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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 136/241
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His
soul
was
not
there
to
hear
and
greet
it
and
he
knew
now
that
the
exhortation
he
had
listened
to
had
already
fallen
into
an
idle
formal
tale
.
He
would
never
swing
the
thurible
before
the
tabernacle
as
priest
.
His
destiny
was
to
be
elusive
of
social
or
religious
orders
.
The
wisdom
of
the
priest
's
appeal
did
not
touch
him
to
the
quick
.
He
was
destined
to
learn
his
own
wisdom
apart
from
others
or
to
learn
the
wisdom
of
others
himself
wandering
among
the
snares
of
the
world
.
The
snares
of
the
world
were
its
ways
of
sin
.
He
would
fall
.
He
had
not
yet
fallen
but
he
would
fall
silently
,
in
an
instant
.
Not
to
fall
was
too
hard
,
too
hard
;
and
he
felt
the
silent
lapse
of
his
soul
,
as
it
would
be
at
some
instant
to
come
,
falling
,
falling
,
but
not
yet
fallen
,
still
unfallen
,
but
about
to
fall
.
He
crossed
the
bridge
over
the
stream
of
the
Tolka
and
turned
his
eyes
coldly
for
an
instant
towards
the
faded
blue
shrine
of
the
Blessed
Virgin
which
stood
fowl-wise
on
a
pole
in
the
middle
of
a
ham-shaped
encampment
of
poor
cottages
.
Then
,
bending
to
the
left
,
he
followed
the
lane
which
led
up
to
his
house
.
The
faint
dour
stink
of
rotted
cabbages
came
towards
him
from
the
kitchen
gardens
on
the
rising
ground
above
the
river
.
He
smiled
to
think
that
it
was
this
disorder
,
the
misrule
and
confusion
of
his
father
's
house
and
the
stagnation
of
vegetable
life
,
which
was
to
win
the
day
in
his
soul
.
Then
a
short
laugh
broke
from
his
lips
as
he
thought
of
that
solitary
farmhand
in
the
kitchen
gardens
behind
their
house
whom
they
had
nicknamed
the
man
with
the
hat
.
A
second
laugh
,
taking
rise
from
the
first
after
a
pause
,
broke
from
him
involuntarily
as
he
thought
of
how
the
man
with
the
hat
worked
,
considering
in
turn
the
four
points
of
the
sky
and
then
regretfully
plunging
his
spade
in
the
earth
.
He
pushed
open
the
latchless
door
of
the
porch
and
passed
through
the
naked
hallway
into
the
kitchen
.
A
group
of
his
brothers
and
sisters
was
sitting
round
the
table
.
Tea
was
nearly
over
and
only
the
last
of
the
second
watered
tea
remained
in
the
bottoms
of
the
small
glass
jars
and
jampots
which
did
service
for
teacups
.
Discarded
crusts
and
lumps
of
sugared
bread
,
turned
brown
by
the
tea
which
had
been
poured
over
them
,
lay
scattered
on
the
table
.
Little
wells
of
tea
lay
here
and
there
on
the
board
,
and
a
knife
with
a
broken
ivory
handle
was
stuck
through
the
pith
of
a
ravaged
turnover
.
The
sad
quiet
grey-blue
glow
of
the
dying
day
came
through
the
window
and
the
open
door
,
covering
over
and
allaying
quietly
a
sudden
instinct
of
remorse
in
Stephen
's
heart
.
All
that
had
been
denied
them
had
been
freely
given
to
him
,
the
eldest
;
but
the
quiet
glow
of
evening
showed
him
in
their
faces
no
sign
of
rancour
.
He
sat
near
them
at
the
table
and
asked
where
his
father
and
mother
were
.
One
answered
:
--
Goneboro
toboro
lookboro
atboro
aboro
houseboro
.
Still
another
removal
!
A
boy
named
Fallon
in
Belvedere
had
often
asked
him
with
a
silly
laugh
why
they
moved
so
often
.
A
frown
of
scorn
darkened
quickly
his
forehead
as
he
heard
again
the
silly
laugh
of
the
questioner
.
He
asked
:
