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A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 55 |
The Captain, finding himself deprived of light in the manner we have described, and placed in a very uncertain situation, proceeded to descend the narrow and broken stair with all the caution in his power, hoping that he might find at the bottom some place to repose himself. But with all his care he could not finally ... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 56 |
“It may be so,” said Dalgetty; “and every thorough-bred soldier will confess that revenge is a sweet morsel; but in what manner this story will interest Sir Duncan in your justification, unless it should move him to intercede with the Marquis to change the manner thereof from hanging, or simple suspension, to breaking... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 57 |
All Highlanders are superstitious. “The Enemy of Mankind is among us!” said Ranald MacEagh, springing to his feet. His chains clattered as he rose, while he drew himself as far as they permitted from the quarter whence the voice appeared to proceed. His fear in some degree communicated itself to Captain Dalgetty, who ... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 58 |
“Fell she into the power of Allan of the Bloody hand,” said Murdoch, “and she a reputed daughter of thy tribe? Then her blood has gilded the dirk, and thou hast said nothing to rescue thine own forfeited life.”
“If my life rest on hers,” answered the outlaw, “it is secure, for she still survives; but it has a more in... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 59 |
Meanwhile, Captain Dalgetty, who had attended to every word of this dialogue, was making his own remarks on it in private. “What the HENKER can this sly fellow have to say to me? I have no child, either of my own, so far as I know, or of any other person, to tell him a tale about. But let him come on--he will have som... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 60 |
Thus resigning the charge of the Marquis to his new confederate, Dalgetty pressed the spring, by which the secret door flew open, though so well were its hinges polished and oiled, that it made not the slightest noise in revolving. The opposite side of the door was secured by very strong bolts and bars, beside which h... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 61 |
[The precarious state of the feudal nobles introduced a great deal of espionage into their castles. Sir Robert Carey mentions his having put on the cloak of one of his own wardens to obtain a confession from the mouth of Geordie Bourne, his prisoner, whom he caused presently to be hanged in return for the frankness of... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 62 |
Never (although the expression be a bold one) was a sermon listened to with more impatience, and less edification, on the part of one, at least, of the audience. The Captain heard SIXTEENTHLY-SEVENTEENTHLY-EIGHTEENTHLY and TO CONCLUDE, with a sort of feeling like protracted despair. But no man can lecture (for the ser... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 63 |
Dalgetty rode slowly through the town of Inverary, the outlaw attending upon him like a foot-page at his horse’s shoulder. As they passed the gibbet, the old man looked on the bodies and wrung his hands. The look and gesture was momentary, but expressive of indescribable anguish. Instantly recovering himself, Ranald, ... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 64 |
“Something there is like military skill in that,” replied the Captain, “although wantonly and irreverently spoken to an officer of rank. But I hold it good to pardon such freedoms on a march, in respect of the Saturnalian license indulged in such cases to the troops of all nations. And now, resume thine office, friend... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 65 | Voices of men were also heard in stifled converse below; it seemed as if the pursuers had not discovered the narrow path which led to the top of the rock, or that, having discovered it, the peril of the ascent, joined to the imperfect light, and the uncertainty whether it might not be defended, made them hesitate to at... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 66 |
We must now leave, with whatever regret, the valiant Captain Dalgetty, to recover of his wounds or otherwise as fate shall determine, in order briefly to trace the military operations of Montrose, worthy as they are of a more important page, and a better historian. By the assistance of the chieftains whom we have comm... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 67 |
[Milton’s book, entitled TETRACHORDON, had been ridiculed, it would seem, by the divines assembled at Westminster, and others, on account of the hardness of the title; and Milton in his sonnet retaliates upon the barbarous Scottish names which the Civil War had made familiar to English ears:--
. . . . why is it harde... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 68 |
“We may suppose,” says Bishop Newton, “that these were persons of note among the Scotch ministers, who were for pressing and enforcing the Covenant;” whereas Milton only intends to ridicule the barbarism of Scottish names in general, and quotes, indiscriminately, that of Gillespie, one of the Apostles of the Covenant,... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 69 | Even so late as the year 1745-6, when the Chevalier Charles Edward, by way of making an example, caused a soldier to be shot for desertion, the Highlanders, who composed his army, were affected as much by indignation as by fear. They could not conceive any principle of justice upon which a man’s life could be taken, fo... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 70 |
CHAPTER XVI.
Such mountains steep, such craggy hills, His army on one side enclose: The other side, great griesly gills Did fence with fenny mire and moss.
Which when the Earl understood, He council craved of captains all, Who bade set forth with mournful mood, And take such fortune as would fall. --FLODDEN FIELD, A... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 71 |
Montrose had now a splendid career in his view, provided he could obtain the consent of his gallant, but desultory troops, and their independent chieftains. The Lowlands lay open before him without an army adequate to check his career; for Argyle’s followers had left the Covenanters’ host when their master threw up hi... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 72 |
While he lay thus busied with contradictory thoughts and feelings, the soldier who stood sentinel upon his quarters announced to the Marquis that two persons desired to speak with his Excellency.
“Their names?” answered Montrose, “and the cause of their urgency at such a late hour?”
On these points, the sentinel, wh... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 73 |
Montrose’s first enquiry respected the embassy to Inverary; and he listened with attention to Dalgetty’s reply, notwithstanding the prolixity of the Major’s narrative. It required an effort from the Marquis to maintain his attention; but no one better knew, that where information is to be derived from the report of su... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 74 |
“Let Ranald MacEagh,” said Montrose, “select one or two of his followers, men whom he can trust, and who are capable of keeping their own secret and ours; these, with their chief for scout-master-general, shall serve for our guides. Let them be at my tent to-morrow at daybreak, and see, if possible, that they neither ... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 75 |
CHAPTER XVII.
The march begins in military state, And nations on his eyes suspended wait; Stern famine guards the solitary coast, And winter barricades the realms of frost. He comes,--nor want, nor cold, his course delay. --VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.
By break of day Montrose received in his cabin old MacEagh, and quest... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 76 |
“So has my anxious soul a hundred times surmised,” replied Allan. “But it is impossible! Were I to read the record in the eternal book of fate, I would declare it impossible--we are bound by the ties of blood, and by a hundred ties more intimate--we have stood side by side in battle, and our swords have reeked with th... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 77 |
Argyle in the meantime had fled to Edinburgh, to lay his complaints before the Convention of Estates. To meet the exigence of the moment, a considerable army was raised under General Baillie, a Presbyterian officer of skill and fidelity, with whom was joined in command the celebrated Sir John Urrie, a soldier of fortu... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 78 |
CHAPTER XVIII.
Piobracht au Donuil-dhu, Piobrachet au Donuil, Piobrachet agus S’breittach Feacht an Innerlochy.
The war-tune of Donald the Black, The war-tune of Black Donald, The pipes and the banner Are up in the rendezvous of Inverlochy.
|
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 79 |
The military road connecting the chains of forts, as it is called, and running in the general line of the present Caledonian Canal, has now completely opened the great glen, or chasm, extending almost across the whole island, once doubtless filled by the sea, and still affording basins for that long line of lakes, by ... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 80 |
“I say, my lord,” replied Sir Duncan, “that I think Auchenbreck will be gratified, and will himself have a personal opportunity of settling accounts with Montrose for his depredations. Reports have reached our outposts that the Camerons are assembling their full strength on the skirts of Ben-Nevis; this must be to joi... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 81 |
The retreat of Argyle had not passed unobserved by his watchful enemy, who, occupying the superior ground, could mark every circumstance which passed below. The movement of three or four horsemen to the rear showed that those who retreated were men of rank.
“They are going,” said Dalgetty, “to put their horses out of... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 82 |
CHAPTER XIX.
As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Inisfail met Lochlin. --OSSIAN.
The trumpets and bagpipes, those clamorous harbingers of blood and death, at once united in the signal for onset, which was replied to by the cry of more than two thousand warriors, and the echoes of the mountain glens behind them. Div... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 83 | The mountaineers of that period had a superstitious dread of the war-horse, like that entertained by the Peruvians, and had many strange ideas respecting the manner in which that animal was trained to combat. When, therefore, they found their ranks unexpectedly broken, and that the objects of their greatest terror were... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 84 |
“That shall not be said,” answered Montrose, dismounting; “I make you a present of my own, which has been thought a good one; only, I pray you, resume the duty you discharge so well.”
With many acknowledgments, Sir Dugald mounted the steed so liberally bestowed upon him; and only beseeching his Excellency to remember... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 85 |
CHAPTER XX.
Faint the din of battle bray’d, Distant down the hollow wind; War and terror fled before, Wounds and death remain’d behind.--PENROSE.
Montrose’s splendid success over his powerful rival was not attained without some loss, though not amounting to the tenth of what he inflicted. The obstinate valour of the... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 86 |
“If nature has given him such,” said Menteith, “habit has converted them into feelings of intense selfishness. He may be punctilious concerning his reputation, and brave in the execution of his duty, but it is only because without these qualities he cannot rise in the service;--nay, his very benevolence is selfish; he... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 87 |
Movit Ajacem, Telamone natum, Forma captivae dominum Tecmessae.
|
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 88 |
In a word, I am seriously anxious about this--I should not have time, perhaps,” he added very gravely, “to trouble you with my lectures on the subject, were your feelings, and those of Annot, alone interested; but you have a dangerous rival in Allan M’Aulay; and there is no knowing to what extent he may carry his rese... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 89 |
CHAPTER XXI.
--After you’re gone, I grew acquainted with my heart, and search’d, What stirr’d it so.--Alas! I found it love. Yet far from lust, for could I but have lived In presence of you, I had had my end.--PHILASTER.
Annot Lyle had now to contemplate the terrible gulf which Allan M’Aulay’s declaration of love an... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 90 | OPIFERQUE PER ORBEM DICOR.”
“If you would have the goodness to explain,” said Annot, too sick at heart to be amused by Sir Dugald’s airs of pedantic gallantry.
“That, madam,” replied the Knight, “may not be so easy, as I am out of the habit of construing--but we shall try. DICOR, supply EGO--I am called,--OPIFER? OPI... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 91 | Tell these proud men, who disdain thee as the issue of mine ancient race, that thou art no blood of ours,--no daughter of the race of the Mist, but born in halls as lordly, and cradled on couch as soft, as ever soothed infancy in their proudest palaces.”
“In the name of God,” said Menteith, trembling with emotion, “if... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 92 |
While Menteith hastened to communicate the result of these enquiries to the persons most interested, the outlaw demanded to speak with his grandchild, whom he usually called his son. “He would be found,” he said, “in the outer apartment, in which he himself had been originally deposited.”
Accordingly, the young savag... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 93 |
Sir Dugald Dalgetty, who was present during the latter part of this scene, was very little edified by the conduct of MacEagh upon the occasion. “I cannot think, my friend Ranald,” said he, “that you are in the best possible road for a dying man. Storms, onslaughts, massacres, the burning of suburbs, are indeed a soldi... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 94 |
Menteith, in the meanwhile, leaving the new-found relations to their mutual feelings of mingled emotion, was eagerly discussing with Montrose the consequences of this discovery. “I should now see,” said the Marquis, “even had I not before observed it, that your interest in this discovery, my dear Menteith, has no smal... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 95 |
CHAPTER XXIII.
My maid--my blue-eyed maid, he bore away, Due to the toils of many a bloody day.--ILLIAD.
It was necessary, for many reasons, that Angus M’Aulay, so long the kind protector of Annot Lyle, should be made acquainted with the change in the fortunes of his late protege; and Montrose, as he had undertaken,... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 96 |
“You will find I am too early,” said Allan M’Aulay, who burst into the apartment. “Draw, Menteith, and defend yourself like a man, or die like a dog!”
“You are mad, Allan!” answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden appearance, and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour. His cheeks were livid--his eyes start... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 97 |
They performed their voyage in safety, and Menteith was in a few weeks so well in health, as to be united to Annot in the castle of her father.
The Highlanders were somewhat puzzled to reconcile Menteith’s recovery with the visions of the second sight, and the more experienced Seers were displeased with him for not h... |
A Legend of Montrose | Walter Scott | 98 |
*****
READER! THE TALES OF MY LANDLORD ARE NOW FINALLY CLOSED, closed, and it was my purpose to have addressed thee in the vein of Jedediah Cleishbotham; but, like Horam the son of Asmar, and all other imaginary story-tellers, Jedediah has melted into thin air.
Mr. Cleishbotham bore the same resemblance to Ariel, as... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 0 | A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
by James Joyce
Contents
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V
_“Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes.”_ Ovid, Metamorphoses, VIII., 18.
Chapter I
Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that w... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 1 |
The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were shouting and the prefects urged them on with strong cries. The evening air was pale and chilly and after every charge and thud of the footballers the greasy leather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light. He kept on the fringe of his line, out of sight ... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 2 | Mother was sitting at the fire with Dante waiting for Brigid to bring in the tea. She had her feet on the fender and her jewelly slippers were so hot and they had such a lovely warm smell! Dante knew a lot of things. She had taught him where the Mozambique Channel was and what was the longest river in America and what ... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 3 |
A voice cried far out on the playground:
—All in!
Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines:
—All in! All in!
The players closed around, flushed and muddy, and he went among them, glad to go in. Rody Kickham held the ball by its greasy lace. A fellow asked him to give it one last: but he walked on wit... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 4 |
The bell rang and then the classes began to file out of the rooms and along the corridors towards the refectory. He sat looking at the two prints of butter on his plate but could not eat the damp bread. The tablecloth was damp and limp. But he drank off the hot weak tea which the clumsy scullion, girt with a white apr... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 5 |
Sitting in the study hall he opened the lid of his desk and changed the number pasted up inside from seventyseven to seventysix. But the Christmas vacation was very far away: but one time it would come because the earth moved round always.
There was a picture of the earth on the first page of his geography: a big bal... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 6 | There were two sides in it: Dante was on one side and his father and Mr Casey were on the other side but his mother and uncle Charles were on no side. Every day there was something in the paper about it.
It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant and that he did not know where the universe ended. He f... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 7 |
Going home for the holidays! That would be lovely: the fellows had told him. Getting up on the cars in the early wintry morning outside the door of the castle. The cars were rolling on the gravel. Cheers for the rector!
Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!
The cars drove past the chapel and all caps were raised. They drove merri... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 8 | But the minds of rats could not understand trigonometry. When they were dead they lay on their sides. Their coats dried then. They were only dead things.
|
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 9 |
The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was saying that he was to get up, that Father Minister had said he was to get up and dress and go to the infirmary. And while he was dressing himself as quickly as he could the prefect said:
—We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have the collywobbles!
H... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 10 |
He saw the sea of waves, long dark waves rising and falling, dark under the moonless night. A tiny light twinkled at the pierhead where the ship was entering: and he saw a multitude of people gathered by the waters’ edge to see the ship that was entering their harbour. A tall man stood on the deck, looking out towards... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 11 |
—He is dead. We saw him lying upon the catafalque. A wail of sorrow went up from the people.
—Parnell! Parnell! He is dead!
They fell upon their knees, moaning in sorrow.
And he saw Dante in a maroon velvet dress and with a green velvet mantle hanging from her shoulders walking proudly and silently past the people ... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 12 |
A great fire, banked high and red, flamed in the grate and under the ivytwined branches of the chandelier the Christmas table was spread. They had come home a little late and still dinner was not ready: but it would be ready in a jiffy, his mother had said. They were waiting for the door to open and for the servants t... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 13 |
The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table. Mrs Dedalus followed and the places were arranged.
—Sit over, she said.
Mr Dedalus went to the end of the table and said:
—Now, Mrs Riordan, sit over. John, sit you down, my hearty.
He looked round to where uncle Charles sat and said:
—Now then, sir, there’... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 14 |
—Well now, the day kept up fine after all. There were plenty of strangers down too.
Nobody spoke. He said again:
—I think there were more strangers down than last Christmas.
He looked round at the others whose faces were bent towards their plates and, receiving no reply, waited for a moment and said bitterly:
—Wel... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 15 | Who was right then? And he remembered the evening in the infirmary in Clongowes, the dark waters, the light at the pierhead and the moan of sorrow from the people when they had heard.
Eileen had long white hands. One evening when playing tig she had put her hands over his eyes: long and white and thin and cold and sof... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 16 |
—I know why, Cecil Thunder said. Because they had fecked cash out of the rector’s room.
—Who fecked it?
—Kickham’s brother. And they all went shares in it.
—But that was stealing. How could they have done that?
—A fat lot you know about it, Thunder! Wells said. I know why they scut.
—Tell us why.
—I was told not... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 17 | It was the night of the match against the Bective Rangers and the ball was made just like a red and green apple only it opened and it was full of the creamy sweets. And one day Boyle had said that an elephant had two tuskers instead of two tusks and that was why he was called Tusker Boyle but some fellows called him La... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 18 |
A voice from far out on the playground cried:
—All in!
And other voices cried:
—All in! All in!
During the writing lesson he sat with his arms folded, listening to the slow scraping of the pens. Mr Harford went to and fro making little signs in red pencil and sometimes sitting beside the boy to show him how to hol... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 19 |
—Gentlemen, the happiest day of my life was the day on which I made my first holy communion.
Father Arnall came in and the Latin lesson began and he remained still leaning on the desk with his arms folded. Father Arnall gave out the themebooks and he said that they were scandalous and that they were all to be written... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 20 |
The door opened quietly and closed. A quick whisper ran through the class: the prefect of studies. There was an instant of dead silence and then the loud crack of a pandybat on the last desk. Stephen’s heart leapt up in fear.
—Any boys want flogging here, Father Arnall? cried the prefect of studies. Any lazy idle loa... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 21 |
—It’s a stinking mean thing, that’s what it is, said Fleming in the corridor as the classes were passing out in file to the refectory, to pandy a fellow for what is not his fault.
—You really broke your glasses by accident, didn’t you? Nasty Roche asked.
Stephen felt his heart filled by Fleming’s words and did not a... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 22 | Those were the great men whose names were in Richmal Magnall’s Questions. History was all about those men and what they did and that was what Peter Parley’s Tales about Greece and Rome were all about. Peter Parley himself was on the first page in a picture. There was a road over a heath with grass at the side and littl... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 23 | It was his own name that he should have made fun of if he wanted to make fun. Dolan: it was like the name of a woman who washed clothes.
He had reached the door and, turning quickly up to the right, walked up the stairs; and, before he could make up his mind to come back, he had entered the low dark narrow corridor th... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 24 |
—Very good, Simon. All serene, Simon, said the old man tranquilly. Anywhere you like. The outhouse will do me nicely: it will be more salubrious.
—Damn me, said Mr Dedalus frankly, if I know how you can smoke such villainous awful tobacco. It’s like gunpowder, by God.
—It’s very nice, Simon, replied the old man. Ver... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 25 |
Outside Blackrock, on the road that led to the mountains, stood a small whitewashed house in the garden of which grew many rosebushes: and in this house, he told himself, another Mercedes lived. Both on the outward and on the homeward journey he measured distance by this landmark: and in his imagination he lived throu... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 26 |
—Madam, I never eat muscatel grapes.
He became the ally of a boy named Aubrey Mills and founded with him a gang of adventurers in the avenue. Aubrey carried a whistle dangling from his buttonhole and a bicycle lamp attached to his belt while the others had short sticks thrust daggerwise through theirs. Stephen, who h... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 27 |
Two great yellow caravans had halted one morning before the door and men had come tramping into the house to dismantle it. The furniture had been hustled out through the front garden which was strewn with wisps of straw and rope ends and into the huge vans at the gate. When all had been safely stowed the vans had set ... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 28 |
Dublin was a new and complex sensation. Uncle Charles had grown so witless that he could no longer be sent out on errands and the disorder in settling in the new house left Stephen freer than he had been in Blackrock. In the beginning he contented himself with circling timidly round the neighbouring square or, at most... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 29 |
Roderick Kickham John Lawton Anthony MacSwiney Simon Moonan
Now it seemed as if he would fail again but, by dint of brooding on the incident, he thought himself into confidence. During this process all those elements which he deemed common and insignificant fell out of the scene. There remained no trace of the tram i... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 30 |
The night of the Whitsuntide play had come and Stephen from the window of the dressingroom looked out on the small grassplot across which lines of Chinese lanterns were stretched. He watched the visitors come down the steps from the house and pass into the theatre. Stewards in evening dress, old Belvedereans, loitered... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 31 |
He passed out of the schoolhouse and halted under the shed that flanked the garden. From the theatre opposite came the muffled noise of the audience and sudden brazen clashes of the soldiers’ band. The light spread upwards from the glass roof making the theatre seem a festive ark, anchored among the hulks of houses, h... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 32 |
—Admit.
It was towards the close of his first term in the college when he was in number six. His sensitive nature was still smarting under the lashes of an undivined and squalid way of life. His soul was still disquieted and cast down by the dull phenomenon of Dublin. He had emerged from a two years’ spell of reverie... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 33 |
He remained standing with his two companions at the end of the shed listening idly to their talk or to the bursts of applause in the theatre. She was sitting there among the others perhaps waiting for him to appear. He tried to recall her appearance but could not. He could remember only that she had worn a shawl about... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 34 |
In the vestry a plump freshfaced jesuit and an elderly man, in shabby blue clothes, were dabbling in a case of paints and chalks. The boys who had been painted walked about or stood still awkwardly, touching their faces in a gingerly fashion with their furtive fingertips. In the middle of the vestry a young jesuit, wh... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 35 | He saw her serious alluring eyes watching him from among the audience and their image at once swept away his scruples, leaving his will compact. Another nature seemed to have been lent him: the infection of the excitement and youth about him entered into and transformed his moody mistrustfulness. For one rare moment he... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 36 |
That is horse piss and rotted straw, he thought. It is a good odour to breathe. It will calm my heart. My heart is quite calm now. I will go back.
Stephen was once again seated beside his father in the corner of a railway carriage at Kingsbridge. He was travelling with his father by the night mail to Cork. As the tra... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 37 |
’Tis youth and folly Makes young men marry, So here, my love, I’ll No longer stay. What can’t be cured, sure, Must be injured, sure, So I’ll go to Amerikay.
My love she’s handsome, My love she’s bony: She’s like good whisky When it is new; But when ’tis old And growing cold It fades and dies like The mountain dew.
T... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 38 |
—Ay, bedad! And there’s the Groceries sure enough! cried Mr Dedalus. You often heard me speak of the Groceries, didn’t you, Stephen. Many’s the time we went down there when our names had been marked, a crowd of us, Harry Peard and little Jack Mountain and Bob Dyas and Maurice Moriarty, the Frenchman, and Tom O’Grady a... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 39 |
—I am Stephen Dedalus. I am walking beside my father whose name is Simon Dedalus. We are in Cork, in Ireland. Cork is a city. Our room is in the Victoria Hotel. Victoria and Stephen and Simon. Simon and Stephen and Victoria. Names.
The memory of his childhood suddenly grew dim. He tried to call forth some of its vivi... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 40 | Nothing stirred within his soul but a cold and cruel and loveless lust. His childhood was dead or lost and with it his soul capable of simple joys and he was drifting amid life like the barren shell of the moon.
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless...?
He rep... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 41 |
A keen October wind was blowing round the bank. The three figures standing at the edge of the muddy path had pinched cheeks and watery eyes. Stephen looked at his thinly clad mother and remembered that a few days before he had seen a mantle priced at twenty guineas in the windows of Barnardo’s.
—Well that’s done, sai... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 42 |
He had wandered into a maze of narrow and dirty streets. From the foul laneways he heard bursts of hoarse riot and wrangling and the drawling of drunken singers. He walked onward, undismayed, wondering whether he had strayed into the quarter of the jews. Women and girls dressed in long vivid gowns traversed the street... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 43 |
Chapter III
The swift December dusk had come tumbling clownishly after its dull day and as he stared through the dull square of the window of the schoolroom he felt his belly crave for its food. He hoped there would be stew for dinner, turnips and carrots and bruised potatoes and fat mutton pieces to be ladled out in... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 44 |
—Well now, Ennis, I declare you have a head and so has my stick! Do you mean to say that you are not able to tell me what a surd is?
The blundering answer stirred the embers of his contempt of his fellows. Towards others he felt neither shame nor fear. On Sunday mornings as he passed the church door he glanced coldly... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 45 |
That was strange. He tried to think how it could be but the dusk, deepening in the schoolroom, covered over his thoughts. The bell rang. The master marked the sums and cuts to be done for the next lesson and went out. Heron, beside Stephen, began to hum tunelessly.
My excellent friend Bombados.
Ennis, who had gone t... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 46 |
Stephen sat in the front bench of the chapel. Father Arnall sat at a table to the left of the altar. He wore about his shoulders a heavy cloak; his pale face was drawn and his voice broken with rheum. The figure of his old master, so strangely rearisen, brought back to Stephen’s mind his life at Clongowes: the wide pl... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 47 |
As he walked home with silent companions a thick fog seemed to compass his mind. He waited in stupor of mind till it should lift and reveal what it had hidden. He ate his dinner with surly appetite and when the meal was over and the grease-strewn plates lay abandoned on the table, he rose and went to the window, clear... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 48 |
Every word of it was for him. Against his sin, foul and secret, the whole wrath of God was aimed. The preacher’s knife had probed deeply into his disclosed conscience and he felt now that his soul was festering in sin. Yes, the preacher was right. God’s turn had come. Like a beast in its lair his soul had lain down in... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 49 |
In the wide land under a tender lucid evening sky, a cloud drifting westward amid a pale green sea of heaven, they stood together, children that had erred. Their error had offended deeply God’s majesty though it was the error of two children; but it had not offended her whose beauty “is not like earthly beauty, danger... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 50 |
Rain was falling on the chapel, on the garden, on the college. It would rain for ever, noiselessly. The water would rise inch by inch, covering the grass and shrubs, covering the trees and houses, covering the monuments and the mountain tops. All life would be choked off, noiselessly: birds, men, elephants, pigs, chil... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 51 |
The preacher’s voice sank. He paused, joined his palms for an instant, parted them. Then he resumed:
—Now let us try for a moment to realise, as far as we can, the nature of that abode of the damned which the justice of an offended God has called into existence for the eternal punishment of sinners. Hell is a strait ... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 52 | Why did you not give up that lewd habit, that impure habit? Why did you not listen to the counsels of your confessor? Why did you not, even after you had fallen the first or the second or the third or the fourth or the hundredth time, repent of your evil ways and turn to God who only waited for your repentance to absol... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 53 |
—Hell! Hell! Hell! Hell! Hell!
Voices spoke near him:
—On hell.
—I suppose he rubbed it into you well.
—You bet he did. He put us all into a blue funk.
—That’s what you fellows want: and plenty of it to make you work.
He leaned back weakly in his desk. He had not died. God had spared him still. He was still in t... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 54 |
—I wish it would clear up. I had arranged to go for a spin on the bike with some fellows out by Malahide. But the roads must be kneedeep.
—It might clear up, sir.
The voices that he knew so well, the common words, the quiet of the classroom when the voices paused and the silence was filled by the sound of softly bro... |
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man | James Joyce | 55 |
There was still time. O Mary, refuge of sinners, intercede for him! O Virgin Undefiled, save him from the gulf of death!
The English lesson began with the hearing of the history. Royal persons, favourites, intriguers, bishops, passed like mute phantoms behind their veil of names. All had died: all had been judged. Wh... |
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