Best of Myles

by Flann O'Brien

  Mr Tramm, supporting the motion, stated that Ireland had been a lamp of civilisation at a time when Europe was enveloped in the druidic mists and miasmic vapours of pagan materialism and owed the fame of her golden age to her life-long devotion to books and other objects of veneration and respect. It would be a sad commentary on our glorious and storied past if the house should decide that the alarums of war, which had never yet solved any problem but brought rapine, disease and death in its wake, were preferable to the things of the spirit.

  Mr Snagge inquired whether Alexander, Pippin, Charlemagne, Caesar, Napoleon and other doughty warriors of the historic past—even Patrick Sarsfield earl of Lucan—were of no importance? Did they merit obliquy because of their failure to produce literary effusions?

  Mr Mosse stated that only for Danish marauders Ireland to-day would have a literature second to none.

  Miss Tablett said that wars were due to the fact that women were denied adequate representation on the councils of the nations. Women were home-makers but these homes were destroyed by men, who were depraved with greed and lust for power. Women, she declared, should assert their rights.

  Mr Scugge said that the much-vaunted Beveridge Plan was merely a bribe to prevent social revolution; it was no panacea or nostrum for the crying social ills of the present day. What the working man wanted was work, not charity.

  Twinfeet J., summing up, stated that apart from the external combustion engine, obscurantist chauvinism was the curse of the age. The human race would have to get back to first principles and reject the pernicious doctrine of laissez faire. He was inexorably opposed to food taxes.

  The motion was carried by 44 votes to 9 and the proceedings terminated.

  The District Court

  IN THE Dublin Court yesterday, an elderly man who gave his name as Myles na gCopaleen was charged with begging, disorderly conduct, using bad language and with being in illegal possession of an arm-chair. He was also charged with failing to register as an alien.

  A Detective Sergeant gave evidence of finding the defendant in the centre of a crowd in Capel Street. He was sitting in the chair, cursing and using bad language. He became abusive when asked to move on and threatened to ‘take on’ witness and ‘any ten butties’ witness could find. Defendant was exhibiting a card bearing the words ‘Spare a copper, all must help each other in this cold world.’ Defendant lay down in the gutter when witness went to arrest him; he shouted to the crowd to rescue him, that he was a republican soldier. Witness had to send for assistance.

  Defendant: Quid immerentes hospites vexas canis ignavus adversum lupos?

  Detective Sergeant: This man had no difficulty in speaking English when he was lying on the street. This sort of thing makes a farce of the language movement.

  Justice: If defendant does not deign to convenience the court, we will have to get an interpreter.

  Defendant (to Justice): I knew your ould one.

  Detective Sergeant: Your Honour can see the type he is.

  Defendant: I seen the sticks of furniture on the road in 1927, above in Heytesbury Street. Now seemingly things is changed. Fortuna non mutat genus. (Laughter.)

  Justice: You would be well advised to behave yourself.

  Defendant: Of all people.

  Justice: Where did you get this chair you had?

  Defendant said he got the chair from a man he met in Poolbeg Street. He did not know the man’s name. The man was on his way to pawn the chair and witness agreed to take it off his hands. He bought the chair.

  Justice: For how much?

  Defendant: £45.

  Justice: It’s a pity a tallboy isn’t the subject of a tall tale like that. (Laughter.)

  Defendant said he was trying to go straight but the Guards were down on him. He was holding a political meeting in Capel Street when he was savagely assaulted by the Sergeant. He was discussing monetary reform and mendicancy. He had as much right to obstruct the thoroughfare as the ‘Fianna Fáil crowd.’ He was kicked in the ribs by the Sergeant while lying on the ground. He would settle his account with the Sergeant at another time and in another place. This much only would he say: Cave, cave: namque in malos asperrimus parata tollo cornua.

  Detective Sergeant: This type of person gives the police a lot of trouble, Your Honour.

  Justice: I can see that. (To defendant) Are you married?

  Defendant: Are you?

  Justice: Impertinence won’t help you.

  Defendant: It won’t help anybody. The question you put is apparently equally offensive to both of us. I am a victim of circumstances. Maioribus praesidiis et copiis oppugnatur res publica quam defenditur propterea quod audaces homines et perditi nutu impelluntur et ipsi etiam sponte sua contra rem publicam incitantur.

  Detective Sergeant: This is a very hardened character, Your Honour. He was convicted for loitering at Swansea in 1933.

  Justice: I must convict. There is far too much of this sort of thing in Dublin and I am determined to put it down.

  Defendant: What sort of thing?

  Justice: The larceny of armchairs.

  Defendant: It wasn’t an armchair. There were no arms on it.

  Justice: You will go to Mountjoy for three weeks.

  Defendant asked that 6,352 other offences should be taken into consideration.

  Justice: I refuse to hear you further.

  Defendant: Very well, I’ll appeal.

  Defendant was then led below, muttering. A sequel is expected.

  YESTERDAY, in the Dublin District Court, the elderly man who had given his name as Myles na gCopaleen and who had been sentenced to three weeks’ imprisonment for begging, bad language, and for the larceny of an arm-chair, was again before the court in respect of offences committed, as alleged, since the date of his conviction. Defendant, on appearing, refused to remove his cap. It was removed by a Gárda.

  Defendant (to Gárda): You also I know well! Woe to the wife-beater! Non uxor salvum te vult, non filius; omnes vicini oderunt, noti, pueri, atque puellae! Not to mention yours truly!

  A Detective Sergeant said the Justice would recall the circumstances of the defendant’s last appearance. It was now necessary to bring further charges in respect of offences committed in custody. Defendant had damaged the window in his cell, set fire to his bed clothes, and refused to take a bath in accordance with a lawful direction given by the prison governor. He had also assaulted two warders, though not physically.

  Justice: Not physically?

  Sergeant: Well, no, your worship. He incited certain animals to attack the warders.

  Justice: Animals?

  Sergeant: Small ones, your worship. Fleas.

  Defendant: De minimis non curat lex.

  Justice: So you’re back? What’s this about the bath? What’s your objection to having a wash?

  Defendant: One does not have a bath in one’s clothes.

  Justice: Can’t you take them off?

  Defendant: No.

  Justice: Why not?

  Defendant: We won’t go into that.

  Justice (to Sergeant): This man is about twenty feet away from me yet I can get the smell of drink. Is he intoxicated? What on earth is going on in this court?

  Defendant: Hock erat in votis. Surely Your Lordship has heard of the grapevine? Dum licet, in rebus jucundis vive beatus.

  Justice: For a man who has been in Mountjoy for over a week, you surprise me.

  Defendant: Joy ale.

  The Sergeant said that for very good reasons defendant had not been searched before being committed. (Sergeant handed Justice a note.) It was possible that he was carrying considerable supplies of drink. When ordered to take a bath, defendant became violent. In the presence of two warders he smashed the window of his cell and threatened to ‘light the bed’. The warders were reluctant to pinion and over-power the prisoner for reasons now within the knowledge of his worship. When threatened with severe disciplinary measures, defendant dragged the bedding on to the floor and set fire to it. He then took
off his coat and threw it on the floor, on the warders’ side of the blaze. Immediately, due to the heat, the coat was subject to certain large-scale evacuations. Apparently some of the animals had wings or at least could comport themselves with considerable agility. The warders were attacked and badly bitten. One man was still in hospital. (At this stage a number of note-takers and spectators moved from the area about the dock.)

  Defendant: De minimis non curat lex. Sunt extra judicis cura. Exponam enim hodierno die, judex, omnem rationem facti et consilii mei neque huic vestro tanto studio audiendi nec vero huic tantae multitudini, quanta mea memoria numquam ullo in iudicio fuit, deero. Multa acerba, multa turpia, multaque—

  Justice: That will do. Your turn will come.

  A Warder corroborated the Sergeant’s evidence and stated that he (witness) was assailed and bitten by a ‘flock of animals’ that flew out of the prisoner’s clothes. Witness was badly stung and had to receive medical attention. ‘I seen jack-fleas as big as mice barking at me,’ witness added. (Laughter.)

  Defendant: Ut tigres subsidere cervis, adulteretur et columba miluo.

  The Sergeant said that other charges were pending and it would be necessary to consult the Attorney-General. In the meantime he made a strong appeal to the Justice to let the defendant out on bail.

  Justice: On whose sureties?

  Sergeant: My own if necessary.

  The warder was understood to say that he would ‘stand in’ with the Sergeant.

  Justice, fixing bail at £1, said defendant would do well to consider his position. It was not unknown for bailees to sojourn—permanently if necessary—in partibus infidelibus.

  Defendant then left the court without a word.

  THERE WAS another commotion in the Dublin District Court yesterday morning when the elderly man Myles na gCopaleen, who had been released on bail the previous day, was again before the Court. The Sergeant asked that the case should be taken first.

  Justice: I see you are wearing bicycle clips, Sergeant. Would you have a spare pair?

  Sergeant: I have, your worship.

  Defendant (addressing court): Yez are all leppin’ because I didn’t skip. (Laughter.)

  The Sergeant said that it was now necessary to charge defendant with loitering, trespass and burglary.

  Defendant: Loquitur Agamemnon.

  Continuing, the Sergeant said that defendant had been treated with great latitude by the court the previous day and allowed out on bail. When released from Mountjoy, however, he refused to quit the premises and had to be ejected.

  Justice: How?

  Sergeant: With a hose.

  Defendant: Pro di immortales! Quid?

  The Sergeant asked the justice to hear a warder as to defendant’s condition. In the court of his evidence, the warder said: ‘This man is infested be hoppers.’

  Justice: Hoppers? What is a hopper?

  Defendant (excitedly to Justice): Habeo igitur quod ex eum quaesisti, quid esset ‘hopper’. Non est hopper, non sunt hoppers, ut dixit: quod ego verbum agnovi. Sunt fratres minimi mei (de quibus lex non curat), numerus quorum generis late et varie diffusus est. Sunt amici, sunt fideles milites nostri qui neque nocentes sunt nec natura improbi nec furiosi nec malis domesticis impediti! (Pointing to warder.) Nunquam putavi—vera dicam!—tantum esse in homine sceleris, audaciae, crudelitatis!

  The Sergeant mentioned that defendant was continually conversing in this strain, leaving all as wise as if he were speaking double dutch.

  Defendant: O infelicissime! Begob if I used the word ownshuck you might take my meaning! (Laughter.)

  The Sergeant said that defendant, having been ejected from the gaol premises, was again found in his cell the following morning. He had broken into Mountjoy during the night and had filed through certain iron bars which would cost the Office of Works £9 18. 5 to replace. He was in an intoxicated condition when found and used bad language. He demanded cocoa and used certain threats.

  Defendant (sarcastically): More agni inter lupos!

  Justice (to defendant): I will hear you if you have any comprehensible remarks to make to the court.

  Defendant, in the course of a long address, said that he was ‘a Southern Irishman,’ and as such could not accept with equanimity the suggestion that he should (by mere reason of being out on bail) reside in Belfast, ‘a stern iron town of aspect unendearing of populace contumacious.’ Witness had regard, however, to other principles—principles which far transcended mere expediency or what was adjudged fit in the mart of men. Had witness absconded (he thought that was the word), he would hold himself morally responsible for having provoked in that court a certain situation—a situation which he (witness) dare not contemplate.

  Justice: I do not understand you.

  Defendant: If I had failed to appear in this court at the time appointed, too well I knew that my bail would not be confiscated. Neither would it be impounded. (Here defendant became moved.) Neither would it be declared forfeit—or even forfeited. It would not be attached. It would be … (Here defendant broke down and began to weep.)

  Justice: You may sit down.

  Defendant (sitting in dock, burying face in hands and weeping loudly): My bail would be…ESTREATED. I … I … could not … face that. Estreated! (Here defendant blubbered uncontrolledly.)

  The Sergeant, having consulted with the Justice, said that he was prepared, on behalf of the State, to enter a nolly prossy coy. They would withdraw all charges.

  The Justice said that defendant could now leave the court without a stain on his character. He would be glad to receive an undertaking from the … respondent that he would be prepared to leave Mountjoy and to refrain from entering the gaol at night when it was officially closed.

  Defendant gave the undertaking, and the whole incident is now considered closed.

  Sir Myles na gCopaleen

  SIR MYLES NA gCOPALEEN (the da) was 87 yesterday. The grand old man spent the day quietly at his country place. His breakfast tray (frugal, in keeping with the times) was littered with messages of congratulation from notabilities of every rank and colour, including some of the notorious uncrowned heads of Europe. An endless stream of callers (including many a Scotch-pickled ‘county’ lady, horsey to the point of being horsefaced) left cards bearing scribbled felicitations. When one rather fat lady of this breed stalked up the drive, a parcel of wine-flushed stable-boys ran out, seized her with various sharp cries in horse-language, and forcibly backed her into the shafts of the landau which is kept waiting every morning to take Sir Myles for a drive round the grounds. She had been almost fully harnessed when the mistake was discovered. It is rumoured in the servants’ hall that there will be hell to pay when the incident comes to the ears of Sir Myles, who cherishes for this lady his own queer brand of senile admiration—‘best seat in Ireland, old boy; finest pair of hands in the county, comes down to breakfast on horseback.’

  A happy function took place in the evening. Sir Myles, an imposing old-fashioned figure in his lavender waistcoat and cravat, received the tenants and villagers in the old baronial hall. Old Jem, the oldest tenant—he is said to be 113—made a suitably slavering and fawning speech, referring to certain events ‘in your lordship’s grandfather’s time.’ The magnet which drew the gathering (barrels of free beer) was then produced and the entire company partook of refreshment.

  LEARN THIS BY HEART

  The baronetcy, of course, is one of the oldest in the country. Sir Myles is reckoned to be the 57th of that ilk. Lady na gCopaleen is one of the Shaughrauns of Limerick, a very distinguished county family. Round after round of spontaneous applause have been won by her seat and hands at countless point-to-points. A lover of Scotch, she is reputed to be one of Europe’s foremost bottle-women.

  Miss Sleeveen na gCopaleen came out only last season. She is very popular with the younger set and is one of the most interesting personalities one meets at hunt balls. After a week in the saddle, she finds her relaxation in poetry, play writing, novel writing, dancing
and film work. She is very popular with the younger ballet set and tells me that her hunting experience helps her considerably in this sphere. She is not in the least self-conscious when off a horse. At the moment she tells me that she is organising a Comforts Fund for the troops. ‘I do definitely think that life is rather wizard, actually,’ she remarked to me the other day.

  I am in a position to reveal that the Sleeveen complexion, the envy of millions of women, can be had by anybody for the asking. She tells me that after a hard day in the saddle, she likes to retire to her room and rub liquid suet into her face. This is merely a ‘base’. She then works in a mess that is made from flour, treacle and mashed potatoes. On top of this a liberal plaster of beaten up eggs and Scotch whisky. When all this stuff is scraped off in due course, you have the complexion that has played havoc with many a susceptible young ballet-boy.

  AND THE BROTHER

  Myles himself, the brilliant young journalist, will be out of town for 14 days. No letters will be forwarded. An undefatigable first-nighter, he is keenly interested in the theatre and has written several plays. Life he regards as a dialectic that evolves from aesthetic and extra-human impulses, many of them indubitably Marxian in manifestation. The greatest moment of his life (which occurred in 1924) was when he made the discovery that life is in reality an art form. Each person, he believes, is engaged on a life-long opus of grandiose expressionism, modulating and mutating the Ego according to subconscious aesthetic patterns. The world, in fact, is a vast art gallery, wherein even the curators themselves are exhibitors and exhibitionists. The horse, however, is the supreme artistic symbol—

  The Editor: We can’t have much more of this, space must also be found for my stuff.

  Myself: All right, never hesitate to say so. I can turn off the tap at will.

  The other day Sir Myles na gCopaleen (the da) was re-elected President of the Myles na gCopaleen Central Banking Corporation. The cousin, The O’Shaughraun of the Bogs, was given the vice-chair to keep him quiet. This latter office carries the right of ‘operational discretion on the Number 2 Account’, and is said to be equivalent to a packet—not in sterling, of course, but in consolidated credit tallies that can be rediscounted in the ‘dead money’ pool.