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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 148/241
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The
lore
which
he
was
believed
to
pass
his
days
brooding
upon
so
that
it
had
rapt
him
from
the
companionship
of
youth
was
only
a
garner
of
slender
sentences
from
Aristotle
's
poetics
and
psychology
and
a
SYNOPSIS
PHILOSOPHIAE
SCHOLASTICAE
AD
MENTEM
DIVI
THOMAE
.
His
thinking
was
a
dusk
of
doubt
and
self-mistrust
,
lit
up
at
moments
by
the
lightnings
of
intuition
,
but
lightnings
of
so
clear
a
splendour
that
in
those
moments
the
world
perished
about
his
feet
as
if
it
had
been
fire-consumed
;
and
thereafter
his
tongue
grew
heavy
and
he
met
the
eyes
of
others
with
unanswering
eyes
,
for
he
felt
that
the
spirit
of
beauty
had
folded
him
round
like
a
mantle
and
that
in
revery
at
least
he
had
been
acquainted
with
nobility
.
But
when
this
brief
pride
of
silence
upheld
him
no
longer
he
was
glad
to
find
himself
still
in
the
midst
of
common
lives
,
passing
on
his
way
amid
the
squalor
and
noise
and
sloth
of
the
city
fearlessly
and
with
a
light
heart
.
Near
the
hoardings
on
the
canal
he
met
the
consumptive
man
with
the
doll
's
face
and
the
brimless
hat
coming
towards
him
down
the
slope
of
the
bridge
with
little
steps
,
tightly
buttoned
into
his
chocolate
overcoat
,
and
holding
his
furled
umbrella
a
span
or
two
from
him
like
a
divining
rod
.
It
must
be
eleven
,
he
thought
,
and
peered
into
a
dairy
to
see
the
time
.
The
clock
in
the
dairy
told
him
that
it
was
five
minutes
to
five
but
,
as
he
turned
away
,
he
heard
a
clock
somewhere
near
him
,
but
unseen
,
beating
eleven
strokes
in
swift
precision
.
He
laughed
as
he
heard
it
for
it
made
him
think
of
McCann
,
and
he
saw
him
a
squat
figure
in
a
shooting
jacket
and
breeches
and
with
a
fair
goatee
,
standing
in
the
wind
at
Hopkins
'
corner
,
and
heard
him
say
:
--
Dedalus
,
you
're
an
antisocial
being
,
wrapped
up
in
yourself
.
I
'm
not
.
I
'm
a
democrat
and
I
'
Il
work
and
act
for
social
liberty
and
equality
among
all
classes
and
sexes
in
the
United
States
of
the
Europe
of
the
future
.
Eleven
!
Then
he
was
late
for
that
lecture
too
.
What
day
of
the
week
was
it
?
He
stopped
at
a
newsagent
's
to
read
the
headline
of
a
placard
.
Thursday
.
Ten
to
eleven
,
English
;
eleven
to
twelve
,
French
;
twelve
to
one
,
physics
.
He
fancied
to
himself
the
English
lecture
and
felt
,
even
at
that
distance
,
restless
and
helpless
.
He
saw
the
heads
of
his
classmates
meekly
bent
as
they
wrote
in
their
notebooks
the
points
they
were
bidden
to
note
,
nominal
definitions
,
essential
definitions
and
examples
or
dates
of
birth
or
death
,
chief
works
,
a
favourable
and
an
unfavourable
criticism
side
by
side
.
His
own
head
was
unbent
for
his
thoughts
wandered
abroad
and
whether
he
looked
around
the
little
class
of
students
or
out
of
the
window
across
the
desolate
gardens
of
the
green
an
odour
assailed
him
of
cheerless
cellar-damp
and
decay
.
Another
head
than
his
,
right
before
him
in
the
first
benches
,
was
poised
squarely
above
its
bending
fellows
like
the
head
of
a
priest
appealing
without
humility
to
the
tabernacle
for
the
humble
worshippers
about
him
.
Why
was
it
that
when
he
thought
of
Cranly
he
could
never
raise
before
his
mind
the
entire
image
of
his
body
but
only
the
image
of
the
head
and
face
?
Even
now
against
the
grey
curtain
of
the
morning
he
saw
it
before
him
like
the
phantom
of
a
dream
,
the
face
of
a
severed
head
or
death-mask
,
crowned
on
the
brows
by
its
stiff
black
upright
hair
as
by
an
iron
crown
.
It
was
a
priest-like
face
,
priest-like
in
its
palor
,
in
the
wide
winged
nose
,
in
the
shadowings
below
the
eyes
and
along
the
jaws
,
priest-like
in
the
lips
that
were
long
and
bloodless
and
faintly
smiling
;
and
Stephen
,
remembering
swiftly
how
he
had
told
Cranly
of
all
the
tumults
and
unrest
and
longings
in
his
soul
,
day
after
day
and
night
by
night
,
only
to
be
answered
by
his
friend
's
listening
silence
,
would
have
told
himself
that
it
was
the
face
of
a
guilty
priest
who
heard
confessions
of
those
whom
he
had
not
power
to
absolve
but
that
he
felt
again
in
memory
the
gaze
of
its
dark
womanish
eyes
.
Through
this
image
he
had
a
glimpse
of
a
strange
dark
cavern
of
speculation
but
at
once
turned
away
from
it
,
feeling
that
it
was
not
yet
the
hour
to
enter
it
.
But
the
nightshade
of
his
friend
's
listlessness
seemed
to
be
diffusing
in
the
air
around
him
a
tenuous
and
deadly
exhalation
and
be
found
himself
glancing
from
one
casual
word
to
another
on
his
right
or
left
in
stolid
wonder
that
they
had
been
so
silently
emptied
of
instantaneous
sense
until
every
mean
shop
legend
bound
his
mind
like
the
words
of
a
spell
and
his
soul
shrivelled
up
sighing
with
age
as
he
walked
on
in
a
lane
among
heaps
of
dead
language
.
His
own
consciousness
of
language
was
ebbing
from
his
brain
and
trickling
into
the
very
words
themselves
which
set
to
band
and
disband
themselves
in
wayward
rhythms
:
The
ivy
whines
upon
the
wall
,
