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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 138/241
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Yes
,
his
mother
was
hostile
to
the
idea
,
as
he
had
read
from
her
listless
silence
.
Yet
her
mistrust
pricked
him
more
keenly
than
his
father
's
pride
and
he
thought
coldly
how
he
had
watched
the
faith
which
was
fading
down
in
his
soul
ageing
and
strengthening
in
her
eyes
.
A
dim
antagonism
gathered
force
within
him
and
darkened
his
mind
as
a
cloud
against
her
disloyalty
and
when
it
passed
,
cloud-like
,
leaving
his
mind
serene
and
dutiful
towards
her
again
,
he
was
made
aware
dimly
and
without
regret
of
a
first
noiseless
sundering
of
their
lives
.
The
university
!
So
he
had
passed
beyond
the
challenge
of
the
sentries
who
had
stood
as
guardians
of
his
boyhood
and
had
sought
to
keep
him
among
them
that
he
might
be
subject
to
them
and
serve
their
ends
.
Pride
after
satisfaction
uplifted
him
like
long
slow
waves
.
The
end
he
had
been
born
to
serve
yet
did
not
see
had
led
him
to
escape
by
an
unseen
path
and
now
it
beckoned
to
him
once
more
and
a
new
adventure
was
about
to
be
opened
to
him
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
he
heard
notes
of
fitful
music
leaping
upwards
a
tone
and
downwards
a
diminished
fourth
,
upwards
a
tone
and
downwards
a
major
third
,
like
triple-branching
flames
leaping
fitfully
,
flame
after
flame
,
out
of
a
midnight
wood
.
It
was
an
elfin
prelude
,
endless
and
formless
;
and
,
as
it
grew
wilder
and
faster
,
the
flames
leaping
out
of
time
,
he
seemed
to
hear
from
under
the
boughs
and
grasses
wild
creatures
racing
,
their
feet
pattering
like
rain
upon
the
leaves
.
Their
feet
passed
in
pattering
tumult
over
his
mind
,
the
feet
of
hares
and
rabbits
,
the
feet
of
harts
and
hinds
and
antelopes
,
until
he
heard
them
no
more
and
remembered
only
a
proud
cadence
from
Newman
:
--
Whose
feet
are
as
the
feet
of
harts
and
underneath
the
everlasting
arms
.
The
pride
of
that
dim
image
brought
back
to
his
mind
the
dignity
of
the
office
he
had
refused
.
All
through
his
boyhood
he
had
mused
upon
that
which
he
had
so
often
thought
to
be
his
destiny
and
when
the
moment
had
come
for
him
to
obey
the
call
he
had
turned
aside
,
obeying
a
wayward
instinct
.
Now
time
lay
between
:
the
oils
of
ordination
would
never
anoint
his
body
.
He
had
refused
.
Why
?
He
turned
seaward
from
the
road
at
Dollymount
and
as
he
passed
on
to
the
thin
wooden
bridge
he
felt
the
planks
shaking
with
the
tramp
of
heavily
shod
feet
.
A
squad
of
christian
brothers
was
on
its
way
back
from
the
Bull
and
had
begun
to
pass
,
two
by
two
,
across
the
bridge
.
Soon
the
whole
bridge
was
trembling
and
resounding
.
The
uncouth
faces
passed
him
two
by
two
,
stained
yellow
or
red
or
livid
by
the
sea
,
and
,
as
he
strove
to
look
at
them
with
ease
and
indifference
,
a
faint
stain
of
personal
shame
and
commiseration
rose
to
his
own
face
.
Angry
with
himself
he
tried
to
hide
his
face
from
their
eyes
by
gazing
down
sideways
into
the
shallow
swirling
water
under
the
bridge
but
he
still
saw
a
reflection
therein
of
their
top-heavy
silk
hats
and
humble
tape-like
collars
and
loosely-hanging
clerical
clothes
.
--
Brother
Hickey.Brother
Quaid.Brother
MacArdle.Brother
Keogh
.
--
Their
piety
would
be
like
their
names
,
like
their
faces
,
like
their
clothes
,
and
it
was
idle
for
him
to
tell
himself
that
their
humble
and
contrite
hearts
,
it
might
be
,
paid
a
far
richer
tribute
of
devotion
than
his
had
ever
been
,
a
gift
tenfold
more
acceptable
than
his
elaborate
adoration
.
It
was
idle
for
him
to
move
himself
to
be
generous
towards
them
,
to
tell
himself
that
if
he
ever
came
to
their
gates
,
stripped
of
his
pride
,
beaten
and
in
beggar
's
weeds
,
that
they
would
be
generous
towards
him
,
loving
him
as
themselves
.
Idle
and
embittering
,
finally
,
to
argue
,
against
his
own
dispassionate
certitude
,
that
the
commandment
of
love
bade
us
not
to
love
our
neighbour
as
ourselves
with
the
same
amount
and
intensity
of
love
but
to
love
him
as
ourselves
with
the
same
kind
of
love
.
He
drew
forth
a
phrase
from
his
treasure
and
spoke
it
softly
to
himself
:
