Speaker 1: Story number fifteen, Part three of Doubliner's This is a
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Speaker 1: Recording by Hugh MacGuire. Dubliners by James Joyce. Story number fifteen,
Speaker 1: The Dead, Part three. Missus Mallins was helped down the
Speaker 1: front steps by her son and mister Brown, and, after
Speaker 1: many maneuvers, hoisted into the cab. Freddy Malins clambered in
Speaker 1: after her and spent a long time settling her on
Speaker 1: the seat, mister Brown helping him with advice. At last
Speaker 1: she was settled comfortably, and Freddy Malins invited mister Brown
Speaker 1: into the cab. There was a good deal of confused talk,
Speaker 1: and then mister Brown got into the cab. The cabman
Speaker 1: settled his rug over his knees and bent down for
Speaker 1: the address. The confusion grew greater, and the cabman was
Speaker 1: directed differently by Freddy Malins and mister Brown, each of
Speaker 1: whom had his head out through window of the cab.
Speaker 1: The difficulty was to know where to drop mister Brown
Speaker 1: along the route, and Aunt Kay and Aunt Julie and
Speaker 1: Mary Jane helped the discussion from the doorstep with cross
Speaker 1: directions and contradirections and an abundance of laughter. As for
Speaker 1: Freddy Malins, he was speechless with laughter. He popped his
Speaker 1: head in and out of the window every moment to
Speaker 1: the great danger of his hat, and told his mother
Speaker 1: how the discussion was progressing, till at last mister Brown
Speaker 1: shouted to the bewildered cabman above the din of everyone's laughter.
Speaker 1: Do you know Trinity College, Yes, sir, said the cabman. Well,
Speaker 1: drive bang up against Trinity College gates, said mister Brown,
Speaker 1: and then we'll tell you where to go. You understand now, Yes, sir,
Speaker 1: said the cabman. Make like a bird for Trinity College. Right, Sir,
Speaker 1: said the cabman. The horse was whipped up, and the
Speaker 1: cab rattled off along the key amid a chorus of laughter.
Speaker 1: And Adieus Gabriel had not gone to the door with
Speaker 1: the others. He was in a dark part of the hall,
Speaker 1: gazing up the staircase. A woman was standing near the
Speaker 1: top of the first flight in the shadow. Also he
Speaker 1: could not see her face, but he could see the
Speaker 1: terra cotta and salmon pink panels of her skirt, which
Speaker 1: the shadow made appear black and white. It was his wife.
Speaker 1: She was leaning on the banisters, listening to something. Gabriel
Speaker 1: was surprised at her stillness and strained his ear to
Speaker 1: listen also, but he could hear little save the noise
Speaker 1: of laughter and dispute on the front steps. A few
Speaker 1: chords struck on the piano, and a few notes of
Speaker 1: a man's voice singing. He stood still in the gloom
Speaker 1: of the hall, trying to catch the air that the
Speaker 1: voice was singing, and gazing up at his wife. There
Speaker 1: was grace and mystery in her attitude, as if she
Speaker 1: were a symbol of something. He asked himself, what is
Speaker 1: a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening
Speaker 1: to distant music a symbol of If he were a painter,
Speaker 1: he would paint her in that attitude. Blue felt hat
Speaker 1: would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness,
Speaker 1: and the dark panels of her skirt would show off
Speaker 1: the light ones distant music. He would call the picture
Speaker 1: if he were a painter. The hall door was closed,
Speaker 1: and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia, and Mary Jane came down
Speaker 1: the hall, still laughing. Well, isn't Freddy terrible? Said Mary Jane.
Speaker 1: He's really terrible. Gabriel said nothing, but pointed up the
Speaker 1: stairs towards where his wife was standing. Now the hall
Speaker 1: door was closed, the voice and the piano could be
Speaker 1: heard more clearly. Gabriel held up his hand for them
Speaker 1: to be silent. The song seemed to be in the
Speaker 1: old Irish tonality, and the singer seemed uncertain, both of
Speaker 1: his words and of his voice. The voice, made plaintive
Speaker 1: by distance and by the singer's hoarseness, faintly illuminated the
Speaker 1: cadence of the air with words expressing grief. Oh the
Speaker 1: rain falls on my heavy locks, and the dew wets
Speaker 1: my skin. My babe lies cold, Oh, exclaimed Mary Jane.
Speaker 1: It's Bartel Darcy singing, and he wouldn't sing all the night. Oh,
Speaker 1: I'll get him to sing a song before he goes.
Speaker 1: Oh do, Mary Jane, said, Aunt Kate. Mary Jane brushed
Speaker 1: past the others and ran to the staircase, But before
Speaker 1: she reached it, the singing stopped and the piano was
Speaker 1: closed abruptly. Oh what a pity, she cried, Is he
Speaker 1: coming down? Greta Gabriel heard his wife answer yes, and
Speaker 1: saw her come down towards them. A few steps behind
Speaker 1: her were mister Bartell Darcy and miss O'Callahan. Oh, mister Darcy,
Speaker 1: cried Mary Jane. It's downright mean of you to break
Speaker 1: off like that when we were all in raptures listening
Speaker 1: to you. I've been at him all the evening, said
Speaker 1: miss O'Callahan, and missus Conroy too, and he told us
Speaker 1: he had a dreadful cold and couldn't sing. Oh, mister Darcy,
Speaker 1: said Aunt Kate. Now that was a great fib to tell.
Speaker 1: Can't you see that? I'm horse as a crow, said
Speaker 1: mister Darcy roughly. He went into the pantry hastily and
Speaker 1: put on his overcoat. The others, taken aback by his
Speaker 1: rude speech, could find nothing to say. Aunt Kate wrinkled
Speaker 1: her brows and made signs the others to drop the subject.
Speaker 1: Mister Darcy stood, swathing his neck carefully and frowning. It's
Speaker 1: the weather, said Aunt Julia, after a pause. Yes everybody
Speaker 1: has cold, said Aunt Kate readily. Everybody, they say, said
Speaker 1: Mary Jane. We haven't had snow like it for thirty years.
Speaker 1: And I read this morning in the newspapers that snow
Speaker 1: is general all over Ireland. I love the look of snow,
Speaker 1: said Aunt Julius. Sadly, so do I said Miss O'Callahan.
Speaker 1: I think Christmas is never really Christmas unless we have
Speaker 1: snow on the ground. But poor mister Darcy doesn't like
Speaker 1: the snow, said Aunt Kate, smiling. Mister Darcy came from
Speaker 1: the pantry, fully swathed and buttoned, and in a repentant tone,
Speaker 1: told them the history of his cold. Everyone gave him
Speaker 1: advice and said it was a great pity, and urged
Speaker 1: him to be very careful of his throat. In the
Speaker 1: night air, Gabriel watched his wife, who did not join
Speaker 1: in the conversation. She was standing right under the dusty fanlight,
Speaker 1: and the flame of the gas lit up the rich
Speaker 1: bronze of her hair, which he had seen her drying
Speaker 1: at the fire a few days before. She was in
Speaker 1: the same attitude and seemed unaware of the talk about her.
Speaker 1: At last, she turned towards them, and Gabriel saw that
Speaker 1: there was color on her cheeks, and that her eyes
Speaker 1: were shining. A sudden tide of joy went leaping out
Speaker 1: of his heart. Mister Darcy, she said, what is the
Speaker 1: name of that song you were singing. It's called the
Speaker 1: Lass of Ogrim, said mister Darcy, but I couldn't remember
Speaker 1: it properly. Why do you know it the Lass of Ogrim,
Speaker 1: she repeated. I could think of the name. It's a
Speaker 1: very nice air, said Mary Jane. I'm sorry you were
Speaker 1: not in voice to night now, Mary Jane said, Aunt Kate,
Speaker 1: don't annoy mister Darcy. I won't have him annoyed. Seeing
Speaker 1: that all were ready to start, she shepherded them to
Speaker 1: the door, where good night was said. Well, good night,
Speaker 1: Aunt Kate, and thanks for the pleasant evening. Good night, Gabriel.
Speaker 1: Good night, Gretta. Good night, Aunt Kate, and thanks ever
Speaker 1: so much. Good night, Aunt Julia. Oh, good night, Greta.
Speaker 1: I didn't see you. Good night, mister Darcy. Good night,
Speaker 1: Miss O'Callahan, good night, Miss Morgan. Good night again. Good
Speaker 1: night all save home, good night, good night. The morning
Speaker 1: was still dark. A dull yellow light brooded over the
Speaker 1: houses and the river, and the sky seemed to be descending.
Speaker 1: It was slushy underfoot, and only streaks and patches of
Speaker 1: snow lay on the roofs, on the parapets of the quay,
Speaker 1: and on the area railings. The lamps were still burning
Speaker 1: redly in the murky air, and across the river the
Speaker 1: palace of the four Courts stood out menacingly against the
Speaker 1: heavy sky. She was walking on before him with mister
Speaker 1: Bartell Darcy, her shoes in a brown parcel tucked under
Speaker 1: one arm, and her hands holding her skirt up from
Speaker 1: the slush. She had no longer any grace of attitude,
Speaker 1: but Gabriel's eyes were still bright with happiness. The blood
Speaker 1: went bounding along his veins, and the thoughts went rioting
Speaker 1: through his brain. Proud, joyful, tender, valorous. She was walking
Speaker 1: on before him, so lightly and so erect, that he
Speaker 1: longed to run after her, noiselessly, catch her by the shoulders,
Speaker 1: and say something foolish and affectionate into her ear. She
Speaker 1: seemed to him so frail that he longed to defend
Speaker 1: her against something, and then to be alone with her.
Speaker 1: Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon
Speaker 1: his memory. A heliotrope envelope was lying beside his breakfast cup,
Speaker 1: and he was caressing it with his hand. Birds were
Speaker 1: twittering in the ivy, and the sunny web of the
Speaker 1: curtain was shimmering along the floor. He could not eat
Speaker 1: for happiness. They were standing on the crowded platform, and
Speaker 1: he was placing a ticket inside the warm palm of
Speaker 1: her glove. He was standing with her in the cold,
Speaker 1: looking in through a grated window at a man making
Speaker 1: bottles in a roaring furnace. It was very cold. Her face,
Speaker 1: fragrant in the cold air, was quite close to his.
Speaker 1: And suddenly he called out to the man at the furnace,
Speaker 1: is the fire hot, sir? But the man could not
Speaker 1: hear with the noise of the furnace. It was just
Speaker 1: as well, he might have answered rudely. A wave of
Speaker 1: yet more tender joy escaped from his heart and went
Speaker 1: coursing in warm flood along his arteries like the tender
Speaker 1: fire of stars. Moments of their life together that no
Speaker 1: on one knew of or would ever know of, broke
Speaker 1: upon and illuminated his memory. He longed to recall to
Speaker 1: her those moments, to make her forget the years of
Speaker 1: their dull existence together and remember only their moments of ecstasy.
Speaker 1: For the years he felt had not quenched his soul
Speaker 1: or hers, their children, His writing, her household cares had
Speaker 1: not quenched all their soul's tender fire. In one letter
Speaker 1: that he had written to her then, he had said,
Speaker 1: why is it that words like these seemed to me
Speaker 1: so dull and cold? Is it because there is no
Speaker 1: word tender enough to be your name? Like distant music?
Speaker 1: These words that he had written years before, were born
Speaker 1: towards him from the past. He longed to be alone
Speaker 1: with her when the others had gone away, when he
Speaker 1: and she were in the room in the hotel, then
Speaker 1: they would be alone together. He would call her softly, Greta.
Speaker 1: Perhaps she would not hear at once, she would be undressed.
Speaker 1: Then something in his voice would strike her. She would
Speaker 1: turn and look at him. At the corner of Wine
Speaker 1: Tavern Street, they met a cab. He was glad of
Speaker 1: its rattling noise, as it saved him from conversation. She
Speaker 1: was looking out of the window and seemed tired. The
Speaker 1: others spoke only a few words, pointing out some building
Speaker 1: or street. The horse galloped along wearily under the murky
Speaker 1: morning sky, dragging his old rattling box after his heels,
Speaker 1: and Gabriel was again in a cab with her, galloping
Speaker 1: to catch the boat. Galloping to their honeymoon. As the
Speaker 1: cab drove across O'Connell Bridge, Miss O'Callahan said, they say
Speaker 1: you never cross O'Connell Bridge without seeing a white horse.
Speaker 1: I see a white man this time, said Gabriel. Where,
Speaker 1: asked mister Bartell Darcy. Gabriel pointed to the statue, on
Speaker 1: which lay patches of snow. Then he nodded familiarly to
Speaker 1: it and waved his hand. Good Night, Dan, he said. Gay.
Speaker 1: When the cab drew up before the hotel, Gabriel jumped out, and,
Speaker 1: in spite of mister Bartell Darcy's protest, paid the driver.
Speaker 1: He gave the man a shilling over his fare. The
Speaker 1: man saluted and said, a prosperous new year to you, sir.
Speaker 1: The same to you, said Gabriel, cordially. She leaned for
Speaker 1: a moment on his arm, and getting out of the cab,
Speaker 1: and while standing at the kerbstone bidding the others good night,
Speaker 1: she leaned lightly on his arm, as lightly as when
Speaker 1: she had danced with him a few hours before. He
Speaker 1: felt proud and happy, then happy that she was his,
Speaker 1: proud of her grace and wifely carriage. But now after
Speaker 1: the kindling again of so many memories. The first touch
Speaker 1: of her body, musical and strange and perfumed, sent through
Speaker 1: him a keen pang of lust. Under Cover of her silence,
Speaker 1: he pressed her arm closely to his side, and as
Speaker 1: they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they
Speaker 1: had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home
Speaker 1: and friends, and run away, together with the wild and
Speaker 1: radiant hearts, to a new adventure. An old man was
Speaker 1: dozing in a great hooded chair in the hall. He
Speaker 1: lit a candle in the office and went before them
Speaker 1: to the stairs. They followed him in silence, their feet
Speaker 1: falling in soft thuds on the thickly carpeted stairs. She
Speaker 1: mounted the stairs behind the porter, her head bowed in
Speaker 1: the ascent, her frail shoulders curved as with a burden,
Speaker 1: her skirt girt tightly about her. He could have flung
Speaker 1: his arms about her hips and held her still, for
Speaker 1: his arms were trembling with desire to seize her, and
Speaker 1: only the stress of his nails against the palms of
Speaker 1: his hands held the wild impulse of his body and check.
Speaker 1: The porter halted on the stairs to settle his guttering candle.
Speaker 1: They halted too, on the steps below him. In the silence,
Speaker 1: Gabriel could hear the falling of the molten wax into
Speaker 1: the tray and the thumping of his own heart against
Speaker 1: his rears ribbs. The porter led them along a corridor
Speaker 1: and opened the door. Then he set his unstable candle
Speaker 1: down on a toilet table and asked at what hour
Speaker 1: they were to be called in the morning, Eight, said Gabriel.
Speaker 1: The porter pointed to the tap of the electric light
Speaker 1: and began a muttered apology, but Gabriel cut him short.
Speaker 1: We don't want any light. We have light enough from
Speaker 1: the street, and I say, he added, pointing to the candle,
Speaker 1: you might remove that handsome article like a good man.
Speaker 1: The porter took up his candle again, but slowly, for
Speaker 1: he was surprised by such a novel idea. Then he
Speaker 1: mumbled good night and went out. Gabriel shut the lock
Speaker 1: to a ghastly light from the street lamp lay in
Speaker 1: a long shaft from one window to the door. Gabriel
Speaker 1: threw his overcoat and hat on a couch and crossed
Speaker 1: the room towards the window. He looked down into the
Speaker 1: street in order that his emotion might calm a little.
Speaker 1: Then he turned and leaned against a chest of drawers
Speaker 1: with his back to the light. She had taken off
Speaker 1: her hat and cloak and was standing before a large
Speaker 1: swinging mirror, unhooking her waist. Gabriel paused for a few moments,
Speaker 1: watching her, and then said, Gretta. She turned away from
Speaker 1: the mirror slowly and walked along the shaft of light
Speaker 1: towards him. Her face looked so serious and weary that
Speaker 1: the words would not pass Gabriel's lips. No, it was
Speaker 1: not the moment yet, you look tired, he said, I
Speaker 1: am a little. She answered, you don't feel ill or weak, No, tired,
Speaker 1: that's all. She went on to the window and stood
Speaker 1: there looking out. Gabriel waited again, and then, fearing that
Speaker 1: diffidence was about to conquer him, he said abruptly, by
Speaker 1: the way, Greta, what is it you know that poor
Speaker 1: fellow melons? He said quickly, yes, what about him? Well,
Speaker 1: poor fellow, he's a decent sort of chap after all,
Speaker 1: continued Gabriel in a false voice. He gave me back
Speaker 1: the sovereign I lent him, and I didn't expect it. Really.
Speaker 1: It's a pity he wouldn't keep away from that brown
Speaker 1: because He's not a bad fellow. Really, he was trembling
Speaker 1: now with annoyance. Why did she seem so abstracted? He
Speaker 1: did not know how he could begin. Was she annoyed
Speaker 1: too about something? If she would only turn to him,
Speaker 1: or come to him of her own accord, to take
Speaker 1: her as she was would be brutal. No, he must
Speaker 1: see some ardor in her eyes first. He longed to
Speaker 1: be master of her strange mood. When did you lend
Speaker 1: him the pound? She asked? After a pause. Gabriel strove
Speaker 1: to restrain himself from breaking out into brutal language about
Speaker 1: the Sottish melons and his pound. He longed to cry
Speaker 1: to her from his soul, to crush her body against his,
Speaker 1: to overmaster her, But he said, oh, at Christmas, when
Speaker 1: he opened that little Christmas card shop in Henry Street,
Speaker 1: he was in such a fever of rage and desire
Speaker 1: that he did not hear her come from the window.
Speaker 1: She stood before him for an instant, looking at him strangely,
Speaker 1: then suddenly raising herself on tiptoe and resting her hands
Speaker 1: lightly on his shoulders, she kissed him. You are a
Speaker 1: very generous person, Gabriel, she said. Gabriel trembling with delight
Speaker 1: at her sudden kiss and at the quaintness of her phrase,
Speaker 1: put his hands on her hair and began smoothing it back, scarcely,
Speaker 1: touching it with his fingers. The washing had made it
Speaker 1: fine and brilliant. His heart was brimming over with happiness,
Speaker 1: just when he was wishing for it. She had come
Speaker 1: to him of her own accord. Perhaps her thoughts had
Speaker 1: been running with his. Perhaps she had felt the impetuous
Speaker 1: desire that was in him, and then the yielding mood
Speaker 1: had come upon her. Now that she had fallen to
Speaker 1: him so easily, he wondered why he had been so diffident.
Speaker 1: He stood, holding her head between his hands, then slipping
Speaker 1: one arm swiftly about her body, and drawing her towards him.
Speaker 1: He said, softly, Gretta, dear, what are you thinking about.
Speaker 1: She did not answer, nor yield wholly to his arm.
Speaker 1: He said, again, softly, tell me what it is, Greta,
Speaker 1: I think I know what is the matter? Do I know?
Speaker 1: She did not answer at once. Then she said, an
Speaker 1: outburst of tears, Oh, I'm thinking about that song, the
Speaker 1: Lass of Ogrim. She broke loose from him and ran
Speaker 1: to the bed and throwing her arms across the bed
Speaker 1: rail hid her face. Gabriel stood stock still for a
Speaker 1: moment in astonishment, and then followed her. As he passed
Speaker 1: in the way of the cheval glass, he caught sight
Speaker 1: of himself in full length, his broad, well filled shirt front,
Speaker 1: the face whose expression a way puzzled him when he
Speaker 1: saw it in a mirror, and his glimmering, gilt rimmed eyeglasses.
Speaker 1: He halted a few paces from her and said, what
Speaker 1: about the song? Why does that make you cry? She
Speaker 1: raised her head from her arms and dried her eyes
Speaker 1: on the back of her hand like a child. A
Speaker 1: kinder note than he had intended went into his voice.
Speaker 1: Why Greta, he asked, I am thinking about a person
Speaker 1: long ago who used to sing that song. And who
Speaker 1: was that person long ago? Asked Gabriel, smiling. It was
Speaker 1: a person I used to know in Galway when I
Speaker 1: was living with my grandmother, she said. The smile passed
Speaker 1: away from Gabriel's face. A dull anger began to gather
Speaker 1: again at the back of his mind, and the dull
Speaker 1: fires of his lust began to glow angrily in his veins.
Speaker 1: Some one you were in love with, he asked ironically.
Speaker 1: It was a young boy I used to know, she answered,
Speaker 1: named Mike Fury. He used to sing that song, the
Speaker 1: lass of Ogram. He was very delicate. Gabriel was silent.
Speaker 1: He did not wish her to think that he was
Speaker 1: interested in this delicate boy. I can see him so plainly,
Speaker 1: she said, after a moment. Such eyes as he had,
Speaker 1: big dark eyes, and such an expression in them, an expression. Oh,
Speaker 1: then you are in love with him, said Gabriel. I
Speaker 1: used to go out walking with him, she said, when
Speaker 1: I was in Galway. A thought flew across Gabriel's mind.
Speaker 1: Perhaps that was why he wanted to go to Galway
Speaker 1: with that Ivors girl, he said coldly. She looked at
Speaker 1: him and asked, in surprise what for Her eyes made
Speaker 1: Gabriel feel awkward. He shrugged his shoulders and said, how
Speaker 1: do I know to see him? Perhaps? She looked away
Speaker 1: from him along the shaft of light towards the window
Speaker 1: in silence. He's dead, she said at length. He died
Speaker 1: when he was only seventeen. Isn't it a terrible thing
Speaker 1: to die so young as that? And what was he
Speaker 1: asked Gabriel still ironically. He was in the gas works
Speaker 1: she said. Gabriel felt humiliated by the failure of his
Speaker 1: irony and by the evocation of this figure from the dead,
Speaker 1: a boy in the gas works. While he had been
Speaker 1: full of memories of their secret life together, full of
Speaker 1: tenderness and joy and desire, she had been comparing him
Speaker 1: in her mind with another. A shameful consciousness of his
Speaker 1: own person assailed him. He saw himself as a ludicrous figure,
Speaker 1: acting as a penny boy for his aunts, a nervous,
Speaker 1: well meaning sentimentalist, or rating to vulgarians, and idealizing his
Speaker 1: own clownish lust, the pitiable, fatuous fellow he had caught
Speaker 1: a glimpse of in the mirror. Instinctively, he turned his
Speaker 1: back more to the light, lest she might see the
Speaker 1: shame that burned upon his forehead. He tried to keep
Speaker 1: up his tone of cold interrogation, but his voice when
Speaker 1: he spoke, was humble and indifferent. I suppose you were
Speaker 1: in love with this Michael Fury Gretta, he said, I
Speaker 1: was great with him at that time, She said, her
Speaker 1: voice was veiled and sad. Gabriel, feeling now how vain
Speaker 1: it would be to try to lead her whither he
Speaker 1: had purposed caressed one of her hands and said, also sadly,
Speaker 1: and what did he die of? So young? Greta consumption?
Speaker 1: Was it? I think he died from me, she answered.
Speaker 1: A vague terror seized Gabriel at this answer, as if
Speaker 1: at that hour when he had hoped to triumph, some
Speaker 1: impalpable and vignant, addictive being was coming against him, gathering
Speaker 1: forces against him in its vague world. But he shook
Speaker 1: himself free of it with an effort of reason, and
Speaker 1: continued to caress her hand. He did not question her again,
Speaker 1: for he felt that she would tell him of herself.
Speaker 1: Her hand was warm and moist, it did not respond
Speaker 1: to his touch, but he continued to caress it, just
Speaker 1: as he had caressed her first letter to him that
Speaker 1: spring morning. It was in the winter, she said, about
Speaker 1: the beginning of winter, when I was going to leave
Speaker 1: my grandmother's and come up here to the convent. And
Speaker 1: he was ill at the time in his lodgings in
Speaker 1: Galway and wouldn't be let out. And his people in
Speaker 1: Otterard were written to He was in decline, they said,
Speaker 1: or something like that. I never knew. Rightly, She paused
Speaker 1: for a moment and sighed, poor fellow. She said, he
Speaker 1: was very fond of me, and he was such a
Speaker 1: gentle boy. We used to go out together walking Gabriel
Speaker 1: like the way they do in the country. He was
Speaker 1: going to study singing, only for his health. He had
Speaker 1: a very good voice. Poor Michael fury well and then
Speaker 1: asked Gabriel. And then when it came time for me
Speaker 1: to leave Galway and come up to the convent, he
Speaker 1: was much worse, and I wouldn't be let to see him.
Speaker 1: So I wrote him a letter saying I was going
Speaker 1: up to Dublin and would be back in the summer,
Speaker 1: and hoping he would be better. Then she paused for
Speaker 1: a moment to get her voice under control, and then
Speaker 1: went on. Then the night before I left, I was
Speaker 1: in my grandmother's house in Nun's Island, packing up, and
Speaker 1: I heard gravel thrown up against the window. The window
Speaker 1: was so wet I couldn't see. So I ran downstairs
Speaker 1: as I was and slipped out the back into the garden,
Speaker 1: and there was the poor fellow at the end of
Speaker 1: the garden, shivering. Did you not tell him to go back,
Speaker 1: asked Gabriel. I implored of him to go home at once,
Speaker 1: and told him he would get his death in the rain,
Speaker 1: but he said he did not want to live. His
Speaker 1: eyes as well as well. He was standing at the
Speaker 1: end of the wall where there was a tree. And
Speaker 1: did he go home, asked Gabriel. Yes, he went home,
Speaker 1: and when I was only a week in the convent,
Speaker 1: he died and was buried in Otrard, where his people
Speaker 1: came from. Oh, the day I heard that he was dead.
Speaker 1: She stopped choking with sobs, and, overcome by emotion, flung
Speaker 1: herself face downward on the bed, sobbing in the quilt.
Speaker 1: Gabriel held her hand for a moment longer, irresolutely, and then,
Speaker 1: shy of intruding on her grief, let it fall gently,
Speaker 1: and walked quietly to the window. She was fast asleep. Gabriel,
Speaker 1: leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unrestfully
Speaker 1: on her tangled hair and half open mouth, listening to
Speaker 1: her deep drawn breath. So she had had that romance
Speaker 1: in her life. A man had died for her sake.
Speaker 1: It hardly pained him now to think how poor part
Speaker 1: he her husband, had played in her life. He watched
Speaker 1: her while she slept, as though he and she had
Speaker 1: never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes
Speaker 1: rested upon her face and on her hair, And as
Speaker 1: he thought of what she must have been then, in
Speaker 1: that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange, friendly
Speaker 1: pity for her entered his soul. He did not like
Speaker 1: to say, even to himself that her face was no
Speaker 1: longer beautiful, but he knew that it was no longer
Speaker 1: the face for which Michael Fury had braved death. Perhaps
Speaker 1: she had not told him all the story. His eyes
Speaker 1: moved to the chair over which she had thrown some
Speaker 1: of her clothes, a petticoat string dangling to the floor.
Speaker 1: One boot stood upright, its limp upper falling down. The
Speaker 1: fellow of it lay on its side. He wondered at
Speaker 1: his riot of emotions of an hour before, from what
Speaker 1: had it proceeded from his aunt's supper, from his own
Speaker 1: foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merrymaking when
Speaker 1: saying good night in the hall, the pleasure of the
Speaker 1: walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia,
Speaker 1: she too would soon be a shade, with the shade
Speaker 1: of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that
Speaker 1: haggard look upon her face for a moment when she
Speaker 1: was singing arraid for the bridle. Soon, perhaps he would
Speaker 1: be sitting in that same drawing room, dressed in black,
Speaker 1: his silk hat on his knees. The blinds would be
Speaker 1: drawn down, and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him,
Speaker 1: crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Juliet died.
Speaker 1: He would cast about in his mind for some words
Speaker 1: that might console her, and would find only lame and
Speaker 1: useless ones. Yes, Yes, that would happen very soon. The
Speaker 1: air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself
Speaker 1: cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife.
Speaker 1: One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass
Speaker 1: boldly into that other world in the full glory of
Speaker 1: some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He
Speaker 1: thought of how she who lay beside him and locked
Speaker 1: in her heart for so many years that image of
Speaker 1: her lover's eyes when he had told her that he
Speaker 1: did not wish to live. Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes.
Speaker 1: He had never felt like that himself towards any woman,
Speaker 1: but he knew that such a feeling must be loved.
Speaker 1: The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes, and in
Speaker 1: the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of
Speaker 1: a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms
Speaker 1: were near. His soul had approached that region, wear dwell.
Speaker 1: The vast hosts of the dead he was conscious of,
Speaker 1: but could not apprehend their wayward and flickering existence. His
Speaker 1: own identity was fading out into a gray, impalpable world.
Speaker 1: The solid world itself, which these dead had one time
Speaker 1: reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling. A few
Speaker 1: light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window.
Speaker 1: It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily, the flakes,
Speaker 1: silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time
Speaker 1: had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes,
Speaker 1: the newspapers were right. Snow was general all over Ireland.
Speaker 1: It was falling on every part of the dark central plain,
Speaker 1: on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the bog of Allen,
Speaker 1: and further westward, softly falling into the dark and mutinous
Speaker 1: Shannon waves. It was falling to upon every part of
Speaker 1: the lonely church yard, on the hill where Michael fury
Speaker 1: lay buried, It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses
Speaker 1: and headstones, on the spears of the little gait, on
Speaker 1: the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard
Speaker 1: the snow falling faintly through the universe, and faintly falling
Speaker 1: like the descent of their last end upon the living,
Speaker 1: and the dead end of the dead End of Dubliners
Speaker 1: by James Joyce.