The first question is easily answered. The finest part of our city has been blown to smithereens, and burned into ashes. Soldiers amongst us who have served abroad say that the ruin of this quarter is more complete than any thing they have seen at Ypres, than anything they have seen anywhere in France or Flanders. A great number of our men and women and children, Volunteers and civilians1 confounded alike, are dead, and some fifty thousand men who have been moved with military equipment to our land are now being removed therefrom. The English nation has been disorganised no more than as they were affected2 by the transport of these men and material. That is what happened, and it is all that happened.
How it happened is another matter, and one which, perhaps, will not be made clear for years. All we know in Dublin is that our city burst into a kind of spontaneous war; that we lived through it during one singular week, and that it faded away and disappeared almost as swiftly as it had come. The men who knew about it are, with two exceptions, dead, and these two exceptions are in gaol3, and likely to remain there long enough. (Since writing one of these men has been shot.)
Why it happened is a question that may be answered more particularly. It happened because the leader of the Irish Party misrepresented his people in the English House of Parliament. On the day of the declaration of war between England and Germany he took the Irish case, weighty with eight centuries of history and tradition, and he threw it out of the window. He pledged Ireland to a particular course of action, and he had no authority to give this pledge and he had no guarantee that it would be met. The ramshackle intelligence of his party and his own emotional nature betrayed him and us and England. He swore Ireland to loyalty4 as if he had Ireland in his pocket, and could answer for her. Ireland has never been disloyal to England, not even at this epoch5, because she has never been loyal to England, and the profession of her National faith has been unwavering, has been known to every English person alive, and has been clamant to all the world beside.
Is it that he wanted to be cheered? He could very easily have stated Ireland's case truthfully, and have proclaimed a benevolent6 neutrality (if he cared to use the grandiloquent7 words) on the part of this country. He would have gotten his cheers, he would in a few months have gotten Home Rule in return for Irish soldiers. He would have received politically whatever England could have safely given him. But, alas8, these carefulnesses did not chime with his emotional moment. They were not magnificent enough for one who felt that he was talking not to Ireland or to England, but to the whole gaping9 and eager earth, and so he pledged his country's credit so deeply that he did not leave her even one National rag to cover herself with.
After a lie truth bursts out, and it is no longer the radiant and serene10 goddess knew or hoped for—it is a disease, it is a moral syphilis and will ravage11 until the body in which it can dwell has been purged12. Mr. Redmond told the lie and he is answerable to England for the violence she had to be guilty of, and to Ireland for the desolation to which we have had to submit. Without his lie there had been no Insurrection; without it there had been at this moment, and for a year past, an end to the "Irish question." Ireland must in ages gone have been guilty of abominable13 crimes or she could not at this juncture14 have been afflicted15 with a John Redmond.
He is the immediate16 cause of this our latest Insurrection—the word is big, much too big for the deed, and we should call it row, or riot, or squabble, in order to draw the fact down to its dimensions, but the ultimate blame for the trouble between the two countries does not fall against Ireland.
The fault lies with England, and in these days while an effort is being made (interrupted, it is true, by cannon) to found a better understanding between the two nations it is well that England should recognize what she has done to Ireland, and should try at least to atone17 for it. The situation can be explained almost in a phrase. We are a little country and you, a huge country, have persistently18 beaten us. We are a poor country and you, the richest country in the world, have persistently robbed us. That is the historical fact, and whatever national or political necessities are opposed in reply, it is true that you have never given Ireland any reason to love you, and you cannot claim her affection without hypocrisy19 or stupidity.
You think our people can only be tenacious20 in hate—it is a lie. Our historical memory is truly tenacious, but during the long and miserable21 tale of our relations you have never given us one generosity22 to remember you by, and you must not claim our affection or our devotion until you are worthy23 of them. We are a good people; almost we are the only Christian24 people left in the world, nor has any nation shown such forbearance towards their persecutor25 as we have always shown to you. No nation has forgiven its enemies as we have forgiven you, time after time down the miserable generations, the continuity of forgiveness only equalled by the continuity of your ill-treatment. Between our two countries you have kept and protected a screen of traders and politicians who are just as truly your enemies as they are ours. In the end they will do most harm to you for we are by this vaccinated26 against misery27 but you are not, and the "loyalists" who sell their own country for a shilling will sell another country for a penny when the opportunity comes and safety with it.
Meanwhile do not always hasten your presents to us out of a gun. You have done it so often that your guns begin to bore us, and you have now an opportunity which may never occur again to make us your friends. There is no bitterness in Ireland against you on account of this war, and the lack of ill-feeling amongst us is entirely28 due to the more than admirable behaviour of the soldiers whom you sent over here. A peace that will last for ever can be made with Ireland if you wish to make it, but you must take her hand at once, for in a few months' time she will not open it to you; the old, bad relations will re-commence, the rancor29 will be born and grow, and another memory will be stored away in Ireland's capacious and retentive30 brain.
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1
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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6
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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7
grandiloquent
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| adj.夸张的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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10
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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ravage
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| vt.使...荒废，破坏...；n.破坏，掠夺，荒废 | |
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12
purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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13
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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15
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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17
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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18
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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20
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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21
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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22
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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23
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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24
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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25
persecutor
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| n. 迫害者 | |
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vaccinated
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| [医]已接种的，种痘的，接种过疫菌的 | |
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27
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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28
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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29
rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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30
retentive
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| v.保留的，有记忆的；adv.有记性地，记性强地；n.保持力 | |
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