Two Gallants
Two Gallants was published in Joyce's collection, Dubliners, in 1914. Although a London publisher, Grant Richards, had agreed to publish it in 1905, the book was delayed because some of its stories were thought to be too controversial at the time. Two Gallants is about two up-to-no-good, frustrated Irish gentlemen (one a "sporting vagrant") who made their living by exploiting others. Joyce's themes of betrayal and treachery were a moral critique, asserting Irish determinism. Joyce held his ground with the publisher: “To omit the story from the book would really be disastrous. It is one of the most important stories in the book. I would rather sacrifice five of the other stories (which I could name) than this one.” A compromise was reached, Joyce altered some word choices, and the story was included in Dubliners.
THE grey warm evening of August had descended upon the cityand a mild warm air, a memory of summer, circulated in thestreets. The streets, shuttered for the repose of Sunday, swarmedwith a gaily coloured crowd. Like illumined pearls the lampsshone from the summits of their tall poles upon the living texturebelow which, changing shape and hue unceasingly, sent up into thewarm grey evening air an unchanging unceasing murmur.Two young men came down the hill of Rutland Square. One ofthem was just bringing a long monologue to a close. The other,who walked on the verge of the path and was at times obliged tostep on to the road, owing to his companion's rudeness, wore anamused listening face. He was squat and ruddy. A yachting capwas shoved far back from his forehead and the narrative to whichhe listened made constant waves of expression break forth over hisface from the corners of his nose and eyes and mouth. Little jets ofwheezing laughter followed one another out of his convulsed body.His eyes, twinkling with cunning enjoyment, glanced at everymoment towards his companion's face. Once or twice herearranged the light waterproof which he had slung over oneshoulder in toreador fashion. His breeches, his white rubber shoesand his jauntily slung waterproof expressed youth. But his figurefell into rotundity at the waist, his hair was scant and grey and hisface, when the waves of expression had passed over it, had aravaged look.When he was quite sure that the narrative had ended he laughednoiselessly for fully half a minute. Then he said:"Well!... That takes the biscuit!"His voice seemed winnowed of vigour; and to enforce his words headded with humour:"That takes the solitary, unique, and, if I may so call it, recherchebiscuit! "He became serious and silent when he had said this. His tonguewas tired for he had been talking all the afternoon in apublic-house in Dorset Street. Most people considered Lenehan aleech but, in spite of this reputation, his adroitness and eloquencehad always prevented his friends from forming any general policyagainst him. He had a brave manner of coming up to a party ofthem in a bar and of holding himself nimbly at the borders of thecompany until he was included in a round. He was a sportingvagrant armed with a vast stock of stories, limericks and riddles.He was insensitive to all kinds of discourtesy. No one knew howhe achieved the stern task of living, but his name was vaguelyassociated with racing tissues."And where did you pick her up, Corley?" he asked.Corley ran his tongue swiftly along his upper lip."One night, man," he said, "I was going along Dame Street and Ispotted a fine tart under Waterhouse's clock and said good- night,you know. So we went for a walk round by the canal and she toldme she was a slavey in a house in Baggot Street. I put my armround her and squeezed her a bit that night. Then next Sunday,man, I met her by appointment. We went out to Donnybrook and Ibrought her into a field there. She told me she used to go with adairyman.... It was fine, man. Cigarettes every night she'd bring meand paying the tram out and back. And one night she brought metwo bloody fine cigars -- O, the real cheese, you know, that the oldfellow used to smoke.... I was afraid, man, she'd get in the familyway. But she's up to the dodge.""Maybe she thinks you'll marry her," said Lenehan."I told her I was out of a job," said Corley. "I told her I was inPim's. She doesn't know my name. I was too hairy to tell her that.But she thinks I'm a bit of class, you know."Lenehan laughed again, noiselessly."Of all the good ones ever I heard," he said, "that emphaticallytakes the biscuit."Corley's stride acknowledged the compliment. The swing of hisburly body made his friend execute a few light skips from the pathto the roadway and back again. Corley was the son of an inspectorof police and he had inherited his father's frame and gut. Hewalked with his hands by his sides, holding himself erect andswaying his head from side to side. His head was large, globularand oily; it sweated in all weathers; and his large round hat, setupon it sideways, looked like a bulb which had grown out ofanother. He always stared straight before him as if he were onparade and, when he wished to gaze after someone in the street, itwas necessary for him to move his body from the hips. At presenthe was about town. Whenever any job was vacant a friend wasalways ready to give him the hard word. He was often to be seenwalking with policemen in plain clothes, talking earnestly. Heknew the inner side of all affairs and was fond of delivering finaljudgments. He spoke without listening to the speech of hiscompanions. His conversation was mainly about himself what hehad said to such a person and what such a person had said to himand what he had said to settle the matter. When he reported thesedialogues he aspirated the first letter of his name after the mannerof Florentines.Lenehan offered his friend a cigarette. As the two young menwalked on through the crowd Corley occasionally turned to smileat some of the passing girls but Lenehan's gaze was fixed on thelarge faint moon circled with a double halo. He watched earnestlythe passing of the grey web of twilight across its face. At length hesaid:"Well... tell me, Corley, I suppose you'll be able to pull it off allright, eh?"Corley closed one eye expressively as an answer."Is she game for that?" asked Lenehan dubiously. "You can neverknow women.""She's all right," said Corley. "I know the way to get around her,man. She's a bit gone on me.""You're what I call a gay Lothario," said Lenehan. "And the properkind of a Lothario, too!"A shade of mockery relieved the servility of his manner. To savehimself he had the habit of leaving his flattery open to theinterpretation of raillery. But Corley had not a subtle mind."There's nothing to touch a good slavey," he affirmed. "Take mytip for it.""By one who has tried them all," said Lenehan."First I used to go with girls, you know," said Corley, unbosoming;"girls off the South Circular. I used to take them out, man, on thetram somewhere and pay the tram or take them to a band or a playat the theatre or buy them chocolate and sweets or something thatway. I used to spend money on them right enough," he added, in aconvincing tone, as if he was conscious of being disbelieved.But Lenehan could well believe it; he nodded gravely."I know that game," he said, "and it's a mug's game.""And damn the thing I ever got out of it," said Corley."Ditto here," said Lenehan."Only off of one of them," said Corley.He moistened his upper lip by running his tongue along it. Therecollection brightened his eyes. He too gazed at the pale disc ofthe moon, now nearly veiled, and seemed to meditate.She was... a bit of all right," he said regretfully.He was silent again. Then he added:"She's on the turf now. I saw her driving down Earl Street onenight with two fellows with her on a car.""I suppose that's your doing," said Lenehan."There was others at her before me," said Corley philosophically.This time Lenehan was inclined to disbelieve. He shook his headto and fro and smiled."You know you can't kid me, Corley," he said."Honest to God!" said Corley. "Didn't she tell me herself?"Lenehan made a tragic gesture."Base betrayer!" he said.As they passed along the railings of Trinity College, Lenehanskipped out into the road and peered up at the clock."Twenty after," he said."Time enough," said Corley. "She'll be there all right. I always lether wait a bit."Lenehan laughed quietly.'Ecod! Corley, you know how to take them," he said."I'm up to all their little tricks," Corley confessed."But tell me," said Lenehan again, "are you sure you can bring itoff all right? You know it's a ticklish job. They're damn close onthat point. Eh? ... What?"His bright, small eyes searched his companion's face forreassurance. Corley swung his head to and fro as if to toss aside aninsistent insect, and his brows gathered."I'll pull it off," he said. "Leave it to me, can't you?"Lenehan said no more. He did not wish to ruffle his friend'stemper, to be sent to the devil and told that his advice was notwanted. A little tact was necessary. But Corley's brow was soonsmooth again. His thoughts were running another way."She's a fine decent tart," he said, with appreciation; "that's whatshe is."They walked along Nassau Street and then turned into KildareStreet. Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in theroadway, playing to a little ring of listeners. He plucked at thewires heedlessly, glancing quickly from time to time at the face ofeach new-comer and from time to time, wearily also, at the sky.His harp, too, heedless that her coverings had fallen about herknees, seemed weary alike of the eyes of strangers and of hermaster's hands. One hand played in the bass the melody of Silent,O Moyle, while the other hand careered in the treble after eachgroup of notes. The notes of the air sounded deep and full.The two young men walked up the street without speaking, themournful music following them. When they reached Stephen'sGreen they crossed the road. Here the noise of trams, the lights andthe crowd released them from their silence."There she is!" said Corley.At the corner of Hume Street a young woman was standing. Shewore a blue dress and a white sailor hat. She stood on thecurbstone, swinging a sunshade in one hand. Lenehan grew lively."Let's have a look at her, Corley," he said.Corley glanced sideways at his friend and an unpleasant grinappeared on his face."Are you trying to get inside me?" he asked."Damn it!" said Lenehan boldly, "I don't want an introduction. All Iwant is to have a look at her. I'm not going to eat her.""O ... A look at her?" said Corley, more amiably. "Well... I'll tellyou what. I'll go over and talk to her and you can pass by.""Right!" said Lenehan.Corley had already thrown one leg over the chains when Lenehancalled out:"And after? Where will we meet?""Half ten," answered Corley, bringing over his other leg."Where?""Corner of Merrion Street. We'll be coming back.""Work it all right now," said Lenehan in farewell.Corley did not answer. He sauntered across the road swaying hishead from side to side. His bulk, his easy pace, and the solid soundof his boots had something of the conqueror in them. Heapproached the young woman and, without saluting, began at onceto converse with her. She swung her umbrella more quickly andexecuted half turns on her heels. Once or twice when he spoke toher at close quarters she laughed and bent her head.Lenehan observed them for a few minutes. Then he walked rapidlyalong beside the chains at some distance and crossed the roadobliquely. As he approached Hume Street corner he found the airheavily scented and his eyes made a swift anxious scrutiny of theyoung woman's appearance. She had her Sunday finery on. Herblue serge skirt was held at the waist by a belt of black leather.The great silver buckle of her belt seemed to depress the centre ofher body, catching the light stuff of her white blouse like a clip.She wore a short black jacket with mother-of-pearl buttons and aragged black boa. The ends of her tulle collarette had beencarefully disordered and a big bunch of red flowers was pinned inher bosom stems upwards. Lenehan's eyes noted approvingly herstout short muscular body, rank rude health glowed in her face, onher fat red cheeks and in her unabashed blue eyes. Her featureswere blunt. She had broad nostrils, a straggling mouth which layopen in a contented leer, and two projecting front teeth. As hepassed Lenehan took off his cap and, after about ten seconds,Corley returned a salute to the air. This he did by raising his handvaguely and pensively changing the angle of position of his hat.Lenehan walked as far as the Shelbourne Hotel where he haltedand waited. After waiting for a little time he saw them comingtowards him and, when they turned to the right, he followed them,stepping lightly in his white shoes, down one side of MerrionSquare. As he walked on slowly, timing his pace to theirs, hewatched Corley's head which turned at every moment towards theyoung woman's face like a big ball revolving on a pivot. He keptthe pair in view until he had seen them climbing the stairs of theDonnybrook tram; then he turned about and went back the way hehad come.Now that he was alone his face looked older. His gaiety seemed toforsake him and, as he came by the railings of the Duke's Lawn, heallowed his hand to run along them. The air which the harpist hadplayed began to control his movements His softly padded feetplayed the melody while his fingers swept a scale of variations idlyalong the railings after each group of notes.He walked listlessly round Stephen's Green and then down GraftonStreet. Though his eyes took note of many elements of the crowdthrough which he passed they did so morosely. He found trivial allthat was meant to charm him and did not answer the glances whichinvited him to be bold. He knew that he would have to speak agreat deal, to invent and to amuse and his brain and throat weretoo dry for such a task. The problem of how he could pass thehours till he met Corley again troubled him a little. He could thinkof no way of passing them but to keep on walking. He turned to theleft when he came to the corner of Rutland Square and felt more atease in the dark quiet street, the sombre look of which suited hismood. He paused at last before the window of a poor-looking shopover which the words Refreshment Bar were printed in whiteletters. On the glass of the window were two flying inscriptions:Ginger Beer and Ginger Ale. A cut ham was exposed on a greatblue dish while near it on a plate lay a segment of very lightplum-pudding. He eyed this food earnestly for some time and then,after glancing warily up and down the street, went into the shopquickly.He was hungry for, except some biscuits which he had asked twogrudging curates to bring him, he had eaten nothing sincebreakfast-time. He sat down at an uncovered wooden tableopposite two work-girls and a mechanic. A slatternly girl waitedon him."How much is a plate of peas?" he asked."Three halfpence, sir," said the girl."Bring me a plate of peas," he said, "and a bottle of ginger beer."He spoke roughly in order to belie his air of gentility for his entryhad been followed by a pause of talk. His face was heated. Toappear natural he pushed his cap back on his head and planted hiselbows on the table. The mechanic and the two work-girlsexamined him point by point before resuming their conversation ina subdued voice. The girl brought him a plate of grocer's hot peas,seasoned with pepper and vinegar, a fork and his ginger beer. Heate his food greedily and found it so good that he made a note ofthe shop mentally. When he had eaten all the peas he sipped hisginger beer and sat for some time thinking of Corley's adventure.In his imagination he beheld the pair of lovers walking along somedark road; he heard Corley's voice in deep energetic gallantries andsaw again the leer of the young woman's mouth. This vision madehim feel keenly his own poverty of purse and spirit. He was tiredof knocking about, of pulling the devil by the tail, of shifts andintrigues. He would be thirty-one in November. Would he neverget a good job? Would he never have a home of his own? Hethought how pleasant it would be to have a warm fire to sit by anda good dinner to sit down to. He had walked the streets longenough with friends and with girls. He knew what those friendswere worth: he knew the girls too. Experience had embittered hisheart against the world. But all hope had not left him. He feltbetter after having eaten than he had felt before, less weary of hislife, less vanquished in spirit. He might yet be able to settle downin some snug corner and live happily if he could only come acrosssome good simple-minded girl with a little of the ready.He paid twopence halfpenny to the slatternly girl and went out ofthe shop to begin his wandering again. He went into Capel Streetand walked along towards the City Hall. Then he turned into DameStreet. At the corner of George's Street he met two friends of hisand stopped to converse with them. He was glad that he could restfrom all his walking. His friends asked him had he seen Corley andwhat was the latest. He replied that he had spent the day withCorley. His friends talked very little. They looked vacantly aftersome figures in the crowd and sometimes made a critical remark.One said that he had seen Mac an hour before in WestmorelandStreet. At this Lenehan said that he had been with Mac the nightbefore in Egan's. The young man who had seen Mac inWestmoreland Street asked was it true that Mac had won a bit overa billiard match. Lenehan did not know: he said that Holohan hadstood them drinks in Egan's.He left his friends at a quarter to ten and went up George's Street.He turned to the left at the City Markets and walked on intoGrafton Street. The crowd of girls and young men had thinned andon his way up the street he heard many groups and couples biddingone another good-night. He went as far as the clock of the Collegeof Surgeons: it was on the stroke of ten. He set off briskly alongthe northern side of the Green hurrying for fear Corley shouldreturn too soon. When he reached the corner of Merrion Street hetook his stand in the shadow of a lamp and brought out one of thecigarettes which he had reserved and lit it. He leaned against thelamp-post and kept his gaze fixed on the part from which heexpected to see Corley and the young woman return.His mind became active again. He wondered had Corley managedit successfully. He wondered if he had asked her yet or if he wouldleave it to the last. He suffered all the pangs and thrills of hisfriend's situation as well as those of his own. But the memory ofCorley's slowly revolving head calmed him somewhat: he was sureCorley would pull it off all right. All at once the idea struck himthat perhaps Corley had seen her home by another way and givenhim the slip. His eyes searched the street: there was no sign ofthem. Yet it was surely half-an-hour since he had seen the clock ofthe College of Surgeons. Would Corley do a thing like that? He lithis last cigarette and began to smoke it nervously. He strained hiseyes as each tram stopped at the far corner of the square. Theymust have gone home by another way. The paper of his cigarettebroke and he flung it into the road with a curse.Suddenly he saw them coming towards him. He started withdelight and keeping close to his lamp-post tried to read the resultin their walk. They were walking quickly, the young woman takingquick short steps, while Corley kept beside her with his long stride.They did not seem to be speaking. An intimation of the resultpricked him like the point of a sharp instrument. He knew Corleywould fail; he knew it was no go.They turned down Baggot Street and he followed them at once,taking the other footpath. When they stopped he stopped too. Theytalked for a few moments and then the young woman went downthe steps into the area of a house. Corley remained standing at theedge of the path, a little distance from the front steps. Someminutes passed. Then the hall-door was opened slowly andcautiously. A woman came running down the front steps andcoughed. Corley turned and went towards her. His broad figure hidhers from view for a few seconds and then she reappeared runningup the steps. The door closed on her and Corley began to walkswiftly towards Stephen's Green.Lenehan hurried on in the same direction. Some drops of light rainfell. He took them as a warning and, glancing back towards thehouse which the young woman had entered to see that he was notobserved, he ran eagerly across the road. Anxiety and his swift runmade him pant. He called out:"Hallo, Corley!"Corley turned his head to see who had called him, and thencontinued walking as before. Lenehan ran after him, settling thewaterproof on his shoulders with one hand."Hallo, Corley!" he cried again.He came level with his friend and looked keenly in his face. Hecould see nothing there."Well?" he said. "Did it come off?"They had reached the corner of Ely Place. Still without answering,Corley swerved to the left and went up the side street. His featureswere composed in stern calm. Lenehan kept up with his friend,breathing uneasily. He was baffled and a note of menace piercedthrough his voice."Can't you tell us?" he said. "Did you try her?"Corley halted at the first lamp and stared grimly before him. Thenwith a grave gesture he extended a hand towards the light and,smiling, opened it slowly to the gaze of his disciple. A small goldcoin shone in the palm.
Two Gallants was featured as
TheShort Story of the Day on
Tue, Aug 23, 2016
Two Gallants is a short story from Dubliners, published in 1914. Its stories appear to have been written between 1904 - 1907.
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