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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 101/241
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It
does
n't
matter
about
the
dearness
.
He
walked
on
before
them
with
short
nervous
steps
,
smiling
.
They
tried
to
keep
up
with
him
,
smiling
also
at
his
eagerness
.
--
Take
it
easy
like
a
good
young
fellow
,
said
his
father
.
We
're
hot
out
for
the
half
mile
,
are
we
?
For
a
swift
season
of
merrymaking
the
money
of
his
prizes
ran
through
Stephen
's
fingers
.
Great
parcels
of
groceries
and
delicacies
and
dried
fruits
arrived
from
the
city
.
Every
day
he
drew
up
a
bill
of
fare
for
the
family
and
every
night
led
a
party
of
three
or
four
to
the
theatre
to
see
INGOMAR
or
THE
LADY
OF
LYONS
.
In
his
coat
pockets
he
carried
squares
of
Vienna
chocolate
for
his
guests
while
his
trousers
'
pocket
bulged
with
masses
of
silver
and
copper
coins
.
He
bought
presents
for
everyone
,
overhauled
his
room
,
wrote
out
resolutions
,
marshalled
his
books
up
and
down
their
shelves
,
pored
upon
all
kinds
of
price
lists
,
drew
up
a
form
of
commonwealth
for
the
household
by
which
every
member
of
it
held
some
office
,
opened
a
loan
bank
for
his
family
and
pressed
loans
on
willing
borrowers
so
that
he
might
have
the
pleasure
of
making
out
receipts
and
reckoning
the
interests
on
the
sums
lent
.
When
he
could
do
no
more
he
drove
up
and
down
the
city
in
trams
.
Then
the
season
of
pleasure
came
to
an
end
.
The
pot
of
pink
enamel
paint
gave
out
and
the
wainscot
of
his
bedroom
remained
with
its
unfinished
and
ill-plastered
coat
.
His
household
returned
to
its
usual
way
of
life
.
His
mother
had
no
further
occasion
to
upbraid
him
for
squandering
his
money
.
He
too
returned
to
his
old
life
at
school
and
all
his
novel
enterprises
fell
to
pieces
.
The
commonwealth
fell
,
the
loan
bank
closed
its
coffers
and
its
books
on
a
sensible
loss
,
the
rules
of
life
which
he
had
drawn
about
himself
fell
into
desuetude
.
How
foolish
his
aim
had
been
!
He
had
tried
to
build
a
break-water
of
order
and
elegance
against
the
sordid
tide
of
life
without
him
and
to
dam
up
,
by
rules
of
conduct
and
active
interest
and
new
filial
relations
,
the
powerful
recurrence
of
the
tides
within
him
.
Useless
.
From
without
as
from
within
the
waters
had
flowed
over
his
barriers
:
their
tides
began
once
more
to
jostle
fiercely
above
the
crumbled
mole
.
He
saw
clearly
too
his
own
futile
isolation
.
He
had
not
gone
one
step
nearer
the
lives
he
had
sought
to
approach
nor
bridged
the
restless
shame
and
rancour
that
had
divided
him
from
mother
and
brother
and
sister
.
He
felt
that
he
was
hardly
of
the
one
blood
with
them
but
stood
to
them
rather
in
the
mystical
kinship
of
fosterage
,
fosterchild
and
fosterbrother
.
He
turned
to
appease
the
fierce
longings
of
his
heart
before
which
everything
else
was
idle
and
alien
.
He
cared
little
that
he
was
in
mortal
sin
,
that
his
life
had
grown
to
be
a
tissue
of
subterfuge
and
falsehood
.
Beside
the
savage
desire
within
him
to
realize
the
enormities
which
he
brooded
on
nothing
was
sacred
.
He
bore
cynically
with
the
shameful
details
of
his
secret
riots
in
which
he
exulted
to
defile
with
patience
whatever
image
had
attracted
his
eyes
.
By
day
and
by
night
he
moved
among
distorted
images
of
the
outer
world
.
A
figure
that
had
seemed
to
him
by
day
demure
and
innocent
came
towards
him
by
night
through
the
winding
darkness
of
sleep
,
her
face
transfigured
by
a
lecherous
cunning
,
her
eyes
bright
with
brutish
joy
.
Only
the
morning
pained
him
with
its
dim
memory
of
dark
orgiastic
riot
,
its
keen
and
humiliating
sense
of
transgression
.
