When Dr. Toole grumbled1 at his disappointment, he was not at all aware how nearly his interview with Loftus had knocked the entire affair on the head. He had no idea how much that worthy2 person was horrified3 by his proposition; and Toole walked off in a huff, without bidding him good-night, and making a remark in which the words ‘old woman’ occurred pretty audibly. But Loftus remained under the glimpses of the moon in perturbation and sore perplexity. It was so late he scarcely dared disturb Dr. Walsingham or General Chattesworth. But there came the half-stifled cadence4 of a song — not bacchanalian5, but sentimental6 — something about Daphne and a swain — struggling through the window-shutters next the green hall-door close by, and Dan instantly bethought himself of Father Roach. So knocking stoutly8 at the window, he caused the melody to subside9 and the shutter7 to open. When the priest, looking out, saw Dan Loftus in his deshabille, I believe he thought for a moment it was something from the neighbouring churchyard.
However, his reverence10 came out and stood on the steps, enveloped11 in a hospital aroma12 of broiled13 bones, lemons, and alcohol, and shaking his visitor affectionately by the hand — for he bore no malice14, and the Lenten ditty he quite forgave as being no worse in modern parlance15 than an unhappy ‘fluke’— was about to pull him into the parlour, where there was ensconced, he told him, ‘a noble friend of his.’ This was ‘Pat Mahony, from beyond Killarney, just arrived — a man of parts and conversation, and a lovely singer.’
But Dan resisted, and told his tale in an earnest whisper in the hall. The priest made his mouth into a round queer little O, through which he sucked a long breath, elevating his brows, and rolling his eyes slowly about.
‘A jewel! And Nutter16, of all the men on the face of the airth — though I often heerd he was a fine shot, and a sweet little fencer in his youth, an’ game, too — oh, be the powers! you can see that still — game to the back-bone — and — whisht a bit now — who’s the other?’
‘Lieutenant O’Flaherty.’
(A low whistle from his reverence). ‘That’s a boy that comes from a fighting county — Galway. I wish you saw them at an election time. Why, there’s no end of divarsion — the divarsion of stopping them, of course, I mean (observing a sudden alteration17 in Loftus’s countenance). An’ you, av coorse, want to stop it? And so, av coorse, do I, my dear. Well, then, wait a bit, now — we must have our eyes open. Don’t be in a hurry — let us be harrumless as sarpints, but wise as doves. Now, ’tis a fine thing, no doubt, to put an end to a jewel by active intherfarence, though I have known cases, my dear child, where suppressing a simple jewel has been the cause of half a dozen breaking out afterwards in the same neighbourhood, and on the very same quarrel, d’ye mind — though, of coorse, that’s no reason here or there, my dear boy! But take it that a jewel is breaking down and coming to the ground of itself (here a hugely cunning wink), in an aisy, natural, accommodating way, the only effect of intherfarence is to bolster18 it up, d’ye see, so just considher how things are, my dear. Lave it all to me, and mind my words, it can’t take place without a second. The officers have refused, so has Toole, you won’t undertake it, and it’s too late to go into town. I defy it to come to anything. Jest be said be me, Dan Loftus, and let sleeping dogs lie. Here I am, an old experienced observer, that’s up to their tricks, with my eye upon them. Go you to bed — lave them to me — and they’re checkmated without so much as seeing how we bring it to pass.’
Dan hesitated.
‘Arrah! go to your bed, Dan Loftus, dear. It’s past eleven o’clock — they’re nonplussed19 already; and lave me — me that understands it — to manage the rest.’
‘Well, Sir, I do confide20 it altogether to you. I know I might, through ignorance, do a mischief21.’
And so they bid a mutual22 good-night, and Loftus scaled his garret stair and snuffed his candle, and plunged23 again into the business of two thousand years ago.
‘Here’s a purty business,’ says the priest, extending both his palms, with a face of warlike importance, and shutting the door behind him with what he called ‘a cow’s kick;’ ‘a jewel, my dear Pat, no less; bloody24 work I’m afeared.’
Mr. Mahony, who had lighted a pipe during his entertainer’s absence, withdrew the fragrant25 tube from his lips, and opened his capacious mouth with a look of pleasant expectation, for he, like other gentlemen of his day — and, must we confess, not a few jolly clerics of my creed26, as well as of honest Father Roach’s — regarded the ordeal27 of battle, and all its belongings28, simply as the highest branch of sporting. Not that the worthy father avowed29 any such sentiment; on the contrary, his voice and his eyes, if not his hands, were always raised against the sanguinary practice; and scarce a duel30 occurred within a reasonable distance unattended by his reverence, in the capacity, as he said, of ‘an unauthorised, but airnest, though, he feared, unavailing peacemaker.’ There he used to spout31 little maxims32 of reconciliation33, and Christian34 brotherhood35 and forbearance; exhorting36 to forget and forgive; wringing37 his hands at each successive discharge; and it must be said, too, in fairness, playing the part of a good Samaritan towards the wounded, to whom his green hall-door was ever open, and for whom the oil of his consolation38 and the wine of his best bin39 never refused to flow.
‘Pat, my child,’ said his reverence, ‘that Nutter’s a divil of a fellow — at least he was, by all accounts; he’ll be bad enough, I’m afeared, and hard enough to manage, if everything goes smooth; but if he’s kept waiting there, fuming40 and boiling over, do ye mind, without a natural vent41 for his feelings, or a friend, do ye see, at his side to — to resthrain him, and bring about, if possible, a friendly mutual understanding — why, my dear child, he’ll get into that state of exasperation43 an’ violence, he’ll have half a dozen jewels on his hands before morning.’
‘Augh! ‘tid be a murther to baulk them for want of a friend,’ answered Mr. Mahony, standing42 up like a warrior44, and laying the pipe of peace upon the chimney. ‘Will I go down, Father Denis, and offer my sarvices?’
‘With a view to a reconciliation, mind,’ said his reverence, raising his finger, closing his eyes, and shaking his florid face impressively.
‘Och, bother! don’t I know — of coorse, reconciliation;’ and he was buttoning his garments where, being a little ‘in flesh,’ as well as tall, he had loosed them. ‘Where are the gentlemen now, and who will I ask for?’
‘I’ll show you the light from the steps. Ask for Dr. Toole; and he’s certainly there; and if he’s not, for Mr. Nutter; and just say you came from my house, where you — a — pooh! accidentally heard, through Mr. Loftus, do ye mind, there was a difficulty in finding a friend to — a — strive to make up matters between thim.’
By this time they stood upon the door-steps; and Mr. Mahony had clapt on his hat with a pugnacious45 cock o’ one side; and following, with a sporting and mischievous46 leer, the direction of the priest’s hand, that indicated the open door of the Phoenix47, through which a hospitable48 light was issuing.
‘There’s where you’ll find the gentlemen, in the front parlour,’ says the priest. ‘You remember Dr. Toole, and he’ll remember you. An’ mind, dear, it’s to make it up you’re goin’.’ Mr. Mahony was already under weigh, at a brisk stride, and with a keen relish49 for the business. ‘And the blessing50 of the peacemaker go with you, my child!’ added his reverence, lifting his hands and his eyes towards the heavens, ‘An’ upon my fainy!’ looking shrewdly at the stars, and talking to himself, ‘they’ll have a fine morning for the business, if, unfortunately’— and here he re-ascended his door-steps with a melancholy51 shrug52 —‘if unfortunately, Pat Mahony should fail.’
When Mr. Pat Mahony saw occasion for playing the gentleman, he certainly did come out remarkably53 strong in the part. It was done in a noble, florid, glowing style, according to his private ideal of the complete fine gentleman. Such bows, such pointing of the toes, such graceful54 flourishes of the three-cocked hat — such immensely engaging smiles and wonderful by-play, such an apparition55, in short, of perfect elegance-valour, and courtesy, were never seen before in the front parlour of the Phoenix.
‘Mr. Mahony, by jingo!’ ejaculated Toole, in an accent of thankfulness amounting nearly to rapture56. Nutter seemed relieved, too, and advanced to be presented to the man who, instinct told him, was to be his friend. Cluffe, a man of fashion of the military school, eyed the elegant stranger with undisguised disgust and wonder, and Devereux with that sub-acid smile with which men will sometimes quietly relish absurdity57.
Mr. Mahony, ‘discoursin’ a country neighbour outside the half-way-house at Muckafubble, or enjoying an easy tête-à-tête with Father Roach, was a very inferior person, indeed, to Patrick Mahony, Esq., the full-blown diplomatist and pink of gentility astonishing the front parlour of the Phoenix.
There, Mr. Mahony’s periods were fluent and florid, and the words chosen occasionally rather for their grandeur58 and melody than for their exact connexion with the context or bearing upon his meaning. The consequence was a certain gorgeous haziness59 and bewilderment, which made the task of translating his harangues60 rather troublesome and conjectural61.
Having effected the introduction, and made known the object of his visit, Nutter and he withdrew to a small chamber62 behind the bar, where Nutter, returning some of his bows, and having listened without deriving63 any very clear ideas to two consecutive64 addresses from his companion, took the matter in hand himself, and said he —
‘I beg, Sir, to relieve you at once from the trouble of trying to arrange this affair amicably65. I have been grossly insulted, he’s not going to apologise, and nothing but a meeting will satisfy me. He’s a mere66 murderer. I have not the faintest notion why he wants to kill me; but being reduced to this situation, I hold myself obliged, if I can, to rid the town of him finally.’
‘Shake hands, Sir,’ cried Mahony, forgetting his rhetoric67 in his enthusiasm; ‘be the hole in the wall, Sir, I honour you.’
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1
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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bacchanalian
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| adj.闹酒狂饮的；n.发酒疯的人 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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parlance
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| n.说法；语调 | |
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nutter
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| n.疯子 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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nonplussed
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| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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24
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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30
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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44
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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45
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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46
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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phoenix
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| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
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48
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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49
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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50
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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51
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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52
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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53
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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54
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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55
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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56
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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57
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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58
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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59
haziness
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| 有薄雾，模糊； 朦胧之性质或状态； 零能见度 | |
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60
harangues
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| n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
conjectural
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| adj.推测的 | |
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62
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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63
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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65
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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66
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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67
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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