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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 96/241
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He
could
still
hear
his
father
's
voice
--
--
When
you
kick
out
for
yourself
,
Stephen
--
as
I
daresay
you
will
one
of
these
days
--
remember
,
whatever
you
do
,
to
mix
with
gentlemen
.
When
I
was
a
young
fellow
I
tell
you
I
enjoyed
myself
.
I
mixed
with
fine
decent
fellows
.
Everyone
of
us
could
lo
something
.
One
fellow
had
a
good
voice
,
another
fellow
was
a
good
actor
,
another
could
sing
a
good
comic
song
,
another
was
a
good
oarsman
or
a
good
racket
player
,
another
could
tell
a
good
story
and
so
on
.
We
kept
the
ball
rolling
anyhow
and
enjoyed
ourselves
and
saw
a
bit
of
life
and
we
were
none
the
worse
of
it
either
.
But
we
were
all
gentlemen
,
Stephen
--
at
least
I
hope
we
were
-
and
bloody
good
honest
Irishmen
too
.
That
's
the
kind
of
fellows
I
want
you
to
associate
with
,
fellows
of
the
right
kidney
.
I
'm
talking
to
you
as
a
friend
,
Stephen
.
I
do
n't
believe
a
son
should
be
afraid
of
his
father
.
No
,
I
treat
you
as
your
grandfather
treated
me
when
I
was
a
young
chap
.
We
were
more
like
brothers
than
father
and
son
.
I
'
Il
never
forget
the
first
day
he
caught
me
smoking
.
I
was
standing
at
the
end
of
the
South
Terrace
one
day
with
some
maneens
like
myself
and
sure
we
thought
we
were
grand
fellows
because
we
had
pipes
stuck
in
the
corners
of
our
mouths
.
Suddenly
the
governor
passed
.
He
did
n't
say
a
word
,
or
stop
even
.
But
the
next
day
,
Sunday
,
we
were
out
for
a
walk
together
and
when
we
were
coming
home
he
took
out
his
cigar
case
and
said
:
--
By
the
by
,
Simon
,
I
did
n't
know
you
smoked
,
or
something
like
that
.
--
Of
course
I
tried
to
carry
it
off
as
best
I
could
.
--
If
you
want
a
good
smoke
,
he
said
,
try
one
of
these
cigars
.
An
American
captain
made
me
a
present
of
them
last
night
in
Queenstown
.
Stephen
heard
his
father
's
voice
break
into
a
laugh
which
was
almost
a
sob
.
--
He
was
the
handsomest
man
in
Cork
at
that
time
,
by
God
he
was
!
The
women
used
to
stand
to
look
after
him
in
the
street
.
He
heard
the
sob
passing
loudly
down
his
father
's
throat
and
opened
his
eyes
with
a
nervous
impulse
.
The
sunlight
breaking-suddenly
on
his
sight
turned
the
sky
and
clouds
into
a
fantastic
world
of
sombre
masses
with
lakelike
spaces
of
dark
rosy
light
.
His
very
brain
was
sick
and
powerless
.
He
could
scarcely
interpret
the
letters
of
the
signboards
of
the
shops
.
By
his
monstrous
way
of
life
he
seemed
to
have
put
himself
beyond
the
limits
of
reality
.
Nothing
moved
him
or
spoke
to
him
from
the
real
world
unless
he
heard
in
it
an
echo
of
the
infuriated
cries
within
him
.
He
could
respond
to
no
earthly
or
human
appeal
,
dumb
and
insensible
to
the
call
of
summer
and
gladness
and
companionship
,
wearied
and
dejected
by
his
father
's
voice
.
He
could
scarcely
recognize
as
his
own
thoughts
,
and
repeated
slowly
to
himself
:
--
I
am
Stephen
Dedalus
.
I
am
walking
beside
my
father
whose
name
is
Simon
Dedalus
.
We
are
in
Cork
,
in
Ireland
.
Cork
is
a
city
.
Our
room
is
in
the
Victoria
Hotel
.
Victoria
and
Stephen
and
Simon
.
Simon
and
Stephen
and
Victoria
.
Names
.
The
memory
of
his
childhood
suddenly
grew
dim
.
He
tried
to
call
forth
some
of
its
vivid
moments
but
could
not
.
He
recalled
only
names
.
Dante
,
Parnell
,
Clane
,
Clongowes
.
A
little
boy
had
been
taught
geography
by
an
old
woman
who
kept
two
brushes
in
her
wardrobe
.
Then
he
had
been
sent
away
from
home
to
a
college
,
he
had
made
his
first
communion
and
eaten
slim
jim
out
of
his
cricket
cap
and
watched
the
firelight
leaping
and
dancing
on
the
wall
of
a
little
bedroom
in
the
infirmary
and
dreamed
of
being
dead
,
of
mass
being
said
for
him
by
the
rector
in
a
black
and
gold
cope
,
of
being
buried
then
in
the
little
graveyard
of
the
community
off
the
main
avenue
of
limes
.
But
he
had
not
died
then
.
Parnell
had
died
.
There
had
been
no
mass
for
the
dead
in
the
chapel
and
no
procession
.
He
had
not
died
but
he
had
faded
out
like
a
film
in
the
sun
.
He
had
been
lost
or
had
wandered
out
of
existence
for
he
no
longer
existed
.
How
strange
to
think
of
him
passing
out
of
existence
in
such
a
way
,
not
by
death
but
by
fading
out
in
the
sun
or
by
being
lost
and
forgotten
somewhere
in
the
universe
!
It
was
strange
to
see
his
small
body
appear
again
for
a
moment
:
a
little
boy
in
a
grey
belted
suit
.
His
hands
were
in
his
side-pockets
and
his
trousers
were
tucked
in
at
the
knees
by
elastic
bands
.
