Дублинцы
The Dead
“Haveyouheardhim?”heaskedMr.BartellD’Arcyacrossthetable.
“No,”answeredMr.BartellD’Arcycarelessly.
“Because,”FreddyMalinsexplained,“nowI’dbecurioustohearyouropinionofhim.Ithinkhehasagrandvoice.”
“IttakesTeddytofindoutthereallygoodthings,”saidMr.Brownefamiliarlytothetable.
“Andwhycouldn’thehaveavoicetoo?”askedFreddyMalinssharply.“Isitbecausehe’sonlyablack?”
NobodyansweredthisquestionandMaryJaneledthetablebacktothelegitimateopera.OneofherpupilshadgivenherapassforMignon.Ofcourseitwasveryfine,shesaid,butitmadeherthinkofpoorGeorginaBurns.Mr.Brownecouldgobackfartherstill,totheoldItaliancompaniesthatusedtocometoDublin—Tietjens,IlmadeMurzka,Campanini,thegreatTrebelli,Giuglini,Ravelli,Aramburo.Thosewerethedays,hesaid,whentherewassomethinglikesingingtobeheardinDublin.HetoldtooofhowthetopgalleryoftheoldRoyalusedtobepackednightafternight,ofhowonenightanItaliantenorhadsungfiveencorestoLetmelikeaSoldierfall,introducingahighCeverytime,andofhowthegalleryboyswouldsometimesintheirenthusiasmunyokethehorsesfromthecarriageofsomegreatprimadonnaandpullherthemselvesthroughthestreetstoherhotel.
