-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джеймс Джойс
-
- Портрет художника в юности
-
- Стр. 135/241
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
--
I
will
offer
up
my
mass
tomorrow
morning
,
said
the
director
,
that
Almighty
God
may
reveal
to
you
His
holy
will
.
And
let
you
,
Stephen
,
make
a
novena
to
your
holy
patron
saint
,
the
first
martyr
,
who
is
very
powerful
with
God
,
that
God
may
enlighten
your
mind
.
But
you
must
be
quite
sure
,
Stephen
,
that
you
have
a
vocation
because
it
would
be
terrible
if
you
found
afterwards
that
you
had
none
.
Once
a
priest
always
a
priest
,
remember
.
Your
catechism
tells
you
that
the
sacrament
of
Holy
Orders
is
one
of
those
which
can
be
received
only
once
because
it
imprints
on
the
soul
an
indelible
spiritual
mark
which
can
never
be
effaced
.
It
is
before
you
must
weigh
well
,
not
after
.
It
is
a
solemn
question
,
Stephen
,
because
on
it
may
depend
the
salvation
of
your
eternal
soul
.
But
we
will
pray
to
God
together
.
He
held
open
the
heavy
hall
door
and
gave
his
hand
as
if
already
to
a
companion
in
the
spiritual
life
.
Stephen
passed
out
on
to
the
wide
platform
above
the
steps
and
was
conscious
of
the
caress
of
mild
evening
air
.
Towards
Findlater
's
church
a
quartet
of
young
men
were
striding
along
with
linked
arms
,
swaying
their
heads
and
stepping
to
the
agile
melody
of
their
leader
's
concertina
.
The
music
passed
in
an
instant
,
as
the
first
bars
of
sudden
music
always
did
,
over
the
fantastic
fabrics
of
his
mind
,
dissolving
them
painlessly
and
noiselessly
as
a
sudden
wave
dissolves
the
sand-built
turrets
of
children
.
Smiling
at
the
trivial
air
he
raised
his
eyes
to
the
priest
's
face
and
,
seeing
in
it
a
mirthless
reflection
of
the
sunken
day
,
detached
his
hand
slowly
which
had
acquiesced
faintly
in
the
companionship
.
As
he
descended
the
steps
the
impression
which
effaced
his
troubled
self-communion
was
that
of
a
mirthless
mask
reflecting
a
sunken
day
from
the
threshold
of
the
college
.
The
shadow
,
then
,
of
the
life
of
the
college
passed
gravely
over
his
consciousness
.
It
was
a
grave
and
ordered
and
passionless
life
that
awaited
him
,
a
life
without
material
cares
.
He
wondered
how
he
would
pass
the
first
night
in
the
novitiate
and
with
what
dismay
he
would
wake
the
first
morning
in
the
dormitory
.
The
troubling
odour
of
the
long
corridors
of
Clongowes
came
back
to
him
and
he
heard
the
discreet
murmur
of
the
burning
gasflames
.
At
once
from
every
part
of
his
being
unrest
began
to
irradiate
.
A
feverish
quickening
of
his
pulses
followed
,
and
a
din
of
meaningless
words
drove
his
reasoned
thoughts
hither
and
thither
confusedly
.
His
lungs
dilated
and
sank
as
if
he
were
inhaling
a
warm
moist
unsustaining
air
and
he
smelt
again
the
moist
warm
air
which
hung
in
the
bath
in
Clongowes
above
the
sluggish
turf-coloured
water
.
Some
instinct
,
waking
at
these
memories
,
stronger
than
education
or
piety
,
quickened
within
him
at
every
near
approach
to
that
life
,
an
instinct
subtle
and
hostile
,
and
armed
him
against
acquiescence
.
The
chill
and
order
of
the
life
repelled
him
.
He
saw
himself
rising
in
the
cold
of
the
morning
and
filing
down
with
the
others
to
early
mass
and
trying
vainly
to
struggle
with
his
prayers
against
the
fainting
sickness
of
his
stomach
.
He
saw
himself
sitting
at
dinner
with
the
community
of
a
college
.
What
,
then
,
had
become
of
that
deep-rooted
shyness
of
his
which
had
made
him
loth
to
eat
or
drink
under
a
strange
roof
?
What
had
come
of
the
pride
of
his
spirit
which
had
always
made
him
conceive
himself
as
a
being
apart
in
every
order
?
The
Reverend
Stephen
Dedalus
,
S.J.
His
name
in
that
new
life
leaped
into
characters
before
his
eyes
and
to
it
there
followed
a
mental
sensation
of
an
undefined
face
or
colour
of
a
face
.
The
colour
faded
and
became
strong
like
a
changing
glow
of
pallid
brick
red
.
Was
it
the
raw
reddish
glow
he
had
so
often
seen
on
wintry
mornings
on
the
shaven
gills
of
the
priests
?
The
face
was
eyeless
and
sour-favoured
and
devout
,
shot
with
pink
tinges
of
suffocated
anger
.
Was
it
not
a
mental
spectre
of
the
face
of
one
of
the
jesuits
whom
some
of
the
boys
called
Lantern
Jaws
and
others
Foxy
Campbell
?
He
was
passing
at
that
moment
before
the
jesuit
house
in
Gardiner
Street
and
wondered
vaguely
which
window
would
be
his
if
he
ever
joined
the
order
.
Then
he
wondered
at
the
vagueness
of
his
wonder
,
at
the
remoteness
of
his
own
soul
from
what
he
had
hitherto
imagined
her
sanctuary
,
at
the
frail
hold
which
so
many
years
of
order
and
obedience
had
of
him
when
once
a
definite
and
irrevocable
act
of
his
threatened
to
end
for
ever
,
in
time
and
in
eternity
,
his
freedom
.
The
voice
of
the
director
urging
upon
him
the
proud
claims
of
the
church
and
the
mystery
and
power
of
the
priestly
office
repeated
itself
idly
in
his
memory
.
