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- Авторы
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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 143/241
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A
girl
stood
before
him
in
midstream
,
alone
and
still
,
gazing
out
to
sea
.
She
seemed
like
one
whom
magic
had
changed
into
the
likeness
of
a
strange
and
beautiful
seabird
.
Her
long
slender
bare
legs
were
delicate
as
a
crane
's
and
pure
save
where
an
emerald
trail
of
seaweed
had
fashioned
itself
as
a
sign
upon
the
flesh
.
Her
thighs
,
fuller
and
soft-hued
as
ivory
,
were
bared
almost
to
the
hips
,
where
the
white
fringes
of
her
drawers
were
like
feathering
of
soft
white
down
.
Her
slate-blue
skirts
were
kilted
boldly
about
her
waist
and
dovetailed
behind
her
.
Her
bosom
was
as
a
bird
's
,
soft
and
slight
,
slight
and
soft
as
the
breast
of
some
dark-plumaged
dove
.
But
her
long
fair
hair
was
girlish
:
and
girlish
,
and
touched
with
the
wonder
of
mortal
beauty
,
her
face
.
She
was
alone
and
still
,
gazing
out
to
sea
;
and
when
she
felt
his
presence
and
the
worship
of
his
eyes
her
eyes
turned
to
him
in
quiet
sufferance
of
his
gaze
,
without
shame
or
wantonness
.
Long
,
long
she
suffered
his
gaze
and
then
quietly
withdrew
her
eyes
from
his
and
bent
them
towards
the
stream
,
gently
stirring
the
water
with
her
foot
hither
and
thither
.
The
first
faint
noise
of
gently
moving
water
broke
the
silence
,
low
and
faint
and
whispering
,
faint
as
the
bells
of
sleep
;
hither
and
thither
,
hither
and
thither
;
and
a
faint
flame
trembled
on
her
cheek
.
--
Heavenly
God
!
cried
Stephen
's
soul
,
in
an
outburst
of
profane
joy
.
He
turned
away
from
her
suddenly
and
set
off
across
the
strand
.
His
cheeks
were
aflame
;
his
body
was
aglow
;
his
limbs
were
trembling
.
On
and
on
and
on
and
on
he
strode
,
far
out
over
the
sands
,
singing
wildly
to
the
sea
,
crying
to
greet
the
advent
of
the
life
that
had
cried
to
him
.
Her
image
had
passed
into
his
soul
for
ever
and
no
word
had
broken
the
holy
silence
of
his
ecstasy
.
Her
eyes
had
called
him
and
his
soul
had
leaped
at
the
call
.
To
live
,
to
err
,
to
fall
,
to
triumph
,
to
recreate
life
out
of
life
!
A
wild
angel
had
appeared
to
him
,
the
angel
of
mortal
youth
and
beauty
,
an
envoy
from
the
fair
courts
of
life
,
to
throw
open
before
him
in
an
instant
of
ecstasy
the
gates
of
all
the
ways
of
error
and
glory
.
On
and
on
and
on
and
on
!
He
halted
suddenly
and
heard
his
heart
in
the
silence
.
How
far
had
he
walked
?
What
hour
was
it
?
There
was
no
human
figure
near
him
nor
any
sound
borne
to
him
over
the
air
.
But
the
tide
was
near
the
turn
and
already
the
day
was
on
the
wane
.
He
turned
landward
and
ran
towards
the
shore
and
,
running
up
the
sloping
beach
,
reckless
of
the
sharp
shingle
,
found
a
sandy
nook
amid
a
ring
of
tufted
sandknolls
and
lay
down
there
that
the
peace
and
silence
of
the
evening
might
still
the
riot
of
his
blood
.
He
felt
above
him
the
vast
indifferent
dome
and
the
calm
processes
of
the
heavenly
bodies
;
and
the
earth
beneath
him
,
the
earth
that
had
borne
him
,
had
taken
him
to
her
breast
.
