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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 163/241
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A
sharp
Ulster
voice
said
from
the
bench
below
Stephen
:
--
Are
we
likely
to
be
asked
questions
on
applied
science
?
The
professor
began
to
juggle
gravely
with
the
terms
pure
science
and
applied
science
.
A
heavy-built
student
,
wearing
gold
spectacles
,
stared
with
some
wonder
at
the
questioner
.
Moynihan
murmured
from
behind
in
his
natural
voice
:
--
Is
n't
MacAlister
a
devil
for
his
pound
of
flesh
?
Stephen
looked
coldly
on
the
oblong
Skull
beneath
him
overgrown
with
tangled
twine-coloured
hair
.
The
voice
,
the
accent
,
the
mind
of
the
questioner
offended
him
and
he
allowed
the
offence
to
carry
him
towards
wilful
unkindness
,
bidding
his
mind
think
that
the
student
's
father
would
have
done
better
had
he
sent
his
son
to
Belfast
to
study
and
have
saved
something
on
the
train
fare
by
so
doing
.
The
oblong
skull
beneath
did
not
turn
to
meet
this
shaft
of
thought
and
yet
the
shaft
came
back
to
its
bowstring
;
for
he
saw
in
a
moment
the
student
's
whey-pale
face
.
--
That
thought
is
not
mine
,
he
said
to
himself
quickly
.
It
came
from
the
comic
Irishman
in
the
bench
behind
.
Patience
.
Can
you
Say
with
certitude
by
whom
the
soul
of
your
race
was
bartered
and
its
elect
betrayed
--
by
the
questioner
or
by
the
mocker
?
Patience
.
Remember
Epictetus
.
It
is
probably
in
his
character
to
ask
such
a
question
at
such
a
moment
in
such
a
tone
and
to
pronounce
the
word
SCIENCE
as
a
monosyllable
.
The
droning
voice
of
the
professor
continued
to
wind
itself
slowly
round
and
round
the
coils
it
spoke
of
,
doubling
,
trebling
,
quadrupling
its
somnolent
energy
as
the
coil
multiplied
its
ohms
of
resistance
.
Moynihan
's
voice
called
from
behind
in
echo
to
a
distant
bell
:
