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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 295/821
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Hurrying
to
her
squalid
deathlair
from
gay
Paris
on
the
quayside
I
touched
his
hand
.
The
voice
,
new
warmth
,
speaking
.
Dr
Bob
Kenny
is
attending
her
.
The
eyes
that
wish
me
well
.
But
do
not
know
me
.
—
A
father
,
Stephen
said
,
battling
against
hopelessness
,
is
a
necessary
evil
.
He
wrote
the
play
in
the
months
that
followed
his
father
’
s
death
.
If
you
hold
that
he
,
a
greying
man
with
two
marriageable
daughters
,
with
thirtyfive
years
of
life
,
nel
mezzo
del
cammin
di
nostra
vita
,
with
fifty
of
experience
,
is
the
beardless
undergraduate
from
Wittenberg
then
you
must
hold
that
his
seventyyear
old
mother
is
the
lustful
queen
.
No
.
The
corpse
of
John
Shakespeare
does
not
walk
the
night
.
From
hour
to
hour
it
rots
and
rots
.
He
rests
,
disarmed
of
fatherhood
,
having
devised
that
mystical
estate
upon
his
son
.
Boccaccio
’
s
Calandrino
was
the
first
and
last
man
who
felt
himself
with
child
.
Fatherhood
,
in
the
sense
of
conscious
begetting
,
is
unknown
to
man
.
It
is
a
mystical
estate
,
an
apostolic
succession
,
from
only
begetter
to
only
begotten
.
On
that
mystery
and
not
on
the
madonna
which
the
cunning
Italian
intellect
flung
to
the
mob
of
Europe
the
church
is
founded
and
founded
irremovably
because
founded
,
like
the
world
,
macro
and
microcosm
,
upon
the
void
.
Upon
incertitude
,
upon
unlikelihood
.
Amor
matris
,
subjective
and
objective
genitive
,
may
be
the
only
true
thing
in
life
.
Paternity
may
be
a
legal
fiction
.
Who
is
the
father
of
any
son
that
any
son
should
love
him
or
he
any
son
?
What
the
hell
are
you
driving
at
?
I
know
.
Shut
up
.
Blast
you
.
I
have
reasons
.
Amplius
.
Adhuc
.
Iterum
.
Postea
.
Are
you
condemned
to
do
this
?
—
They
are
sundered
by
a
bodily
shame
so
steadfast
that
the
criminal
annals
of
the
world
,
stained
with
all
other
incests
and
bestialities
,
hardly
record
its
breach
.
Sons
with
mothers
,
sires
with
daughters
,
lesbic
sisters
,
loves
that
dare
not
speak
their
name
,
nephews
with
grandmothers
,
jailbirds
with
keyholes
,
queens
with
prize
bulls
.
The
son
unborn
mars
beauty
:
born
,
he
brings
pain
,
divides
affection
,
increases
care
.
He
is
a
new
male
:
his
growth
is
his
father
’
s
decline
,
his
youth
his
father
’
s
envy
,
his
friend
his
father
’
s
enemy
.
In
rue
Monsieur
-
le
-
Prince
I
thought
it
.
—
What
links
them
in
nature
?
An
instant
of
blind
rut
.
