A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
by James Joyce
Chapter 5

James Joyce Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

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A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce.
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[6538]     Chapter 5
[6539]     
[6540]     
[6541]     
[6542]     He drained his third cup of watery tea to the dregs and set to chewing
[6543]     the crusts of fried bread that were scattered near him, staring into
[6544]     the dark pool of the jar. The yellow dripping had been scooped out like
[6545]     a boghole and the pool under it brought back to his memory the dark
[6546]     turf-coloured water of the bath in Clongowes. The box of pawn tickets
[6547]     at his elbow had just been rifled and he took up idly one after another
[6548]     in his greasy fingers the blue and white dockets, scrawled and sanded
[6549]     and creased and bearing the name of the pledger as Daly or MacEvoy.
[6550]     
[6551]     1 Pair Buskins.
[6552]     
[6553]     1 D. Coat.
[6554]     
[6555]     3 Articles and White.
[6556]     
[6557]     1 Man's Pants.
[6558]     
[6559]     Then he put them aside and gazed thoughtfully at the lid of the box,
[6560]     speckled with louse marks, and asked vaguely:
[6561]     
[6562]     --How much is the clock fast now?
[6563]     
[6564]     His mother straightened the battered alarm clock that was lying on its
[6565]     side in the middle of the mantelpiece until its dial showed a quarter
[6566]     to twelve and then laid it once more on its side.
[6567]     
[6568]     --An hour and twenty-five minutes, she said. The right time now is
[6569]     twenty past ten. The dear knows you might try to be in time for your
[6570]     lectures.
[6571]     
[6572]     --Fill out the place for me to wash, said Stephen.
[6573]     
[6574]     --Katey, fill out the place for Stephen to wash.
[6575]     
[6576]     --Boody, fill out the place for Stephen to wash.
[6577]     
[6578]     --I can't, I'm going for blue. Fill it out, you, Maggy.
[6579]     
[6580]     When the enamelled basin had been fitted into the well of the sink and
[6581]     the old washing glove flung on the side of it he allowed his mother to
[6582]     scrub his neck and root into the folds of his ears and into the
[6583]     interstices at the wings of his nose.
[6584]     
[6585]     --Well, it's a poor case, she said, when a university student is so
[6586]     dirty that his mother has to wash him.
[6587]     
[6588]     --But it gives you pleasure, said Stephen calmly.
[6589]     
[6590]     An ear-splitting whistle was heard from upstairs and his mother thrust
[6591]     a damp overall into his hands, saying:
[6592]     
[6593]     --Dry yourself and hurry out for the love of goodness.
[6594]     
[6595]     A second shrill whistle, prolonged angrily, brought one of the girls to
[6596]     the foot of the staircase.
[6597]     
[6598]     --Yes, father?
[6599]     
[6600]     --Is your lazy bitch of a brother gone out yet?
[6601]     
[6602]     --Yes, father.
[6603]     
[6604]     --Sure?
[6605]     
[6606]     --Yes, father.
[6607]     
[6608]     --Hm!
[6609]     
[6610]     The girl came back, making signs to him to be quick and go out quietly
[6611]     by the back. Stephen laughed and said:
[6612]     
[6613]     --He has a curious idea of genders if he thinks a bitch is masculine.
[6614]     
[6615]     --Ah, it's a scandalous shame for you, Stephen, said his mother, and
[6616]     you'll live to rue the day you set your foot in that place. I know how
[6617]     it has changed you.
[6618]     
[6619]     --Good morning, everybody, said Stephen, smiling and kissing the tips
[6620]     of his fingers in adieu.
[6621]     
[6622]     The lane behind the terrace was waterlogged and as he went down it
[6623]     slowly, choosing his steps amid heaps of wet rubbish, he heard a mad
[6624]     nun screeching in the nuns' madhouse beyond the wall.
[6625]     
[6626]     --Jesus! O Jesus! Jesus!
[6627]     
[6628]     He shook the sound out of his ears by an angry toss of his head and
[6629]     hurried on, stumbling through the mouldering offal, his heart already
[6630]     bitten by an ache of loathing and bitterness. His father's whistle, his
[6631]     mother's mutterings, the screech of an unseen maniac were to him now so
[6632]     many voices offending and threatening to humble the pride of his youth.
[6633]     He drove their echoes even out of his heart with an execration; but, as
[6634]     he walked down the avenue and felt the grey morning light falling about
[6635]     him through the dripping trees and smelt the strange wild smell of the
[6636]     wet leaves and bark, his soul was loosed of her miseries.
[6637]     
[6638]     The rain-laden trees of the avenue evoked in him, as always, memories
[6639]     of the girls and women in the plays of Gerhart Hauptmann; and the
[6640]     memory of their pale sorrows and the fragrance falling from the wet
[6641]     branches mingled in a mood of quiet joy. His morning walk across the
[6642]     city had begun, and he foreknew that as he passed the sloblands of
[6643]     Fairview he would think of the cloistral silver-veined prose of Newman;
[6644]     that as he walked along the North Strand Road, glancing idly at the
[6645]     windows of the provision shops, he would recall the dark humour of
[6646]     Guido Cavalcanti and smile; that as he went by Baird's stonecutting
[6647]     works in Talbot Place the spirit of Ibsen would blow through him like a
[6648]     keen wind, a spirit of wayward boyish beauty; and that passing a grimy
[6649]     marine dealer's shop beyond the Liffey he would repeat the song by Ben
[6650]     Jonson which begins:
[6651]     
[6652]         I was not wearier where I lay.
[6653]     
[6654]     His mind when wearied of its search for the essence of beauty amid the
[6655]     spectral words of Aristotle or Aquinas turned often for its pleasure to
[6656]     the dainty songs of the Elizabethans. His mind, in the vesture of a
[6657]     doubting monk, stood often in shadow under the windows of that age, to
[6658]     hear the grave and mocking music of the lutenists or the frank laughter
[6659]     of waist-coateers until a laugh too low, a phrase, tarnished by time,
[6660]     of chambering and false honour stung his monkish pride and drove him on
[6661]     from his lurking-place.
[6662]     
[6663]     The lore which he was believed to pass his days brooding upon so that
[6664]     it had rapt him from the companionship of youth was only a garner of
[6665]     slender sentences from Aristotle's poetics and psychology and a
[6666]     SYNOPSIS PHILOSOPHIAE SCHOLASTICAE AD MENTEM DIVI THOMAE. His thinking
[6667]     was a dusk of doubt and self-mistrust, lit up at moments by the
[6668]     lightnings of intuition, but lightnings of so clear a splendour that in
[6669]     those moments the world perished about his feet as if it had been
[6670]     fire-consumed; and thereafter his tongue grew heavy and he met the eyes
[6671]     of others with unanswering eyes, for he felt that the spirit of beauty
[6672]     had folded him round like a mantle and that in revery at least he had
[6673]     been acquainted with nobility. But when this brief pride of
[6674]     silence upheld him no longer he was glad to find himself
[6675]     still in the midst of common lives, passing on his way amid the squalor
[6676]     and noise and sloth of the city fearlessly and with a light heart.
[6677]     
[6678]     Near the hoardings on the canal he met the consumptive man with the
[6679]     doll's face and the brimless hat coming towards him down the slope of
[6680]     the bridge with little steps, tightly buttoned into his chocolate
[6681]     overcoat, and holding his furled umbrella a span or two from him like a
[6682]     divining rod. It must be eleven, he thought, and peered into a dairy to
[6683]     see the time. The clock in the dairy told him that it was five minutes
[6684]     to five but, as he turned away, he heard a clock somewhere near him,
[6685]     but unseen, beating eleven strokes in swift precision. He laughed as he
[6686]     heard it for it made him think of McCann, and he saw him a squat figure
[6687]     in a shooting jacket and breeches and with a fair goatee, standing in
[6688]     the wind at Hopkins' corner, and heard him say:
[6689]     
[6690]     --Dedalus, you're an antisocial being, wrapped up in yourself. I'm
[6691]     not. I'm a democrat and I'll work and act for social liberty and
[6692]     equality among all classes and sexes in the United States of the Europe
[6693]     of the future.
[6694]     
[6695]     Eleven! Then he was late for that lecture too. What day of the week was
[6696]     it? He stopped at a newsagent's to read the headline of a placard.
[6697]     Thursday. Ten to eleven, English; eleven to twelve, French; twelve to
[6698]     one, physics. He fancied to himself the English lecture and felt, even
[6699]     at that distance, restless and helpless. He saw the heads of his
[6700]     classmates meekly bent as they wrote in their notebooks the points they
[6701]     were bidden to note, nominal definitions, essential definitions and
[6702]     examples or dates of birth or death, chief works, a favourable and an
[6703]     unfavourable criticism side by side. His own head was unbent for his
[6704]     thoughts wandered abroad and whether he looked around the little class
[6705]     of students or out of the window across the desolate gardens of the
[6706]     green an odour assailed him of cheerless cellar-damp and decay. Another
[6707]     head than his, right before him in the first benches, was poised
[6708]     squarely above its bending fellows like the head of a priest appealing
[6709]     without humility to the tabernacle for the humble worshippers about
[6710]     him. Why was it that when he thought of Cranly he could never raise
[6711]     before his mind the entire image of his body but only the image of the
[6712]     head and face? Even now against the grey curtain of the morning he saw
[6713]     it before him like the phantom of a dream, the face of a severed head
[6714]     or death-mask, crowned on the brows by its stiff black upright hair as
[6715]     by an iron crown. It was a priest-like face, priest-like in its palor,
[6716]     in the wide winged nose, in the shadowings below the eyes and along the
[6717]     jaws, priest-like in the lips that were long and bloodless and faintly
[6718]     smiling; and Stephen, remembering swiftly how he had told Cranly of all
[6719]     the tumults and unrest and longings in his soul, day after day and
[6720]     night by night, only to be answered by his friend's listening silence,
[6721]     would have told himself that it was the face of a guilty priest who
[6722]     heard confessions of those whom he had not power to absolve but that he
[6723]     felt again in memory the gaze of its dark womanish eyes.
[6724]     
[6725]     Through this image he had a glimpse of a strange dark cavern of
[6726]     speculation but at once turned away from it, feeling that it was not
[6727]     yet the hour to enter it. But the nightshade of his friend's
[6728]     listlessness seemed to be diffusing in the air around him a tenuous and
[6729]     deadly exhalation and He found himself glancing from one casual word to
[6730]     another on his right or left in stolid wonder that they had been so
[6731]     silently emptied of instantaneous sense until every mean shop legend
[6732]     bound his mind like the words of a spell and his soul shrivelled up
[6733]     sighing with age as he walked on in a lane among heaps of dead
[6734]     language. His own consciousness of language was ebbing from his brain
[6735]     and trickling into the very words themselves which set to band and
[6736]     disband themselves in wayward rhythms:
[6737]     
[6738]         The ivy whines upon the wall,
[6739]         And whines and twines upon the wall,
[6740]         The yellow ivy upon the wall,
[6741]         Ivy, ivy up the wall.
[6742]     
[6743]     Did anyone ever hear such drivel? Lord Almighty! Who ever heard of ivy
[6744]     whining on a wall? Yellow ivy; that was all right. Yellow ivory also.
[6745]     And what about ivory ivy?
[6746]     
[6747]     The word now shone in his brain, clearer and brighter than any ivory
[6748]     sawn from the mottled tusks of elephants. IVORY, IVOIRE, AVORIO, EBUR.
[6749]     One of the first examples that he had learnt in Latin had run:
[6750]     INDIA MITTIT EBUR; and he recalled the shrewd northern face of the
[6751]     rector who had taught him to construe the Metamorphoses of Ovid in a
[6752]     courtly English, made whimsical by the mention of porkers and potsherds
[6753]     and chines of bacon. He had learnt what little he knew of the laws of
[6754]     Latin verse from a ragged book written by a Portuguese priest.
[6755]     
[6756]         Contrahit orator, variant in carmine vates.
[6757]     
[6758]     The crises and victories and secessions in Roman history were handed on
[6759]     to him in the trite words IN TANTO DISCRIMINE and he had tried to peer
[6760]     into the social life of the city of cities through the words IMPLERE
[6761]     OLLAM DENARIORUM which the rector had rendered sonorously as the
[6762]     filling of a pot with denaries. The pages of his time-worn Horace never
[6763]     felt cold to the touch even when his own fingers were cold; they were
[6764]     human pages and fifty years before they had been turned by the human
[6765]     fingers of John Duncan Inverarity and by his brother, William Malcolm
[6766]     Inverarity. Yes, those were noble names on the dusky flyleaf and, even
[6767]     for so poor a Latinist as he, the dusky verses were as fragrant as
[6768]     though they had lain all those years in myrtle and lavender and
[6769]     vervain; but yet it wounded him to think that he would never be but a
[6770]     shy guest at the feast of the world's culture and that the monkish
[6771]     learning, in terms of which he was striving to forge out an esthetic
[6772]     philosophy, was held no higher by the age he lived in than the subtle
[6773]     and curious jargons of heraldry and falconry.
[6774]     
[6775]     The grey block of Trinity on his left, set heavily in the city's
[6776]     ignorance like a dull stone set in a cumbrous ring, pulled his mind
[6777]     downward and while he was striving this way and that to free his feet
[6778]     from the fetters of the reformed conscience he came upon the droll
[6779]     statue of the national poet of Ireland.
[6780]     
[6781]     He looked at it without anger; for, though sloth of the body and of the
[6782]     soul crept over it like unseen vermin, over the shuffling feet and up
[6783]     the folds of the cloak and around the servile head, it seemed humbly
[6784]     conscious of its indignity. It was a Firbolg in the borrowed cloak of a
[6785]     Milesian; and he thought of his friend Davin, the peasant student. It
[6786]     was a jesting name between them, but the young peasant bore with it
[6787]     lightly:
[6788]     
[6789]     --Go on, Stevie, I have a hard head, you tell me. Call me what you
[6790]     will.
[6791]     
[6792]     The homely version of his christian name on the lips of his friend had
[6793]     touched Stephen pleasantly when first heard for he was as formal in
[6794]     speech with others as they were with him. Often, as he sat in Davin's
[6795]     rooms in Grantham Street, wondering at his friend's well-made boots
[6796]     that flanked the wall pair by pair and repeating for his friend's
[6797]     simple ear the verses and cadences of others which were the veils of
[6798]     his own longing and dejection, the rude Firbolg mind of his listener
[6799]     had drawn his mind towards it and flung it back again, drawing it by a
[6800]     quiet inbred courtesy of attention or by a quaint turn of old English
[6801]     speech or by the force of its delight in rude bodily skill--for Davin
[6802]     had sat at the feet of Michael Cusack, the Gael--repelling swiftly and
[6803]     suddenly by a grossness of intelligence or by a bluntness of feeling or
[6804]     by a dull stare of terror in the eyes, the terror of soul of a starving
[6805]     Irish village in which the curfew was still a nightly fear.
[6806]     
[6807]     Side by side with his memory of the deeds of prowess of his uncle Mat
[6808]     Davin, the athlete, the young peasant worshipped the sorrowful legend
[6809]     of Ireland. The gossip of his fellow-students which strove to render
[6810]     the flat life of the college significant at any cost loved to think of
[6811]     him as a young fenian. His nurse had taught him Irish and shaped his
[6812]     rude imagination by the broken lights of Irish myth. He stood towards
[6813]     the myth upon which no individual mind had ever drawn out a line of
[6814]     beauty and to its unwieldy tales that divided against themselves as
[6815]     they moved down the cycles in the same attitude as towards the Roman
[6816]     catholic religion, the attitude of a dull-witted loyal serf. Whatsoever
[6817]     of thought or of feeling came to him from England or by way of English
[6818]     culture his mind stood armed against in obedience to a password; and of
[6819]     the world that lay beyond England he knew only the foreign legion of
[6820]     France in which he spoke of serving.
[6821]     
[6822]     Coupling this ambition with the young man's humour Stephen had often
[6823]     called him one of the tame geese and there was even a point of
[6824]     irritation in the name pointed against that very reluctance of speech
[6825]     and deed in his friend which seemed so often to stand between Stephen's
[6826]     mind, eager of speculation, and the hidden ways of Irish life.
[6827]     
[6828]     One night the young peasant, his spirit stung by the violent or
[6829]     luxurious language in which Stephen escaped from the cold silence of
[6830]     intellectual revolt, had called up before Stephen's mind a strange
[6831]     vision. The two were walking slowly towards Davin's rooms through the
[6832]     dark narrow streets of the poorer jews.
[6833]     
[6834]     --A thing happened to myself, Stevie, last autumn, coming on winter,
[6835]     and I never told it to a living soul and you are the first person now I
[6836]     ever told it to. I disremember if it was October or November. It was
[6837]     October because it was before I came up here to join the matriculation
[6838]     class.
[6839]     
[6840]     Stephen had turned his smiling eyes towards his friend's face,
[6841]     flattered by his confidence and won over to sympathy by the speaker's
[6842]     simple accent.
[6843]     
[6844]     --I was away all that day from my own place over in Buttevant.
[6845]     
[6846]     --I don't know if you know where that is--at a hurling match between
[6847]     the Croke's Own Boys and the Fearless Thurles and by God, Stevie, that
[6848]     was the hard fight. My first cousin, Fonsy Davin, was stripped to his
[6849]     buff that day minding cool for the Limericks but he was up with the
[6850]     forwards half the time and shouting like mad. I never will forget that
[6851]     day. One of the Crokes made a woeful wipe at him one time with his
[6852]     caman and I declare to God he was within an aim's ace of getting it at
[6853]     the side of his temple. Oh, honest to God, if the crook of it caught
[6854]     him that time he was done for.
[6855]     
[6856]     --I am glad he escaped, Stephen had said with a laugh, but surely
[6857]     that's not the strange thing that happened you?
[6858]     
[6859]     --Well, I suppose that doesn't interest you, but leastways there was
[6860]     such noise after the match that I missed the train home and I couldn't
[6861]     get any kind of a yoke to give me a lift for, as luck would have it,
[6862]     there was a mass meeting that same day over in Castletownroche and
[6863]     all the cars in the country were there. So there was nothing for it
[6864]     only to stay the night or to foot it out. Well, I started to walk
[6865]     and on I went and it was coming on night when I got into the Ballyhoura
[6866]     hills, that's better than ten miles from Kilmallock and there's a
[6867]     long lonely road after that. You wouldn't see the sign of a christian
[6868]     house along the road or hear a sound. It was pitch dark almost. Once
[6869]     or twice I stopped by the way under a bush to redden my pipe and only
[6870]     for the dew was thick I'd have stretched out there and slept. At last,
[6871]     after a bend of the road, I spied a little cottage with a light in the
[6872]     window. I went up and knocked at the door. A voice asked who was
[6873]     there and I answered I was over at the match in Buttevant and was
[6874]     walking back and that I'd be thankful for a glass of water. After
[6875]     a while a young woman opened the door and brought me out a big mug
[6876]     of milk. She was half undressed as if she was going to bed when I
[6877]     knocked and she had her hair hanging and I thought by her figure and
[6878]     by something in the look of her eyes that she must be carrying a
[6879]     child. She kept me in talk a long while at the door, and I thought
[6880]     it strange because her breast and her shoulders were bare. She
[6881]     asked me was I tired and would I like to stop the night there.
[6882]     She said she was all alone in the house and that her husband had
[6883]     gone that morning to Queenstown with his sister to see her off. And all
[6884]     the time she was talking, Stevie, she had her eyes fixed on my face and
[6885]     she stood so close to me I could hear her breathing. When I handed her
[6886]     back the mug at last she took my hand to draw me in over the threshold
[6887]     and said: 'COME IN AND STAY THE NIGHT HERE. YOU'VE NO CALL TO BE
[6888]     FRIGHTENED. THERE'S NO ONE IN IT BUT OURSELVES...' I didn't go in,
[6889]     Stevie. I thanked her and went on my way again, all in a fever. At the
[6890]     first bend of the road I looked back and she was standing at the door.
[6891]     
[6892]     The last words of Davin's story sang in his memory and the figure of
[6893]     the woman in the story stood forth reflected in other figures of the
[6894]     peasant women whom he had seen standing in the doorways at Clane as the
[6895]     college cars drove by, as a type of her race and of his own, a bat-like
[6896]     soul waking to the consciousness of itself in darkness and secrecy and
[6897]     loneliness and, through the eyes and voice and gesture of a woman
[6898]     without guile, calling the stranger to her bed.
[6899]     
[6900]     A hand was laid on his arm and a young voice cried:
[6901]     
[6902]     --Ah, gentleman, your own girl, sir! The first handsel today, gentleman.
[6903]     Buy that lovely bunch. Will you, gentleman?
[6904]     
[6905]     The blue flowers which she lifted towards him and her young blue eyes
[6906]     seemed to him at that instant images of guilelessness, and he halted
[6907]     till the image had vanished and he saw only her ragged dress and damp
[6908]     coarse hair and hoydenish face.
[6909]     
[6910]     --Do, gentleman! Don't forget your own girl, sir!
[6911]     
[6912]     --I have no money, said Stephen.
[6913]     
[6914]     --Buy them lovely ones, will you, sir? Only a penny.
[6915]     
[6916]     --Did you hear what I said? asked Stephen, bending towards her. I told you
[6917]     I had no money. I tell you again now.
[6918]     
[6919]     --Well, sure, you will some day, sir, please God, the girl answered
[6920]     after an instant.
[6921]     
[6922]     --Possibly, said Stephen, but I don't think it likely.
[6923]     
[6924]     He left her quickly, fearing that her intimacy might turn to jibing
[6925]     and wishing to be out of the way before she offered her ware to
[6926]     another, a tourist from England or a student of Trinity. Grafton
[6927]     Street, along which he walked, prolonged that moment of discouraged
[6928]     poverty. In the roadway at the head of the street a slab was set to the
[6929]     memory of Wolfe Tone and he remembered having been present with his
[6930]     father at its laying. He remembered with bitterness that scene of
[6931]     tawdry tribute. There were four French delegates in a brake and one, a
[6932]     plump smiling young man, held, wedged on a stick, a card on which were
[6933]     printed the words: VIVE L'IRLANDE!
[6934]     
[6935]     But the trees in Stephen's Green were fragrant of rain and the
[6936]     rain-sodden earth gave forth its mortal odour, a faint incense rising
[6937]     upward through the mould from many hearts. The soul of the gallant
[6938]     venal city which his elders had told him of had shrunk with time to a
[6939]     faint mortal odour rising from the earth and he knew that in a moment
[6940]     when he entered the sombre college he would be conscious of a
[6941]     corruption other than that of Buck Egan and Burnchapel Whaley.
[6942]     
[6943]     It was too late to go upstairs to the French class. He crossed the hall
[6944]     and took the corridor to the left which led to the physics theatre. The
[6945]     corridor was dark and silent but not unwatchful. Why did he feel that
[6946]     it was not unwatchful? Was it because he had heard that in Buck
[6947]     Whaley's time there was a secret staircase there? Or was the jesuit
[6948]     house extra-territorial and was he walking among aliens? The Ireland of
[6949]     Tone and of Parnell seemed to have receded in space.
[6950]     
[6951]     He opened the door of the theatre and halted in the chilly grey light
[6952]     that struggled through the dusty windows. A figure was crouching before
[6953]     the large grate and by its leanness and greyness he knew that it was
[6954]     the dean of studies lighting the fire. Stephen closed the door quietly
[6955]     and approached the fireplace.
[6956]     
[6957]     --Good morning, sir! Can I help you?
[6958]     
[6959]     The priest looked up quickly and said:
[6960]     
[6961]     --One moment now, Mr Dedalus, and you will see. There is an art in
[6962]     lighting a fire. We have the liberal arts and we have the useful arts.
[6963]     This is one of the useful arts.
[6964]     
[6965]     --I will try to learn it, said Stephen.
[6966]     
[6967]     --Not too much coal, said the dean, working briskly at his task, that
[6968]     is one of the secrets.
[6969]     
[6970]     He produced four candle-butts from the side-pockets of his soutane and
[6971]     placed them deftly among the coals and twisted papers. Stephen watched
[6972]     him in silence. Kneeling thus on the flagstone to kindle the fire and
[6973]     busied with the disposition of his wisps of paper and candle-butts he
[6974]     seemed more than ever a humble server making ready the place of
[6975]     sacrifice in an empty temple, a levite of the Lord. Like a levite's
[6976]     robe of plain linen the faded worn soutane draped the kneeling figure
[6977]     of one whom the canonicals or the bell-bordered ephod would irk and
[6978]     trouble. His very body had waxed old in lowly service of the Lord--in
[6979]     tending the fire upon the altar, in bearing tidings secretly, in
[6980]     waiting upon worldlings, in striking swiftly when bidden--and yet had
[6981]     remained ungraced by aught of saintly or of prelatic beauty. Nay, his
[6982]     very soul had waxed old in that service without growing towards light
[6983]     and beauty or spreading abroad a sweet odour of her sanctity--a
[6984]     mortified will no more responsive to the thrill of its obedience than
[6985]     was to the thrill of love or combat his ageing body, spare and sinewy,
[6986]     greyed with a silver-pointed down.
[6987]     
[6988]     The dean rested back on his hunkers and watched the sticks catch.
[6989]     Stephen, to fill the silence, said:
[6990]     
[6991]     --I am sure I could not light a fire.
[6992]     
[6993]     --You are an artist, are you not, Mr Dedalus? said the dean, glancing
[6994]     up and blinking his pale eyes. The object of the artist is the creation
[6995]     of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.
[6996]     
[6997]     He rubbed his hands slowly and drily over the difficulty.
[6998]     
[6999]     --Can you solve that question now? he asked.
[7000]     
[7001]     --Aquinas, answered Stephen, says PULCRA SUNT QUAE VISA PLACENT.
[7002]     
[7003]     --This fire before us, said the dean, will be pleasing to the eye.
[7004]     Will it therefore be beautiful?
[7005]     
[7006]     --In so far as it is apprehended by the sight, which I suppose means
[7007]     here esthetic intellection, it will be beautiful. But Aquinas also says
[7008]     BONUM EST IN QUOD TENDIT APPETITUS. In so far as it satisfies the
[7009]     animal craving for warmth fire is a good. In hell, however, it is an
[7010]     evil.
[7011]     
[7012]     --Quite so, said the dean, you have certainly hit the nail on the head.
[7013]     
[7014]     He rose nimbly and went towards the door, set it ajar and said:
[7015]     
[7016]     --A draught is said to be a help in these matters.
[7017]     
[7018]     As he came back to the hearth, limping slightly but with a brisk step,
[7019]     Stephen saw the silent soul of a jesuit look out at him from the pale
[7020]     loveless eyes. Like Ignatius he was lame but in his eyes burned no
[7021]     spark of Ignatius's enthusiasm. Even the legendary craft of the
[7022]     company, a craft subtler and more secret than its fabled books of
[7023]     secret subtle wisdom, had not fired his soul with the energy of
[7024]     apostleship. It seemed as if he used the shifts and lore and cunning of
[7025]     the world, as bidden to do, for the greater glory of God, without joy
[7026]     in their handling or hatred of that in them which was evil but turning
[7027]     them, with a firm gesture of obedience back upon themselves and for all
[7028]     this silent service it seemed as if he loved not at all the master and
[7029]     little, if at all, the ends he served. SIMILITER ATQUE SENIS BACULUS,
[7030]     he was, as the founder would have had him, like a staff in an old man's
[7031]     hand, to be leaned on in the road at nightfall or in stress of weather,
[7032]     to lie with a lady's nosegay on a garden seat, to be raised in menace.
[7033]     
[7034]     The dean returned to the hearth and began to stroke his chin.
[7035]     
[7036]     --When may we expect to have something from you on the esthetic
[7037]     question? he asked.
[7038]     
[7039]     --From me! said Stephen in astonishment. I stumble on an idea once a
[7040]     fortnight if I am lucky.
[7041]     
[7042]     --These questions are very profound, Mr Dedalus, said the dean. It is
[7043]     like looking down from the cliffs of Moher into the depths. Many go
[7044]     down into the depths and never come up. Only the trained diver can go
[7045]     down into those depths and explore them and come to the surface again.
[7046]     
[7047]     --If you mean speculation, sir, said Stephen, I also am sure that
[7048]     there is no such thing as free thinking inasmuch as all thinking must
[7049]     be bound by its own laws.
[7050]     
[7051]     --Ha!
[7052]     
[7053]     --For my purpose I can work on at present by the light of one or two
[7054]     ideas of Aristotle and Aquinas.
[7055]     
[7056]     --I see. I quite see your point.
[7057]     
[7058]     --I need them only for my own use and guidance until I have done
[7059]     something for myself by their light. If the lamp smokes or smells I
[7060]     shall try to trim it. If it does not give light enough I shall sell it
[7061]     and buy another.
[7062]     
[7063]     --Epictetus also had a lamp, said the dean, which was sold for a fancy
[7064]     price after his death. It was the lamp he wrote his philosophical
[7065]     dissertations by. You know Epictetus?
[7066]     
[7067]     --An old gentleman, said Stephen coarsely, who said that the soul is
[7068]     very like a bucketful of water.
[7069]     
[7070]     --He tells us in his homely way, the dean went on, that he put an iron
[7071]     lamp before a statue of one of the gods and that a thief stole the
[7072]     lamp. What did the philosopher do? He reflected that it was in the
[7073]     character of a thief to steal and determined to buy an earthen lamp
[7074]     next day instead of the iron lamp.
[7075]     
[7076]     A smell of molten tallow came up from the dean's candle butts and fused
[7077]     itself in Stephen's consciousness with the jingle of the words, bucket
[7078]     and lamp and lamp and bucket. The priest's voice, too, had a hard
[7079]     jingling tone. Stephen's mind halted by instinct, checked by the
[7080]     strange tone and the imagery and by the priest's face which seemed like
[7081]     an unlit lamp or a reflector hung in a false focus. What lay behind it
[7082]     or within it? A dull torpor of the soul or the dullness of the
[7083]     thundercloud, charged with intellection and capable of the gloom of
[7084]     God?
[7085]     
[7086]     --I meant a different kind of lamp, sir, said Stephen.
[7087]     
[7088]     --Undoubtedly, said the dean.
[7089]     
[7090]     --One difficulty, said Stephen, in esthetic discussion is to know
[7091]     whether words are being used according to the literary tradition or
[7092]     according to the tradition of the marketplace. I remember a sentence of
[7093]     Newman's in which he says of the Blessed Virgin that she was detained
[7094]     in the full company of the saints. The use of the word in the
[7095]     marketplace is quite different. I HOPE I AM NOT DETAINING YOU.
[7096]     
[7097]     --Not in the least, said the dean politely.
[7098]     
[7099]     --No, no, said Stephen, smiling, I mean--
[7100]     
[7101]     --Yes, yes; I see, said the dean quickly, I quite catch the point:
[7102]     DETAIN.
[7103]     
[7104]     He thrust forward his under jaw and uttered a dry short cough.
[7105]     
[7106]     --To return to the lamp, he said, the feeding of it is also a nice
[7107]     problem. You must choose the pure oil and you must be careful when you
[7108]     pour it in not to overflow it, not to pour in more than the funnel can
[7109]     hold.
[7110]     
[7111]     --What funnel? asked Stephen.
[7112]     
[7113]     --The funnel through which you pour the oil into your lamp.
[7114]     
[7115]     --That? said Stephen. Is that called a funnel? Is it not a tundish?
[7116]     
[7117]     --What is a tundish?
[7118]     
[7119]     --That. The... funnel.
[7120]     
[7121]     --Is that called a tundish in Ireland? asked the dean. I never heard
[7122]     the word in my life.
[7123]     
[7124]     --It is called a tundish in Lower Drumcondra, said Stephen, laughing,
[7125]     where they speak the best English.
[7126]     
[7127]     --A tundish, said the dean reflectively. That is a most interesting
[7128]     word. I must look that word up. Upon my word I must.
[7129]     
[7130]     His courtesy of manner rang a little false and Stephen looked at the
[7131]     English convert with the same eyes as the elder brother in the parable
[7132]     may have turned on the prodigal. A humble follower in the wake of
[7133]     clamorous conversions, a poor Englishman in Ireland, he seemed to have
[7134]     entered on the stage of jesuit history when that strange play of
[7135]     intrigue and suffering and envy and struggle and indignity had been all
[7136]     but given through--a late-comer, a tardy spirit. From what had he set
[7137]     out? Perhaps he had been born and bred among serious dissenters, seeing
[7138]     salvation in Jesus only and abhorring the vain pomps of the
[7139]     establishment. Had he felt the need of an implicit faith amid the
[7140]     welter of sectarianism and the jargon of its turbulent schisms, six
[7141]     principle men, peculiar people, seed and snake baptists, supralapsarian
[7142]     dogmatists? Had he found the true church all of a sudden in winding up
[7143]     to the end like a reel of cotton some fine-spun line of reasoning upon
[7144]     insufflation on the imposition of hands or the procession of the Holy
[7145]     Ghost? Or had Lord Christ touched him and bidden him follow, like that
[7146]     disciple who had sat at the receipt of custom, as he sat by the door of
[7147]     some zinc-roofed chapel, yawning and telling over his church pence?
[7148]     
[7149]     The dean repeated the word yet again.
[7150]     
[7151]     --Tundish! Well now, that is interesting!
[7152]     
[7153]     --The question you asked me a moment ago seems to me more interesting.
[7154]     What is that beauty which the artist struggles to express from lumps of
[7155]     earth, said Stephen coldly.
[7156]     
[7157]     The little word seemed to have turned a rapier point of his
[7158]     sensitiveness against this courteous and vigilant foe. He felt with a
[7159]     smart of dejection that the man to whom he was speaking was a
[7160]     countryman of Ben Jonson. He thought:
[7161]     
[7162]     --The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How
[7163]     different are the words HOME, CHRIST, ALE, MASTER, on his lips and on
[7164]     mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His
[7165]     language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired
[7166]     speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at
[7167]     bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language.
[7168]     
[7169]     --And to distinguish between the beautiful and the sublime, the dean
[7170]     added, to distinguish between moral beauty and material beauty. And to
[7171]     inquire what kind of beauty is proper to each of the various arts.
[7172]     These are some interesting points we might take up.
[7173]     
[7174]     Stephen, disheartened suddenly by the dean's firm, dry tone, was
[7175]     silent; and through the silence a distant noise of many boots and
[7176]     confused voices came up the staircase.
[7177]     
[7178]     --In pursuing these speculations, said the dean conclusively, there
[7179]     is, however, the danger of perishing of inanition. First you must take
[7180]     your degree. Set that before you as your first aim. Then, little by
[7181]     little, you will see your way. I mean in every sense, your way in life
[7182]     and in thinking. It may be uphill pedalling at first. Take Mr Moonan.
[7183]     He was a long time before he got to the top. But he got there.
[7184]     
[7185]     --I may not have his talent, said Stephen quietly.
[7186]     
[7187]     --You never know, said the dean brightly. We never can say what is in
[7188]     us. I most certainly should not be despondent. PER ASPERA AD ASTRA.
[7189]     
[7190]     He left the hearth quickly and went towards the landing to oversee the
[7191]     arrival of the first arts' class.
[7192]     
[7193]     Leaning against the fireplace Stephen heard him greet briskly and
[7194]     impartially every Student of the class and could almost see the frank
[7195]     smiles of the coarser students. A desolating pity began to fall like
[7196]     dew upon his easily embittered heart for this faithful serving-man of
[7197]     the knightly Loyola, for this half-brother of the clergy, more venal
[7198]     than they in speech, more steadfast of soul than they, one whom he
[7199]     would never call his ghostly father; and he thought how this man and
[7200]     his companions had earned the name of worldlings at the hands not of
[7201]     the unworldly only but of the worldly also for having pleaded, during
[7202]     all their history, at the bar of God's justice for the souls of the lax
[7203]     and the lukewarm and the prudent.
[7204]     
[7205]     The entry of the professor was signalled by a few rounds of Kentish
[7206]     fire from the heavy boots of those students who sat on the highest tier
[7207]     of the gloomy theatre under the grey cobwebbed windows. The calling of
[7208]     the roll began and the responses to the names were given out in all
[7209]     tones until the name of Peter Byrne was reached.
[7210]     
[7211]     --Here!
[7212]     
[7213]     A deep bass note in response came from the upper tier, followed by
[7214]     coughs of protest along the other benches.
[7215]     
[7216]     The professor paused in his reading and called the next name:
[7217]     
[7218]     --Cranly!
[7219]     
[7220]     No answer.
[7221]     
[7222]     --Mr Cranly!
[7223]     
[7224]     A smile flew across Stephen's face as he thought of his friend's
[7225]     studies.
[7226]     
[7227]     --Try Leopardstown! Said a voice from the bench behind.
[7228]     
[7229]     Stephen glanced up quickly but Moynihan's snoutish face, outlined on the
[7230]     grey light, was impassive. A formula was given out. Amid the rustling of
[7231]     the notebooks Stephen turned back again and said:
[7232]     
[7233]     --Give me some paper for God's sake.
[7234]     
[7235]     --Are you as bad as that? asked Moynihan with a broad grin.
[7236]     
[7237]     He tore a sheet from his scribbler and passed it down, whispering:
[7238]     
[7239]     --In case of necessity any layman or woman can do it.
[7240]     
[7241]     The formula which he wrote obediently on the sheet of paper, the
[7242]     coiling and uncoiling calculations of the professor, the spectre-like
[7243]     symbols of force and velocity fascinated and jaded Stephen's mind. He
[7244]     had heard some say that the old professor was an atheist freemason. O
[7245]     the grey dull day! It seemed a limbo of painless patient consciousness
[7246]     through which souls of mathematicians might wander, projecting long
[7247]     slender fabrics from plane to plane of ever rarer and paler twilight,
[7248]     radiating swift eddies to the last verges of a universe ever vaster,
[7249]     farther and more impalpable.
[7250]     
[7251]     --So we must distinguish between elliptical and ellipsoidal. Perhaps some
[7252]     of you gentlemen may be familiar with the works of Mr W. S. Gilbert. In
[7253]     one of his songs he speaks of the billiard sharp who is condemned to
[7254]     play:
[7255]     
[7256]     
[7257]         On a cloth untrue
[7258]         With a twisted cue
[7259]         And elliptical billiard balls.
[7260]     
[7261]     --He means a ball having the form of the ellipsoid of the principal
[7262]     axes of which I spoke a moment ago.
[7263]     
[7264]     Moynihan leaned down towards Stephen's ear and murmured:
[7265]     
[7266]     --What price ellipsoidal balls! chase me, ladies, I'm in the cavalry!
[7267]     
[7268]     His fellow student's rude humour ran like a gust through the cloister
[7269]     of Stephen's mind, shaking into gay life limp priestly vestments that
[7270]     hung upon the walls, setting them to sway and caper in a sabbath of
[7271]     misrule. The forms of the community emerged from the gust-blown
[7272]     vestments, the dean of studies, the portly florid bursar with his cap
[7273]     of grey hair, the president, the little priest with feathery hair who
[7274]     wrote devout verses, the squat peasant form of the professor of
[7275]     economics, the tall form of the young professor of mental science
[7276]     discussing on the landing a case of conscience with his class like a
[7277]     giraffe cropping high leafage among a herd of antelopes, the grave
[7278]     troubled prefect of the sodality, the plump round-headed professor of
[7279]     Italian with his rogue's eyes. They came ambling and stumbling,
[7280]     tumbling and capering, kilting their gowns for leap frog, holding one
[7281]     another back, shaken with deep false laughter, smacking one another
[7282]     behind and laughing at their rude malice, calling to one another by
[7283]     familiar nicknames, protesting with sudden dignity at some rough usage,
[7284]     whispering two and two behind their hands.
[7285]     
[7286]     The professor had gone to the glass cases on the side wall, from a
[7287]     shelf of which he took down a set of coils, blew away the dust from
[7288]     many points and, bearing it carefully to the table, held a finger on it
[7289]     while he proceeded with his lecture. He explained that the wires in
[7290]     modern coils were of a compound called platinoid lately discovered by
[7291]     F. W. Martino.
[7292]     
[7293]     He spoke clearly the initials and surname of the discoverer. Moynihan
[7294]     whispered from behind:
[7295]     
[7296]     --Good old Fresh Water Martin!
[7297]     
[7298]     --Ask him, Stephen whispered back with weary humour, if he wants a
[7299]     subject for electrocution. He can have me.
[7300]     
[7301]     Moynihan, seeing the professor bend over the coils, rose in his bench
[7302]     and, clacking noiselessly the fingers of his right hand, began to call
[7303]     with the voice of a slobbering urchin.
[7304]     
[7305]     --Please teacher! This boy is after saying a bad word, teacher.
[7306]     
[7307]     --Platinoid, the professor said solemnly, is preferred to German
[7308]     silver because it has a lower coefficient of resistance by changes of
[7309]     temperature. The platinoid wire is insulated and the covering of silk
[7310]     that insulates it is wound on the ebonite bobbins just where my finger
[7311]     is. If it were wound single an extra current would be induced in the
[7312]     coils. The bobbins are saturated in hot paraffin wax...
[7313]     
[7314]     A sharp Ulster voice said from the bench below Stephen:
[7315]     
[7316]     --Are we likely to be asked questions on applied science?
[7317]     
[7318]     The professor began to juggle gravely with the terms pure science and
[7319]     applied science. A heavy-built student, wearing gold spectacles, stared
[7320]     with some wonder at the questioner. Moynihan murmured from behind in
[7321]     his natural voice:
[7322]     
[7323]     --Isn't MacAlister a devil for his pound of flesh?
[7324]     
[7325]     Stephen looked coldly on the oblong skull beneath him overgrown with
[7326]     tangled twine-coloured hair. The voice, the accent, the mind of the
[7327]     questioner offended him and he allowed the offence to carry him towards
[7328]     wilful unkindness, bidding his mind think that the student's father
[7329]     would have done better had he sent his son to Belfast to study and have
[7330]     saved something on the train fare by so doing.
[7331]     
[7332]     The oblong skull beneath did not turn to meet this shaft of thought and
[7333]     yet the shaft came back to its bowstring; for he saw in a moment the
[7334]     student's whey-pale face.
[7335]     
[7336]     --That thought is not mine, he said to himself quickly. It came from
[7337]     the comic Irishman in the bench behind. Patience. Can you say with
[7338]     certitude by whom the soul of your race was bartered and its elect
[7339]     betrayed--by the questioner or by the mocker? Patience. Remember
[7340]     Epictetus. It is probably in his character to ask such a question at
[7341]     such a moment in such a tone and to pronounce the word SCIENCE as a
[7342]     monosyllable.
[7343]     
[7344]     The droning voice of the professor continued to wind itself slowly
[7345]     round and round the coils it spoke of, doubling, trebling, quadrupling
[7346]     its somnolent energy as the coil multiplied its ohms of resistance.
[7347]     
[7348]     Moynihan's voice called from behind in echo to a distant bell:
[7349]     
[7350]     --Closing time, gents!
[7351]     
[7352]     The entrance hall was crowded and loud with talk. On a table near the
[7353]     door were two photographs in frames and between them a long roll of
[7354]     paper bearing an irregular tail of signatures. MacCann went briskly to
[7355]     and fro among the students, talking rapidly, answering rebuffs and
[7356]     leading one after another to the table. In the inner hall the dean of
[7357]     studies stood talking to a young professor, stroking his chin gravely
[7358]     and nodding his head.
[7359]     
[7360]     Stephen, checked by the crowd at the door, halted irresolutely. From
[7361]     under the wide falling leaf of a soft hat Cranly's dark eyes were
[7362]     watching him.
[7363]     
[7364]     --Have you signed? Stephen asked.
[7365]     
[7366]     Cranly closed his long thin-lipped mouth, communed with himself an
[7367]     instant and answered:
[7368]     
[7369]     --EGO HABEO.
[7370]     
[7371]     --What is it for?
[7372]     
[7373]     --QUOD?
[7374]     
[7375]     --What is it for?
[7376]     
[7377]     Cranly turned his pale face to Stephen and said blandly and bitterly:
[7378]     
[7379]     --PER PAX UNIVERSALIS.
[7380]     
[7381]     Stephen pointed to the Tsar's photograph and said:
[7382]     
[7383]     --He has the face of a besotted Christ.
[7384]     
[7385]     The scorn and anger in his voice brought Cranly's eyes back from a calm
[7386]     survey of the walls of the hall.
[7387]     
[7388]     --Are you annoyed? he asked.
[7389]     
[7390]     --No, answered Stephen.
[7391]     
[7392]     --Are you in bad humour?
[7393]     
[7394]     --No.
[7395]     
[7396]     --CREDO UT VOS SANGUINARIUS MENDAX ESTIS, said Cranly, QUIA FACIES
[7397]     VOSTRA MONSTRAT UT VOS IN DAMNO MALO HUMORE ESTIS.
[7398]     
[7399]     Moynihan, on his way to the table, said in Stephen's ear:
[7400]     
[7401]     --MacCann is in tiptop form. Ready to shed the last drop. Brand new
[7402]     world. No stimulants and votes for the bitches.
[7403]     
[7404]     Stephen smiled at the manner of this confidence and, when Moynihan had
[7405]     passed, turned again to meet Cranly's eyes.
[7406]     
[7407]     --Perhaps you can tell me, he said, why he pours his soul so freely
[7408]     into my ear. Can you?
[7409]     
[7410]     A dull scowl appeared on Cranly's forehead. He stared at the table
[7411]     where Moynihan had bent to write his name on the roll, and then said
[7412]     flatly:
[7413]     
[7414]     --A sugar!
[7415]     
[7416]     --QUIS EST IN MALO HUMORE, said Stephen, EGO AUT VOS?
[7417]     
[7418]     Cranly did not take up the taunt. He brooded sourly on his judgement
[7419]     and repeated with the same flat force:
[7420]     
[7421]     --A flaming bloody sugar, that's what he is!
[7422]     
[7423]     It was his epitaph for all dead friendships and Stephen wondered
[7424]     whether it would ever be spoken in the same tone over his memory. The
[7425]     heavy lumpish phrase sank slowly out of hearing like a stone through a
[7426]     quagmire. Stephen saw it sink as he had seen many another, feeling its
[7427]     heaviness depress his heart. Cranly's speech, unlike that of Davin, had
[7428]     neither rare phrases of Elizabethan English nor quaintly turned
[7429]     versions of Irish idioms. Its drawl was an echo of the quays of Dublin
[7430]     given back by a bleak decaying seaport, its energy an echo of the
[7431]     sacred eloquence of Dublin given back flatly by a Wicklow pulpit.
[7432]     
[7433]     The heavy scowl faded from Cranly's face as MacCann marched briskly
[7434]     towards them from the other side of the hall.
[7435]     
[7436]     --Here you are! said MacCann cheerily.
[7437]     
[7438]     --Here I am! said Stephen.
[7439]     
[7440]     --Late as usual. Can you not combine the progressive tendency with a
[7441]     respect for punctuality?
[7442]     
[7443]     --That question is out of order, said Stephen. Next business.
[7444]     
[7445]     His smiling eyes were fixed on a silver-wrapped tablet of milk chocolate
[7446]     which peeped out of the propagandist's breast-pocket. A little ring of
[7447]     listeners closed round to hear the war of wits. A lean student with
[7448]     olive skin and lank black hair thrust his face between the two, glancing
[7449]     from one to the other at each phrase and seeming to try to catch each
[7450]     flying phrase in his open moist mouth. Cranly took a small grey handball
[7451]     from his pocket and began to examine it closely, turning it over and over.
[7452]     
[7453]     --Next business? said MacCann. Hom!
[7454]     
[7455]     He gave a loud cough of laughter, smiled broadly and tugged twice at
[7456]     the straw-coloured goatee which hung from his blunt chin.
[7457]     
[7458]     --The next business is to sign the testimonial.
[7459]     
[7460]     --Will you pay me anything if I sign? asked Stephen.
[7461]     
[7462]     --I thought you were an idealist, said MacCann.
[7463]     
[7464]     The gipsy-like student looked about him and addressed the onlookers in
[7465]     an indistinct bleating voice.
[7466]     
[7467]     --By hell, that's a queer notion. I consider that notion to be a
[7468]     mercenary notion.
[7469]     
[7470]     His voice faded into silence. No heed was paid to his words. He turned
[7471]     his olive face, equine in expression, towards Stephen, inviting him to
[7472]     speak again.
[7473]     
[7474]     MacCann began to speak with fluent energy of the Tsar's rescript, of
[7475]     Stead, of general disarmament arbitration in cases of international
[7476]     disputes, of the signs of the times, of the new humanity and the new
[7477]     gospel of life which would make it the business of the community to
[7478]     secure as cheaply as possible the greatest possible happiness of the
[7479]     greatest possible number.
[7480]     
[7481]     The gipsy student responded to the close of the period by crying:
[7482]     
[7483]     --Three cheers for universal brotherhood!
[7484]     
[7485]     --Go on, Temple, said a stout ruddy student near him. I'll stand you a
[7486]     pint after.
[7487]     
[7488]     --I'm a believer in universal brotherhood, said Temple, glancing about
[7489]     him out of his dark oval eyes. Marx is only a bloody cod.
[7490]     
[7491]     Cranly gripped his arm tightly to check his tongue, smiling uneasily,
[7492]     and repeated:
[7493]     
[7494]     --Easy, easy, easy!
[7495]     
[7496]     Temple struggled to free his arm but continued, his mouth flecked by a
[7497]     thin foam:
[7498]     
[7499]     --Socialism was founded by an Irishman and the first man in Europe who
[7500]     preached the freedom of thought was Collins. Two hundred years ago. He
[7501]     denounced priestcraft, the philosopher of Middlesex. Three cheers for
[7502]     John Anthony Collins!
[7503]     
[7504]     A thin voice from the verge of the ring replied:
[7505]     
[7506]     --Pip! pip!
[7507]     
[7508]     Moynihan murmured beside Stephen's ear:
[7509]     
[7510]     --And what about John Anthony's poor little sister:
[7511]     
[7512]         Lottie Collins lost her drawers;
[7513]         Won't you kindly lend her yours?
[7514]     
[7515]     Stephen laughed and Moynihan, pleased with the result, murmured again:
[7516]     
[7517]     --We'll have five bob each way on John Anthony Collins.
[7518]     
[7519]     --I am waiting for your answer, said MacCann briefly.
[7520]     
[7521]     --The affair doesn't interest me in the least, said Stephen wearily.
[7522]     You know that well. Why do you make a scene about it?
[7523]     
[7524]     --Good! said MacCann, smacking his lips. You are a reactionary, then?
[7525]     
[7526]     --Do you think you impress me, Stephen asked, when you flourish your
[7527]     wooden sword?
[7528]     
[7529]     --Metaphors! said MacCann bluntly. Come to facts.
[7530]     
[7531]     Stephen blushed and turned aside. MacCann stood his ground and said with
[7532]     hostile humour:
[7533]     
[7534]     --Minor poets, I suppose, are above such trivial questions as the
[7535]     question of universal peace.
[7536]     
[7537]     Cranly raised his head and held the handball between the two students
[7538]     by way of a peace-offering, saying:
[7539]     
[7540]     --PAX SUPER TOTUM SANGUINARIUM GLOBUM.
[7541]     
[7542]     Stephen, moving away the bystanders, jerked his shoulder angrily in the
[7543]     direction of the Tsar's image, saying:
[7544]     
[7545]     --Keep your icon. If we must have a Jesus let us have a legitimate
[7546]     Jesus.
[7547]     
[7548]     --By hell, that's a good one! said the gipsy student to those about
[7549]     him, that's a fine expression. I like that expression immensely.
[7550]     
[7551]     He gulped down the spittle in his throat as if he were gulping down the
[7552]     phrase and, fumbling at the peak of his tweed cap, turned to Stephen,
[7553]     saying:
[7554]     
[7555]     --Excuse me, sir, what do you mean by that expression you uttered just
[7556]     now?
[7557]     
[7558]     Feeling himself jostled by the students near him, he said to them:
[7559]     
[7560]     --I am curious to know now what he meant by that expression.
[7561]     
[7562]     He turned again to Stephen and said in a whisper:
[7563]     
[7564]     --Do you believe in Jesus? I believe in man. Of course, I don't know
[7565]     if you believe in man. I admire you, sir. I admire the mind of man
[7566]     independent of all religions. Is that your opinion about the mind of
[7567]     Jesus?
[7568]     
[7569]     --Go on, Temple, said the stout ruddy student, returning, as was his
[7570]     wont, to his first idea, that pint is waiting for you.
[7571]     
[7572]     --He thinks I'm an imbecile, Temple explained to Stephen, because I'm a
[7573]     believer in the power of mind.
[7574]     
[7575]     Cranly linked his arms into those of Stephen and his admirer and said:
[7576]     
[7577]     --NOS AD MANUM BALLUM JOCABIMUS.
[7578]     
[7579]     Stephen, in the act of being led away, caught sight of MacCann's
[7580]     flushed blunt-featured face.
[7581]     
[7582]     --My signature is of no account, he said politely. You are right to go
[7583]     your way. Leave me to go mine.
[7584]     
[7585]     --Dedalus, said MacCann crisply, I believe you're a good fellow but
[7586]     you have yet to learn the dignity of altruism and the responsibility of
[7587]     the human individual.
[7588]     
[7589]     A voice said:
[7590]     
[7591]     --Intellectual crankery is better out of this movement than in it.
[7592]     
[7593]     Stephen, recognizing the harsh tone of MacAlister's voice did not turn
[7594]     in the direction of the voice. Cranly pushed solemnly through the
[7595]     throng of students, linking Stephen and Temple like a celebrant
[7596]     attended by his ministers on his way to the altar.
[7597]     
[7598]     Temple bent eagerly across Cranly's breast and said:
[7599]     
[7600]     --Did you hear MacAlister what he said? That youth is jealous of you.
[7601]     Did you see that? I bet Cranly didn't see that. By hell, I saw that at
[7602]     once.
[7603]     
[7604]     As they crossed the inner hall, the dean of studies was in the act of
[7605]     escaping from the student with whom he had been conversing. He stood at
[7606]     the foot of the staircase, a foot on the lowest step, his threadbare
[7607]     soutane gathered about him for the ascent with womanish care, nodding
[7608]     his head often and repeating:
[7609]     
[7610]     --Not a doubt of it, Mr Hackett! Very fine! Not a doubt of it!
[7611]     
[7612]     In the middle of the hall the prefect of the college sodality was
[7613]     speaking earnestly, in a soft querulous voice, with a boarder. As he
[7614]     spoke he wrinkled a little his freckled brow and bit, between his
[7615]     phrases, at a tiny bone pencil.
[7616]     
[7617]     --I hope the matric men will all come. The first arts' men are pretty
[7618]     sure. Second arts, too. We must make sure of the newcomers.
[7619]     
[7620]     Temple bent again across Cranly, as they were passing through the
[7621]     doorway, and said in a swift whisper:
[7622]     
[7623]     --Do you know that he is a married man? he was a married man before
[7624]     they converted him. He has a wife and children somewhere. By hell, I
[7625]     think that's the queerest notion I ever heard! Eh?
[7626]     
[7627]     His whisper trailed off into sly cackling laughter. The moment they
[7628]     were through the doorway Cranly seized him rudely by the neck and shook
[7629]     him, saying:
[7630]     
[7631]     --You flaming floundering fool! I'll take my dying bible there isn't a
[7632]     bigger bloody ape, do you know, than you in the whole flaming bloody
[7633]     world!
[7634]     
[7635]     Temple wriggled in his grip, laughing still with sly content, while
[7636]     Cranly repeated flatly at every rude shake:
[7637]     
[7638]     --A flaming flaring bloody idiot!
[7639]     
[7640]     They crossed the weedy garden together. The president, wrapped in a
[7641]     heavy loose cloak, was coming towards them along one of the walks,
[7642]     reading his office. At the end of the walk he halted before turning and
[7643]     raised his eyes. The students saluted, Temple fumbling as before at the
[7644]     peak of his cap. They walked forward in silence. As they neared the
[7645]     alley Stephen could hear the thuds of the players' hands and the wet
[7646]     smacks of the ball and Davin's voice crying out excitedly at each
[7647]     stroke.
[7648]     
[7649]     The three students halted round the box on which Davin sat to follow
[7650]     the game. Temple, after a few moments, sidled across to Stephen and
[7651]     said:
[7652]     
[7653]     --Excuse me, I wanted to ask you, do you believe that Jean-Jacques
[7654]     Rousseau was a sincere man?
[7655]     
[7656]     Stephen laughed outright. Cranly, picking up the broken stave of a cask
[7657]     from the grass at his feet, turned swiftly and said sternly:
[7658]     
[7659]     --Temple, I declare to the living God if you say another word, do you
[7660]     know, to anybody on any subject, I'll kill you SUPER SPOTTUM.
[7661]     
[7662]     --He was like you, I fancy, said Stephen, an emotional man.
[7663]     
[7664]     --Blast him, curse him! said Cranly broadly. Don't talk to him at all.
[7665]     Sure, you might as well be talking, do you know, to a flaming
[7666]     chamber-pot as talking to Temple. Go home, Temple. For God's sake, go
[7667]     home.
[7668]     
[7669]     --I don't care a damn about you, Cranly, answered Temple, moving out of
[7670]     reach of the uplifted stave and pointing at Stephen. He's the only man
[7671]     I see in this institution that has an individual mind.
[7672]     
[7673]     --Institution! Individual! cried Cranly. Go home, blast you, for
[7674]     you're a hopeless bloody man.
[7675]     
[7676]     --I'm an emotional man, said Temple. That's quite rightly expressed.
[7677]     And I'm proud that I'm an emotionalist.
[7678]     
[7679]     He sidled out of the alley, smiling slyly. Cranly watched him with a
[7680]     blank expressionless face.
[7681]     
[7682]     --Look at him! he said. Did you ever see such a go-by-the-wall?
[7683]     
[7684]     His phrase was greeted by a strange laugh from a student who lounged
[7685]     against the wall, his peaked cap down on his eyes. The laugh, pitched
[7686]     in a high key and coming from a so muscular frame, seemed like the
[7687]     whinny of an elephant. The student's body shook all over and, to ease
[7688]     his mirth, he rubbed both his hands delightedly over his groins.
[7689]     
[7690]     --Lynch is awake, said Cranly.
[7691]     
[7692]     Lynch, for answer, straightened himself and thrust forward his chest.
[7693]     
[7694]     --Lynch puts out his chest, said Stephen, as a criticism of life.
[7695]     
[7696]     Lynch smote himself sonorously on the chest and said:
[7697]     
[7698]     --Who has anything to say about my girth?
[7699]     
[7700]     Cranly took him at the word and the two began to tussle. When their
[7701]     faces had flushed with the struggle they drew apart, panting. Stephen
[7702]     bent down towards Davin who, intent on the game, had paid no heed to
[7703]     the talk of the others.
[7704]     
[7705]     --And how is my little tame goose? he asked. Did he sign, too?
[7706]     
[7707]     David nodded and said:
[7708]     
[7709]     --And you, Stevie?
[7710]     
[7711]     Stephen shook his head.
[7712]     
[7713]     --You're a terrible man, Stevie, said Davin, taking the short pipe
[7714]     from his mouth, always alone.
[7715]     
[7716]     --Now that you have signed the petition for universal peace, said
[7717]     Stephen, I suppose you will burn that little copybook I saw in your
[7718]     room.
[7719]     
[7720]     As Davin did not answer, Stephen began to quote:
[7721]     
[7722]     --Long pace, fianna! Right incline, fianna! Fianna, by numbers,
[7723]     salute, one, two!
[7724]     
[7725]     --That's a different question, said Davin. I'm an Irish nationalist,
[7726]     first and foremost. But that's you all out. You're a born sneerer,
[7727]     Stevie.
[7728]     
[7729]     --When you make the next rebellion with hurleysticks, said Stephen,
[7730]     and want the indispensable informer, tell me. I can find you a few in
[7731]     this college.
[7732]     
[7733]     --I can't understand you, said Davin. One time I hear you talk against
[7734]     English literature. Now you talk against the Irish informers. What with
[7735]     your name and your ideas--Are you Irish at all?
[7736]     
[7737]     --Come with me now to the office of arms and I will show you the tree
[7738]     of my family, said Stephen.
[7739]     
[7740]     --Then be one of us, said Davin. Why don't you learn Irish? Why did you
[7741]     drop out of the league class after the first lesson?
[7742]     
[7743]     --You know one reason why, answered Stephen.
[7744]     
[7745]     Davin tossed his head and laughed.
[7746]     
[7747]     --Oh, come now, he said. Is it on account of that certain young lady
[7748]     and Father Moran? But that's all in your own mind, Stevie. They were
[7749]     only talking and laughing.
[7750]     
[7751]     Stephen paused and laid a friendly hand upon Davin's shoulder.
[7752]     
[7753]     --Do you remember, he said, when we knew each other first? The first
[7754]     morning we met you asked me to show you the way to the matriculation
[7755]     class, putting a very strong stress on the first syllable. You
[7756]     remember? Then you used to address the jesuits as father, you remember?
[7757]     I ask myself about you: IS HE AS INNOCENT AS HIS SPEECH?
[7758]     
[7759]     --I'm a simple person, said Davin. You know that. When you told me
[7760]     that night in Harcourt Street those things about your private life,
[7761]     honest to God, Stevie, I was not able to eat my dinner. I was quite
[7762]     bad. I was awake a long time that night. Why did you tell me those
[7763]     things?
[7764]     
[7765]     --Thanks, said Stephen. You mean I am a monster.
[7766]     
[7767]     --No, said Davin. But I wish you had not told me.
[7768]     
[7769]     A tide began to surge beneath the calm surface of Stephen's
[7770]     friendliness.
[7771]     
[7772]     --This race and this country and this life produced me, he said I
[7773]     shall express myself as I am.
[7774]     
[7775]     --Try to be one of us, repeated Davin. In heart you are an Irish man
[7776]     but your pride is too powerful.
[7777]     
[7778]     --My ancestors threw off their language and took another Stephen said.
[7779]     They allowed a handful of foreigners to subject them. Do you fancy I am
[7780]     going to pay in my own life and person debts they made? What for?
[7781]     
[7782]     --For our freedom, said Davin.
[7783]     
[7784]     --No honourable and sincere man, said Stephen, has given up to you his
[7785]     life and his youth and his affections from the days of Tone to those of
[7786]     Parnell, but you sold him to the enemy or failed him in need or reviled
[7787]     him and left him for another. And you invite me to be one of you. I'd
[7788]     see you damned first.
[7789]     
[7790]     --They died for their ideals, Stevie, said Davin. Our day will come
[7791]     yet, believe me.
[7792]     
[7793]     Stephen, following his own thought, was silent for an instant.
[7794]     
[7795]     --The soul is born, he said vaguely, first in those moments I told you
[7796]     of. It has a slow and dark birth, more mysterious than the birth of the
[7797]     body. When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets
[7798]     flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality,
[7799]     language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.
[7800]     
[7801]     Davin knocked the ashes from his pipe.
[7802]     
[7803]     --Too deep for me, Stevie, he said. But a man's country comes first.
[7804]     Ireland first, Stevie. You can be a poet or a mystic after.
[7805]     
[7806]     --Do you know what Ireland is? asked Stephen with cold violence.
[7807]     Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.
[7808]     
[7809]     Davin rose from his box and went towards the players, shaking his head
[7810]     sadly. But in a moment his sadness left him and he was hotly disputing
[7811]     with Cranly and the two players who had finished their game. A match of
[7812]     four was arranged, Cranly insisting, however, that his ball should be
[7813]     used. He let it rebound twice or thrice to his hand and struck it strongly
[7814]     and swiftly towards the base of the alley, exclaiming in answer to its
[7815]     thud:
[7816]     
[7817]     --Your soul!
[7818]     
[7819]     Stephen stood with Lynch till the score began to rise. Then he plucked
[7820]     him by the sleeve to come away. Lynch obeyed, saying:
[7821]     
[7822]     --Let us eke go, as Cranly has it.
[7823]     
[7824]     Stephen smiled at this side-thrust.
[7825]     
[7826]     They passed back through the garden and out through the hall where the
[7827]     doddering porter was pinning up a hall notice in the frame. At the foot
[7828]     of the steps they halted and Stephen took a packet of cigarettes from
[7829]     his pocket and offered it to his companion.
[7830]     
[7831]     --I know you are poor, he said.
[7832]     
[7833]     --Damn your yellow insolence, answered Lynch.
[7834]     
[7835]     This second proof of Lynch's culture made Stephen smile again.
[7836]     
[7837]     --It was a great day for European culture, he said, when you made up
[7838]     your mind to swear in yellow.
[7839]     
[7840]     They lit their cigarettes and turned to the right. After a pause
[7841]     Stephen began:
[7842]     
[7843]     --Aristotle has not defined pity and terror. I have. I say--
[7844]     
[7845]     Lynch halted and said bluntly:
[7846]     
[7847]     --Stop! I won't listen! I am sick. I was out last night on a yellow
[7848]     drunk with Horan and Goggins.
[7849]     
[7850]     Stephen went on:
[7851]     
[7852]     --Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of
[7853]     whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with
[7854]     the human sufferer. Terror is the feeling which arrests the mind in the
[7855]     presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and
[7856]     unites it with the secret cause.
[7857]     
[7858]     --Repeat, said Lynch.
[7859]     
[7860]     Stephen repeated the definitions slowly.
[7861]     
[7862]     --A girl got into a hansom a few days ago, he went on, in London. She
[7863]     was on her way to meet her mother whom she had not seen for many years.
[7864]     At the corner of a street the shaft of a lorry shivered the window of
[7865]     the hansom in the shape of a star. A long fine needle of the shivered
[7866]     glass pierced her heart. She died on the instant. The reporter called
[7867]     it a tragic death. It is not. It is remote from terror and pity
[7868]     according to the terms of my definitions.
[7869]     
[7870]     --The tragic emotion, in fact, is a face looking two ways, towards
[7871]     terror and towards pity, both of which are phases of it. You see I use
[7872]     the word ARREST. I mean that the tragic emotion is static. Or rather
[7873]     the dramatic emotion is. The feelings excited by improper art are
[7874]     kinetic, desire or loathing. Desire urges us to possess, to go to
[7875]     something; loathing urges us to abandon, to go from something. The arts
[7876]     which excite them, pornographical or didactic, are therefore improper
[7877]     arts. The esthetic emotion (I used the general term) is therefore
[7878]     static. The mind is arrested and raised above desire and loathing.
[7879]     
[7880]     --You say that art must not excite desire, said Lynch. I told you that
[7881]     one day I wrote my name in pencil on the backside of the Venus of
[7882]     Praxiteles in the Museum. Was that not desire?
[7883]     
[7884]     --I speak of normal natures, said Stephen. You also told me that when
[7885]     you were a boy in that charming carmelite school you ate pieces of
[7886]     dried cowdung.
[7887]     
[7888]     Lynch broke again into a whinny of laughter and again rubbed both his
[7889]     hands over his groins but without taking them from his pockets.
[7890]     
[7891]     --O, I did! I did! he cried.
[7892]     
[7893]     Stephen turned towards his companion and looked at him for a moment
[7894]     boldly in the eyes. Lynch, recovering from his laughter, answered his
[7895]     look from his humbled eyes. The long slender flattened skull beneath
[7896]     the long pointed cap brought before Stephen's mind the image of a
[7897]     hooded reptile. The eyes, too, were reptile-like in glint and gaze. Yet
[7898]     at that instant, humbled and alert in their look, they were lit by one
[7899]     tiny human point, the window of a shrivelled soul, poignant and
[7900]     self-embittered.
[7901]     
[7902]     --As for that, Stephen said in polite parenthesis, we are all animals.
[7903]     I also am an animal.
[7904]     
[7905]     --You are, said Lynch.
[7906]     
[7907]     --But we are just now in a mental world, Stephen continued. The desire
[7908]     and loathing excited by improper esthetic means are really not esthetic
[7909]     emotions not only because they are kinetic in character but also
[7910]     because they are not more than physical. Our flesh shrinks from what it
[7911]     dreads and responds to the stimulus of what it desires by a purely
[7912]     reflex action of the nervous system. Our eyelid closes before we are
[7913]     aware that the fly is about to enter our eye.
[7914]     
[7915]     --Not always, said Lynch critically.
[7916]     
[7917]     --In the same way, said Stephen, your flesh responded to the stimulus
[7918]     of a naked statue, but it was, I say, simply a reflex action of the
[7919]     nerves. Beauty expressed by the artist cannot awaken in us an emotion
[7920]     which is kinetic or a sensation which is purely physical. It awakens,
[7921]     or ought to awaken, or induces, or ought to induce, an esthetic stasis,
[7922]     an ideal pity or an ideal terror, a stasis called forth, prolonged, and
[7923]     at last dissolved by what I call the rhythm of beauty.
[7924]     
[7925]     --What is that exactly? asked Lynch.
[7926]     
[7927]     --Rhythm, said Stephen, is the first formal esthetic relation of part
[7928]     to part in any esthetic whole or of an esthetic whole to its part or
[7929]     parts or of any part to the esthetic whole of which it is a part.
[7930]     
[7931]     --If that is rhythm, said Lynch, let me hear what you call beauty;
[7932]     and, please remember, though I did eat a cake of cowdung once, that I
[7933]     admire only beauty.
[7934]     
[7935]     Stephen raised his cap as if in greeting. Then, blushing slightly, he
[7936]     laid his hand on Lynch's thick tweed sleeve.
[7937]     
[7938]     --We are right, he said, and the others are wrong. To speak of these
[7939]     things and to try to understand their nature and, having understood it,
[7940]     to try slowly and humbly and constantly to express, to press out again,
[7941]     from the gross earth or what it brings forth, from sound and shape and
[7942]     colour which are the prison gates of our soul, an image of the beauty
[7943]     we have come to understand--that is art.
[7944]     
[7945]     They had reached the canal bridge and, turning from their course, went
[7946]     on by the trees. A crude grey light, mirrored in the sluggish water and
[7947]     a smell of wet branches over their heads seemed to war against the
[7948]     course of Stephen's thought.
[7949]     
[7950]     --But you have not answered my question, said Lynch. What is art? What
[7951]     is the beauty it expresses?
[7952]     
[7953]     --That was the first definition I gave you, you sleepy-headed wretch,
[7954]     said Stephen, when I began to try to think out the matter for myself.
[7955]     Do you remember the night? Cranly lost his temper and began to talk
[7956]     about Wicklow bacon.
[7957]     
[7958]     --I remember, said Lynch. He told us about them flaming fat devils of
[7959]     pigs.
[7960]     
[7961]     --Art, said Stephen, is the human disposition of sensible or
[7962]     intelligible matter for an esthetic end. You remember the pigs and
[7963]     forget that. You are a distressing pair, you and Cranly.
[7964]     
[7965]     Lynch made a grimace at the raw grey sky and said:
[7966]     
[7967]     --If I am to listen to your esthetic philosophy give me at least
[7968]     another cigarette. I don't care about it. I don't even care about
[7969]     women. Damn you and damn everything. I want a job of five hundred a
[7970]     year. You can't get me one.
[7971]     
[7972]     Stephen handed him the packet of cigarettes. Lynch took the last one
[7973]     that remained, saying simply:
[7974]     
[7975]     --Proceed!
[7976]     
[7977]     --Aquinas, said Stephen, says that is beautiful the apprehension of
[7978]     which pleases.
[7979]     
[7980]     Lynch nodded.
[7981]     
[7982]     --I remember that, he said, PULCRA SUNT QUAE VISA PLACENT.
[7983]     
[7984]     --He uses the word VISA, said Stephen, to cover esthetic apprehensions of
[7985]     all kinds, whether through sight or hearing or through any other avenue of
[7986]     apprehension. This word, though it is vague, is clear enough to keep
[7987]     away good and evil which excite desire and loathing. It means certainly
[7988]     a stasis and not a kinesis. How about the true? It produces also a
[7989]     stasis of the mind. You would not write your name in pencil across the
[7990]     hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle.
[7991]     
[7992]     --No, said Lynch, give me the hypotenuse of the Venus of Praxiteles.
[7993]     
[7994]     --Static therefore, said Stephen. Plato, I believe, said that beauty
[7995]     is the splendour of truth. I don't think that it has a meaning, but the
[7996]     true and the beautiful are akin. Truth is beheld by the intellect which
[7997]     is appeased by the most satisfying relations of the intelligible;
[7998]     beauty is beheld by the imagination which is appeased by the most
[7999]     satisfying relations of the sensible. The first step in the direction
[8000]     of truth is to understand the frame and scope of the intellect itself,
[8001]     to comprehend the act itself of intellection. Aristotle's entire system
[8002]     of philosophy rests upon his book of psychology and that, I think,
[8003]     rests on his statement that the same attribute cannot at the same time
[8004]     and in the same connexion belong to and not belong to the same subject.
[8005]     The first step in the direction of beauty is to understand the frame
[8006]     and scope of the imagination, to comprehend the act itself of esthetic
[8007]     apprehension. Is that clear?
[8008]     
[8009]     --But what is beauty? asked Lynch impatiently. Out with another
[8010]     definition. Something we see and like! Is that the best you and Aquinas
[8011]     can do?
[8012]     
[8013]     --Let us take woman, said Stephen.
[8014]     
[8015]     --Let us take her! said Lynch fervently.
[8016]     
[8017]     --The Greek, the Turk, the Chinese, the Copt, the Hottentot, said
[8018]     Stephen, all admire a different type of female beauty. That seems
[8019]     to be a maze out of which we cannot escape. I see, however,
[8020]     two ways out. One is this hypothesis: that every physical quality
[8021]     admired by men in women is in direct connexion with the manifold
[8022]     functions of women for the propagation of the species. It may be so.
[8023]     The world, it seems, is drearier than even you, Lynch, imagined. For my
[8024]     part I dislike that way out. It leads to eugenics rather than to
[8025]     esthetic. It leads you out of the maze into a new gaudy lecture-room
[8026]     where MacCann, with one hand on THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES and the other hand
[8027]     on the new testament, tells you that you admired the great flanks of
[8028]     Venus because you felt that she would bear you burly offspring and
[8029]     admired her great breasts because you felt that she would give good
[8030]     milk to her children and yours.
[8031]     
[8032]     --Then MacCann is a sulphur-yellow liar, said Lynch energetically.
[8033]     
[8034]     --There remains another way out, said Stephen, laughing.
[8035]     
[8036]     --To wit? said Lynch.
[8037]     
[8038]     --This hypothesis, Stephen began.
[8039]     
[8040]     A long dray laden with old iron came round the corner of Sir Patrick
[8041]     Dun's hospital covering the end of Stephen's speech with the harsh roar
[8042]     of jangled and rattling metal. Lynch closed his ears and gave out oath
[8043]     after oath till the dray had passed. Then he turned on his heel rudely.
[8044]     Stephen turned also and waited for a few moments till his companion's
[8045]     ill-humour had had its vent.
[8046]     
[8047]     --This hypothesis, Stephen repeated, is the other way out: that,
[8048]     though the same object may not seem beautiful to all people, all people
[8049]     who admire a beautiful object find in it certain relations which
[8050]     satisfy and coincide with the stages themselves of all esthetic
[8051]     apprehension. These relations of the sensible, visible to you through
[8052]     one form and to me through another, must be therefore the necessary
[8053]     qualities of beauty. Now, we can return to our old friend saint Thomas
[8054]     for another pennyworth of wisdom.
[8055]     
[8056]     Lynch laughed.
[8057]     
[8058]     --It amuses me vastly, he said, to hear you quoting him time after
[8059]     time like a jolly round friar. Are you laughing in your sleeve?
[8060]     
[8061]     --MacAlister, answered Stephen, would call my esthetic theory applied
[8062]     Aquinas. So far as this side of esthetic philosophy extends, Aquinas
[8063]     will carry me all along the line. When we come to the phenomena of
[8064]     artistic conception, artistic gestation, and artistic reproduction I
[8065]     require a new terminology and a new personal experience.
[8066]     
[8067]     --Of course, said Lynch. After all Aquinas, in spite of his intellect,
[8068]     was exactly a good round friar. But you will tell me about the new
[8069]     personal experience and new terminology some other day. Hurry up and
[8070]     finish the first part.
[8071]     
[8072]     --Who knows? said Stephen, smiling. Perhaps Aquinas would understand
[8073]     me better than you. He was a poet himself. He wrote a hymn for Maundy
[8074]     Thursday. It begins with the words PANGE LINGUA GLORIOSI. They say it
[8075]     is the highest glory of the hymnal. It is an intricate and soothing
[8076]     hymn. I like it; but there is no hymn that can be put beside that
[8077]     mournful and majestic processional song, the VEXILLA REGIS of Venantius
[8078]     Fortunatus.
[8079]     
[8080]     Lynch began to sing softly and solemnly in a deep bass voice:
[8081]     
[8082]         IMPLETA SUNT QUAE CONCINIT
[8083]         DAVID FIDELI CARMINE
[8084]         DICENDO NATIONIBUS
[8085]         REGNAVIT A LIGNO DEUS.
[8086]     
[8087]     --That's great! he said, well pleased. Great music!
[8088]     
[8089]     They turned into Lower Mount Street. A few steps from the corner a fat
[8090]     young man, wearing a silk neckcloth, saluted them and stopped.
[8091]     
[8092]     --Did you hear the results of the exams? he asked. Griffin was
[8093]     plucked. Halpin and O'Flynn are through the home civil. Moonan got
[8094]     fifth place in the Indian. O'Shaughnessy got fourteenth. The Irish
[8095]     fellows in Clark's gave them a feed last night. They all ate curry.
[8096]     
[8097]     His pallid bloated face expressed benevolent malice and, as he had
[8098]     advanced through his tidings of success, his small fat-encircled eyes
[8099]     vanished out of sight and his weak wheezing voice out of hearing.
[8100]     
[8101]     In reply to a question of Stephen's his eyes and his voice came forth
[8102]     again from their lurking-places.
[8103]     
[8104]     --Yes, MacCullagh and I, he said. He's taking pure mathematics and I'm
[8105]     taking constitutional history. There are twenty subjects. I'm taking
[8106]     botany too. You know I'm a member of the field club.
[8107]     
[8108]     He drew back from the other two in a stately fashion and placed a plump
[8109]     woollen-gloved hand on his breast from which muttered wheezing laughter
[8110]     at once broke forth.
[8111]     
[8112]     --Bring us a few turnips and onions the next time you go out, said
[8113]     Stephen drily, to make a stew.
[8114]     
[8115]     The fat student laughed indulgently and said:
[8116]     
[8117]     --We are all highly respectable people in the field club. Last
[8118]     Saturday we went out to Glenmalure, seven of us.
[8119]     
[8120]     --With women, Donovan? said Lynch.
[8121]     
[8122]     Donovan again laid his hand on his chest and said:
[8123]     
[8124]     --Our end is the acquisition of knowledge. Then he said quickly:
[8125]     
[8126]     --I hear you are writing some essays about esthetics.
[8127]     
[8128]     Stephen made a vague gesture of denial.
[8129]     
[8130]     --Goethe and Lessing, said Donovan, have written a lot on that
[8131]     subject, the classical school and the romantic school and all that. The
[8132]     Laocoon interested me very much when I read it. Of course it is
[8133]     idealistic, German, ultra-profound.
[8134]     
[8135]     Neither of the others spoke. Donovan took leave of them urbanely.
[8136]     
[8137]     --I must go, he said softly and benevolently, I have a strong
[8138]     suspicion, amounting almost to a conviction, that my sister intended to
[8139]     make pancakes today for the dinner of the Donovan family.
[8140]     
[8141]     --Goodbye, Stephen said in his wake. Don't forget the turnips for me
[8142]     and my mate.
[8143]     
[8144]     Lynch gazed after him, his lip curling in slow scorn till his face
[8145]     resembled a devil's mask:
[8146]     
[8147]     --To think that that yellow pancake-eating excrement can get a good
[8148]     job, he said at length, and I have to smoke cheap cigarettes!
[8149]     
[8150]     They turned their faces towards Merrion Square and went for a little in
[8151]     silence.
[8152]     
[8153]     --To finish what I was saying about beauty, said Stephen, the most
[8154]     satisfying relations of the sensible must therefore correspond to the
[8155]     necessary phases of artistic apprehension. Find these and you find the
[8156]     qualities of universal beauty. Aquinas says: AD PULCRITUDINEM TRIA
[8157]     REQUIRUNTUR INTEGRITAS, CONSONANTIA, CLARITAS. I translate it so: THREE
[8158]     THINGS ARE NEEDED FOR BEAUTY, WHOLENESS, HARMONY, AND RADIANCE. Do
[8159]     these correspond to the phases of apprehension? Are you following?
[8160]     
[8161]     --Of course, I am, said Lynch. If you think I have an excrementitious
[8162]     intelligence run after Donovan and ask him to listen to you.
[8163]     
[8164]     Stephen pointed to a basket which a butcher's boy had slung inverted on
[8165]     his head.
[8166]     
[8167]     --Look at that basket, he said.
[8168]     
[8169]     --I see it, said Lynch.
[8170]     
[8171]     --In order to see that basket, said Stephen, your mind first of all
[8172]     separates the basket from the rest of the visible universe which is not
[8173]     the basket. The first phase of apprehension is a bounding line drawn
[8174]     about the object to be apprehended. An esthetic image is presented to
[8175]     us either in space or in time.
[8176]     
[8177]     What is audible is presented in time, what is visible is presented in
[8178]     space. But, temporal or spatial, the esthetic image is first luminously
[8179]     apprehended as selfbounded and selfcontained upon the immeasurable
[8180]     background of space or time which is not it. You apprehended it as ONE
[8181]     thing. You see it as one whole. You apprehend its wholeness. That is
[8182]     INTEGRITAS.
[8183]     
[8184]     --Bull's eye! said Lynch, laughing. Go on.
[8185]     
[8186]     --Then, said Stephen, you pass from point to point, led by its formal
[8187]     lines; you apprehend it as balanced part against part within its
[8188]     limits; you feel the rhythm of its structure. In other words, the
[8189]     synthesis of immediate perception is followed by the analysis of
[8190]     apprehension. Having first felt that it is ONE thing you feel now that
[8191]     it is a THING. You apprehend it as complex, multiple, divisible,
[8192]     separable, made up of its parts, the result of its parts and their sum,
[8193]     harmonious. That is CONSONANTIA.
[8194]     
[8195]     --Bull's eye again! said Lynch wittily. Tell me now what is CLARITAS
[8196]     and you win the cigar.
[8197]     
[8198]     --The connotation of the word, Stephen said, is rather vague. Aquinas
[8199]     uses a term which seems to be inexact. It baffled me for a long time.
[8200]     It would lead you to believe that he had in mind symbolism or idealism,
[8201]     the supreme quality of beauty being a light from some other world, the
[8202]     idea of which the matter is but the shadow, the reality of which it is
[8203]     but the symbol. I thought he might mean that CLARITAS is the artistic
[8204]     discovery and representation of the divine purpose in anything or a
[8205]     force of generalization which would make the esthetic image a
[8206]     universal one, make it outshine its proper conditions. But that is
[8207]     literary talk. I understand it so. When you have apprehended that
[8208]     basket as one thing and have then analysed it according to its form and
[8209]     apprehended it as a thing you make the only synthesis which is
[8210]     logically and esthetically permissible. You see that it is that thing
[8211]     which it is and no other thing. The radiance of which he speaks in the
[8212]     scholastic QUIDDITAS, the WHATNESS of a thing. This supreme quality is
[8213]     felt by the artist when the esthetic image is first conceived in his
[8214]     imagination. The mind in that mysterious instant Shelley likened
[8215]     beautifully to a fading coal. The instant wherein that supreme quality
[8216]     of beauty, the clear radiance of the esthetic image, is apprehended
[8217]     luminously by the mind which has been arrested by its wholeness and
[8218]     fascinated by its harmony is the luminous silent stasis of esthetic
[8219]     pleasure, a spiritual state very like to that cardiac condition which
[8220]     the Italian physiologist Luigi Galvani, using a phrase almost as
[8221]     beautiful as Shelley's, called the enchantment of the heart.
[8222]     
[8223]     Stephen paused and, though his companion did not speak, felt that his
[8224]     words had called up around them a thought-enchanted silence.
[8225]     
[8226]     --What I have said, he began again, refers to beauty in the wider
[8227]     sense of the word, in the sense which the word has in the literary
[8228]     tradition. In the marketplace it has another sense. When we speak of
[8229]     beauty in the second sense of the term our judgement is influenced in
[8230]     the first place by the art itself and by the form of that art. The
[8231]     image, it is clear, must be set between the mind or senses of the
[8232]     artist himself and the mind or senses of others. If you bear this in
[8233]     memory you will see that art necessarily divides itself into three
[8234]     forms progressing from one to the next. These forms are: the lyrical
[8235]     form, the form wherein the artist presents his image in immediate
[8236]     relation to himself; the epical form, the form wherein he presents his
[8237]     image in mediate relation to himself and to others; the dramatic form,
[8238]     the form wherein he presents his image in immediate relation to others.
[8239]     
[8240]     --That you told me a few nights ago, said Lynch, and we began the
[8241]     famous discussion.
[8242]     
[8243]     --I have a book at home, said Stephen, in which I have written down
[8244]     questions which are more amusing than yours were. In finding the
[8245]     answers to them I found the theory of esthetic which I am trying to
[8246]     explain. Here are some questions I set myself: IS A CHAIR FINELY MADE
[8247]     TRAGIC OR COMIC? IS THE PORTRAIT OF MONA LISA GOOD IF I DESIRE TO SEE
[8248]     IT? IF NOT, WHY NOT?
[8249]     
[8250]     --Why not, indeed? said Lynch, laughing.
[8251]     
[8252]     --IF A MAN HACKING IN FURY AT A BLOCK OF WOOD, Stephen continued, MAKE
[8253]     THERE AN IMAGE OF A COW, IS THAT IMAGE A WORK OF ART? IF NOT, WHY NOT?
[8254]     
[8255]     --That's a lovely one, said Lynch, laughing again. That has the true
[8256]     scholastic stink.
[8257]     
[8258]     --Lessing, said Stephen, should not have taken a group of statues to
[8259]     write of. The art, being inferior, does not present the forms I spoke
[8260]     of distinguished clearly one from another. Even in literature, the
[8261]     highest and most spiritual art, the forms are often confused. The
[8262]     lyrical form is in fact the simplest verbal vesture of an instant of
[8263]     emotion, a rhythmical cry such as ages ago cheered on the man who pulled
[8264]     at the oar or dragged stones up a slope. He who utters it is more
[8265]     conscious of the instant of emotion than of himself as feeling emotion.
[8266]     The simplest epical form is seen emerging out of lyrical literature
[8267]     when the artist prolongs and broods upon himself as the centre of an
[8268]     epical event and this form progresses till the centre of emotional
[8269]     gravity is equidistant from the artist himself and from others. The
[8270]     narrative is no longer purely personal. The personality of the artist
[8271]     passes into the narration itself, flowing round and round the persons
[8272]     and the action like a vital sea. This progress you will see easily in
[8273]     that old English ballad TURPIN HERO which begins in the first person
[8274]     and ends in the third person. The dramatic form is reached when the
[8275]     vitality which has flowed and eddied round each person fills every
[8276]     person with such vital force that he or she assumes a proper and
[8277]     intangible esthetic life. The personality of the artist, at first a cry
[8278]     or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid and lambent narrative, finally
[8279]     refines itself out of existence, impersonalizes itself, so to speak.
[8280]     The esthetic image in the dramatic form is life purified in and
[8281]     reprojected from the human imagination. The mystery of esthetic, like
[8282]     that of material creation, is accomplished. The artist, like the God of
[8283]     creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork,
[8284]     invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his
[8285]     fingernails.
[8286]     
[8287]     --Trying to refine them also out of existence, said Lynch.
[8288]     
[8289]     A fine rain began to fall from the high veiled sky and they turned into
[8290]     the duke's lawn to reach the national library before the shower came.
[8291]     
[8292]     --What do you mean, Lynch asked surlily, by prating about beauty and
[8293]     the imagination in this miserable Godforsaken island? No wonder the
[8294]     artist retired within or behind his handiwork after having perpetrated
[8295]     this country.
[8296]     
[8297]     The rain fell faster. When they passed through the passage beside
[8298]     Kildare house they found many students sheltering under the arcade of
[8299]     the library. Cranly, leaning against a pillar, was picking his teeth
[8300]     with a sharpened match, listening to some companions. Some girls stood
[8301]     near the entrance door. Lynch whispered to Stephen:
[8302]     
[8303]     --Your beloved is here.
[8304]     
[8305]     Stephen took his place silently on the step below the group of
[8306]     students, heedless of the rain which fell fast, turning his eyes
[8307]     towards her from time to time. She too stood silently among her
[8308]     companions. She has no priest to flirt with, he thought with conscious
[8309]     bitterness, remembering how he had seen her last. Lynch was right. His
[8310]     mind emptied of theory and courage, lapsed back into a listless peace.
[8311]     
[8312]     He heard the students talking among themselves. They spoke of two
[8313]     friends who had passed the final medical examination, of the chances of
[8314]     getting places on ocean liners, of poor and rich practices.
[8315]     
[8316]     --That's all a bubble. An Irish country practice is better.
[8317]     
[8318]     --Hynes was two years in Liverpool and he says the same. A frightful
[8319]     hole he said it was. Nothing but midwifery cases.
[8320]     
[8321]     --Do you mean to say it is better to have a job here in the country
[8322]     than in a rich city like that? I know a fellow...
[8323]     
[8324]     --Hynes has no brains. He got through by stewing, pure stewing.
[8325]     
[8326]     --Don't mind him. There's plenty of money to be made in a big commercial
[8327]     city.
[8328]     
[8329]     --Depends on the practice.
[8330]     
[8331]     --EGO CREDO UT VITA PAUPERUM EST SIMPLICITER ATROX, SIMPLICITER
[8332]     SANGUINARIUS ATROX, IN LIVERPOOLIO.
[8333]     
[8334]     Their voices reached his ears as if from a distance in interrupted
[8335]     pulsation. She was preparing to go away with her companions.
[8336]     
[8337]     The quick light shower had drawn off, tarrying in clusters of diamonds
[8338]     among the shrubs of the quadrangle where an exhalation was breathed
[8339]     forth by the blackened earth. Their trim boots prattled as they stood
[8340]     on the steps of the colonnade, talking quietly and gaily, glancing at
[8341]     the clouds, holding their umbrellas at cunning angles against the few
[8342]     last raindrops, closing them again, holding their skirts demurely.
[8343]     
[8344]     And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of
[8345]     hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the
[8346]     morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and
[8347]     wilful as a bird's heart?
[8348]     
[8349]     
[8350]     
[8351]     
[8352]     
[8353]     Towards dawn he awoke. O what sweet music! His soul was all dewy wet.
[8354]     Over his limbs in sleep pale cool waves of light had passed. He lay
[8355]     still, as if his soul lay amid cool waters, conscious of faint sweet
[8356]     music. His mind was waking slowly to a tremulous morning knowledge, a
[8357]     morning inspiration. A spirit filled him, pure as the purest water,
[8358]     sweet as dew, moving as music. But how faintly it was inbreathed, how
[8359]     passionlessly, as if the seraphim themselves were breathing upon him!
[8360]     His soul was waking slowly, fearing to awake wholly. It was that
[8361]     windless hour of dawn when madness wakes and strange plants open to the
[8362]     light and the moth flies forth silently.
[8363]     
[8364]     An enchantment of the heart! The night had been enchanted. In a dream
[8365]     or vision he had known the ecstasy of seraphic life. Was it an instant
[8366]     of enchantment only or long hours and years and ages?
[8367]     
[8368]     The instant of inspiration seemed now to be reflected from all sides at
[8369]     once from a multitude of cloudy circumstances of what had happened or
[8370]     of what might have happened. The instant flashed forth like a point of
[8371]     light and now from cloud on cloud of vague circumstance confused form
[8372]     was veiling softly its afterglow. O! In the virgin womb of the
[8373]     imagination the word was made flesh. Gabriel the seraph had come to the
[8374]     virgin's chamber. An afterglow deepened within his spirit, whence the
[8375]     white flame had passed, deepening to a rose and ardent light. That rose
[8376]     and ardent light was her strange wilful heart, strange that no man had
[8377]     known or would know, wilful from before the beginning of the world; and
[8378]     lured by that ardent rose-like glow the choirs of the seraphim were
[8379]     falling from heaven.
[8380]     
[8381]         Are you not weary of ardent ways,
[8382]         Lure of the fallen seraphim?
[8383]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8384]     
[8385]     The verses passed from his mind to his lips and, murmuring them over,
[8386]     he felt the rhythmic movement of a villanelle pass through them. The
[8387]     rose-like glow sent forth its rays of rhyme; ways, days, blaze, praise,
[8388]     raise. Its rays burned up the world, consumed the hearts of men and
[8389]     angels: the rays from the rose that was her wilful heart.
[8390]     
[8391]         Your eyes have set man's heart ablaze
[8392]         And you have had your will of him.
[8393]         Are you not weary of ardent ways?
[8394]     
[8395]     And then? The rhythm died away, ceased, began again to move and beat.
[8396]     And then? Smoke, incense ascending from the altar of the world.
[8397]     
[8398]         Above the flame the smoke of praise
[8399]         Goes up from ocean rim to rim
[8400]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8401]     
[8402]     Smoke went up from the whole earth, from the vapoury oceans, smoke of
[8403]     her praise. The earth was like a swinging swaying censer, a ball of
[8404]     incense, an ellipsoidal fall. The rhythm died out at once; the cry of
[8405]     his heart was broken. His lips began to murmur the first verses over
[8406]     and over; then went on stumbling through half verses, stammering and
[8407]     baffled; then stopped. The heart's cry was broken.
[8408]     
[8409]     The veiled windless hour had passed and behind the panes of the naked
[8410]     window the morning light was gathering. A bell beat faintly very far
[8411]     away. A bird twittered; two birds, three. The bell and the bird ceased;
[8412]     and the dull white light spread itself east and west, covering the
[8413]     world, covering the roselight in his heart.
[8414]     
[8415]     Fearing to lose all, he raised himself suddenly on his elbow to look
[8416]     for paper and pencil. There was neither on the table; only the soup
[8417]     plate he had eaten the rice from for supper and the candlestick with
[8418]     its tendrils of tallow and its paper socket, singed by the last flame.
[8419]     He stretched his arm wearily towards the foot of the bed, groping with
[8420]     his hand in the pockets of the coat that hung there. His fingers found
[8421]     a pencil and then a cigarette packet. He lay back and, tearing open the
[8422]     packet, placed the last cigarette on the window ledge and began to
[8423]     write out the stanzas of the villanelle in small neat letters on the
[8424]     rough cardboard surface.
[8425]     
[8426]     Having written them out he lay back on the lumpy pillow, murmuring them
[8427]     again. The lumps of knotted flock under his head reminded him of the
[8428]     lumps of knotted horsehair in the sofa of her parlour on which he used
[8429]     to sit, smiling or serious, asking himself why he had come, displeased
[8430]     with her and with himself, confounded by the print of the Sacred Heart
[8431]     above the untenanted sideboard. He saw her approach him in a lull of
[8432]     the talk and beg him to sing one of his curious songs. Then he saw
[8433]     himself sitting at the old piano, striking chords softly from its
[8434]     speckled keys and singing, amid the talk which had risen again in the
[8435]     room, to her who leaned beside the mantelpiece a dainty song of the
[8436]     Elizabethans, a sad and sweet loth to depart, the victory chant of
[8437]     Agincourt, the happy air of Greensleeves. While he sang and she
[8438]     listened, or feigned to listen, his heart was at rest but when the
[8439]     quaint old songs had ended and he heard again the voices in the room he
[8440]     remembered his own sarcasm: the house where young men are called by
[8441]     their christian names a little too soon.
[8442]     
[8443]     At certain instants her eyes seemed about to trust him but he had
[8444]     waited in vain. She passed now dancing lightly across his memory as she
[8445]     had been that night at the carnival ball, her white dress a little
[8446]     lifted, a white spray nodding in her hair. She danced lightly in the
[8447]     round. She was dancing towards him and, as she came, her eyes were a
[8448]     little averted and a faint glow was on her cheek. At the pause in the
[8449]     chain of hands her hand had lain in his an instant, a soft merchandise.
[8450]     
[8451]     --You are a great stranger now.
[8452]     
[8453]     --Yes. I was born to be a monk.
[8454]     
[8455]     --I am afraid you are a heretic.
[8456]     
[8457]     --Are you much afraid?
[8458]     
[8459]     For answer she had danced away from him along the chain of hands,
[8460]     dancing lightly and discreetly, giving herself to none. The white spray
[8461]     nodded to her dancing and when she was in shadow the glow was deeper on
[8462]     her cheek.
[8463]     
[8464]     A monk! His own image started forth a profaner of the cloister, a
[8465]     heretic franciscan, willing and willing not to serve, spinning like
[8466]     Gherardino da Borgo San Donnino, a lithe web of sophistry and
[8467]     whispering in her ear.
[8468]     
[8469]     No, it was not his image. It was like the image of the young priest in
[8470]     whose company he had seen her last, looking at him out of dove's eyes,
[8471]     toying with the pages of her Irish phrase-book.
[8472]     
[8473]     --Yes, yes, the ladies are coming round to us. I can see it every day.
[8474]     The ladies are with us. The best helpers the language has.
[8475]     
[8476]     --And the church, Father Moran?
[8477]     
[8478]     --The church too. Coming round too. The work is going ahead there too.
[8479]     Don't fret about the church.
[8480]     
[8481]     Bah! he had done well to leave the room in disdain. He had done well
[8482]     not to salute her on the steps of the library! He had done well to
[8483]     leave her to flirt with her priest, to toy with a church which was the
[8484]     scullery-maid of christendom.
[8485]     
[8486]     Rude brutal anger routed the last lingering instant of ecstasy from his
[8487]     soul. It broke up violently her fair image and flung the fragments on
[8488]     all sides. On all sides distorted reflections of her image started from
[8489]     his memory: the flower girl in the ragged dress with damp coarse hair
[8490]     and a hoyden's face who had called herself his own girl and begged his
[8491]     handsel, the kitchen-girl in the next house who sang over the clatter
[8492]     of her plates, with the drawl of a country singer, the first bars of BY
[8493]     KILLARNEY'S LAKES AND FELLS, a girl who had laughed gaily to see him
[8494]     stumble when the iron grating in the footpath near Cork Hill had caught
[8495]     the broken sole of his shoe, a girl he had glanced at, attracted by her
[8496]     small ripe mouth, as she passed out of Jacob's biscuit factory, who had
[8497]     cried to him over her shoulder:
[8498]     
[8499]     --Do you like what you seen of me, straight hair and curly eyebrows?
[8500]     
[8501]     And yet he felt that, however he might revile and mock her image, his
[8502]     anger was also a form of homage. He had left the classroom in disdain
[8503]     that was not wholly sincere, feeling that perhaps the secret of her
[8504]     race lay behind those dark eyes upon which her long lashes flung a
[8505]     quick shadow. He had told himself bitterly as he walked through the
[8506]     streets that she was a figure of the womanhood of her country, a bat-like
[8507]     soul waking to the consciousness of itself in darkness and secrecy and
[8508]     loneliness, tarrying awhile, loveless and sinless, with her mild lover and
[8509]     leaving him to whisper of innocent transgressions in the latticed ear of a
[8510]     priest. His anger against her found vent in coarse railing at her
[8511]     paramour, whose name and voice and features offended his baffled pride: a
[8512]     priested peasant, with a brother a policeman in Dublin and a brother a
[8513]     potboy in Moycullen. To him she would unveil her soul's shy nakedness, to
[8514]     one who was but schooled in the discharging of a formal rite rather than
[8515]     to him, a priest of the eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread
[8516]     of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.
[8517]     
[8518]     The radiant image of the eucharist united again in an instant his
[8519]     bitter and despairing thoughts, their cries arising unbroken in a hymn
[8520]     of thanksgiving.
[8521]     
[8522]         Our broken cries and mournful lays
[8523]         Rise in one eucharistic hymn
[8524]         Are you not weary of ardent ways?
[8525]     
[8526]         While sacrificing hands upraise
[8527]         The chalice flowing to the brim.
[8528]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8529]     
[8530]     He spoke the verses aloud from the first lines till the music and
[8531]     rhythm suffused his mind, turning it to quiet indulgence; then copied
[8532]     them painfully to feel them the better by seeing them; then lay back on
[8533]     his bolster.
[8534]     
[8535]     The full morning light had come. No sound was to be heard; but he knew
[8536]     that all around him life was about to awaken in common noises, hoarse
[8537]     voices, sleepy prayers. Shrinking from that life he turned towards the
[8538]     wall, making a cowl of the blanket and staring at the great overblown
[8539]     scarlet flowers of the tattered wallpaper. He tried to warm his
[8540]     perishing joy in their scarlet glow, imagining a roseway from where he
[8541]     lay upwards to heaven all strewn with scarlet flowers. Weary! Weary! He
[8542]     too was weary of ardent ways.
[8543]     
[8544]     A gradual warmth, a languorous weariness passed over him descending
[8545]     along his spine from his closely cowled head. He felt it descend and,
[8546]     seeing himself as he lay, smiled. Soon he would sleep.
[8547]     
[8548]     He had written verses for her again after ten years. Ten years before
[8549]     she had worn her shawl cowlwise about her head, sending sprays of her
[8550]     warm breath into the night air, tapping her foot upon the glassy road.
[8551]     It was the last tram; the lank brown horses knew it and shook their
[8552]     bells to the clear night in admonition. The conductor talked with the
[8553]     driver, both nodding often in the green light of the lamp. They stood
[8554]     on the steps of the tram, he on the upper, she on the lower. She came
[8555]     up to his step many times between their phrases and went down again and
[8556]     once or twice remained beside him forgetting to go down and then went
[8557]     down. Let be! Let be!
[8558]     
[8559]     Ten years from that wisdom of children to his folly. If he sent her the
[8560]     verses? They would be read out at breakfast amid the tapping of
[8561]     egg-shells. Folly indeed! Her brothers would laugh and try to wrest the
[8562]     page from each other with their strong hard fingers. The suave priest,
[8563]     her uncle, seated in his arm-chair, would hold the page at arm's
[8564]     length, read it smiling and approve of the literary form.
[8565]     
[8566]     No, no; that was folly. Even if he sent her the verses she would not
[8567]     show them to others. No, no; she could not.
[8568]     
[8569]     He began to feel that he had wronged her. A sense of her innocence
[8570]     moved him almost to pity her, an innocence he had never understood till
[8571]     he had come to the knowledge of it through sin, an innocence which she
[8572]     too had not understood while she was innocent or before the strange
[8573]     humiliation of her nature had first come upon her. Then first her soul
[8574]     had begun to live as his soul had when he had first sinned, and a
[8575]     tender compassion filled his heart as he remembered her frail pallor
[8576]     and her eyes, humbled and saddened by the dark shame of womanhood.
[8577]     
[8578]     While his soul had passed from ecstasy to languor where had she been?
[8579]     Might it be, in the mysterious ways of spiritual life, that her soul at
[8580]     those same moments had been conscious of his homage? It might be.
[8581]     
[8582]     A glow of desire kindled again his soul and fired and fulfilled all his
[8583]     body. Conscious of his desire she was waking from odorous sleep, the
[8584]     temptress of his villanelle. Her eyes, dark and with a look of languor,
[8585]     were opening to his eyes. Her nakedness yielded to him, radiant, warm,
[8586]     odorous and lavish-limbed, enfolded him like a shining cloud, enfolded
[8587]     him like water with a liquid life; and like a cloud of vapour or like
[8588]     waters circumfluent in space the liquid letters of speech, symbols of
[8589]     the element of mystery, flowed forth over his brain.
[8590]     
[8591]         Are you not weary of ardent ways,
[8592]         Lure of the fallen seraphim?
[8593]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8594]     
[8595]         Your eyes have set man's heart ablaze
[8596]         And you have had your will of him.
[8597]         Are you not weary of ardent ways?
[8598]     
[8599]         Above the flame the smoke of praise
[8600]         Goes up from ocean rim to rim.
[8601]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8602]     
[8603]         Our broken cries and mournful lays
[8604]         Rise in one eucharistic hymn.
[8605]         Are you not weary of ardent ways?
[8606]     
[8607]         While sacrificing hands upraise
[8608]         The chalice flowing to the brim.
[8609]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8610]     
[8611]         And still you hold our longing gaze
[8612]         With languorous look and lavish limb!
[8613]         Are you not weary of ardent ways?
[8614]         Tell no more of enchanted days.
[8615]     
[8616]     
[8617]     
[8618]     
[8619]     
[8620]     What birds were they? He stood on the steps of the library to look at
[8621]     them, leaning wearily on his ashplant. They flew round and round the
[8622]     jutting shoulder of a house in Molesworth Street. The air of the late
[8623]     March evening made clear their flight, their dark quivering bodies
[8624]     flying clearly against the sky as against a limp-hung cloth of smoky
[8625]     tenuous blue.
[8626]     
[8627]     He watched their flight; bird after bird: a dark flash, a swerve, a
[8628]     flutter of wings. He tried to count them before all their darting
[8629]     quivering bodies passed: six, ten, eleven: and wondered were they odd
[8630]     or even in number. Twelve, thirteen: for two came wheeling down from the
[8631]     upper sky. They were flying high and low but ever round and round in
[8632]     straight and curving lines and ever flying from left to right, circling
[8633]     about a temple of air.
[8634]     
[8635]     He listened to the cries: like the squeak of mice behind the wainscot:
[8636]     a shrill twofold note. But the notes were long and shrill and whirring,
[8637]     unlike the cry of vermin, falling a third or a fourth and trilled as
[8638]     the flying beaks clove the air. Their cry was shrill and clear and fine
[8639]     and falling like threads of silken light unwound from whirring spools.
[8640]     
[8641]     The inhuman clamour soothed his ears in which his mother's sobs and
[8642]     reproaches murmured insistently and the dark frail quivering bodies
[8643]     wheeling and fluttering and swerving round an airy temple of the
[8644]     tenuous sky soothed his eyes which still saw the image of his mother's
[8645]     face.
[8646]     
[8647]     Why was he gazing upwards from the steps of the porch, hearing their
[8648]     shrill twofold cry, watching their flight? For an augury of good or
[8649]     evil? A phrase of Cornelius Agrippa flew through his mind and then
[8650]     there flew hither and thither shapeless thoughts from Swedenborg on the
[8651]     correspondence of birds to things of the intellect and of how the
[8652]     creatures of the air have their knowledge and know their times and
[8653]     seasons because they, unlike man, are in the order of their life and
[8654]     have not perverted that order by reason.
[8655]     
[8656]     And for ages men had gazed upward as he was gazing at birds in flight.
[8657]     The colonnade above him made him think vaguely of an ancient temple and
[8658]     the ashplant on which he leaned wearily of the curved stick of an
[8659]     augur. A sense of fear of the unknown moved in the heart of his
[8660]     weariness, a fear of symbols and portents, of the hawk-like man whose
[8661]     name he bore soaring out of his captivity on osier-woven wings, of
[8662]     Thoth, the god of writers, writing with a reed upon a tablet and
[8663]     bearing on his narrow ibis head the cusped moon.
[8664]     
[8665]     He smiled as he thought of the god's image for it made him think of a
[8666]     bottle-nosed judge in a wig, putting commas into a document which he
[8667]     held at arm's length, and he knew that he would not have remembered the
[8668]     god's name but that it was like an Irish oath. It was folly. But was it
[8669]     for this folly that he was about to leave for ever the house of prayer
[8670]     and prudence into which he had been born and the order of life out of
[8671]     which he had come?
[8672]     
[8673]     They came back with shrill cries over the jutting shoulder of the
[8674]     house, flying darkly against the fading air. What birds were they? He
[8675]     thought that they must be swallows who had come back from the south.
[8676]     Then he was to go away for they were birds ever going and coming,
[8677]     building ever an unlasting home under the eaves of men's houses and
[8678]     ever leaving the homes they had built to wander.
[8679]     
[8680]         Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel.
[8681]         I gaze upon them as the swallow gazes
[8682]         Upon the nest under the eave before
[8683]         He wander the loud waters.
[8684]     
[8685]     A soft liquid joy like the noise of many waters flowed over his memory
[8686]     and he felt in his heart the soft peace of silent spaces of fading
[8687]     tenuous sky above the waters, of oceanic silence, of swallows flying
[8688]     through the sea-dusk over the flowing waters.
[8689]     
[8690]     A soft liquid joy flowed through the words where the soft long vowels
[8691]     hurtled noiselessly and fell away, lapping and flowing back and ever
[8692]     shaking the white bells of their waves in mute chime and mute peal, and
[8693]     soft low swooning cry; and he felt that the augury he had sought in the
[8694]     wheeling darting birds and in the pale space of sky above him had come
[8695]     forth from his heart like a bird from a turret, quietly and swiftly.
[8696]     
[8697]     Symbol of departure or of loneliness? The verses crooned in the ear of
[8698]     his memory composed slowly before his remembering eyes the scene of the
[8699]     hall on the night of the opening of the national theatre. He was alone
[8700]     at the side of the balcony, looking out of jaded eyes at the culture of
[8701]     Dublin in the stalls and at the tawdry scene-cloths and human dolls
[8702]     framed by the garish lamps of the stage. A burly policeman sweated behind
[8703]     him and seemed at every moment about to act. The catcalls and hisses and
[8704]     mocking cries ran in rude gusts round the hall from his scattered fellow
[8705]     students.
[8706]     
[8707]     --A libel on Ireland!
[8708]     
[8709]     --Made in Germany.
[8710]     
[8711]     --Blasphemy!
[8712]     
[8713]     --We never sold our faith!
[8714]     
[8715]     --No Irish woman ever did it!
[8716]     
[8717]     --We want no amateur atheists.
[8718]     
[8719]     --We want no budding buddhists.
[8720]     
[8721]     A sudden swift hiss fell from the windows above him and he knew that
[8722]     the electric lamps had been switched on in the reader's room. He turned
[8723]     into the pillared hall, now calmly lit, went up the staircase and
[8724]     passed in through the clicking turnstile.
[8725]     
[8726]     Cranly was sitting over near the dictionaries. A thick book, opened at
[8727]     the frontispiece, lay before him on the wooden rest. He leaned back in
[8728]     his chair, inclining his ear like that of a confessor to the face of
[8729]     the medical student who was reading to him a problem from the chess
[8730]     page of a journal. Stephen sat down at his right and the priest at the
[8731]     other side of the table closed his copy of THE TABLET with an angry
[8732]     snap and stood up.
[8733]     
[8734]     Cranly gazed after him blandly and vaguely. The medical student went on
[8735]     in a softer voice:
[8736]     
[8737]     --Pawn to king's fourth.
[8738]     
[8739]     --We had better go, Dixon, said Stephen in warning. He has gone to
[8740]     complain.
[8741]     
[8742]     Dixon folded the journal and rose with dignity, saying:
[8743]     
[8744]     --Our men retired in good order.
[8745]     
[8746]     --With guns and cattle, added Stephen, pointing to the titlepage of
[8747]     Cranly's book on which was printed DISEASES OF THE OX.
[8748]     
[8749]     As they passed through a lane of the tables Stephen said:
[8750]     
[8751]     --Cranly, I want to speak to you.
[8752]     
[8753]     Cranly did not answer or turn. He laid his book on the counter and
[8754]     passed out, his well-shod feet sounding flatly on the floor. On the
[8755]     staircase he paused and gazing absently at Dixon repeated:
[8756]     
[8757]     --Pawn to king's bloody fourth.
[8758]     
[8759]     --Put it that way if you like, Dixon said.
[8760]     
[8761]     He had a quiet toneless voice and urbane manners and on a finger of his
[8762]     plump clean hand he displayed at moments a signet ring.
[8763]     
[8764]     As they crossed the hall a man of dwarfish stature came towards them.
[8765]     Under the dome of his tiny hat his unshaven face began to smile with
[8766]     pleasure and he was heard to murmur. The eyes were melancholy as those
[8767]     of a monkey.
[8768]     
[8769]     --Good evening, gentlemen, said the stubble-grown monkeyish face.
[8770]     
[8771]     --Warm weather for March, said Cranly. They have the windows open
[8772]     upstairs.
[8773]     
[8774]     Dixon smiled and turned his ring. The blackish, monkey-puckered face
[8775]     pursed its human mouth with gentle pleasure and its voice purred:
[8776]     
[8777]     --Delightful weather for March. Simply delightful.
[8778]     
[8779]     --There are two nice young ladies upstairs, captain, tired of waiting,
[8780]     Dixon said.
[8781]     
[8782]     Cranly smiled and said kindly:
[8783]     
[8784]     --The captain has only one love: sir Walter Scott. Isn't that so,
[8785]     captain?
[8786]     
[8787]     --What are you reading now, captain? Dixon asked. THE BRIDE OF
[8788]     LAMMERMOOR?
[8789]     
[8790]     --I love old Scott, the flexible lips said, I think he writes something
[8791]     lovely. There is no writer can touch sir Walter Scott.
[8792]     
[8793]     He moved a thin shrunken brown hand gently in the air in time to his
[8794]     praise and his thin quick eyelids beat often over his sad eyes.
[8795]     
[8796]     Sadder to Stephen's ear was his speech: a genteel accent, low and
[8797]     moist, marred by errors, and, listening to it, he wondered was the
[8798]     story true and was the thin blood that flowed in his shrunken frame
[8799]     noble and come of an incestuous love?
[8800]     
[8801]     The park trees were heavy with rain; and rain fell still and ever in
[8802]     the lake, lying grey like a shield. A game of swans flew there and the
[8803]     water and the shore beneath were fouled with their green-white slime.
[8804]     They embraced softly, impelled by the grey rainy light, the wet
[8805]     silent trees, the shield-like witnessing lake, the swans. They embraced
[8806]     without joy or passion, his arm about his sister's neck. A grey woollen
[8807]     cloak was wrapped athwart her from her shoulder to her waist and her
[8808]     fair head was bent in willing shame. He had loose red-brown hair and
[8809]     tender shapely strong freckled hands. Face? There was no face seen. The
[8810]     brother's face was bent upon her fair rain-fragrant hair. The hand
[8811]     freckled and strong and shapely and caressing was Davin's hand.
[8812]     
[8813]     He frowned angrily upon his thought and on the shrivelled mannikin who
[8814]     had called it forth. His father's jibes at the Bantry gang leaped out
[8815]     of his memory. He held them at a distance and brooded uneasily on his
[8816]     own thought again. Why were they not Cranly's hands? Had Davin's
[8817]     simplicity and innocence stung him more secretly?
[8818]     
[8819]     He walked on across the hall with Dixon, leaving Cranly to take leave
[8820]     elaborately of the dwarf.
[8821]     
[8822]     Under the colonnade Temple was standing in the midst of a little group
[8823]     of students. One of them cried:
[8824]     
[8825]     --Dixon, come over till you hear. Temple is in grand form.
[8826]     
[8827]     Temple turned on him his dark gipsy eyes.
[8828]     
[8829]     --You're a hypocrite, O'Keeffe, he said. And Dixon is a smiler. By
[8830]     hell, I think that's a good literary expression.
[8831]     
[8832]     He laughed slyly, looking in Stephen's face, repeating:
[8833]     
[8834]     --By hell, I'm delighted with that name. A smiler.
[8835]     
[8836]     A stout student who stood below them on the steps said:
[8837]     
[8838]     --Come back to the mistress, Temple. We want to hear about that.
[8839]     
[8840]     --He had, faith, Temple said. And he was a married man too. And all the
[8841]     priests used to be dining there. By hell, I think they all had a touch.
[8842]     
[8843]     --We shall call it riding a hack to spare the hunter, said Dixon.
[8844]     
[8845]     --Tell us, Temple, O'Keeffe said, how many quarts of porter have you
[8846]     in you?
[8847]     
[8848]     --All your intellectual soul is in that phrase, O'Keeffe, said Temple
[8849]     with open scorn.
[8850]     
[8851]     He moved with a shambling gait round the group and spoke to Stephen.
[8852]     
[8853]     --Did you know that the Forsters are the kings of Belgium? he asked.
[8854]     
[8855]     Cranly came out through the door of the entrance hall, his hat thrust
[8856]     back on the nape of his neck and picking his teeth with care.
[8857]     
[8858]     --And here's the wiseacre, said Temple. Do you know that about the
[8859]     Forsters?
[8860]     
[8861]     He paused for an answer. Cranly dislodged a figseed from his teeth on
[8862]     the point of his rude toothpick and gazed at it intently.
[8863]     
[8864]     --The Forster family, Temple said, is descended from Baldwin the
[8865]     First, king of Flanders. He was called the Forester. Forester and
[8866]     Forster are the same name. A descendant of Baldwin the First, captain
[8867]     Francis Forster, settled in Ireland and married the daughter of the
[8868]     last chieftain of Clanbrassil. Then there are the Blake Forsters.
[8869]     That's a different branch.
[8870]     
[8871]     --From Baldhead, king of Flanders, Cranly repeated, rooting again
[8872]     deliberately at his gleaming uncovered teeth.
[8873]     
[8874]     --Where did you pick up all that history? O'Keeffe asked.
[8875]     
[8876]     --I know all the history of your family, too, Temple said, turning to
[8877]     Stephen. Do you know what Giraldus Cambrensis says about your family?
[8878]     
[8879]     --Is he descended from Baldwin too? asked a tall consumptive student
[8880]     with dark eyes.
[8881]     
[8882]     --Baldhead, Cranly repeated, sucking at a crevice in his teeth.
[8883]     
[8884]     --PERNOBILIS ET PERVETUSTA FAMILIA, Temple said to Stephen.
[8885]     
[8886]     The stout student who stood below them on the steps farted briefly. Dixon
[8887]     turned towards him, saying in a soft voice:
[8888]     
[8889]     --Did an angel speak?
[8890]     
[8891]     Cranly turned also and said vehemently but without anger:
[8892]     
[8893]     --Goggins, you're the flamingest dirty devil I ever met, do you know.
[8894]     
[8895]     --I had it on my mind to say that, Goggins answered firmly. It did no
[8896]     one any harm, did it?
[8897]     
[8898]     --We hope, Dixon said suavely, that it was not of the kind known to
[8899]     science as a PAULO POST FUTURUM.
[8900]     
[8901]     --Didn't I tell you he was a smiler? said Temple, turning right and
[8902]     left. Didn't I give him that name?
[8903]     
[8904]     --You did. We're not deaf, said the tall consumptive.
[8905]     
[8906]     Cranly still frowned at the stout student below him. Then, with a snort
[8907]     of disgust, he shoved him violently down the steps.
[8908]     
[8909]     --Go away from here, he said rudely. Go away, you stinkpot. And you are a
[8910]     stinkpot.
[8911]     
[8912]     Goggins skipped down on to the gravel and at once returned to his place
[8913]     with good humour. Temple turned back to Stephen and asked:
[8914]     
[8915]     --Do you believe in the law of heredity?
[8916]     
[8917]     --Are you drunk or what are you or what are you trying to say? asked
[8918]     Cranly, facing round on him with an expression of wonder.
[8919]     
[8920]     --The most profound sentence ever written, Temple said with
[8921]     enthusiasm, is the sentence at the end of the zoology. Reproduction is
[8922]     the beginning of death.
[8923]     
[8924]     He touched Stephen timidly at the elbow and said eagerly:
[8925]     
[8926]     --Do you feel how profound that is because you are a poet?
[8927]     
[8928]     Cranly pointed his long forefinger.
[8929]     
[8930]     --Look at him! he said with scorn to the others. Look at Ireland's hope!
[8931]     
[8932]     They laughed at his words and gesture. Temple turned on him bravely,
[8933]     saying:
[8934]     
[8935]     --Cranly, you're always sneering at me. I can see that. But I am as
[8936]     good as you any day. Do you know what I think about you now as compared
[8937]     with myself?
[8938]     
[8939]     --My dear man, said Cranly urbanely, you are incapable, do you know,
[8940]     absolutely incapable of thinking.
[8941]     
[8942]     --But do you know, Temple went on, what I think of you and of myself
[8943]     compared together?
[8944]     
[8945]     --Out with it, Temple! the stout student cried from the steps. Get it
[8946]     out in bits!
[8947]     
[8948]     Temple turned right and left, making sudden feeble gestures as he spoke.
[8949]     
[8950]     --I'm a ballocks, he said, shaking his head in despair. I am and I
[8951]     know I am. And I admit it that I am.
[8952]     
[8953]     Dixon patted him lightly on the shoulder and said mildly:
[8954]     
[8955]     --And it does you every credit, Temple.
[8956]     
[8957]     --But he, Temple said, pointing to Cranly, he is a ballocks, too, like
[8958]     me. Only he doesn't know it. And that's the only difference I see.
[8959]     
[8960]     A burst of laughter covered his words. But he turned again to Stephen
[8961]     and said with a sudden eagerness:
[8962]     
[8963]     --That word is a most interesting word. That's the only English dual
[8964]     number. Did you know?
[8965]     
[8966]     --Is it? Stephen said vaguely.
[8967]     
[8968]     He was watching Cranly's firm-featured suffering face, lit up now by a
[8969]     smile of false patience. The gross name had passed over it like foul
[8970]     water poured over an old stone image, patient of injuries; and, as he
[8971]     watched him, he saw him raise his hat in salute and uncover the black
[8972]     hair that stood stiffly from his forehead like an iron crown.
[8973]     
[8974]     She passed out from the porch of the library and bowed across Stephen
[8975]     in reply to Cranly's greeting. He also? Was there not a slight flush on
[8976]     Cranly's cheek? Or had it come forth at Temple's words? The light had
[8977]     waned. He could not see.
[8978]     
[8979]     Did that explain his friend's listless silence, his harsh comments, the
[8980]     sudden intrusions of rude speech with which he had shattered so often
[8981]     Stephen's ardent wayward confessions? Stephen had forgiven freely for
[8982]     he had found this rudeness also in himself. And he remembered an
[8983]     evening when he had dismounted from a borrowed creaking bicycle to pray
[8984]     to God in a wood near Malahide. He had lifted up his arms and spoken in
[8985]     ecstasy to the sombre nave of the trees, knowing that he stood on holy
[8986]     ground and in a holy hour. And when two constabulary men had come into
[8987]     sight round a bend in the gloomy road he had broken off his prayer to
[8988]     whistle loudly an air from the last pantomime.
[8989]     
[8990]     He began to beat the frayed end of his ashplant against the base of a
[8991]     pillar. Had Cranly not heard him? Yet he could wait. The talk about him
[8992]     ceased for a moment and a soft hiss fell again from a window above. But
[8993]     no other sound was in the air and the swallows whose flight he had
[8994]     followed with idle eyes were sleeping.
[8995]     
[8996]     She had passed through the dusk. And therefore the air was silent save
[8997]     for one soft hiss that fell. And therefore the tongues about him had
[8998]     ceased their babble. Darkness was falling.
[8999]     
[9000]         Darkness falls from the air.
[9001]     
[9002]     A trembling joy, lambent as a faint light, played like a fairy host
[9003]     around him. But why? Her passage through the darkening air or the verse
[9004]     with its black vowels and its opening sound, rich and lutelike?
[9005]     
[9006]     He walked away slowly towards the deeper