia thought you were never coming. Good night,
Missus Conroy. I'll engage, they did, said Gabriel, But they
forget that my wife here takes three mortal hours to

(03:17):
dress herself. He stood on the mat, scraping the snow
from his galoshes, while Lily led his wife to the
foot of the stairs and called out, miss Kate. Here's
missus 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?

(03:41):
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 toe caps on the toes

(04:02):
of his gloshes. 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, mister Conroy asked Lily.
She had preceded him into the pantry to help him
off with his overcoat. Gabriel smiled at the three syllables

(04:24):
she had given his surname and glanced at her. She
was a slim, growing girl, pale in complexion and with
hay colored 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

(04:44):
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? Oh? No, sir,

(05:06):
she answered, I'm done schooling this year and more. Oh,
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.

(05:27):
Gabriel colored as if he felt he had made a mistake,
and without looking at her, kicked off his galoshes and
flicked actively with his muffler at his patent leather shoes.
He was a stout, talish young man. The high color
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

(05:49):
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
luster into his shoes, he stood up and pulled his
waistcoat down more tightly on his plump body. Then he

(06:12):
took a coin rapidly from his pocket. Oh, 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.
Oh no, sir, cried the girl following him. Really, sir,
I wouldn't take it Christmas time. Christmas time, said Gabriel,

(06:37):
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

(06:59):
by the girl 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. Then
he 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.

(07:21):
Some quotation that they could recognize from Shakespeare or from
the melodies would be better. The indelicate clacking of the
men's heels and the shuffling of their souls 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

(07:41):
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, and 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

(08:04):
the taller. Her hair, drawn low over the tops of
her ears, was gray and gray. Also with darker shadows
was her large, flaxed 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,

(08:29):
was all puckers and creases like a shriveled red apple,
and her hair, braided in the same old fashioned way,
had not lost its ripe nut color. They both kissed
Gabriel frankly. He was their favorite nephew, the son of
their dead elder sister Ellen, who had married T. J.
Conroy of the Port and Docks. Greta tells me, you're

(08:52):
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 Greta got
out of it, cab windows rattling all the way, and
the east wind blowing in after we passed Marion. Very jolly,

(09:14):
it was, Greta 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 Greta, there, said Gabriel. She'd walk home in
the snow if she were let missus Conroy laughed. Don't

(09:35):
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 dumbbells, and forcing Eva to eat
the stir about the poor child. And she simply hates
the sight of it. Oh, but you'll never guess what
he makes me wear now. She broke out into a

(09:55):
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. Galoshes,
said missus Conroy. That's the latest. Whenever it's wet underfoot,
I must put on my galoshes tonight. Even he wanted

(10:18):
me to put them on, but I wouldn't. The next
thing he'll by 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,

(10:40):
she asked, and what are galoshes, Gabriel? Galoshes, Julia exclaimed
her sister. Goodness me, don't you know what goloshes are?
You wear them over your over your boots. Greta isn't it, Yes,
said Missus Conroy. Got a purchase things. We both have

(11:00):
a pair now. Gabriel says. Everyone wears them on the continent. Oh,
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 Greta thinks it
very funny because she says the word reminds her of

(11:21):
Christy minstrels. But tell me, Gabriel, said Aunt Kate, with
brisk tact. Of course, you've seen about the room, Greta
was saying. Oh, 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, Greta, you're not anxious about them? Oh for

(11:43):
one night, said missus 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

(12:05):
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's Julia going, Julia, Julia,
where are you going? Julia, who had gone halfway down
one flight, came back and announced, blandly, here's Freddie. At

(12:27):
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

(12:48):
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 recognized Freddie Mallins laugh. He went down the
stairs noisily. It's such a relief, said Aunt Kate to
missus Conroy that Gabriel is here. I always feel easier

(13:11):
in my mind when he's here. Julia, there's Miss Daly
and Mispower, will take some refreshment. Thanks for your beautiful waltz,
Miss Daly, it made lovely time. A tall, wizen faced
man with a stiff, grizzled mustache and swarthy skin, who
was passing out with his partner, said, and may we

(13:31):
have some refreshment too, Miss Moore Can, Julia, said Aunt
Kate summarily. And here's mister Brown and Miss Furlong. Take
them in, Julia, with Miss Daly and Mispower. I'm the
man for the ladies, said mister Brown, pursing his lips
until his mustache bristled, and smiling in all his wrinkles.

(13:52):
You know, miss more Can, the reason they are so
fond of me is he did not finish his sentence,
but see beeing 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.

(14:15):
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. Mister Brown
led his charges thither and invited them all in jest

(14:37):
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 whiskey. The
young men eyed him respectfully while he took a trial sip.

(15:00):
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, oh, now, mister Brown, I'm sure the

(15:20):
doctor never ordered anything of the kind. Mister Brown took
another sip of his whisky and said, with sidling mimicry. Well,
you see, I'm like the famous Missus Cassidy, who was
reported to have said, now, Merry 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

(15:42):
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 mister Brown, seeing
that he was ignored, turned promptly to the two young
men who were more appreciative. A red faced young woman

(16:05):
dressed in pansy came into the room excitedly, clapping her
hands and crying quadrills, quadrills. Clothes on her heels. Came
Aunt Kate, crying, two gentlemen and three ladies. Mary Jane. Oh,
here's mister Bergin and mister Kerrigan, said Mary Jane, mister Kerrigan,

(16:26):
will you take miss Power, Miss Furlong, May I get
you a partner? Mister Bergin, Oh 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. Oh, Miss Daly,
you're really awfully good after playing for the last two dances.

(16:48):
But really we're so short of ladies tonight. I don't
mind in the least, Miss mor Can, but I've a
nice partner for you, mister Bartel Darcy 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.

(17:10):
Mary Jane let 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,

(17:34):
It's only Freddie 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 size and build, with very round shoulders.
His face was fleshy and pallid, touched with color only
at the thick, hanging lobes of his ears and at

(17:55):
the wide wings of his nose. He had coarse features,
a B B lunt knows, 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

(18:16):
at the same time rubbing the knuckles of his left
fist backwards and forwards into his left eye. Good evening, Freddy,
said Aunt Julia. Freddie Malins bade the missus morkin good evening,
in what seemed an offhand fashion by reason of the
habitual catch in his voice, And then, seeing that mister
Brown was grinning at him from the sideboard, crossed the
room on rather shaky legs and began to repeat in

(18:38):
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,
oh 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

(19:01):
the drawing room. Before leaving the room with Gabriel, she
signaled to mister Brown by frowning and shaking her forefinger
in warning to and fro Mister Brown 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

(19:24):
the climax of his story, waved the offer aside impatiently.
But mister Brown, having first called Freddy Malins attention to
a disarray in his dress, filled out and handed him
a full glass of lemonade. Freddy Malins's left hand accepted
the glass mechanically, his right hand being engaged in the
mechanical readjustment of his dress. Mister Brown, whose face was

(19:47):
once more wrinkling with mirth, poured out for himself a
glass of whiskey, while Freddy malins exploded before he had
well reached the climax of his story in a kink
of high pitched, bronchittic 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

(20:09):
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 for young men who had come from the refreshment

(20:32):
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

(20:55):
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 Juliette 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 wolves when she was a girl, probably
in the school they had gone to. His girls that

(21:16):
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 fox's 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

(21:37):
seemed a little proud of their serious and matronly sister.
Her photograph stood before the pier glass. 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 names for her sons, for she was
very sensible of the dignity of family life. Thanks to her,

(22:01):
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 Greta as being country cute, and that was not

(22:22):
true of Greta at all. It was Greta 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

(22:42):
of octaves in the treble and a final deep octave
in the base. 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

(23:07):
found himself partnered with Miss Ivers. 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. When they had
taken their places, she said abruptly, I have a crow

(23:27):
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 Ivers,
turning her eyes upon him. Gabriel colored and was about
to knit his brows as if he did not understand,

(23:49):
when she said, bluntly, oh, innocent Amy, I have found
out that you write for the Daily Express. Now aren't
you ashamed of yourself? Why should should I be ashamed
of myself? Asked Gabriel, blinking his eyes and trying to smile. Well,
I'm ashamed of you, said Miss Ivers, frankly to say

(24:10):
you'd write for a rag like that. I didn't think
you were a West Britain. 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 Britain. Surely, the books he received for
review were almost more welcome than the paltry check. He

(24:34):
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 keys to the secondhand booksellers, to Hickey's on Bachelor's Walk,
to Webbs, or Massey's on Aston's Quay, or to Occlohissias
in the Bye Street. He did not know how to
meet her charge. He wanted to say that literature was

(24:56):
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 Coaunton, You'd blinking his eyes and
trying to smile, and murmured lamely that he saw nothing
political in writing reviews of books. When their turn to

(25:17):
cross had come, he was still perplexed and inattentive. Miss
Ivers 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

(25:38):
Browning's poems. That was how she had found out the secret.
But she liked the review immensely. Then she said suddenly, Oh,
mister Conroy, will you come for an excursion to the
Aaron Isles this summer. We're going to stay there a
whole month. It will be splendid out in the Atlantic.
You ought to come. Mister clans is coming, and mister

(26:01):
Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney. It would be splendid for Greta
too if she'd come. She's from Connett, isn't she. Her
people are, said Gabriel shortly. But you will come, won't you,
said Miss Ivers, laying her warm hand eagerly on his arm.
The fact is, said Gabriel, I have already arranged to go.

(26:25):
Go where? Asked Miss Ivers? Well, you know, every year
I go for a cycling tour with some fellows and so.
But where asked miss Ivers. 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 Ivers,
instead of visiting your own land? Well, said Gabriel. It's

(26:48):
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 Ivers. Well, said Gabriel.
If it comes to that, you know, Irish is not
my language. Their neighbors had turned to listen to the
cross examination. Gabriel glanced right and left nervously and tried

(27:10):
to keep his good humor under the ordeal, which was
making a blush invade his forehead. And haven't you your
own land to visit? Continued Miss Ivers, That you know
nothing of your own people and your own country. Oh,
to tell you the truth, retorted Gabriel. Suddenly I'm sick
of my own country. Sick of it? Why, asked miss Ivers.

(27:34):
Gabriel did not answer for his retort. Had heeded him? Why?
Repeated miss Ivers? They had to go visiting together, and
as he had not answered her, miss Ivers said warmly,
of course you've no answer. Gabriel tried to cover his
agitation by taking part in the dance with great energy.

(27:54):
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

(28:15):
into his ear West Britain. When the lancers were over,
Gabriel went away to a remote corner of the room
where Freddie Malin's 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

(28:35):
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

(28:55):
her daughter kept in Glasgow, and of all the nice
friends they had there. While her tongue rambled on, Gabriel
tried to banish from his mind all memory of the
unpleasant incident with Miss Ivers. 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

(29:17):
right to call him a West Britain 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 waltz and couples. When she reached him, she said
into his ear, Gabriel, Aunt Kate wants to know. Won't

(29:38):
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 words had you with Molly?

(30:01):
No words? Why did she say so something like that.
I'm trying to get that mister Darcy to sing. He's
full of conceit. I think there were no words, 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.

(30:23):
Oh 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
Missus Mallins and said, there's a nice husband for you,
Missus Mallins. While she was threading her way back across
the room. Missus Mallins, without adverting to the interruption, went

(30:44):
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 fish, a beautiful, big, big fish, and
the man in the hotel boiled it for their dinner.
Gabriel hardly heard what she said. Now that supper was

(31:07):
coming near, he began to think again about his speech
and about the quotation. When he saw Freddie 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

(31:28):
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

(31:51):
pleasant it would be there than at the supper table.
He ran over the headings of his speech, Irish Hospitality,
sat 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 Ivers had praised the review. Was

(32:13):
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

(32:34):
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 wain among us may have had its faults,
but for my part, one think it had certain qualities
of hospitality, of humor, of humanity, which the new and
very serious and hyper educated generation that is growing up

(32:55):
around us seems to me to lack. Very good That
was one for me, Miss Ivers. What did he care
that his aunts were only two ignorant old women. A
murmur in the room attracted his attention. Mister Brown was
advancing from the door, gallantly escorting Aunt Julia, who leaned
upon his arm, smiling and hanging her head. And irregular

(33:18):
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 recognized the prelude. It was that of an old
song of Aunt Julia's. Arrayed for the bridle, her voice,

(33:40):
strong and clear in tone, attacked with great spirit the
runs which embellished 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

(34:01):
the close of the song, and loud applause was borne
in from the invisible supper table. It sounded so genuine
that a little color 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.
Freddie Mallins, who had listened with his head, perched sideways
to hear her better, was still applauding when everyone else

(34:23):
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,

(34:44):
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 honor, that's the truth. I never heard
your voice sounds so fresh and so so clear and fresh. Never.

(35:05):
Aunt Julia smiled broadly and murmured something about compliments. As
she released her hand from his grasp. Mister Brown 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, more, can my
latest discovery. He was laughing very heartily at this himself,

(35:27):
when Freddie Malins turned to him and said, well, Brown,
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, mister Brown.
I think her voice has greatly improved. Aunt Julia shrugged

(35:48):
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

(36:09):
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

(36:29):
the honor 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 honor of God, Mary Jane, But I think it's
not at all honorable 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

(36:51):
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
defense 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

(37:14):
scandal to mister Brown, who is of the other persuasion.
Aunt Kate turned to mister Brown, who was grinning at
this allusion to his religion, and said, hastily, Oh, 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.

(37:36):
And if I were in Julia's place, I'd tell that
father heally 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 mister Brown.
So that we had better go to supper, said Mary Jane,

(37:56):
and finish the discussion afterwards. On landing outside the drawing room,
Gabriel found his wife and Mary Jane trying to persuade
Miss Ivers to stay for supper. But miss Ivers, 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

(38:18):
ten minutes. Mollie said, missus Conroy, that won't delay you
to take a pick itself, said Mary Jane. After all
your dancing, I really couldn't, said Miss Ivers. I am
afraid you didn't enjoy yourself at all, said Mary Jane. Hopelessly,
ever so much, I assure you, said Miss Ivers. But
you really must let me run off now. But how

(38:40):
can you get home, asked missus Conroy. Oh, it's only
two steps up the quay. Gabriel hesitated a moment and said,
if you will allow me, Miss Ivers, I'll see you home.
If you really are obliged to go, But miss Ivers
broke away from them. I won't hear of it, she cried,
For goodness sake, go in to your suppers and don't

(39:02):
mind me. I'm quite well able to take care of myself. Well,
you're the comical girl, Mollie, said missus Conroy frankly. Benicked,
Lib cried miss Ivers with a laugh as she ran
down the staircase. Mary Jane gazed after her, a moody,
puzzled expression on her face, while missus Conroy leaned over

(39:23):
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 humor she
had gone away, laughing. He stared blankly down the staircase.
At that moment, Aunt Kate came toddling out of the
supper room, almost wringing her hands in despair. Where is Gabriel,

(39:46):
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,

(40:07):
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

(40:29):
of blamange 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.

(40:52):
In the center of the table, there stood as sentries
to a fruit stand which upheld a pyramid of oranges
and American apples. Two square but old fashioned decanters of
cut glass one containing port and the other dark sherry.
On the closed square piano, a putting in a huge
yellow dish lay in waiting, and behind it were three
squads of bottles of stout and ale and minerals, drawn

(41:13):
up according to the colors 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

(41:35):
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, oh,
anything at all? Mister Conroy. While Gabriel and Miss Daily
exchanged plates of goose and plates of ham and spiced beef,

(41:57):
lily went from guest to guest with a dish of
high flowery 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 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 in. Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia

(42:20):
opened and carried across from the piano bottles of stout
and ale for the gentlemen, in 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,

(42:43):
so that he compromised by taking a long draft 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. Mister Brown begged of them to sit
down and eat their suppers, and so did Gabriel. But

(43:04):
they said there was time enough, so that at last
Freddie Mallin 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

(43:25):
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 draft. 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

(43:47):
the plates. The subject of talk was the opera company
which was then at the Theater Royal. Mister Bartell Darcy,
the tenor, a dark complexioned young man with a smart mustache,
praised very high 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

(44:08):
the second part of the Gayety Pantomime, who had one
of the finest tenor voices he had ever heard. Have
you heard him, he asked mister bartel Darcy across the table. No,
answered mister bartel Darcy carelessly, because Freddy Malins explained, now,
I'd be curious to hear your opinion of him. I

(44:29):
think he has a grand voice. It takes Teddy to
find out the really good things, said mister Brown familiarly
to the table. And why couldn't he have a voice, too,
asked Freddie Mallins, 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

(44:51):
given her a pass for Mignon. Of course it was
very fine, she said, but it made her think of
poor Georgina Burns. Mister Brown could go back farther still
to the old Italian companies that used to come to Dublin,
t ens Ilma, Damersca, Campanini, the Great Tray Belly, Jiuglini
Ravelli Aramburo. Those were the days, he said, when there

(45:11):
was something like singing to be heard in Dublin. He
told two 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 sea
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

(45:33):
streets to her hotel. Why did they never play the
grand old operas now, he asked Donora Lucrezia Borgia, because
they could not get the voices to sing them. That
was why. Oh, well, said mister bartel Darcy. I presume
there are as good singers today as there were then.
Where are they, asked mister Brown defiantly in London, Paris Milan,

(45:58):
said mister bartel Darcy warmly. I suppose Carusoe, for example,
is quite as good, if not better, than any of
the men you have mentioned. Maybe so, said mister Brown,
But I may tell you I doubt it strongly. Oh
I'd give anything to hear Caruso sing, said Mary Jane.
For me, said Aunt Kate, who had been picking a bone.

(46:19):
There was only one tenor to please me. I mean,
but I suppose none of you ever heard of him.
Who was he, Miss more Can, asked mister Bartell Darcy 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 mister Bartel Darcy. I

(46:44):
never even heard of him. Yes, yes, Miss more Can
is right, said mister Brown. 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

(47:09):
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
blamange 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,

(47:30):
I hope Miss Moore Can said mister Brown 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. Freddie Mallins also
took a stalk of celery and ate it with his pudding.

(47:50):
He had been told that celery was a capital thing
for the blood, and he was just then under doctor's care.
Missus Mallins, who had been silent all through the supper,
said that her son was going down to Mount Meloray
in a week or so. The table then spoke of
Mount Meloray, how bracing the air was down there, how
hospitable the monks were, and how they never asked for

(48:11):
a penny piece from their guests. And do you mean
to say, asked mister Brown, 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 a farthing. Oh, most
people give some donation to the monastery when they leave,
said Mary Jane. I wish we had an institution like

(48:32):
that in our church, said mister Brown 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 mister Brown. Aunt Kate repeated that it was the

(48:55):
rule that was all. Mister Brown still seemed not to understand.
Freddie Mallins 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 mister Brown grinned and said,
I like that idea very much, but wouldn't a comfortable

(49:15):
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 Missus Mallins could
be heard saying to her neighbor in an indistinct undertone,
they are very good men, the monks, very pious men,

(49:37):
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, mister Bartel Darcy refused to
take either, but one of his neighbors nudged him and
whispered something to him, upon which he allowed his glass
to be filled. Gradually, as the last glasses were being filled,

(49:59):
the conversa station ceased, a pause, followed broken only by
the noise of the wine and by unsettlings of chairs.
The Missus more Can. 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 and stood up.

(50:22):
The padding 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

(50:44):
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 waited with snow.
The Wellington Monument wore a gleaming cap of snow that
flashed westward over the white field of fifteen acres. He began,

(51:06):
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 mister Brown. 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

(51:28):
while I endeavor 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

(51:51):
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 honor,
and which it should guard so jealously as that of
its hospitality. It is a tradition that is unique as

(52:14):
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,

(52:36):
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

(52:58):
ran round the table. It shot through Gabriel's mind that
Miss Ivers 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

(53:20):
its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected. Is I believe
in the main sincere. But we are living in a
skeptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thought
tormented age. And sometimes I fear that this new generation,
educated or hyper educated as it is, will lack those
qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humour which belonged

(53:42):
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 gathering such as this
we shall still speak of them with pride and affection,

(54:04):
still cherish in our hearts, the memory of those dead
and gone, great ones whose fame the world will not
willingly let die. Here here, said mister Brown loudly, but
yet continued Gabriel, his voice falling into a softer inflection.
There are always in gatherings such as the sadder thoughts
that will recur to our minds, thoughts of the past,

(54:27):
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 endeavors. Therefore, I will not linger on the past.

(54:51):
I will not let any gloomy moralsing intrude upon us
Here tonight, here we are gathered together for a brief
moment from the bustle and brush 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

(55:14):
Dublin musical world. The table burst into applause and laughter.
At this, Sally aunt Julia vainly asked each of her
neighbors 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,

(55:38):
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

(56:00):
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 aunt's and,

(56:24):
seeing the large smile on Aunt Julia's face and the
tears which had risen to Aunt Kate's eyes, hastened to
his clothes. 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.

(56:47):
And may they long continue to hold the proud and
self won position which they hold in their profession, and
the position of honor 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 mister Brown as leader. For they are jolly gay fellows.

(57:08):
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.
Freddie Mallins 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,

(57:31):
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.

(57:52):
Freddie Mallins, 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,
missus Mallins, will get her death of cold. Brown is
out there, aunt Kate said, Mary Jane. Brown is everywhere,
said Aunt Kate, lowering her voice. Mary Jane laughed at

(58:16):
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 humoredly, 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.

(58:38):
At that moment, the hall door was opened, and mister
Brown 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 war on
his head an oval fur cap. He pointed down the
snow covered quay, from where the sound of shrill prolonged
whistling was born in Teddy. Will have all the cabs

(59:01):
in Dublin out, he said. Gabriel advanced from the little
pantry behind the office, struggling into his overcoat and looking
round the hall, said Greta, 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. Oh no, Aunt Kate,

(59:23):
said Mary Jane, Bartel Darcy and miss O'Callahan aren't gone yet.
Someone is strumming at the piano anyhow, said Gabriel. Mary
Jane glanced at Gabriel and mister Brown 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

(59:45):
nothing better this minute, said mister Brown, 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.

(01:00:07):
Why what was wonderful about Johnny, asked mister Brown. 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. Oh now, Gabriel, said Aunt Kate, laughing.
He had a starch mill. Well, glue or starch, said Gabriel.

(01:00:27):
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

(01:00:49):
his soul, said Aunt Kate compassionately. Amen, said Gabriel. So
the old gentleman, as I said, harness 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 missus Mallins, at Gabriel's manor, and Aunt Kate said, oh, now, Gabriel,

(01:01:12):
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

(01:01:36):
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.

(01:01:58):
The peals of laughter which which followed Gabriel's imitation of
the incident, were interrupted by a resounding knock at the
hall door. Mary Jane ran to open it and let
in Freddy Mallins. Freddie Mallins, 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

(01:02:18):
one cab, he said, Oh, we'll find another along the quay,
said Gabriel, Yes, said Aunt Kate. Better not keep Missus
Mallins standing in the draft. Missus Mallins was helped down
the front steps by her son and mister Brown, and,
after many maneuvers, hoisted into the cab. Freddy Malins clambered

(01:02:38):
in after her and spent a long time settling her
on the seat, mister Brown helping him with advice. At
last she was settled comfortably, and Freddie Mallins invited mister
Brown into the cab. There was a good deal of
confused talk, and then mister Brown got into the cab.
The cabman settled his rug over his knees and bent

(01:03:00):
down for the address. The confusion grew greater and The
cabman was directed differently by Freddie Mallins and mister Brown,
each of whom had his head out through a window
of the cab. The difficulty was to know where to
drop mister Brown 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

(01:03:23):
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 mister Brown
shouted to the bewildered cabman above the din of everybody's laughter.
Do you know Trinity College, Yes, sir, said the cabman. Well,

(01:03:45):
drive bang up against Trinity College gates, said mister Brown,
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,
cried the cabman. The horse was whipped up and the
cab rattled off along the quay amid a chorus of laughter.

(01:04:05):
And adieuz 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
terra cotta and salmon pink panels of her skirt, which
the shadow made appear black and white. It was his wife.

(01:04:28):
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

(01:04:50):
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

(01:05:12):
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

(01:05:36):
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,

(01:05:59):
faintly illuminated the cadence of the air with words expressing grief.
Oh the rain falls on my heavy locks, and the
dew wets my skin. My babe lies cold, Oh, exclaimed
Mary Jane. It's Bartel Darcy singing, and he wouldn't sing
all the night. Oh, I'll get him to sing a
song before he goes. Oh do, mary Jane, said. Aunt

(01:06:21):
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. Oh what a pity,
she cried, Is he coming down? Greta Gabriel heard his
wife answer yes, and saw her come down towards them.
A few steps behind her were mister Bartel Darcy and

(01:06:43):
miss O'Callahan. Oh, mister Darcy, 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'Callahan. And missus
Conroy too, and he told us he had a dreadful
cold and couldn't sing. Oh, mister Darcy, said, Aunt Kate,

(01:07:03):
Now that was a great fib to tell. Can't you
see that I'm as horse as a crow, said mister
Darcy 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.

(01:07:25):
Mister Darcy 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

(01:07:48):
of snow, said Aunt Julia, sadly, So do I said
Miss O'Callahan. I think Christmas is never really Christmas unless
we have the snow on the ground. But poor mister Darcy,
he doesn't like the snow, said Aunt Kate, smiling. Mister
Darcy came from the pantry, fully swathed and buttoned, and

(01:08:09):
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

(01:08:29):
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 color on her checks
and that her eyes were shining. A sudden tide of
joy went leaping out of his heart. Mister Darcy, she said,

(01:08:50):
what is the name of that song you were singing?
It's called the Lass of Agrim, said mister Darcy, but
I couldn't remember it properly. Why do you know it?
The Lass of Agrim, 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

(01:09:12):
Jane said, Aunt Kate, don't annoy mister Darcy. 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, Greta, Good night, Aunt Kate,

(01:09:33):
and thanks ever so much. Good night Aunt Julia. Oh,
good night, Greta. I didn't see you. Good night, mister Darcy.
Good night, Miss O'Callahan, good night, Miss mor Can. Good
night again. Good night, all safe home. Good night good night.
The morning was still dark. A dull yellow light brooded

(01:09:56):
over the houses and the river, and the sky seen
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

(01:10:17):
out menacingly against the heavy sky. She was walking on
before him with mister Bartell Darcy, 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

(01:10:37):
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

(01:10:59):
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

(01:11:19):
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 she called out

(01:11:40):
to the man at the furnace, is the fire hot, sir?
But the man could not hear her 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 fires of Starr's. Moments

(01:12:00):
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.

(01:12:22):
His writing her household cares had not quenched all their
soul's 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 born towards him from the past.

(01:12:44):
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, Greta. Perhaps she would not
hear at once. She would be undressing, then something in
his voice would strike her. She would turn and look

(01:13:05):
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 other spoke only a
few words, pointing out some building or street. The horse
galloped along wearily under the murky morning sky, dragging his

(01:13:27):
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 mister Bartel Darcy. Gabriel

(01:13:51):
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 mister Bartell Darcy's protest, paid the driver. He gave
the man a shilling over his fare. The man saluted

(01:14:14):
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

(01:14:34):
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

(01:14:57):
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

(01:15:20):
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

(01:15:42):
the wild impulse of his body and check. The porter
halted on the stairs to settle his guttering candle. They
halted two 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. Led them along a corridor and opened a door.

(01:16:02):
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

(01:16:25):
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

(01:16:45):
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,

(01:17:08):
and then said, Greta. 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 look tired, he said, I am a little.
She answered, you don't feel ill or weak, No, tired,

(01:17:32):
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, Greta, what is it you know that poor
fellow Mallins. He said quickly, yes, what about him? Well,

(01:17:55):
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 brown,
because he's not a bad fellow at heart. He was
trembling now with annoyance. Why did she seem so abstracted?
He did not know how he could begin. Was she

(01:18:18):
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 ardor 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

(01:18:40):
to restrain himself from breaking out into brutal language about
the Sottish malons and his pound. He longed to cry
to her from his soul, to crush her body against his,
to overmaster her. But he said, oh, at Christmas, when
he opened that little Christmas card shop in Henry Street,
he was in such a fever of rage and desire

(01:19:02):
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,

(01:19:25):
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

(01:19:45):
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, Greta, dear, what are you thinking about.

(01:20:08):
She did not answer, nor yield wholly to his arm.
He said, again, softly, tell me what it is Greta.
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, Oh, I am thinking about that song,
the lass of Ogrim. She broke loose from him and

(01:20:30):
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 chival glass, he caught
sight of himself in full length, his broad well filled
shirt front, the face whose expression always puzzled him when

(01:20:50):
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 the 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, Greta,

(01:21:12):
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

(01:21:33):
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 Fury. He used to sing that song, the Lass
of Agrim. He was very delicate. Gabriel was silent. He

(01:21:55):
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. Oh,
then you were in love with him, said Gabriel. I
used to go out walking with him, she said, when

(01:22:17):
I was in Galway. A thought flew across Gabriel's mind.
Perhaps that was why you wanted to go to Galway
with that ivers 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

(01:22:38):
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 gas works,

(01:22:59):
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

(01:23:21):
person assailed him. He saw himself as a ludicrous figure,
acting as a penny boy for his aunts, a nervous,
well meaning sentimentalist, orating to vulgarians and idealizing 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

(01:23:43):
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 Fury Greta, 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

(01:24:04):
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 Greta 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

(01:24:25):
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,

(01:24:45):
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 Otterard were
written to He was in decline, they said, or something

(01:25:07):
like that. I never knew. Rightly, she paused for a
moment in 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 fury well and then

(01:25:32):
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 a letter saying I was going up
to Dublin and would be back in the summer, and
hoping he would be better. Then pause zero seventy five.
She paused for a moment to get her voice under control,
and then went on. Then the night before I left,

(01:25:55):
I was in my grandmother's house in Nun's Island, packing up,
and I heard great thrown up against the window. The
window was so what 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

(01:26:16):
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,

(01:26:37):
and he was buried in otter Ard, where his people
came from. Oh 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,

(01:26:58):
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.

(01:27:21):
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,

(01:27:43):
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 Fury 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. Petticoat string dangled to the floor.

(01:28:05):
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 merrymaking when
saying good night in the hall, the pleasure of the

(01:28:26):
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 Raid for the Bridle. Soon, perhaps he would
be sitting in that same drawing room, dressed in black,
his silk hat on his knees. The blinds would be

(01:28:49):
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, 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.

(01:29:11):
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

(01:29:32):
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

(01:29:53):
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 gray, impalpable world. The solid world itself, which these

(01:30:13):
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,

(01:30:37):
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 Fury lay buried. It lay thickly

(01:31:00):
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.

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James Joyce - "The dead" - 1914

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.css-14f5ked{margin:0;word-break:break-word;display:-webkit-box;-webkit-box-orient:vertical;box-orient:vertical;-webkit-line-clamp:2;overflow:hidden;}James Joyce - "The dead" - 1914