Joyce intimo spogliato in paizza (un'indiavolata caricatura dello scrittore irlandese) :
detta, sotto gli auspici dell'Associazione della stampa della Venezia Giulia, nella sala della Società filarmonico-drammatica, la sera del 22 febbraio 1922 /
Alessandro Francini Bruni. [ebook]
f These Irish are in good condition! Oscar Wilde, Bernlaard Shaw ... but everyone now surpasses them by the elusive personality of James Joyce. . - - 'This mess is on the verge of a scandalous celebrity} and is - in the frenzy of making the press and public opinion in the middle of the world clash. If they will stone it, I can't imagine. I can't rule it out. But I can imagine that they will get tangled, if they get fisted - - - Let ,, Ulysses “, from his boarding on the Seine, dressed as an English hub, land on the coasts of Europe, transformed, one after the other, in the jacket of the sailor of every living language and then we will talk about it again. "" But I don't speak of Ulysses, tonight I speak of Giacomo, Giacomo joyce. "I found my man. Joyce is our thing, it is the most beautiful title of pride for us and for him. enlarged next to us, near the flames of our hearths. We can share it. I can lawfully dissect it. I give it to you naked as I have seen it. And I make you a present. '***. 'I have exquisite personal memories of the beginning of our friendship' from the years of our stay in Pula and Trieste. Before and after the war. .g '' It was a lazy November 1904. We met in Pula - we came from the poles - Joyce from Dublin, I from Florence, hired by the same hut, a language school. For a loaf of bread. ' Before and after the war. .g '' It was a lazy November 1904. We met in Pula - we came from the poles - Joyce from Dublin, I from Florence, hired by the same hut, a language school. For a loaf of bread. ' Before and after the war. .g '' It was a lazy November 1904. We met in Pula - we came from the poles - Joyce from Dublin, I from Florence, hired by the same hut, a language school. For a loaf of bread. '
6 'Thank goodness. But Joyce had made as many miles as the thought for that loaf of bread. While embarking he had said as Charles V: I will visit my kingdoms on which the sun does not set. mail And by stages, stops, crossings and bivouacs he had crossed the countries of half of Europe: he had visited England, Holland, Germany, France , Switzerland, Austria, Italy and then Austria again. It had finally arrived. Now here we crossed at the confluence of our destiny. Fraternizzammo. Joyce putty of the Irish quagmire and of the frogs who croaked, one day she took her party: taking the longest step of the leg. He planted sack and radicchio, that is to say the paternal house and all the bonds, so, without shouting, with a round of heels. He took the woman of his heart under his arm. The shirt off. A basket of proviande so as not to kiss one another dry on the honeymoon; and a monstrous baggage of humanistic wisdom to come and pound in the pumpkin of four tarpans with scimian mimic: - What is this? - - lt is the chair. - What is this? - And a chair. - a man or a woman? - A woman. - Are you sure? - very sure. - -- We want to see? - a woman, she is a woman. - Very well, very good so. Such a school must be as much as possible the copy of a Seraglio of ferocious beasts; that is, the teacher, who wants to be such, the slut mirror of a monkey; the schoolchild vanity and of the most varied and sciapical species of scimpian that one can imagine: cheerful ladies, cashiers about to run away, single ladies, without commitments but with little hope, fired maids, donkey officers, boatswain ready for boarding, most of all I had the janitor and the cat who had made up his mind to learn the Tuscan with forced marches. They competed with whom
7 insulted him earlier. The janitor was a dull, eared boy, with certain lips that made me think of the ears and lips of the King of Spain when he was a young boy. It was called Svoboda. The cat was quicker for the tongue. The churchyards had learned them earlier Svoboda. My master had learned them so well that I had to intervene promptly to moderate such fiery enthusiasm. - No Svoboda - I said - this affair does not suit me very much. You can eat your snacks at home, we don't need them here; and, even if, water them, sweat. - 'As sior diretor? - Water down I told you. Soon the news spread throughout Pula that the Dîretor had taught that artichoke to water down the Saints. He wanted to say this: Jesus watered down, Virgin in water to the waist, St. Louis with the lily in the water, S. Antonio in gouache with the pig and all the rest, S. Giuseppe also underwater up to the throat. In short, a general drowning. There was no longer anyone left in Heaven. - Ah poor me, poor me! But if I say that you are stupid, nothing good has ever been done! - Enough boy - I had to tell him, you will make a career in the world, I see it, you will water down or you will not water down the snot, your business. But from here it is best that you leave. And I took it off ... you understand. The curtain was raised and the hoax started. 'F> l <fi l' Matto Berlicche or have you mocked us? Prank us. The madman - never as wise as that time - had guessed the key to the start of a company that was a little magician with a smack. . . He had combined - I know! - a scrub with patented closure on the American to let the living tongues enter round gourds in piggello and make them come out of her mouth like a sneer of a shaman. And then with steam, as is a good American rule, he had picked up, sweeping them everywhere, an army of stray dogs and had scattered them on the surface of the globe telling them: - Ite in civitates, run, buck up, break your neck, kill yourself the hocks and the malleolus, the ankle and the butt, go
8 where you want, but run and make the Devil of the claim to my corbellation. Tell that mammalucco of the European public that my straw is the best of how many patches have spoiled his corns and soul; that my method is the true panacea of ignorance. And to those who do not pay, nothing eh, of course! Because, you who must descend among the vil scoundrel, you must remain hungry like the apostles; but I so far away, that I am here waiting, I have no point in the desire to play the part of the master of Galilee. And here are the troubles of nothing but inclined if not to pluck the bags of the thaumaturge, to eat the liver and lungs, not only, but also to exhibit to the ignorant and devoted Humanity the divine appearance of the Venerable: - Who is this? - Who is he? - Mr. B. - Am I Mr. B.? - No, (unfortunately) You are Mr. Joyce. I haven't told you anything. You must know more about the joy of the plot if you want to laugh at the farce: that is, the conditions of writing. . It is well known that the teachers of those Schools are of a stray species that today licks here, tomorrow gnaws there, the bone thrown to the dogs by the thaumaturge's canteen; gallop the world industriously, to escape the wreck or under it, or under that label of a hundred different jobs, all regularly failed or repudiated; indifferent to everything, prepared for everything: hotel waiter, interpreter, cicerone, escort of foreigners, sen- sal and so on. The specialty of these masters is precisely the ability to transform themselves by surprise and reappear all over make-up and make-up, but always the same, always remaining classified in that category which has ramifications in the universe world and which is called the category of the desperate. So feel what kind of posola could have happened to us in those days. 'Among the many general conditions and clauses, the contract of engagement of the "Signori Professori" contained these two cynical and frightening jokes: ,, the Signori Professori, written in capital letters, must be unmarried and show up dressed “.
9 Death of God! A shit! Steps for unmarried, but get dressed! Is there anyone from before who has presented himself dressed with the fig leaf alone? '' - - Think about it - to say how I said to myself and - but when I too received a copy of the contract for signing in Florence - you think with what kind of dog hound these people have to do to get to a similar one despair! Enough, let's sign. Now, you can imagine the disappointment, but what am I saying? - the shock? - not even: the faces of the managing director, the man of trust, the belly-hold of Mr. B. a handsome young man, as shiny as a peacock when instead of an Irishman dressed - or God had covered them with shame! - on the day of arrival, Joyce's sheep was ruined in a state I don't tell you! And with the little lodge in addition! And then how! Throwing yourself out of a third class wagon - a pity that in Austria there were no fourth class wagons like in Germany! - like two spoiled bean bags. And you imagine that a certain newspaper had started two weeks before to snore the trombone of advertising around our names by presenting Joyce to the public in pompous clothes and with the most wicked adjectives! Here now is the expected, stunned and cold, naked like Jesus, left there waiting for someone to dress him from head to toe, in order to be able to enter the circus decently to give a show. 'The English teacher! Mr. Joyce, professor honoris causa of the University of Cambridge - which I know more than the villainous concoction - in which even my name was drawn in with a tail of adjectives as long as a lady's train, dragged into the mud by a pack of bad boys who enjoyed assembling and plucking it. . The meeting between the two - someone who had the fortune to find us present - was something immense. The situation on Joyce's arrival in Pula presented only two good solutions, to kill or kill him. Other solutions were not there. A moment of weakness would have compromised everything, throwing the tragedy into a joke and covering the protagonists with ridicule. And so ended. He would have wanted the dead. The dead man was not there. Then three dogs were seen scorned. Joyce did not think of an instanteal Joyce's arrival in Pula only presented two good solutions, to kill or kill him. Other solutions were not there. A moment of weakness would have compromised everything, throwing the tragedy into a joke and covering the protagonists with ridicule. And so ended. He would have wanted the dead. The dead man was not there. Then three dogs were seen scorned. Joyce did not think of an instanteal Joyce's arrival in Pula only presented two good solutions, to kill or kill him. Other solutions were not there. A moment of weakness would have compromised everything, throwing the tragedy into a joke and covering the protagonists with ridicule. And so ended. He would have wanted the dead. The dead man was not there. Then three dogs were seen scorned. Joyce did not think of an instanteal
10 his tool The affair of the mise did not even go to his brain. On the contrary, he was so much above his greatness that conscious of his role, he waited more firmly for the other to approach him to offer him the welcome and the homages of the city. When they came face to face they began to square, spreading their intentions to each other; the belly support of mr. B. with puffy eyes, Joyce with light eyes and with subsidence. Just like Charles V on inspection of his domains. Covered in rags like a beggar, a catapult we will call with ease was dragging, a pelt of wolf camp that has lost its fur and not the habit of laughing out of the misery of its master and lord. From each tear hung a pendant that Joyce did not he bothered to cheer up. On the contrary, he followed him admirably, struggling as if it were the most spontaneous thing in this world. Signora Joyce, a little on the sidelines, drowning all under a viral pamela and inside a man's palandra that went right up to her knee, looked like a lot of rags. Standing and interacting, she was now staring at one, now the other of the two men without making a face. The manager was on the ball. Like thundering Jupiter he shot lightning from his eyes. Too bad that he too was on a straw hat and with a mid-season coat. From pale and stunned in the first instant he had gradually turned on his face and now he had become scarlet, accerified, congested like a cooked shrimp. Scandals could not do it. But he had a devil for hair and yet he didn't want to make himself known for fear of being mocked, he would have liked. stand still and could not; showing indifference and surly and melting in bows, melting in a dew of compliments. Silence was the most difficult thing for him. He spoke, spoke mechanically. He tried to stun himself by raising the tone of his voice improbably. He tried to laugh and he would cry. The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness would have wanted. stand still and could not; showing indifference and surly and melting in bows, melting in a dew of compliments. Silence was the most difficult thing for him. He spoke, spoke mechanically. He tried to stun himself by raising the tone of his voice improbably. He tried to laugh and he would cry. The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness would have wanted. stand still and could not; showing indifference and surly and melting in bows, melting in a dew of compliments. Silence was the most difficult thing for him. He spoke, spoke mechanically. He tried to stun himself by raising the tone of his voice improbably. He tried to laugh and he would cry. The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness it melted in a dew of compliments. Silence was the most difficult thing for him. He spoke, spoke mechanically. He tried to stun himself by raising the tone of his voice improbably. He tried to laugh and he would cry. The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness it melted in a dew of compliments. Silence was the most difficult thing for him. He spoke, spoke mechanically. He tried to stun himself by raising the tone of his voice improbably. He tried to laugh and he would cry. The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness The whole person was shaken by a thousand vibrations. He had the dance of St. Vitus: the abrupt and ridiculous movements of a puppet when, shaken by a sudden strand of the puppeteer's wire, he sets the head, trunk, arms and legs in motion in one go. I believe that the unfortunate asked God at that moment, to make him sink a hundred meters underground rather than witness
11 that show. And those thus remained impassive to them, congenial as two blood principles. Joyce in spece all flem- but how she took the world in a sweet jerk, all tricks as if she were a little generation of luxury returning from marine beaches, bored of too much enjoyment. And since moreover everything was useless and the situation did not settle itself, Mr. Gerente surrendered to the inescapable. 'Joyce then spoke a strange Italian. Stracco is better said than strange, an Italian ciompo full of pierced and scrofulas that if it were easy to imagine something like this, I would say that it seemed the only-born language, deformed daughter of an opulent nurse paired with a manfano of old ciucciato and injured. It was, in any case, a dead language that came to join the babel of living languages of that skiagia bedlam. Joyce did not see that ulcer, on the contrary, if she patilated it in her mouth with amiable ease. And the beauty was the clear security with which he slipped certain heresies, he came out with certain abortions of blunders that, like true God, were neither in heaven nor on earth. Not even merciful God in heaven could take them, there were on earth because there was Joyce; and Joyce nursed them, not caring about people, with a pacifier of brazenness. It was not this virtue that made the man of spirit fail. Five years later, it is true, the Italian language, the real language, was more familiar to him than to me; our newspapers had him a precious and powerful collaborator. And even if Benco, out of false humility, exaggerated saying that Joyce had taught him Italian, it is certain that many of us would have been happy to know how to write Italian in the Irish way. But this time, as I say, it was another matter. So when Mr. Gerente, to enter into the good graces of the bear, thought to ask him a question; recalling the knowledge of all his English at that point. he graciously insinuated oily: - Do You speak ltalian mister Joyce? "You say," Joyce said. And he didn't say more. . - What kind of Italian does this shop speak? Did you have a good trip, Mr. Joyce? - You say. And he stopped. 'Break and amazement of the interlocutor. But this time, as I say, it was another matter. So when Mr. Gerente, to enter into the good graces of the bear, thought to ask him a question; recalling the knowledge of all his English at that point. he graciously insinuated oily: - Do You speak ltalian mister Joyce? "You say," Joyce said. And he didn't say more. . - What kind of Italian does this shop speak? Did you have a good trip, Mr. Joyce? - You say. And he stopped. 'Break and amazement of the interlocutor. But this time, as I say, it was another matter. So when Mr. Gerente, to enter into the good graces of the bear, thought to ask him a question; recalling the knowledge of all his English at that point. he graciously insinuated oily: - Do You speak ltalian mister Joyce? "You say," Joyce said. And he didn't say more. . - What kind of Italian does this shop speak? Did you have a good trip, Mr. Joyce? - You say. And he stopped. 'Break and amazement of the interlocutor. - What kind of Italian does this shop speak? Did you have a good trip, Mr. Joyce? - You say. And he stopped. 'Break and amazement of the interlocutor. - What kind of Italian does this shop speak? Did you have a good trip, Mr. Joyce? - You say. And he stopped. 'Break and amazement of the interlocutor.
12 - How the hell does this Lutheran express himself? Bah! let's ask him another question. '' - Do you like Italy, Mr. Joyce? - Which is what I hate. Sere, issa vegg 'io - he said - Pola appo del Carnaro, in such a tone as to mean: Give me time to breathe minchione. - Oh poor me, poor me. But this is crazy! I made a good deal! And now? As we can see, the situation was very dramatic. B.'s girth was at the height of despair. He no longer knew what fish to take. The idea of killing both guests came to mind again. Then a less bloody purpose prevailed. And as if a flash of genius crossed his mind, he grabbed the extreme resolution, grabbed both of them by the stomach and threw them one after the other into the first buggy he met. Then he took a breath to refurbish a Christian. But it was only a passenger remedy. The beauty was just about to come. . Imagine the cheating of that poor Christ of having to re-tow - he so adjusted and upright - through the streets of a small town gossip that new knowledge of ape embalmed with an unsurpassed geological rarity. 2h *> l <The clown was at the zenith. In that crazy cage it was not easy to say who was less of a fool. Everyone lent themselves wickedly. Only Joyce would otherwise undergo corbellation. He let it be. He offered his person to mockery as he would offer meat to torture. The internal revolt had turned into a gentle meekness. It was dripping like a rag. He looked like lost. Mencius like a repentant little stick, expiring humility of odoriferous oil, when he went down the street in such a balogia attitude; or he entered the classroom with the collotorto, the bitchy muzzle, the sheep's eye, he seemed the great Tenebrone of the brotherhood of the good death. Aching and disjointed, without counting the tortoises of his schoolchildren, he eyed the first stool that stumbled, he fell asleep like wadding and it started. But in his stomach there must have been such a jelly of ineffectual essences for Mr. B's malady to bet that the Venerable would not have wanted to be there talking about his mouth of centiloqnio. without counting the tortoises of his pupils, he eyed the first stool that stumbled, he fell asleep like wadding and it started. But in his stomach there must have been such a jelly of ineffectual essences for Mr. B's malady to bet that the Venerable would not have wanted to be there talking about his mouth of centiloqnio. without counting the tortoises of his pupils, he eyed the first stool that stumbled, he fell asleep like wadding and it started. But in his stomach there must have been such a jelly of ineffectual essences for Mr. B's malady to bet that the Venerable would not have wanted to be there talking about his mouth of centiloqnio.
,. - Here is a figure. Head of cabbage or head of b ....? What you like most gentlemen. In the room next to me, a brainy German-faced man with stung-eyed glasses resting on the tip of his crooked nose, infatuated with the office, went out of his way expanding, cracking the idiotic phrase in his language. By making a commitment, he painted it by springing it pompously by showing off wisdom like Teodoro Momsen when he explained the history of ancient Rome to the world. That grullaecio had a spectacular fantasy. You can get an essay from this poetic masterpiece of his invention, applied to the method. It is a dialogue clown where the talking characters imagine themselves, the professor and the pupil. Here it is: w Wer isthier? - Herr Professor. 'fl Wer ist da? . - Herr Collessor. Wer ist hier, wer ist da, Herr Professor, Herr Collessor, so humming and rocking everything, if he took aire the mom would not stop with that macaroni and melancholy tone. meanwhile he measured the effect it had on schoolchildren. ln a good point, when he thought he was surprising the general ambiguity to which he had brought the wretched little by little with his sciloppaggine, he suddenly collected them, he called them back to reality with another explosive device of inevitable effect. '- Hier ist eine gnedige Frau. Diese Frau ist die Frau B. And then immediately without recovering, attracting:. - Bin ich eine gnedige Frau? - She? Oh God everything can be. But he seems to me rather an ape, you, mein lieber Herr Professor. The bomb as it was done had its effect causing general hilarity, and a burst of Homeric laughter. The dumb did not understand an accident but he was happy anyway and hung up with his eager song. Wer ist hier? Herr Professor Wer ist da? Herr Collessor
14 Then there was a brogues, a gallant carpet, as vicious as a little monkey that had to be sent upright on the tip of its feet, sculking and detaching itself on the implant; it smelled of garlic, raised its elbow and even more the curtain, which is why my superiors sent it to that country, that is to say to Count Eulenburg, for gallantry. Then there was an Englishman, an authentic Englishman, Joyce's desperation, a naughty boy, help me say a donkey, weak as a cork, who must have been a latrine adjuster in his country before being a professor of English. In fact, he adjusted the sentences by eye. If they went, well, if not, the pupils thought about it. The comedy was too much to laugh at and it lasted long for it to continue without filling the respectable audience. Between uzzoli and minuzzoli it seems to me that a year had gone by. There was no longer anyone who had not passed the hut. Everyone had laughed out loud. It was fair and honest to take the peel and curtains elsewhere. And so we had to go giving the honor of writing to others, perhaps emulating just as willing to bark but - this is not arrogance and not equally funny to the public for that combination of fusion and harmony. The fair - sorry I meant the school - ended up in the hands of a former German hotel maid tired of doing that job and eager to be dignified. For the occasion they had or had improvised school principal and language teacher. Joyce was one of his favorites. She had put Civetta's eyes on him. Appetized him. Appetiva his language. Poor Joyce. It would have taken that mess too! But, you coquette, you merl those others. The merlons stipulating a contract caricature with the owl, first played the trick of the past; Joyce dribbled from one to the other cheerfully. Then bravely with magician dexterity, the make-up artists managed to make it drip between their fingers and seize it for themselves. They had thought: if Joyce is to serve the owl to catch the sparrows, the better she can do the same service to us in Trieste. And having it in their hands, they took it from you, tied it. they packed it and like a salami to Trieste they sent it, I believe by means of a wagon of foodstuffs regularly sealed and at high speed. The merlons stipulating a contract caricature with the owl, first played the trick of the past; Joyce juggled each other happily. Then bravely with magician dexterity, the make-up artists managed to drain it between their fingers and seize it for themselves. They had thought: if Joyce is to serve the owl to catch the sparrows, the better she can do the same service to us in Trieste. And having it in their hands, they took it from you, tied it. they packed it and sent it to Trieste like salami, I believe by means of a wagon of foodstuffs regularly sealed and at great speed. The merlons stipulating a contract caricature with the owl, first played the trick of the past; Joyce juggled each other happily. Then bravely with magician dexterity, the make-up artists managed to drain it between their fingers and seize it for themselves. They had thought: if Joyce is to serve the owl to catch the sparrows, the better she can do the same service to us in Trieste. And having it in their hands, they took it from you, tied it. they packed it and sent it to Trieste like salami, I believe by means of a wagon of foodstuffs regularly sealed and at great speed. the make-up artists managed to drain it between their fingers and seize it for themselves. They had thought: if Joyce is to serve the owl to catch the sparrows, the better she can do the same service to us in Trieste. And having it in their hands, they took it from you, tied it. they packed it and like a salami to Trieste they sent it, I believe by means of a wagon of foodstuffs regularly sealed and at high speed. the make-up artists managed to drain it between their fingers and seize it for themselves. They had thought: if Joyce is to serve the owl to catch the sparrows, the better she can do the same service to us in Trieste. And having it in their hands, they took it from you, tied it. they packed it and like a salami to Trieste they sent it, I believe by means of a wagon of foodstuffs regularly sealed and at high speed.
15 A little later I joined you too. > l <> t <> k In Trieste the usual life of shadow, physical and stormy. Few conquests, many desires, somewhat appetite. Everything went backwards. The sense of the well-known Tuscan proverb is also reversed: a little fresh cheese, less St. Francis. We had paraphrased it like this: a lot of S. Francesco, a little fresh cheese. It meant: very uncluttered, tip pecunia. The more you broke up, the more you got rid of fatigue, the less it shelled. C) I know how the farms went that time! However, they became very interesting new acquaintances. Types and curiosities that at least kept us happy. We laughed, yes. And Joyce laughed and made us laugh too. Here I open a parenthesis, a little long I know, but I am constrained if I want to keep the company happy by showing the a whole constellation of stelluccias around the star of the first size. I give you live and lived characters, so that you will see them in candle, soul and body, character and physique. 'How was the School of Trieste governed? Who was there? Meanwhile there was Beppino. 'Beppino was a nice type of fanfarone. A Gascon from my country, an acciarpone, an abborraccione. Invasive whisper like braccialarghe, - it came from the tribune of the plebs - by dint of wanting to embrace everything with the three money he had put in it and with an elbow in less than it is said amen had managed to beat the councilors side by side, it would be said members of the government and to dominate the field only. So he had made himself a comfortable position. He had become director, master, fucker. Director appointed himself. He wanted to say he had an iron fist like Bismarck. Touched the papacy, by that shrewd and sad sponge he was, he soon began to milk the performance of his henchmen to the maximum. He wanted the skin. He wanted them to see reduced zest of squeezed lemons. I will tell you something about his government. Ahl I can tell you some good ones. . In the antechamber of the school on the corner of the left wall, as soon as you entered, next to the Slundenplan, there was the life-size pencil portrait of an ordinary man. A kind of corner of the left wall, as soon as you entered, next to the Slundenplan, was the life-size pencil portrait of an ordinary man. A kind of corner of the left wall, as soon as you entered, next to the Slundenplan, was the life-size pencil portrait of an ordinary man. A kind of
16 provincial, a farmer, a forester, with a large tramp, together with an insignificant face which in the ancient age made them show off. It was the portrait of Benoit Malon, the well-known French socialist writer and economist, one of the evangelists on whom Beppino's fine head swore. There, however, the effigy of the saint had a very modest task, that of embellishing a bare wall, or more likely to plug the holes in a scalcinatura. Beppino presented it to everyone - asked or not asked - for Signor Berlicche. - Monsieur Berlicche - he said with much anointing - And all fervent with ravenous charity, I practice the glimpses of the effect:. - See sir, that is the image of the founding saint - he continued devoutly and visibly moved, as if he had said: That is the image of the virgin of Val di Pompei, so miraculous, you know, thanks only to look at her. '' When a tawny owl happened to be within reach, asking for information about the prices and conditions of the school, Beppin who did not want to run away, immediately thought of how to dupe him. As a good hunter, meanwhile, he began by making him lose his aim, then he took it wide and almost always took it to you on the portrait business. - See sir, that's ours, Signor Berlicche. While the unfortunate man turned and remained in ecstatic contemplation of the miraculous effigy, the marten behind him, the business was working on him. Perched on a sideways banquet, he made a quick account of addition and subtraction. Quitanzava a receipt. The differences to his advantage were trifles and he didn't care. - Anticipated timetable nicht wahr? He turned to say the other one with bated breath. "Ja, jawohl," the shameless man replied to a great career and handed the receipt with a blatant and ridiculous elegance, the mamo pitted the bajocchi. Lafaina pocketed and softened. Then they separated themselves with a great complimenting noise. - Danke, danke sehr. - Bitte, bitte sehr. 'As soon as the baggiano was out of the door, Beppino rubbed his hands and:
° 17 - This too is done - she said with joyful joy. I skinned it to that mona di lugaro. Just to be clear in Tuscan. L. Joyce with his son Giorgio- As long as there was a recipe to be prepared and stuffed with ... rdoni, Beppino was not long to run from the dial to the chair and from the chair to the dial to talk to those unhappy ones. But outside of that occasion, when he too understood that the portrait was superfluous if he was out of touch with those who asked him out of genuine curiosity and replied as rude as that priest to the brat. You don't know the story of the brat and the priest i '' Ah, but then I'll tell you. nice.
initiates knew the trick because the friend - sincerone - in the moments of expansion had confided the swagger and then it was a fooling around from laughter to coffee tables among the crook of good guys. , *> l <the Beppino was the side of a perfect triangle. Before. he. Then there was his wife. He was a tall bearded man with black fur like a bumblebee. She is a filuginous filapicosa sputasentenze. It had a diminutive of the callsign that was something celestial: Cilestrina. Beppino and Cilestrina looked together. the walking. The cirimbraccola was able to say without any mistake Mister joyc-ejM-ons-ì-eur; Fr-cî-uIein and beat the piano. It was an awl who would have skinned a louse to sell its skin. You were more afraid of her in the morning when she entered school - but you make me celiac, the wife 'of the Sior Dìretor / - loaded with the little animals of his real consort, all squeaky trotting and bubbling with a Stracco neck that stretched out of the fluttering wrapping of the ribbons like a turtle when it emerges from the shell! Upon entering, she lovingly loved: - Beppino, Beppino.-
_ 19 This usually happened on Saturday, the payday of the rank masters such as The Hungry for that French painting which is at the Revoltella Museum. Eh! this is an important affair which we will have to talk about again. - Beppino, Beppino. - echoed us in all tones and in all languages beyond our dark and stinking room like a chicken coop, where above it was pompously written in capital letters: Room of the Professors. And Beppino, who had always had a Devil's hair on his hair, without raising his head from the panels of his cabals, blissfully harmonized: - Um, um; or at most he replied grumpy: Leave me alone, don't mix. I believe it squared the way how to best bind humanity. An important deal as you see. And she, the little girl, warped, had Beppino by the horns! He was right after all too; Cilestrina could not expect to always have him in his skirts And then, medlars, he was not always in winter, when he feels so well stuck next to each other, to warm us under the same sheets! - Beppino, Beppino. - Um, um - We went on to do it in two distinct choruses that answered each other. _ - Beppino, Beppino, if you don't pay me I don't have a fortune. The cheeky refrain, invented who knows what poet in hunger, had made the rounds of the professoraglia. The little professor passed it humming melancholy. He was from beyond that he heard and sometimes he swore at us, but he never knew in what language. ln fact of language he was almost brazen. He spoke to her all, without knowing where they were at home, reduced to a schematic anthill of its own coinage. A mosaic phrase monster in which there was a word puzzle for every language of Europe, was the patch for all serious cases. This was what everyone meant. I also understand why he said he spoke languages all over the world. "But French is my main course," he always said. Perhaps thanks to that portrait of Benoit Malon. When he could not pay a bill, he led the can in the threshing floor, he resorted to the help of all the saints in the trap. He needed much help from philology to get out of trouble. Then boarded me to say he speaks languages from all over the world. "But French is my main course," he always said. Perhaps thanks to that portrait of Benoit Malon. When he could not pay a bill, he led the can in the threshing floor, he resorted to the help of all the saints in the trap. He needed much help from philology to get out of trouble. Then boarded me to say he speaks languages from all over the world. "But French is my main course," he always said. Perhaps thanks to that portrait of Benoit Malon. When he could not pay a bill, he led the can in the threshing floor, he resorted to the help of all the saints in the trap. He needed much help from philology to get out of trouble. Then boarded
20 \ with his teachers very important discussions about the relationship and similarity of languages, but in the meantime he didn't pay. Arlecchino went on to tickle for the word also. Beppino went in jujube broth for the word don't pay. She said she was so beautiful married to the assets! The passive no, poop that too. At last there was Fock - the third side of the triangle - a restful canaccio, even that of a lord of Tuscany, fluffy and fluffy, anything but malleable, which I broke -adagio Francini - trousers for everyone: teachers and schoolchildren. From there in the classrooms he barked in all living languages. In the anteroom the dog was babel on his own. And wasn't that a crazy cage? Or what would you guys call it? Joyce's gallerone, as dry as a badly managed, pusillanimous and badly dressed capon, he had a hideous fear of Fock. When in the morning, entering all sleepy, he could barely see him, superbly nestled in the penumbra of the enclosure - Joyce could also be without the shadow of a penny, which was very often - he forgot to take even those few - the lesson did not even pass to him because of the recollection of the memory - he turned his own precipice and tumbled down two branches of dark and luminous stairs that scared them to look at them. From there the schoolchildren waited for Joyce, but Fock went to teach him lessons. Because Joyce was the owner of the English cathedra, Fock was his help. This joke gradually gave rise to the suspicion in the masters that the dog was not a mere combination but that he was a member of the company with a important and distinct occupation. That is, to scare away harassing creditors by scaring them with growls and rezzons. We, to communicate it, where languages did not arrive, made many winks. 'Fock had a great deal to kill fleas, but sad and wicked, he didn't miss a syllable of our tricks. He understood that they were dog voices, but not of his kind. Those unheard verses were not familiar to him - you could see it - but he had to understand that we were mocking his associates and masters and that was such a brat and bratty coward, capable of going to spread everything to them. So he stood there and stared at us with that hypnotic gaze of the dogs when they try to guess your intentions. where tongues did not arrive, many winks were made. 'Fock had a great deal to kill fleas, but sad and wicked, he didn't miss a syllable of our tricks. He understood that they were dog voices, but not of his kind. Those unheard verses were not familiar to him - you could see it - but he had to understand that we were mocking his associates and masters and that was such a brat and bratty coward, capable of going to spread everything to them. So he stood there and stared at us with that hypnotic gaze of the dogs when they try to guess your intentions. where tongues did not arrive, many winks were made. 'Fock had a great deal to kill fleas, but sad and wicked, he didn't miss a syllable of our tricks. He understood that they were dog voices, but not of his kind. Those unheard verses were not familiar to him - you could see it - but he had to understand that we were mocking his associates and masters and that was such a brat and bratty coward, capable of going to spread everything to them. So he stood there and stared at us with that hypnotic gaze of the dogs when they try to guess your intentions. Those unheard verses were not familiar to him - you could see it - but he had to understand that we were mocking his associates and masters and that was such a brat and bratty coward, capable of going to spread everything to them. So he stood there and stared at us with that hypnotic gaze of the dogs when they try to guess your intentions. Those unheard verses were not familiar to him - you could see it - but he had to understand that we were mocking his associates and masters and that was such a brat and bratty coward, capable of going to spread everything to them. So he stood there and stared at us with that hypnotic gaze of the dogs when they try to guess your intentions.
21 In the morning the trio shared the day's work and went around the square. Cilestrina in fish market, Beppino to make souls like S. Pietro, Fock punctually at school. Of the three, he was the one who most wanted to work. -He could say: I get bread with the sweat of my forehead. And punctually he was a spy at school. How do you see the friend of man! Son of a dog, he marked the teachers' delays and absences - macchè ammaestratol - like an automatic machine, in the effigy of a dog, of infallible precision. the late twirling concerts that seen for example in a map could have been taken for rivers. Absences with some small arms with a rigid and elongated shape like Krupp cannons. Fock raised the flask and - one, two, three - you could clearly see the zigaro butts - as Beppino called him who had spirit - left by the dog at the door of each school. . Joyce who did not see us blinded their track with his feet and then the absence remained stuck under the soles of his shoes. So blindness was also second to that drained garment, as for Fock the next morning he saw it with the concierge when he came to do the cleaning of the premises. Things that happened in Trieste before the war, when you made less money and laughed more. Everyone was already laughing in Austria. Arlecchino paid the costs. On Saturday morning we were piled up in the dark. in the filthy dump waiting for the bloodletting, that is, the wages that Bismarck's hairy hand had to reach out to us as in front of the door a convent on the day of the distribution of the soup. We had worked a week for that. The troop of the pawns waited for the general's nod to come to him one after the other to receive the holy alms from his hands. The call began. Who was the first beggar? Need to guess it? Joyce burst from the conductor straight and stiff like a lewd pigeon. - Ùrpo, you didn't go to the bank of england counters either - I mocked him on my heels.
22 His account was quickly done and there was no danger of him going over the counter. Joyce had eaten the egg in the hen's body a week earlier. . A pataccone of Maria Teresa and go. Joyce took it haughtily, turned it over - balls and saints 4 in the palm of his fine and stiff hand, put it under the evil eye; then chasing him disdainfully in the pocket of his trousers, he took a run, carried by the wind of a terrible fuck, into the unknown. After a while there was a great storm. It was Joyce who kicked Irish treads outside the first room where he had slammed into it. Having clarified the misunderstanding, there was no need to tell him that his schoolchildren were not there, that this was not his class and therefore he could not stay there. He, stubborn as a boy refused to go out, persisting in wanting to teach English to those who expected German. The mishap made Beppino go wild; but it amused Joyce and also amused the pupils who always ended up adapting to the comic situation. Joyce took out Maria Teresa's pataccone and asked dryly, looking badly at the first unknown pupil: - What is this? - lt is money. - Very much or very little? - Very much. . - Very money - Joyce snapped at the height of the comedy. - Mona mi? »- Yes, mona ti. . - Mona I wreak havoc. here an elegant and highly learned discussion began between teacher and schoolchildren on the derivation, meaning and application of money in English and Italian. Everyone came in one by one. There were types in that babel. Too bad I am furious to pull away. If not, you would see flagellants pass by my magic lantern. I cannot, however, defraud you of the taste of introducing you to a type of hoof of that undisciplined coven, the French master N.0 1, and to tell you what happened to me least of the troupe - when my turn came.
- Who knows what gossip this knocker can cause. - That business of gallant adventures in society did not suit him very much. - No no it doesn't suit me and then he asked for peace. They did like the thieves of Pisa, the day they squabbled the night they reveled together. - 'But the real interesting type was the Frenchman N. “1. He, mild, three times good, had the appearance of the blessed Giuseppe Labre - the saint of the filth - his name was precisely Joseph and he was not stupid point like every French in made of calculations and diplomacy. Trained by the previous cases, when he felt the stench of burning, that is, the stench of cash, in the meantime he lost the turn by giving the entrance to what came after him. So he gained time to study the situation and get back on track. He did as we do when, on bora days, close to a corner, we wait for the gust to pass. He waited. Then he made his entrance in peace. Like? Thinking of reading, like Don Abbondio, the breviary, all sideways swaying, swinging the flap and humming in a low voice on the air of a French song: 11 ne peut pas, ne ne peut pas, ne peut pas; and peered at the good one out of the corner of his eye.
24 Beppino, curled up, studied the maneuver, studied it below, with his breath ever shorter, praying to God that even that moment would pass and he would sink deeper and deeper into his calculations. meanwhile the other would not have disturbed Monsieur le Direcleur, who appeared so busy, for all the gold in the world; rather he would have apologized for entering, if that too hadn't been a nuisance. And in the end, not seeing himself called, without stopping for a moment in his march along the entire direction room, he resigned himself to continuing it - like Joyce himself - towards the unknown. . Beppino, moved, listened to the echo of those sweet words, the ne peut pas, the ne peutpas, the ne peut pas. But, past the danger and that is when he now believed himself safe against further attack or acceptance, he acted like snails, little by little he came out of his shell and pulled out his horns. It grew stronger and warmed by the fire of this brazen prosopope. He said to himself: Can I be more realistic than the king? If my professors are all gentlemen, what can I do about it? Why didn't that proud guy come forward? The weekly was there waiting for him. Did he expect me to take it home with his car? Have you ever seen anything like this? A judge would not have sentenced him. But I went in to spoil the party. Ohl when I entered Beppino's petulance was of another kind. He complimented me on injury. He said to me with a snicker and also teasing me: - You came late, bank closed. - - Bank closed? Broken bank! I shouted at him, losing my temper. - Ah you won't get up, no three steps away, snake tongue. And it came to me with clenched and injured fists right under the muzzle. I simply asked for mine. He threatened me too much with his. But domineering him, tongue me. '- Ah, but therefore Fock is not the only one who is incumbent on giving the creditors of the company a chance. I see you take turns. and you, compete with it. I thought I had discovered Columbus' egg, but at the same time I had to look over my shoulder and slowly recoil towards a dark corner keeping my eye always fixed on the energy. Courtesies, which were exchanged between peers from the same country. I see you take turns. and you, compete with it. I thought I had discovered Columbus' egg, but at the same time I had to look over my shoulder and slowly recoil towards a dark corner keeping my eye always fixed on the energy. Courtesies, which were exchanged between peers from the same country. I see you take turns. and you, compete with it. I thought I had discovered Columbus' egg, but at the same time I had to look over my shoulder and slowly recoil towards a dark corner keeping my eye always fixed on the energy. Courtesies, which were exchanged between peers from the same country.
25 In those moments of greater turmoil it was not uncommon to see the groom rushing in to the manager to announce the visit of an unwanted creditor, for example the gas cursor with the consumption bills. - Sior Diretor, ghe xe el scodidor. - Go fuck yourself and the scodidor. And then almost always, either the key to the safe had rusted in the hole or it had broken into it or had remained locked in it - due to the carelessness of Cilestrina - or it had come out, for a tear, out of the pants going down '- see combination - between these and the underpants in a rather inconvenient point. It must be said that in improvised gymnastics it was unsurpassed. Meanwhile, to recite the sacramental comedy well: - On a collol course But who, the key 'or el scodiclor? But if this the latter had no reason and insisted on being paid, even threatening to close the counter, Beppino who had a nose to sniff out the cheating, with the ease of a primome in a dancing pantomime, came out and said half laughing and half seriously: - We'll have to come back, my key broke in the hole. I have already telegraphed to Vienna to send me a mechanic. Then he came back full of contentment singing: The hideous fire of that pyre. With such loopholes he believed he had won the game and if it was fine, his business. 'On Sunday Beppino rested. on your laurels. And on Monday, with the memory of the festive and refreshed mess, it was already more negotiable. All the more so if, having managed to pull some other blackbirds into the country outside the city, he could have giulebbar in the rump. - Mister Joyce, you will have twelve hours more this week. (Twelve, he said it in English for Joyce to understand better) - Will he be happy? And he started to turn the wings of the Slundenplan - of that wall shuffle that I had named Fahrplan, the railway timetable, and he had a fuck in it - a chessboard covered with scrapes and scribbles that made everyone think wrong maneuvers. God look if it was really the time
26 of the railways! In fact he too in that Napoleonic attitude seemed a general who studied the topographic map before the development of the battle. . f- Will Mister Joyce be happy? --- he repeated. Joyce, a profound psychologist, replied with another question in Italian: - La ga bezzî? I no go a boron and no go drank a fiatin, you know? '' n: z}: Beppino's triangular virtue was like the eye of the almighty. He saw everything, made up for everything. Beppino spread his arms. To say: Bring me, he would have given away the heart. In spite of having paying people, he pressed the schoolchildren in fetid molds like cesspools, as slimy as dunghills. He would put them in the latrine. When I made him observe it amicably, telling him that this was not convenient for the good name of the school and that after all the thing was also unsanitary, Beppin, showing off his erudite quote, sentenced comple- menting: '- Shut up, macacco. Socrates was teaching in the middle of the street. - - Indeed on the pavement, 'bundle - I retorted. But if Socrates, verbigracy, had also had only the stamberga of your school, meanwhile Cilestrina - that is, Xanthippe - would not have thrown his capital in his head, empty or full, to say the least because so much the capital split himself on his head to poor Vecîo. - He went to the collection - Beppino, not Socrates - of the clientele as his teachers went to begging him. In scratching pupils he was more skilled than a hen. I know how he did it! It streamed them everywhere; in via Commerciale - he was at home - I think he managed to catch his concierge too. A canchero of old - salvognuno - deaf and gutted who, as we already understand, could neither read nor write; in via della Pozzacchera - I recommend those customers to you; in via del Pozzo bianco - fished out on the last dive; - in via delle Zudecche - .from hell to paradise, paradise was the school but he didn't believe it either; - to the vespasians. Oh! here the business grows. heaven was school but he didn't believe it either; - to the vespasians. Oh! here the business grows. heaven was school but he didn't believe it either; - to the vespasians. Oh! here the business grows.
27 ln that essen of essences where every good gentleman - you know and was honestly for his important and maddening service, Beppino. I don't know how he did, he combined, he contracted, he counterattacked. So much so, sticking them in and to the speech - the school affair, he immediately managed to make those good gentlemen stop from their elusive affair and they, stumbled W you won't believe it - they came after him even if they were »- My God how do I now to say such a difficult thing - even if they were colascioni and sbracalati. - So much already - Beppino assured them - they can leave the rest to me, there at school. Because the school offers all the amenities; indeed, they know, it's all a comfortable place. And finally to the Polar Star: - Does the Polar Star seem anything to you-? I remember the Gospel of Christmas night: "Et, exception stella quam viderant in the east antecedebat eos usque dum veniret supra ubi erat puer “. And here was the star they had seen in the east, preceded them, when they stopped above the stable where the little boy lay. There, it seems that Beppino had encountered several scuffles - planted grits, the use of saying A today was invaded and that therefore several coats had flown given, taken, returned, 'resumed as the strength of the Belle Alliance - Beppino said all data but she was a gasconata and in any case it was a nice method to make the publicity to the school. Persuasively. Then some of the more roguish to make him get more angry said to him poking him:. - Beppino, pedagogical punch or Florentine punch. - Forbidden punch - he ventured proudly gritting his teeth and grinding the burr. And there is it was too much to lengthen the joke because if not there was also to see the melancholy of the master of the Sie / la - caught in the middle of the battle - gobbon gobbon between the tables to collect the shards of the coffee beans and the coccome. - Beppino, as he was immense in the finds of schoolchildren, so was unparalleled in the finds of teachers. 'One day he took him to school and introduced himself to everyone as a professor who had been specially brought from Zagreb to teach Croatian, a bookbinder, a friend of his, raspollato God knows where;
28 a poor Christ who, when he set foot in the school to start his office, was shy and frightened like a turtle dove. Beppino with all his brazenness, had failed to communicate a grain of courage to him. Joyce, this evening she was holding her navel because she thought she was going to burst. One fine day, a really bad day, Beppino shot out of circulation. He said to move from the old world to the new. In fact, we were all greeted American-style and nothing was heard of it. If perhaps he too has not gone to war to do his duty as a good Italian. Why did I forget this to say --- he was also a corporal or a cavalry colonel. He said general of course. But either corporal or general, what does this have to do with it? Jesus --- well, or this? e- Yes Jesus, pissing on the wickedness of Judas, said the terrible words: Melius erat ei si nafus non fuisset homo ille. Well Jesus would not have said those words for Beppino. If Beppino hadn't got out of his hand and combined as Pinocchio escaped from the hands of Maestro Geppetto, Jesus would have had to create it, but with Cilestrina, Fock and everything. Joyce was also of this opinion. Fucking Beppino! Besides, I have little to say. If it had not been him - who had called me and introduced me to the asylum so deservedly governed by him, I certainly would never have had the great fortune of meeting my friend Joyce. :} <3: As for Joyce, there is no point in liming that in all that disguise, it always kept up to the times. He had accepted a situation, knowing that he had to draw the maximum effect from it and all the more to the school of that Beppino whom he now assisted, only from the point of view of irresistible hilarity. 'Beppino had found his man. For him Joyce was always the Cambridge professor. Remember that Beppino was a general of geography - who came from across the Atlantic to teach us poor devils that a chair has four legs and is a pet of the vertebrate species
29 Now, there is no need to offend anyone or to take offense; but can you imagine the professor from Cambridge who purposely departs from his country to come and bag the few babelic maxims like these in the goiter? '- Berlicche, Berlicche I've never done to you and in what. I saddened you because you tanned me so? '- Mr. Berlicche and Mr. Joyce: a brat and a beggar. - - Lopsided eye brings evil eye. '' '. - Ugly is the man without debt, but uglier is without money. - A. husband is generally an ox with horns. And the woman is brainless. Both together form a four-legged animal. . . - Swollen sandwich and Virgin with baby Jesus- - The adulterous woman makes the man sore. - What is a pachyderm? That gentleman there, they see with the trumpet nose and the irrepressible epa, that is a pachyderm. And so on, all very useful, very beautiful, very proper, very instructive maxims of the prose of this life which Joyce had then paraphrased, widening them for the more advanced pupils in these other apologists, no less fun, educational, perspicuous and expansive. PYÎIIIO apologist. - Mr. B. is an insatiable sponge. His teachers have sucked their brains. Who talks about meat? These crucifixes have shrunk on the pole, skin and bones. I offer it to my pupils as a specimen of the giraffe species for the objective teaching of zoology according to my lord's method. -. .Second apologue. - That lady has a nice little breast. But he has a broad conscience like a sewer. Her husband is happy because the Cicisbei develop it for him. . . Another apologist. - Also I develop myself. You too like me, dry fourteen glasses of absinthe on an empty stomach and you will see. . If this cure does not develop you, you are doomed. You can give up learning English using this method. -.
30 - My wife has learned Italian, enough to make debts comfortably. I don't pay them. Will Berlicche pay them? This does not concern me. Creditors tell me to put me on trial. - No judgment. If if trataria de scoder much, much ... but pay? Mi no mi. And go mastruzà the petition. - The tax agent is an ignoramus who constantly annoys me. He filled me with the table of hand-written notes where it says: Monitorio, monitorio, monitorio. I told him that if he doesn't stop I will send him to be beamed by that bag-cutter of his master. The bag cutter is the government of Vienna. Tomorrow may be that of Rome. But either Vienna or Rome or London, for me governments are all one way, philiblistieri. As for multiple slips, I told him to send me as well, they will make me comfortable for these caricatures and for those to come. If not, lastly they will not take care of my wife for that certain affair that all mothers make to their children. - Ireland is a great country. It is called the Emerald Isle. The metropolitan government, in so many centuries that the jugula, reduced it on the straps. It is now a field of thorns. It has sown us hunger, syphilis, superstition, alcoholism. Puritans, Jesuits and bigots sprouted from it. Our peasants are proverbially of a sonambulic nature which is very close to the frogish and ruthless sterility of the fakirs. I think it is the only people who eat symbolically when hungry. Don't you know what it means to eat symbolically? I'll explain it right away. The settler family, very numerous, it is arranged around the rustic table as around the altar. There is in the middle of the ceiling tied to a thread that falls perpendicularly on the table, a herring that could be enough for everyone. The capoccia is armed with the potato. Here, it makes a cross signal - the cross tells me a friend of mine tells me - at the top of the animal's rump, instead of rubbing it as any truffle would do. This is the signal and after him, jeratically one by one, the family members play the same joke. So in the end the diners all find themselves, with the potato in hand, petrified to look. And lastly, herring, if the cat does not eat it or does not impose it, is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called is in the middle of the ceiling tied to a thread that falls perpendicularly on the table, a herring that could be enough for everyone. The capoccia is armed with the potato. Here, it makes a cross signal - the cross tells me a friend of mine tells me - at the top of the animal's rump, instead of rubbing it as any truffle would do. This is the signal and after him, jeratically one by one, the family members play the same joke. So in the end the diners all find themselves, with the potato in hand, petrified to look. And lastly, herring, if the cat does not eat it or does not impose it, is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called is in the middle of the ceiling tied to a thread that falls perpendicularly on the table, a herring that could be enough for everyone. The capoccia is armed with the potato. Here, it makes a cross signal - the cross tells me a friend of mine tells me - at the top of the animal's rump, instead of rubbing it as any truffle would do. This is the signal and after him, jeratically one by one, the family members play the same joke. So in the end the diners all find themselves, with the potato in hand, petrified to look. And lastly, herring, if the cat does not eat it or does not impose it, is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called he makes a cross signal - the cross tells me a friend of mine tells me - at the top of the animal's back, instead of rubbing it as any truffle would do. This is the signal and after him, jeratically one by one, the family members play the same joke. So in the end the diners all find themselves, with the potato in hand, petrified to look. And lastly, herring, if the cat does not eat it or does not impose it, is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called he makes a cross signal - the cross tells me a friend of mine tells me - at the top of the animal's back, instead of rubbing it as any truffle would do. This is the signal and after him, jeratically one by one, the family members play the same joke. So in the end the diners all find themselves, with the potato in hand, petrified to look. And lastly, herring, if the cat does not eat it or does not impose it, is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called if the cat does not eat or impose it, it is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called if the cat does not eat or impose it, it is also destined to mummify itself for posterity. This dish is called
31 the herring indicated. The farmers are very fond of it and, as you can see, they make it a feast. The Dubliners, strictly speaking, are my compatriots. But I don't like talking about ,, my dear dirty Dublin “. The Dubliner is of the breed of the most null and inconsistent Cerretans that I know of between the island and the continent. This is why the English Parliament is full of the greatest talkers in the world. Joyce in her study. He spends his time chatting among the bivouacs - of the bar, of the taverns, of the lupanare, without ever being satisfied with the broth that always adorns him with the same ingredients, Wisky and Home Rule; and in the evening when he really can't take it anymore, when he is swollen with poison like a toad, he gropes out of the door and, guided by the instinct of stability along the straight of the building, the backside is creased on all walls and corners. It is growing as we say in English. Here is the Dubliner. However, Ireland is still the brain of the United Kingdom. The English, provident and sesquipedal, provides the turgid belly
32 2 i of humanity the perfect tool for a comfortable place: the Water Closet. The Irish, damned to express themselves in a language that is not their own, leave you with the mark of their genius, competing for glory with the educated peoples. This is called English literature. - This morning - strange because it never happens to me - I was without the beak of a penny. I went to my Dìrelor and cbe go finger like cbe se; I asked him for an advance on the salary. The key to the safe does not wrinkle it; but eI Diretor refused the advance telling me that I am a well. I replied that we drowned and I came away. . - Ostrega, but as a fool I povaro / - My wife, could not do anything else, can make children and soap bubbles. Well, so we will never starve. Children bring wealth, says an Italian proverb. In fact Giorgio has broken shoes. But my wife cares and continues to make soap bubbles. Cogliomberil if I have no judgment, after Giorgio first, it is capable of unloading the second of the male branch of the dynasty. 'No, no Nora mia, this joke does not allow me much. So, as long as there are pelesseri in Trieste, I think your man should spend the night hanging out like a drapery. .- Italian literature begins with Dante and ends in Dante. It's not cheap. In Dante there is the whole spirit of the Renaissance. I love Dante almost as much as the Bible. He is my spiritual nourishment. The rest is ballast. I don't like Italian literature, because in the mentality of Italian writers - degenerate - only these four elementary reasons dominate: the begging of orphans and people who are hungry - but will these Italians never stop being hungry? - battlefields, beasts, and patriotism. The Italians have a strange way of exercising the gymnastics of their patriotic ambition. They want to punch the recognition of their intellectual supremacy over other peoples. I .-. 'Humanism, the Magnificent, Leonardo, Titian, Michelangelo, Galileo. But yes, all good people. But I have not yet found an Italian 'who has spoiled my mouth saying: Shut up clown! the immortal work created by the Italians is the foundation of the Roman church. I also say that the Roman church is. a lot ... but it's big, big, big as a church and like ... Like The Italians have a strange way of exercising the gymnastics of their patriotic ambition. They want to punch the recognition of their intellectual supremacy over other peoples. I .-. 'Humanism, the Magnificent, Leonardo, Titian, Michelangelo, Galileo. But yes, all good people. But I have not yet found an Italian 'who has spoiled my mouth saying: Shut up clown! the immortal work created by the Italians is the foundation of the Roman church. I also say that the Roman church is. a lot ... but it's big, big, big as a church and like ... Like The Italians have a strange way of exercising the gymnastics of their patriotic ambition. They want to punch the recognition of their intellectual supremacy over other peoples. I .-. 'Humanism, the Magnificent, Leonardo, Titian, Michelangelo, Galileo. But yes, all good people. But I have not yet found an Italian 'who has spoiled my mouth saying: Shut up clown! the immortal work created by the Italians is the foundation of the Roman church. I also say that the Roman church is. a lot ... but it's big, big, big as a church and like ... Like But yes, all good people. But I have not yet found an Italian 'who has spoiled my mouth saying: Shut up clown! the immortal work created by the Italians is the foundation of the Roman church. I also say that the Roman church is. a lot ... but it's big, big, big as a church and like ... Like But yes, all good people. But I have not yet found an Italian 'who has spoiled my mouth saying: Shut up clown! the immortal work created by the Italians is the foundation of the Roman church. I also say that the Roman church is. a lot ... but it's big, big, big as a church and like ... Like
33 would you not say of a slut who presents herself among perfumes, songs, flowers, music, - mournful in knick-knacks and in silk garments on the throne? I don't like Rome however. I'm not talking about the modern one that is as flat as the government that resides there. The ancient one seems to me a cemetery. The royal beauty of this exquisite panorama: dead flowers, rubble, piles of bones and skeletons. Who is there and who is happy enjoys. The Italian people pay dearly for the flow of such a panorama. I like the papal one more because it makes me think of that pig of Alexander VI Pope in the arms of his lover and daughter Lucrezia Borgia; to Julius II who prepared the grave alive; to Leo X and Clement VII, two very unpolluted popes and great friends of Martin'Lutero. I can understand why lbsen was uncomfortable. '' - I went to hear Zacconi in the Ghosts and Bread of others. In front of such an actor we all, not Italians, can go into hiding. No other country can have anything like this. The Italians have an immense genius for the scene. Definitely in the limelight of life, they are the greatest comedians. Zacconi has taken from the Ibsenian drama what is not there. He would be curious to know what lbsen himself thought of it. But I believe that Zacconi will make Osvaldo 'and Count Vassili's workshop. And I will go to puppets but I will no longer go to hear the Ghosts given by Zacconi. > I <> l <These apologists are only a small number of the progeny of aphorisms that blossomed from that spirit and that I transcribe from my memory of almost twenty years of our partnership. I must say that when these things happened, Joyce was now almost at the end of her career as a hired wage at that school. . One day, applying the amletic question of Mister B. - Who am j? Who am I?, It would seem that he was serious: But what is this joke, how long does it have to last? And unless it is said to be a host, he turned on himself, took the bag and left. . - 'Insalutato guest - you will certainly tell me. . - Not at all, simply English. And so the gang of makeups remained idiot. Hamlet's question from Mister B. - Who am j? Who am I?, it would seem that he was serious: But what is this joke, how long does it have to last? And unless it is said to be a host, he turned on himself, took the bag and left. . - 'Insalutato guest - you will certainly tell me. . - Not at all, simply English. And so the gang of makeups remained idiot. Hamlet's question from Mister B. - Who am j? Who am I?, it would seem that he was serious: But what is this joke, how long does it have to last? And unless it is said to be a host, he turned on himself, took the bag and left. . - 'Insalutato guest - you will certainly tell me. . - Not at all, simply English. And so the gang of makeups remained idiot.
34 - Why didn't you put some salt on his tail? - I asked with naive mortification to one of them who was craving as if the bird of Paradise had escaped him. "Or rather a few chaplets," said the man with great acumen. And momo mogio looked out of the window, perhaps hoping to take up the passerino. To freedom - from the enveloping haze of the school - Joyce had gone as from the waning light to the light of the morning horizon. There was light. Now he no longer wanted to laugh but he wanted to drink. He took oil hangover. He knew all the taverns in the city by heart and found them very well even at the button. The busillis only started when he had to go out and look for the gut, which - from the blind intestine of the Old City - had to bring it back to the main road. Then he groped with his hands to chase away the fog that thickened before his eyes, and if he could find the artery, he took it on the run and ran all the way to the nearest canton. Here he stood up and waited for the first Christian to come and take him over. Once in Rome, more ballistic than usual, he found the charity of two criminals who, in order to make him walk better, lightened his wallet; then they accompanied him to the police station qualifying for two agents of the flying team. In his many triestine patrols between different samples of taverns and drunkards, he had discovered a type of Sicilian bettoliere, whom he had christened with the nickname of Cicogna. He wanted to let me know. He had the tavern in Via Belvedere. A plump botticino, rosy like a doll, with two ferret eyes where it was all the slyness and cunning of the Sicilian people. He had no eyes that were enough to guard the crew of customers who bivouacked among his barrels. Stork was fine, corresponded exactly to the intonation, because the bettoliere had a strange way of wearing a twisted neck and keeping his balance, listening, standing on a foot like the stork. "The more you know the less, Joyce," I said. '- Cicogno is a caricature. But you go there too, you're a pretty crazy. And Joyce was laughing at her old bitch's bum. He was laughing because although I already think and with bright eyes, he says because the bettoliere had a strange way of wearing his neck twisted and keeping his balance, listening, standing on a foot like a stork. "The more you know the less, Joyce," I said. '- Cicogno is a caricature. But you go there too, you're a pretty crazy. And Joyce was laughing at her old bitch's bum. He was laughing because although I already think and with bright eyes, he says because the bettoliere had a strange way of wearing his neck twisted and keeping his balance, listening, standing on a foot like a stork. "The more you know the less, Joyce," I said. '- Cicogno is a caricature. But you go there too, you're a pretty crazy. And Joyce was laughing at her old bitch's bum. He was laughing because although he is already thinking and with bright eyes, he says
35 was concerned with stuffing the head of poor Cicogno from the extraordinary tales of the emerald island. He would go down with a little talk that the passing wine made even more soluble. Cicogno, who was the only one who was sincere among that herd of loons, was nevertheless lessened. Without having understood a host of Joyce's stories, he concluded comically smiling: Ssai robe savè. I, who cannot suffer from drunks because they make me angry, out of devotion to a friend, had to stand impassively to the spectacle of a good man reduced to a rag; and having no way of neutralizing the effect, hiding it from sight and mockery, I also adapt to feel under the nose Joyce's vinous breath sneering in chorus with the other drones, in the key of a violin: Still a liter of that bon that no go the ciave of the portan. But after the busillis it was up to me. How could I have accompanied him home? I assure you that there was only one way, to do like Cyreneus, to help him carry the cross, or perhaps even worse; load the dead man on the shoulders like Joseph of Arimathea and lower him into the sepulcher. Now to excuse my friend it is atrocious but right to say that he always arrived at these melancholy hours of his misfortunes to these acts of desperate incontinence. His artistic vicissitudes had a fatal repercussion during his animal life. Self-devastation was cold and premeditated. He threw himself in the wrong when. the world was evil with him. That friend of genius gave me respect and I pined beside him observing the cynicism of a man who was knowingly going towards suicide and obscuration. I knew more than anyone else. He had climbed the first step to fame. It was the most terrible year of his life, that of the creation of Dubliners, the jewel for which an ordeal was reserved. Persecuted when they entered manuscripts into the territory of the United Kingdom, English censorship gave them no neighborhood. Preventive seizure, ban, confiscation, destruction on already composed characters. Another physically more solid than Joyce would have lost his reason. - Joyce, my friend - I begged him - Joyce don't do crazy things. You won't want to give this satisfaction to your enemies. You have English censorship gave them no neighborhood. Preventive seizure, ban, confiscation, destruction on already composed characters. Another physically more solid than Joyce would have lost his reason. - Joyce, my friend - I begged him - Joyce don't do crazy things. You won't want to give this satisfaction to your enemies. You have English censorship gave them no neighborhood. Preventive seizure, ban, confiscation, destruction on already composed characters. Another physically more solid than Joyce would have lost his reason. - Joyce, my friend - I begged him - Joyce don't do crazy things. You won't want to give this satisfaction to your enemies. You have
36 brought here, in a hospitable land, among new friends who love and respect you, your peropoverofrale, and you will not want to reduce him to an ignoble carcass; knowing, to darken the intellect in the fury of alcoholism and madness. Stop this life of perdition. I know it is atrocious what happens to you but it will pass. You are young, you have ingenuity and time ahead of you. You have a wife and children. This is enough for me, courage. 'Must I say that Joyce, touched by words, like the leather wolf, replied, in tears, making resolutions and the next day he did the same and more? I won't say it. In those moments, if you had asked him, for example, a feeling about Ireland, you would have heard a man talking about the agony of his homeland by spraying it with mockery and meanwhile the liquid eye was staring at an uncertain point in the void and atrocious exhilaration clouded in an exulceration of tears from a thousand eyes from a thousand tormented over the centuries. lnvano he tried to make those tears drop in the river of apocalyptic eloquence. Pagliaccio was laughing. 'The war divided me from him four years. Then I saw him again for one. course of a few months as you saw it in the first half of the armistice in Trieste where Ulysses had come to finish. Some type of Trieste must have offered him the traits of more than one sketch; and Trieste has its baptism in this universal book written in the most universal language. And then you leave. So that someone does not make a concept that should not, it is good to know that Joyce is a great gentleman, a born gentleman. from a very noble family from the western part of Ireland where it is a land that has the name of its ancestors, the land of Joyce. It stinks of lord a mile away even when it stinks dirty. He flaunts the lordship and is very fond of his birthplace, as can be persuaded by the display of portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls of his house. Intemperances are one thing and nature is another. Spiritus quidem promptus caro autem infirma. , = | =. '. *,. Of course, from these offal we do not mean to return the mentality or at least the personality of James Joyce. And it is a penny of specious acts that characterize the life of man and here I have proposed to speak less of the exhibition of portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls of his house. Intemperances are one thing and nature is another. Spiritus quidem promptus caro autem infirma. , = | =. '. *,. Of course, from these offal we do not mean to return the mentality or at least the personality of James Joyce. And it is a penny of specious acts that characterize the life of man and here I have proposed to speak less of the exhibition of portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls of his house. Intemperances are one thing and nature is another. Spiritus quidem promptus caro autem infirma. , = | =. '. *,. Of course, from these offal we do not mean to return the mentality or at least the personality of James Joyce. And it is a penny of specious acts that characterize the life of man and here I have proposed to speak less of the
37 sonaggio that of the person. It means that, if it is easy to trace the original features among the deformations of the caricature, you basically have a Joyce here, as it must have appeared to those who were lucky enough to know him. On the other hand, integral reconstruction is not simple. Since this is mainly a matter of: searching among the bronzes of the dismantled Christ for the individual pieces thrown there, reassembling them one by one; and where these do not fit in the joints - because they would need to be better squared - explain: This if it was sawn better, it should go here. It doesn't fit. It 'does not matter; Joyce had put it there we'll put it too. What do you want to discriminate? Joyce is all a disharmony. His head is a hive of asymmetric and discontinuous ideas. And yet there is it's a perfect order. Chaos is never in the soul. You have to take it as it is. We cannot imagine it as trivially equal to a puppet of man as men generally imagine on that certain plane of flat life where bodily needs, desires, tastes of low level of common league are had. Joyce is the inconceivable absurd. An overhang of messy things that should be rejected by the constant law of the elements but vice versa are together for a miracle of molecular aggregation. 'I will say in summary terms that Joyce, constitutionally fragile and hysterical, hangs between the terrestrial boggart to which he adheres by natural gravitation, getting rid of it, and an exquisite intellectuality that touches the top of asceticism. First-rate inquiring intellect in a very sensitive body. His morbid sensitivity is coupled with such a paradoxical metaphysical evaluation of the work of others that they sit there without bumping eagles and rabbits, the sun and the puddle. Where is lbsen and Dostojeski why can't Verlaine stay there? Even if they say too much and this says nothing. Imalaia and Parnassus. The mountains of thought and the nullity of an ephemeral paradise. Idolatry, however, for anyone. Joyce, I believe, is not even idolaters, which was her youthful viaticum for a long time. Eighteen year old, epper puppy, armed with good canine teeth, pounced in the most intellectual of English magazines, against a criticism that had qualified lbsen, "unclean dog". It was the time of work of others who sit there without bumps eagles and rabbits, the sun and the puddle. Where is lbsen and Dostojeski why can't Verlaine stay there? Even if they say too much and this says nothing. Imalaia and Parnassus. The mountains of thought and the nullity of an ephemeral paradise. Idolatry, however, for anyone. Joyce, I believe, is not even idolaters, which was her youthful viaticum for a long time. Eighteen year old, epper puppy, armed with good canine teeth, pounced in the most intellectual of English magazines, against a criticism that had qualified lbsen, "unclean dog". It was the time of work of others who sit there without bumps eagles and rabbits, the sun and the puddle. Where is lbsen and Dostojeski why can't Verlaine stay there? Even if they say too much and this says nothing. Imalaia and Parnassus. The mountains of thought and the nullity of an ephemeral paradise. Idolatry, however, for anyone. Joyce, I believe, is not even idolaters, which was her youthful viaticum for a long time. Eighteen year old, epper puppy, armed with good canine teeth, pounced in the most intellectual of English magazines, against a criticism that had qualified lbsen, "unclean dog". It was the time of an ephemeral paradise. Idolatry, however, for anyone. Joyce, I believe, is not even idolaters, which was her youthful viaticum for a long time. Eighteen year old, epper puppy, armed with good canine teeth, pounced in the most intellectual of English magazines, against a criticism that had qualified lbsen, "unclean dog". It was the time of an ephemeral paradise. Idolatry, however, for anyone. Joyce, I believe, is not even idolaters, which was her youthful viaticum for a long time. Eighteen year old, epper puppy, armed with good canine teeth, pounced in the most intellectual of English magazines, against a criticism that had qualified lbsen, "unclean dog". It was the time of
38 heard) ... drama When we dead awaken, it was given for the first time in England. Eighteen: I don't know if he would do it today at forty. Joyce is changeable not on a whim but because intellectual processing works more quickly and intensely in him than in many others. Because either it dangles too much towards the future or moves too little away from the past. So much so that in an idolatry it is not changeable. And here too it is a matter of sensitive penetration: the mystery of Christ and the silent drama of the literature that surrounds him. I can imagine that he had his brain full of this mystery when writing Ulysses and then here he would have found the allegorical point of the new martyrdom. Martyr but not messianic. Joyce writer is anything but a 'saint', all other than a quintessence of odorous charity. It would be an enigma if it were not a frightening dialectic. It expands the word to express vicious wickedness so bleak and ruthless that it makes the blood flow down my back. The tongue hits where the tooth is in pain. 'Matter gets dirty in his hands without his fault. Society is offended and it is natural because society is still too slender not to feel offended by the putrefaction that Joyce reproaches her. Joyce is not irreligious. without religion. ' There is a difference. He does not believe in a wafer to eat bread. And it is so consistent in practice that her children have not been baptized. I, capone, not asked, I never got tired of telling him how I thought about it and that it was his arrogance. And every time he answered me with the same argument: Quiet. zucconel After that the conversation could go on smoothly. In his house one should not talk about practices. Conversely, there is much talk of Christ and religion and many liturgies of the Christian Church are sung there. I can tell you more. You don't have to look for Joyce in the days of Holy Week because there is no one for anyone. On the morning of Olive Sunday and the four days following Holy Wednesday, at the time of the great symbolic operations and the Morning of Darkness, Joyce is. in church, equally ruthless and absolutely master of himself, in a place You don't have to look for Joyce in the days of Holy Week because there is no one for anyone. On the morning of Olive Sunday and the four days following Holy Wednesday, at the time of the great symbolic operations and the Morning of Darkness, Joyce is. in church, equally ruthless and absolutely master of himself, in a place You don't have to look for Joyce in the days of Holy Week because there is no one for anyone. On the morning of Olive Sunday and the four days following Holy Wednesday, at the time of the great symbolic operations and the Morning of Darkness, Joyce is. in church, equally ruthless and absolutely master of himself, in a place
39 bile is close to the officiants in order not to miss a syllable, with his book of the Passion, which follows the liturgies very carefully, often joining the singing of the rest of the choir. Joyce would not give a moment of that enjoyment. every year, for an intellectual kingdom. Two years ago, he came here from Switzerland, among the many interesting things of his special repertoire he had in the folder the score of a liturgical branch with an exquisite motif, patiently copied from the original in the archives of an old Swiss Abbey. The reason is the introduction for Easter time Vidi aquam egredientem de tempio a latere dextro. A wonderful thing of pure Gregorian chant that he sang to us several times accompanying himself on the piano with that intense feeling that strikes in his nasal voice. Joyce born a Catholic in the most Catholic country, he was educated in a Jesuit college. Jesuits can be proud of having returned a student of Catholic devotion. And instead look. Joyce holds a proud memory of the Congregation of St. Ignatius. According to the effect of the confessional teaching, there are those who go more and more towards the Supreme BCne and those who move away from it. Joyce is gone. But much of the teaching remains. Meanwhile, a lasting foundation of church science - doctrinal and liturgical - which is already a monstrous thing; and then afterwards - and don't let it be the least - a casuistry that Joyce can boast of, Jesuitism; What does it mean the ability to make the contradictor lose the north wind with such a fabric of dialectical subtleties that he makes it slip on the pavement of reasoning, so that afterwards he needs a compass if he wants to get out of the labyrinth of devious snares. This dialectic which now has the solidity of the finest stitches of St. Thomas Aquinas, now the warm expansion of St. Augustine, constitutes a strength more among the resources of an acute intellect and cannot be bought on the bourgeois school benches. Each of Joyce's speeches and writings is full of this case. He knows what he is chasing and what he is talking about. Unleash all knowledge on the subject. Exhibitors and antagonists - from the Irishman John Î ScolfÉ, the famous Erigena who lived in France at the time a sharp intellect and cannot be bought on the desks of the bourgeois school. Each of Joyce's speeches and writings is full of this case. He knows what he is chasing and what he is talking about. Unleash all knowledge on the subject. Exhibitors and antagonists - from the Irishman John Î ScolfÉ, the famous Erigena who lived in France at the time a sharp intellect and cannot be bought on the desks of the bourgeois school. Each of Joyce's speeches and writings is full of this case. He knows what he is chasing and what he is talking about. Unleash all knowledge on the subject. Exhibitors and antagonists - from the Irishman John Î ScolfÉ, the famous Erigena who lived in France at the time
40 of Charles the Calvqf- he has sensibly familiar, as well as every great messianic and dogmatic question. He looks to Dante as the compendium of the ultra-sensitive universe, Minerva of thought, Christian. Two cardinal points dominate the starry sky of Joyce, I do not know better whether as inaccessible mountains jacketed in white or as intelligences, engines of the universe center. And they are the keys of the Word. S. Giovanni Evangelista and S. Tommaso d'Aquin0, the raptured faith and the subtle reasoner. Then there is no wonder if at a certain point Joyce suddenly runs out with this inconceivable aphorism: The Roman church is eternal, it cannot die and will not die. As a corollary, not even the Italic race that created it can die and will not die. And from this point begins Joyce's affection for the Italians. But now tell me if this soul is or is not an enigma. I've been wondering for twenty years. Who would you approach him? Would you call him a Volterian? Ohibò! An intellectual anarchist? a trivial phrase of, which he also sucked. g I do not pretend to be on the right path, but here, Joyce is undoubtedly a negator. But the prerogative of his individualistic temperament makes me think: too much he knows that. the third person of the Most Holy Trinity condemns intellectual arrogance as the most irreparable sin, because he does not feel attracted to it as a point of Dionysian contradiction. And he stood with his chest and forehead. _ 'As if he had hell in great misery. Spite does not challenge, Farinata not Capaneo. Joyce is indeed an eternal contradictor. The riddle that is in religion is in politics. I can say this, that one day he said to me: My political faith is expressed in three words. Monarchies, constitutional and non-constitutional, make me sick. Bourgeois or democratic republics make me sick. The kings are acrobats. The republics slippers for all feet. The temporal power is gone and have a good trip. What else is left for us? Can we desire the monarchy by divine right? Do you believe in the sun of the future? '2' was l, «fÀZÀa-'G-Jwb /" / î'î "" "'" "- /" but ... A / «W- -ó-4" "' Wî" "" " "" Mf- "M-é 'éfa.' The temporal power is gone and have a good trip. What else is left for us? Can we desire the monarchy by divine right? Do you believe in the sun of the future? '2' was l, «fÀZÀa-'G-Jwb /" / î'î "" "'" "- /" but ... A / «W- -ó-4" "' Wî" "" " "" Mf- "M-é 'éfa.' The temporal power is gone and have a good trip. What else is left for us? Can we desire the monarchy by divine right? Do you believe in the sun of the future? '2' was l, «fÀZÀa-'G-Jwb /" / î'î "" "'" "- /" but ... A / «W- -ó-4" "' Wî" "" " "" Mf- "M-é 'éfa.'
41 S; > I <> I <I believe in Jesus - Man-God is understood - he does not, he does nothing. I love him anyway. From denial, derision, sarcasm, I have come ever closer to Christ, and after all, I find myself very gently. It doesn't matter if I even blaspheme it sometimes_ so it wasn't. But it is the damned law of the Italian people to destroy idols and rebuild them immediately afterwards in his heart or on the sacrament of immortal Rome. It is written on the mugs of 'Montelupo; it has lasted for centuries. . San Gennaro, poor fellow, is so battered by the foul reproaches of his people that, either through carelessness or fear, his blood has settled on him. And there is no bleeding that will melt it. Believers invoke him and shake him. But it's like pis ...... .. on the wall. It's like yelling at ... S. Gen- naro. Ice, hen, smooth and mogul do not even attack our snot anymore. Really! And to say that a sagratino was enough first, and if it was a much better sagrataccio, the Neapolitans received the graces they wanted and S. Gennaro spit blood from all the holes. Joyce does not do this, not blasphemy, because among the Irish there is no ambition to blaspheme as we do. It does not break or build. It does worse. Deny. It has gone increasingly detached also from Christ man. It hurts me for him because I love him, because I would like to see him happy and happiness is not in one's ingenuity, in the applause of the world, in the masterpieces that are created. Happiness takes refuge entirely in the doctrine of that Jesus on whose last words - Eli, Eli lamma Sabactani I have seen him cry furtively. You are wise Joyce and you cannot laugh at the pious intention of a friend. You believe me because you know I'm credible. I ask Jesus to give you the light of his faith, as the rising sun from above even visited the Prophet of Israel once and immediately recovered the tale. Per viscem misericurdiae Of ours in quibus visitavit nos oriens ex alto.