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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 121/241
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IN
THE
DARK
NIGHT
,
ACROSS
THE
BLEAK
WILDERNESS
GUIDE
US
ON
TO
OUR
LORD
JESUS
,
GUIDE
US
HOME
.
His
eyes
were
dimmed
with
tears
and
,
looking
humbly
up
to
heaven
,
he
wept
for
the
innocence
he
had
lost
.
When
evening
had
fallen
he
left
the
house
,
and
the
first
touch
of
the
damp
dark
air
and
the
noise
of
the
door
as
it
closed
behind
him
made
ache
again
his
conscience
,
lulled
by
prayer
and
tears
.
Confess
!
Confess
!
It
was
not
enough
to
lull
the
conscience
with
a
tear
and
a
prayer
.
He
had
to
kneel
before
the
minister
of
the
Holy
Ghost
and
tell
over
his
hidden
sins
truly
and
repentantly
.
Before
he
heard
again
the
footboard
of
the
housedoor
trail
over
the
threshold
as
it
opened
to
let
him
in
,
before
he
saw
again
the
table
in
the
kitchen
set
for
supper
he
would
have
knelt
and
confessed
.
It
was
quite
simple
.
The
ache
of
conscience
ceased
and
he
walked
onward
swiftly
through
the
dark
streets
.
There
were
so
many
flagstones
on
the
footpath
of
that
street
and
so
many
streets
in
that
City
and
so
many
cities
in
the
world
.
Yet
eternity
had
no
end
.
He
was
in
mortal
sin
.
Even
once
was
a
mortal
sin
.
It
could
happen
in
an
instant
.
But
how
so
quickly
?
By
seeing
or
by
thinking
of
seeing
.
The
eyes
see
the
thing
,
without
having
wished
first
to
see
.
Then
in
an
instant
it
happens
.
But
does
that
part
of
the
body
understand
or
what
?
The
serpent
,
the
most
subtle
beast
of
the
field
.
It
must
understand
when
it
desires
in
one
instant
and
then
prolongs
its
own
desire
instant
after
instant
,
sinfully
.
It
feels
and
understands
and
desires
.
What
a
horrible
thing
!
Who
made
it
to
be
like
that
,
a
bestial
part
of
the
body
able
to
understand
bestially
and
desire
bestially
?
Was
that
then
he
or
an
inhuman
thing
moved
by
a
lower
soul
?
His
soul
sickened
at
the
thought
of
a
torpid
snaky
life
feeding
itself
out
of
the
tender
marrow
of
his
life
and
fattening
upon
the
slime
of
lust
.
O
why
was
that
so
?
O
why
?
He
cowered
in
the
shadow
of
the
thought
,
abasing
himself
in
the
awe
of
God
Who
had
made
all
things
and
all
men
.
Madness
.
Who
could
think
such
a
thought
?
And
,
cowering
in
darkness
and
abject
,
he
prayed
mutely
to
his
guardian
angel
to
drive
away
with
his
sword
the
demon
that
was
whispering
to
his
brain
.
The
whisper
ceased
and
he
knew
then
clearly
that
his
own
soul
had
sinned
in
thought
and
word
and
deed
wilfully
through
his
own
body
.
Confess
!
He
had
to
confess
every
sin
.
How
could
he
utter
in
words
to
the
priest
what
he
had
done
?
Must
,
must
.
Or
how
could
he
explain
without
dying
of
shame
?
Or
how
could
he
have
done
such
things
without
shame
?
A
madman
!
Confess
!
O
he
would
indeed
to
be
free
and
sinless
again
!
Perhaps
the
priest
would
know
.
O
dear
God
!
He
walked
on
and
on
through
ill-lit
streets
,
fearing
to
stand
still
for
a
moment
lest
it
might
seem
that
he
held
back
from
what
awaited
him
,
fearing
to
arrive
at
that
towards
which
he
still
turned
with
longing
.
How
beautiful
must
be
a
soul
in
the
state
of
grace
when
God
looked
upon
it
with
love
!
Frowsy
girls
sat
along
the
curbstones
before
their
baskets
.
Their
dank
hair
hung
trailed
over
their
brows
.
They
were
not
beautiful
to
see
as
they
crouched
in
the
mire
.
But
their
souls
were
seen
by
God
;
and
if
their
souls
were
in
a
state
of
grace
they
were
radiant
to
see
:
and
God
loved
them
,
seeing
them
.
