Complete Works of James Joyce (360 page)

Politics and Cattle Diseas
e

1912

Though the country has not been deceived by the pitiable endeavours of Unionists and factionists to make political capital out of the national calamity involved in the outbreak of the foot and mouth disease in a few Irish districts, Mr. Dillon renders a valuable service by pointing out the injury done by the dishonest clamour in which the mischief-makers have indulged. They have, he points out, played into the hands of English Protectionists like Mr. Henry Chaplin and Mr. Bathurst, whose object is not the security of English herds, but the prolonged exclusion of Irish cattle from the English markets. By enabling such enemies of the Irish farmer to raise the cry that any relaxation of the restrictions that may be proposed is due, not to Mr. Runciman’s unbiased opinion that the conditions justify the relaxation, but to ‘Irish dictation’, they have simply raised fresh obstructions to the fair treatment of the Irish stock-owners and traders’ claims. All these stupid threats and calls upon the Irish Party to ‘turn out the Government’ have been ammunition to the English exclusionists. We have seen how the
Globe
has turned them to account. It will have been noticed, too, that none of these Unionist fire-eaters have appealed to their own Party for assistance in the matter. According to the London correspondent of the
Irish Times,
‘Irish members of all shades of opinion are asking for the removal of restrictions, but without success.’ This will be news to most people. Hitherto Irish members of the Unionist shade of opinion have been only remarkable for their silence on the matter. Not one of the Irish Unionist Party attended the deputation to Mr. Runciman. Mr. Chaplin and Mr. Bathurst have been allowed to rampage without a word of protest from an Irish Unionist member. Yet the Unionist landlords, land agents, and eleven-months’ men, and the defeated factionist candidates who have been joining in their cry, have not addressed a word of protest or appeal to the Irish Unionist leaders to put a snaffle on Mr. Chaplin. The simple fact is sufficient to explain the motives and purpose of all the Unionist talk upon the matter.

Mr. Dillon points out what would be the certain consequence of action of the kind recommended to the Irish Party. Not only would it involve the sacrifice of the Home Rule Bill and the Home Rule movement, but it would defeat the very object alleged by these advisers. After such an incident no British Minister dare open the English ports for months, because his motives would be instantly challenged. Equally bad and dangerous has been the talk about the unimportance of the disease, and the advice given by some foolish people to the farmers to conceal it. Fortunately the Irish farmers have not listened to the advice. They have proved their commonsense by reporting every suspicious case. Their anxiety to assist the public authorities has been proved by the fact that a majority of the cases so reported have proved to be cases of some other ailment. It is obvious that only by such action can the confidence of the trading public be so restored that the English Minister will be free to act upon the facts disclosed. The talk that the disease is only ‘like measles in children and that all the cattle should be allowed to get it’, like the foolish advice to farmers to conceal cases of the disease, is probably the explanation of the extraordinary official suggestion that the healthy areas should be denied their rights ‘until the situation disclose itself further’. The situation is fully disclosed, because the Irish stock- owners have been perfectly above-board in the matter. They ought not to be held responsible for the stupidities of irresponsible speakers like those whom we have quoted. But a moment’s reflection will convince the stock-owners that stupid people of the kind are worth as much as ten outbreaks of the disease to persons like the Right Hon. Henry Chaplin and Mr. Charles Bathurst.

We do not mean to urge that the Irish farmers and traders should relax their efforts or cease their agitation. Quite the contrary. The situation is critical, and they have sound and solid reasons for demanding the reopening of the ports to healthy Irish stock. These sound and solid reasons are only weakened by menaces that defeat themselves, and by declarations that allow slanderers to say that the disease is being concealed in Ireland. The stock-owners can point to the fact that since the original outbreak, when the existence of the disease could scarcely have been suspected, not a single prosecution for concealment has taken place, though the Constabulary and the officials of the Department are actively watching for symptoms of the disease all over the country. A fact of that kind is the most complete justification of the demand for equality of treatment with the English healthy areas, which the Irish stock-owners and traders are pressing. In putting forward that demand they have the full and hearty co-operation of the Irish Party and its Leader. The influence of the Party will be exercised no less strongly, because it is being used in a legitimate and reasonable way, and in a manner that will leave the exclusionists with no ground for slander. The Irish Department is, we have the strongest grounds for believing, no less active. Mr. Russell has not concealed his endorsement of the claim of the Irish stock-owners. On the contrary, he has taken the strong step of publicly proclaiming his agreement. His statement is the best justification for a vigorous agitation against the unreasonable prolongation of the embargo. It is essential to maintain that agitation, but it is no less essential to discountenance the use of silly and mischievous language, which is the only justification the intimidators of Mr. Runciman can plead for their attitude.

Gas from a Burne
r

1912

Ladies and gents, you are here assembled

To hear why earth and heaven trembled

Because of the black and sinister arts

Of an Irish writer in foreign parts.

He sent me a book ten years ago.

I read it a hundred times or so,

Backwards and forwards, down and up,

Through both ends of a telescope.

I printed it all to the very last word

But by the mercy of the Lord

The darkness of my mind was rent

And I saw the writer’s foul intent.

But I owe a duty to Ireland:

I hold her honour in my hand,

This lovely land that always sent

Her «Titers and artists to banishment

And in a spirit of Irish fun

Betrayed her own leaders, one by one.

’Twas Irish humour, wet and dry,

Flung quicklime into Parnell’s eye;

’Tis Irish brains that save from doom

The leaky barge of the Bishop of Rome

For everyone knows the Pope can’t belch

Without the consent of Billy Walsh.

O Ireland my first and only love

Where Christ and Caesar are hand and glove!

0 O lovely land where the shamrock grows!

1 (Allow me, ladies, to blow my nose)

To show you for strictures I don’t care a button

2 I printed the poems of Mountainy Mutton

3 And a play he wrote (you’ve read it I’m sure)

4 Where they talk of’bastard’, ‘bugger’ and ‘whore’

5 And a play on the Word and Holy Paul

And some woman’s legs that I can’t recall

Written by Moore, a genuine gent That lives on his property’s ten per cent:

I printed mystical books in dozens:

I printed the table-book of Cousins

Though (asking your pardon) as for the verse

Twould give you a heartburn on your arse:

I printed folklore from North and South

By Gregory of the Golden Mouth:

I printed poets, sad, silly and solemn:

I printed Patrick What-do-you-Colm:

I printed the great John Milicent Synge

Who soars above on an angel’s wing

In the playboy shift that he pinched as swag

From Maunsel’s manager’s travelling-bag.

But I draw the line at that bloody fellow,

That was over here dressed in Austrian yellow,

Spouting Italian by the hour

To O’Leary Curtis and John Wyse Power

And writing of Dublin, dirty and dear,

In a manner no blackamoor printer could bear.

Shite and onions! Do you think I’ll print

The name of the Wellington Monument,

Sydney Parade and Sandymount tram,

Downes’s cakeshop and Williams’s jam?

I’m damned if I do — I’m damned to blazes!

Talk about
Irish Names of Places!

 
It’s a wonder to me, upon my soul,

He forgot to mention Curly’s Hole.

No, ladies, my press shall have no share in

So gross a libel on Stepmother Erin.

I pity the poor — that’s why I took

A red-headed Scotchman to keep my book.

Poor sister Scotland! Her doom is fell;

She cannot find any more Stuarts to sell.

My conscience is fine as Chinese silk:

My heart is as soft as buttermilk.

Colm can tell you I made a rebate

Of one hundred pounds on the estimate

I gave him for his Irish Review.

I love my country — by herrings I do!

I wish you could see what tears I weep

When I think of the emigrant train and ship.

That’s why I publish far and wide

My quite illegible railway guide.

In the porch of my printing institute

The poor and deserving prostitute

Plays every night at catch-as-catch-can

With her tight-breeched British artilleryman

And the foreigner learns the gift of the gab

From the drunken draggletail Dublin drab.

Who was it said: Resist not evil?

I’ll burn that book, so help me devil.

I’ll sing a psalm as I watch it burn

And the ashes I’ll keep in a one-handled urn.

I’ll penance do with farts and groans

Kneeling upon my marrowbones.

This very next lent I will unbare

My penitent buttocks to the air

And sobbing beside my printing press

My awful sin I will confess.

My Irish foreman from Bannockburn

Shall dip his right hand in the urn

And sign crisscross with reverent thumb

Memento homo
upon my bum.

Dooleysprudenc
e

1916

Who is the man when all the gallant nations run to war Goes home to have his dinner by the very first cablecar And as he eats his canteloup contorts himself in mirth To read the blatant bulletins of the rulers of the earth?

It’s Mr Dooley, Mr Dooley,

The coolest chap our country ever knew

They are out to collar

The dime and dollar’

Says Mr Dooley-ooley-ooley-oo.

Who is the funny fellow who declines to go to church

Since pope and priest and parson left the poor man in the lurch

And taught their flocks the only way to save all human souls

Was piercing human bodies through with dumdum bulletholes?

It’s Mr Dooley, Mr Dooley,

The mildest man our country ever knew

‘Who will release us

From Jingo Jesus

Prays Mr Dooley-ooley-ooley-oo.

Who is the meek philosopher who doesn’t care a damn

About the yellow peril or the problem of Siam

And disbelieves that British Tar is water from life’s fount

And will not gulp the gospel of the German on the Mount?

It’s Mr Dooley, Mr Dooley, The broadest brain our country ever knew

‘The curse of Moses

On both your houses’

Cries Mr Dooley-ooley-ooley-oo.

Who is the cheerful imbecile who lights his long chibouk

With pages of the pandect, penal code and Doomsday Book

And wonders why bald justices are bound by law to wear

A toga and a wig made out of someone else’s hair?

It’s Mr Dooley, Mr Dooley,

The finest fool our country ever knew

‘They took that toilette

From Pontius Pilate’

Thinks Mr Dooley-ooley-ooley-oo.

Who is the man who says he’ll go the whole and perfect hog

Before he pays the income tax or licence for a dog

And when he licks a postage stamp regards with smiling scorn

The face of king or emperor or snout of unicorn?

It’s Mr Dooley, Mr Dooley,

The wildest wag our country ever knew

‘O my poor tummy His backside’s gummy!’

Moans Mr Dooley-ooley-ooley-oo.

Who is the tranquil gentleman who won’t salute the State

Or serve Nabuchodonesor or proletariat

But thinks that every son of man has quite enough to do

To paddle down the stream of life his personal canoe?

It’s Mr Dooley, Mr Dooley,

The wisest wight our country ever knew

‘Poor Europe ambles

Like sheep to shambles’

Sighs Mr Dooley-ooley-ooley-oo.