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In [the] general survey of the face the eyes were not prominent: they were small light blue eyes which checked advances. They were quite fresh and fearless but in spite of this the face was to a certain extent the face of a debauchee. People seemed to him strangely ignorant of the value of the words they used so glibly.

And pace by pace as this indignity of life forced itself upon him he became enamoured of an idealizing, a more veritably human tradition. The phenomenon seemed to him a grave one and he began to [29] see that people had leagued themselves together in a conspiracy of ignobility … he desired no such reduction for himself and preferred to serve her [Destiny] on the ancient terms.

Stephen laided down his very positively and insisted on the importance of what he called the literary tradition. Words, he said, have a certain value in the literary tradition and a certain value in the marketplace - a debased value. The monster in Stephen had lately taken to misbehaving himself and on the least provocation was ready for bloodshed … the episode of religious fervour which was fast becoming a memory had resulted in a certain outward self-control which was now found to be very useful.

He got down off the tram at Amiens St Station instead of going on to the Pillar because he wished to partake in the morning life of the city. It was with a feeling of gloomy pleasure that he entered the Green and saw the gloomy building of the college. He was determined to fight with every energy of soul and body against any possible consignment to what he now regarded as the hell of hells - the region, otherwise expressed, wherein everything is found to be obvious … schooled himself in silence [33].

He said to himself: I must wait for the Eucharist to come to me: and then he set about translating the phrase into common-sense. He spent days and nights hammering noisily as he built a house of silence for himself wherein he might await his Eucharist. XVI : He read Blake and Rimbaud on the value of letters and even permutated the five vowels to construct cires form primitive emotions. He doubled back into the past of humanity and caught glimpses of emergent art as one might have a vision of the plesiosaurus emerging from his ocean of slime.

He seemed almost to hear the simple cries of fear and joy and wonder which are antecedent to all song, the savage rhythms of men pulling at an oar, to see the rude scrawls and portable gods of men whose legacy Leonardo and Michelangelo inherit. And over all this chaos of history and legend, fact and supposition, he strove to draw out a line of order, to reduce the abysses of the past to order by diagram. It was part of that ineradicable egoism that he was afterwards to call his redeemer that he conceived converging to him all the deeds and thoughts of the microcosm.

Is the mind of youth medieval that it is so divining of intrigue? This fantastic idealist … he flung them distain from his flashing antlers [36] … the rapidly indurating shield [36]. Indeed he felt the morning in his blood: he was aware of some movement already proceeding out in Europe. Of this last phrase he was fond for it seeemd to him to unroll the measurable world before the feet of the islanders. He had no need for the cautions which were named indispensable, no reverence for the proprieties which were called the bases of life. He was an enigmatic figure in the midst of his shivering soceity where he enjoyed a reputation … [36].

On his side chastity, having been found a great inconvenience, had been quietly abandoned [36]. The spectacle of the world which his intelligence presented to him with every sordid and deceptive detail set side by side with the spectacle of the world which the monster in him, now grown to a reasonably heroic stage, presented also had often filled him with such sudden despair as could only be assuaged by melancholic versing. He had all but decided to consider the two worlds as alien to one another … when he encountered … Henrik Ibsen.

He understood that spirit instantaneously. The damp Dublin winter seemed to harmonize with his inward sense of unreadiness and he did not follow the least of feminine provocations through tortuous, unexpected ways any more zealously than he followed through ways even less satisfying the nimble movements of the elusive one. Life is such as I conceive it. Jesus, morever, exposed his heart somewhat to obviously in the cheap print: and Stephen; thoughts were usually fascinated to a pleasant stupor by these twin futilities.

Stephen now imagined that he had explored this region sufficiently and would have discontinued his visits [except for the arrival of Miss Clery] [46] … she seemed on her part to include him in the general scheme of her nationalizing charm [47]. XVII : His family expected that he would at once follow the path of remunerative respectability and save the situation but he could not satisfy his family.

He thanked their intention: it had first fulfilled him with egoism; and he rejoiced that his life had been so self-centred. He felt [also] however that there were activities which it would be a peril to postpone. The Roman, not the Sassenach, was for him the tyrant of the islanders; and so deeply had the tyranny eaten into all souls that the intelligence, first overborne so arrogantly, was now eager to prove that arrogance its friend.

The watchcry was Faith and Fatherland, a sacred word in that world of cleverly inflammable enthusiasm. The publicans and the pawnbrokers who live on the miseries of the people spend part of the money they make in sending their sons and daughters into religion to pray for them. They smiled at each other; and again in the centre of her amiableness he discerned a [centre] point of illwill and he suspected that by her code of honour she was obliged to insist on the forbearance of the male and to despise him for forbearing.

He recognised at once the martial mind of the Irish Church in the style of this ecclesiastical barracks. He looked in vain at the faces and figures which passed him for a token of moral elevation: all were cowed without being humble, modish without being simple-mannered …. In this manner he had his whole essay in his mind from the first word to the last before he had put any morsel of it on paper. Chap XIX [ correctly part of Chap. XVIII ]: Stephen had a thorough-going manner in many things: his essay was not in the least the exhibition of polite accomplishments.

He could not persuade himself that, if he wrote about his subject with facility or treated it from any standpoint of impression, good would come of it. On the other hand he was persuaded that no-one served the generation into which he had been born so well as he who offered it, whether in his art or in his life, the gift of certitude.

The programme of the patriots filled him with very reasonable doubts; its articles could obtain no intellectual assent from him. He knew, moreover, that concordance with it would mean for him a submission of everything else in its interest and that he would thus be obliged to corrupt the springs of speculation at their very source. He refused therefore to set out for any task if he had first to prejudice his success by oaths to his patria and this refusal resulted in a theory of art which was at once severe and liberal.

He proclaimed at the outset that art was the human disposition that art was the human disposition of intelligible or sensible matter for an esthetic end, and he announced further that all such human dispositions must fall into the divisions of three distinct natural kinds, lyrical epical and dramatic. Lyrical art, he said, is the art whereby the artist sets forth his image in immedate relation to himself; epical art is the art whereby the artist sets forth his image in immediate relation to himself and to others; and dramatic art is the art whereby the artist sets forth his image in immedate relation to others.

Having by this simple process established the literary form of art as the most excellent he proceeded … to establish the relations which must subsist between the literary image, the work of art itself, and that energy which had imagined and fashioned it, that centre of conscious, re-acting, particular life, the artist. The term literature now seemed to him a term of contempt and he used it to designate the vast middle region which lies between apex and base, between poetry and the chaos of unremembered writing. Its merit lay in its portrayal of externals; the realm of its princes was the realm of the manners and the customs of society - a spacious realm … [SH73].

The romantic temper … is an insecure, unsatisfied, impatient temper which sees no fit abode here for its ideals and chooses therefore to behold them under insensible figures. As a result of this [73] choice it comes to disregard certain limitations.

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Its figures are blown to wild adventures, lacking the gravity of solid bodies, and the mind that has conceived them ends by disowning them. The classical temper, on the other hand, ever mindful of its limitations, chooses rather to bend upon those present things and so work upon them and fashion them that the quick intelligence may go beyond them to their meaning which is still unuttered. In this method the sane and joyful spirit issues forth and achieves an imperishible perfection, nature assisting with her goodwill and thanks.

For so long as this place in nature is given us, it is right that art should do no violence to the gift. The city of the arts … marvellously unpeaceful … To many spectators the dispute seemed a dispute about names, a battled in which the position of the standards could never be foretold in for a minute.

Add to this internecine warfare - the classical school fighting the materialism that must attend it, the romantic school struggling to preserve coherence - and behold from what ungentle manners criticism is bound to recognise the emergence of all achievement. But to approach the temper which has made an art is an act of reverence before the performance of which many conventions must be first put off for certainly that inmost region will never yield its secret to one who is enmeshed in profanities.

Chief among these profanities Stephen set the antique principle that the end of art is to instruct, elevate, and to amuse. It is as absurd … for a criticism itself established upon homilies to prohibit the elective courses of the artist in his revelation of the beautiful as it would be for a police-magistrate to prohibit the sum of any two sides of a triangle from being together greater than the third side. The poet is the intense centre of the life of his age to which he stands in a relation than which none can be more vital.

He alone is capable of absorbing in himself the life that surrounds him and of flinging it abroad again amid planetary music. The age though it bury itself fathoms deep in formulas and machinery has need of these realities which alone can give and sustain life and it must await from those chosen centres of vivification the force to live, the security for life which can come to it only from them.

Thus the spirit of man makes continual affirmation. His mother who had never suspected probably that beauty could be anything more than a convention of the drawingroom or a natural antecedent to marriage and married life was surprised to see the extraordinary honour which her son conferred upon it. Beauty, to the mind of such a woman, was often a synonym for licentious ways and probably for this reason she was relieved to find that the excesses of this new workshop were supervised by a recognized saintly authority.

There seems to me … to be effulgence in that theory instead of danger. The intelligent nature apprehends it at once. As he changed Stephen Hero into the Stephen Dedalus of A Portrait and then the Stephen Dedalus of Ulysses , he nevertheless subjected him to harsher and harsher treatment. At the end of the first chapter of A Portrait , Stephen is hailed as a hero by the other boys at Clongowes Wood College, and carried in triumph like a Roman conqueror, because he went to the rector to protest an unjust beating at the hands of a priest whom the boys all fear.

But he learns later that the incident was a source of amusement to the rector. After that point he cannot take leadership seriously, even when other boys look up to him or when the priests admire his piety. At last, un- able to control his agitation, he asked her point-blank would she like him to read out his essay.

While she was nicely folding a handkerchief she said — What does Ibsen write, Stephen? I would like to read the best one What is the best one? But do you really want to read Ibsen? Before I married your father I used to read a great deal. I used to take an interest in all kinds of new plays.

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When he was young he told me he used to spend all his time out after the hounds or rowing on the Lee. But it may not be my ambition. That kind of life I often loathe: I find it ugly and cowardly. Art is not an escape from life 1 — No? Do you understand? Of it she spoke readily and on her own mitiatu c it had moved her deeply Stephen, to escape a charge of hot-headedness and partizanslnp.

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I quite agree with you that Ibsen is a wonderful wnter — Really? You per- haps. Do you think these plays are unfit for people to read? And I think that human nature is a very extraordinary thing sometimes. Stephen had to be contented with this well-worn generality as he recognised in it a genuine sentiment. His mother, in fact, had so far evangelised herself that she undertook the duties of missioner to the heathen; that is to say, she offered some of the plays to her husband to read.

He listened to her praises with a somewhat startled air, observing no feature of her face, his eyeglass screwed into an astonished eye and his mouth poised in naif surprise. He was always interested in novelties, childishly interested and receptive, and this new name and the phenom- ena it had produced in his house were novelties for him. Following the custom of certain old- fashioned people who can never understand why their patron- age or judgments should put men of letters into a rage he chose [87] his play from the title.

Stephen Hero

A metaphor is a vice that attracts the dull mind by reason of its aptness and repels the too serious mind by reason of its falsity and danger so that, after all, there is something to be said, nothing voluminous perhaps, but at least a word of concession for that class of society which in literature as in everything else goes always with its four feet on the ground.

He chose the League of Youth in which he hoped to find the reminiscences of like-minded roysterers and, after reading through two acts of provincial intrigue, abandoned the enterprise as tedious. How- ever I gave it to the President this morning to read.

You remind me of children in the nursery. We must take what we can get. It trains young men for public speak- ing — for the bar and the political platform. This suave rotund young man, who was the Secretary of the Society, was reading for the Bar. His eyes regarded Stephen now with mild, envious horror and he forgot all his baggage from Attica: — Your essay is tabu, Daedalus.

Whelan blushed and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. Stephen m a moment was half across the quadrangle McCann called after him. He had to speak twice, the second time with a distinct, sepa- rated enunciation, for the door-porter was rather stupid and deaf — Can — I — see — the — President 7 The President was not m his room he w'as saying his office in the garden Stephen went out into the garden and went down towards the ball-alley A small figure wrapped m a loose Spanish- lookmg black cloak presented its back to him near the far end of the side-walk The figure went on slowly to the end of the walk, halted there for a few moments, and then turning about presented to him over the edge of a breviary a neat round head covered with curly grey hair and a very wrinkled face of an in- describable colour the upper part was the colour of putty and the lower part was shot with slate colour The President came slowly down the side-walk, m his capacious cloak, noiselessly moving his grey lips as he said his office.

At the end of the walk he halted again and looked inquiringly at Stephen. He [started] began to walk slowly down the path at such a pace as implied invitation. Stephen kept therefore at his side. I am afraid I can- not allow you to read your paper before the Society. They walked on to the end of the path, without speaking. Then Stephen said: — Why, sir? The authors you quote as examples, those you seem to admire. But Ibsen, Maeterlinck. That is not art. Dante surely examines and up- braids society. One has a high moral aim — he ennobles the human race: the other degrades it.

The President was silent. Newman could refrain from writing his Apologia for twenty years. Poor Kingsley! The president far from resenting this hardy statement seemed to bow to its justice: no-one could have a poorer opinion of the half-educated journalism of the present day than he had and he certainly would not allow a newspaper to dictate criticism to him. At the same time there was such a unanimity of opinion everywhere about Ibsen that he imagined. I must say I. I must admit. Stephen hesitated after this first success. The President re- sumed: — Iam very interested in the enthusiasm you show for this writer.

I have never had any opportunity to read Ibsen myself [ 93 ] but I know that he enjoys a great reputation. What you say of him, I must confess, alters my view of him considerably. Some day perhaps I shall. Both paused for an instant: then — — You will see that he is a great poet and a great artist, said Stephen.

I certainly shall. During the interview he had occasion more than once to put severe shackles on this importunate devil within him whose appetite was on edge for the farcical. The President was begin- ning to exhibit the liberal side of his character, but with priestly cautiousness.

Stephen Hero by James Joyce

Your opinions are some- what strange. Do you intend to publish this essay? However I am glad to see that your attitude towards your subject is so genuinely serious. He seems to regard the beautiful as that which satisfies the esthetic appetite and nothing more — that the mere apprehension of which pleases. There are parts of Aquinas which no priest would think of announcing in the pulpit. Estheticism often begins well only to end in the vilest abominations of which. There seems to me to be effulgence m that theory instead of danger. The intelligent nature apprehends it at once.

Thomas of course. I hear no mention of instruction or elevation. Young men often substitute brilliant paradox for conviction. And there is another thing — a question of taste perhaps rather than anything else — which makes me think your theory juvenile. You don't seem to understand the importance of the classical drama Of course in his own line Ibsen also may be an admirable writer. My entire esteem is for the classical temper in art. Surely you must remember that I said. You wish to upset centuries of literary criticism by a brilliant turn of speech, by a paradox.

I have explained them. The heroic, the fabulous, I call romantic. And even the public themselves can appre- ciate him. I have read, I think, in some The London public will flock to see any- thing new or strange. If Irving were to give an imitation of a hard-boiled egg they would flock to see it. The President received this absurdity with unflenching grav- ity and when he had come to the end of the path, he halted for a few instants before leading the way to the house.

Our people have their faith and they are happy. They are faithful to their Church and the Church is sufficient for them. Even for the profane world these modern pessimistic writers are a little too. With his scornful mind scampering from Clonliffe College to Mullingar Stephen strove to make himself ready for some definite compact. The President had carefully brought the in- terview into the region of chattiness. Even the English people have begun to see the folly of these morbid tragedies, these wretched un- happy, unhealthy tragedies.

I read the other day that some playwright had to change the last act of his play because it ended m catastrophe — some sordid murder or suicide or death. People are very timorous. It would be so much simpler to take the bull by the horns and have done with it. When they reached the hall of the College the President stood at the foot of the staircase before going up to his room. Stephen waited silently: — Begin to look at the bright side of things, Mr Daedalus. Art should be healthy first of all. The President gathered in his soutane for the ascent with a slow hermaphroditic gesture: — I must say you have defended your theory very well.

I do not agree with it, of course, but I can see you have thought it all out carefully beforehand. You have thought it out carefully? I am sure too that when your studies have brought you further afield you will be able to amend it so as to — fit m more with recognised facts; I am sure you will be able to apply it better then — when your mind has undergone a course of. The President's indefinite manner of closing the interview had left some doubts in Stephen's mind; he was unable to de- cide whether the retreat upstairs was a breach of friendly rela- tions or a politic confession of inability.

However as no definite prohibition had been pronounced upon him he determined to proceed calmly on his way until he encountered a substantial check. When he met McCann again he smiled and waited to be questioned. His account of the interview went the rounds of the undergraduate classes and he was much amused to ob- serve the startled expression of many pairs of eyes which, to judge from their open humiliated astonishment, appeared to behold in him characteristics of a moral Nelson. Maurice lis- tened to his brother's account of his battle with recognised authority but he made no remark upon it.

Stephen himself, in default of another's service, began to annotate the incident copiously, expending every suggestive phase of the interview. Are you bored?


Are you thinking of anything? Why, do you think? Tell us. On the Saturday night which had been fixed for the reading of the paper Stephen found himself facing the benches in the Physics' Theatre. He could not see his brother but in the front benches he noticed Father Butt and McCann and two other priests.

The chairman was Mr Keane, the professor of English composition. When the formal business was ended the chairman called on the essay- ist to read his paper and Stephen stood up. He read it quietly and distinctly, involving every hardihood of thought or expression in an envelope of low innocuous melody.

The first single thought that emerged through a swift mood of confusion was the bright conviction that he should never have wntten his essay. Whelan, the orator of the College, was proposing a vote of thanks and wagging his head in time to ornate phrases. But he at once corrected himself for such a manner of criticism and strove to listen to the words of the orator. It was with some diffidence that he ventured to criticise but it was evident that Mr Daedalus did not understand the beauty of the Attic theatre.

He pointed out that Eschylus was an imperishable name and he predicted that the drama of the Greeks would outlive many civilisations. It stands aloof, alone. He considered that he was speaking for one and all of those present when he said that Mr Daedalus, by reading his frank and earnest essay that night, had con- ferred a benefit on the society.

The general diversion of the night began when these two opening speeches had ended. Stephen was subjected to the fires of six or seven hostile speakers. One speaker, a young man named Magee, said he was surprised that any paper which was conceived m a spirit so hostile to the spirit of religion itself — he did not know if Mr Daedalus understood the true purport of the theory he propounded — should find approval in their society.

Who but the Church had sustained and fostered the artistic temper? Had not the drama owed its very birth to reli- gion? That was indeed a poor theory which tried to bolster up the dull dramas of sinful intrigues and to decry the immortal masterpieces. Mr Magee said he did not know as much about Ibsen as Mr Daedalus did — nor did he want to know anything about him — but he knew that one of his plays was about the sanitary condition of a bathing-place.

https://calorconsulting.es/libraries/immigration/como-rastrear-um-celular-roubado-pelo-numero-do-imei.php If this was drama he did not see why some Dublin Shakespeare should not pen an im- mortal work dealing with the new Main Drainage Scheme of the Dublin Corporation. This speech was the signal for a gen- eral attack. The essay was pronounced a jingle of meaningless words, a clever presentation of vicious principles in the guise of artistic theories, a reproduction of the decadent literary opinions of exhausted European capitals.

The essayist was sup- posed to intend parts of his essay as efforts at practical joking: [ ] everyone knew that Macbeth would be famous when the un- known authors of whom Mr Daedalus was so fond were dead and forgotten. Ancient art loved to uphold the beautiful and the sublime: modern art might select other themes but those who still preserved their mmds uncontaminated by atheistic poisons would know which to choose.

Mr Daedalus might read what authors he liked, of course, but the Irish people had their own glorious literature where they could always find fresh ideals to spur them on to new patriotic endeavours. Mr Daedalus was himself a renegade from the Nationalist ranks: he professed cosmopolitism But a man that was of all countries was of no country — you must first have a nation before you have art.

Mr Daedalus might do as he pleased, kneel at the shrine of Art with a capital A , and rave about obscure authors. In spite of [his] any hypocriti- cal use of the name of a great doctor of the Church Ireland would be on her guard against the insidious theory that art can be separated from morality. It they were to have art let it be moral art, art that elevated, above all, national art. Kindly Irish of the Irish, Neither Saxon nor Italian When the time had come for the Chairman to sum up and to put the motion before the house there was the usual pause.

In this pause Father Butt rose and begged leave to say a few words. The benches applauded with excitement and settled themselves to hear a denunciation ex cathedra. He would be advocatus diaboli and he felt the uncomfortableness of his office all the more since one of the speakers had, not unjustly, described the language in which Mr Daedalus' essay had been [] couched as a language of angels.

Mr Daedalus had contributed a very striking paper, a paper which had filled the house and entertained them by the lively discussion which it had pro- voked. He thought that one or two of the speakers had been unduly severe with the essayist but he was confident that the essayist was well able to take care of himself in the matter of argument. As for the theory itself Father Butt confessed that it was a new sensa- tion for him to hear Thomas Aquinas quoted as an authority on esthetic philosophy.

Esthetic philosophy was a modem branch and if it was anything at all, it was practical. Aquinas had treated slightly of the beautiful but always from a theoretic standpoint. To interpret his statements practically one needed a fuller knowledge than Mr Daedalus could have of his entire theology. At the same time he would not go so far as to say that Mr Daedalus had really, intentionally or unintentionally, misinterpreted Aquinas. But just as an act which may be good m itself may become bad by reason of circumstances so an object intrinsically beautiful may be vitiated by other considera- tions Mr Daedalus had chosen to consider beauty intrinsically and to neglect these other considerations.

But beauty also has its practical side. Mr Daedalus was a passionate admirer of the artistic and such people are not always the most practical peo- ple in the [side] world. Father Butt then reminded his audi- ence of the story of King Alfred and the old woman who was cooking cakes — of the theorist, that is, and of the practical person and concluded by expressing the hope that the essayist would emulate King Alfred and not be too severe on the practi- cal persons who had criticised him.

He thought that the discus- sion on the paper had been very instructive and he was sure they were all thankful to Father Butt for his clear, concise criticism. Mr Daedalus had been somewhat severely handled but he thought that, considering the many excellences of his paper, he the Chairman was well justified in asking them to agree unanimously that the best thanks of this society [are] were due and [are] were hereby tendered to Mr Daedalus for his admirable and instructive paper!

The vote of thanks was passed unanimously but without enthusiasm. Stephen stood up and bowed. It was customary for the essay- ist of the night to avail himself of this occasion for replying to his critics but Stephen contented himself with acknowledging the vote of thanks. Downstairs in the hall the young men were busy putting on their coats and lighting cigarettes. Stephen looked for his father and Maurice but could see them nowhere so he set out for home alone.

At the corner of the Green he came up with a group of four young men. Madden, Cranly, a young medical student named Temple, and a clerk in the Cus- tom-House. I knew it was too good for them. Stephen was touched by this show of friendship but he shook his head as if he wished to change the subject. Besides, he knew that Madden really understood very little of the paper and disapproved of what he understood.

When Stephen came up with the four young men they were strolling very slowly, discussing a projected trip to Wicklow on Easter Monday Stephen walked beside Madden at the edge of the footpath and thus the group advanced abreast along the wide footpath. Stephen listened vaguely Cranly was speaking as was his custom when he walked with other gentle- men of leisure in a language the base of which was Latin and the superstructure of which was composed of Irish, French and German: — Atque ad duas horns in Wicklomo venit.

Cranly at last observed Stephen walking at the edge of the path and said: — Ecce orator qui in malo humore est. Temple was a raw Gipsy-lookmg youth with a shambling gait and a shambling manner of speaking. Do you think that? What did you think of Hughes? Did you think You know the style.

Why was it he an- noyed you? Stephen made a grimace instead of answering: — Bloody cod of a speech, said Temple. Ste- phen answered his gaze, [and met] looking steadily into a pair of bright dark eyes, and at the moment when their eyes met he felt hope. There was nothing in the phrase to encourage; he doubted its justice very much: yet he knew that hope had touched him.

He walked on beside the four young men, pon- dering. No-one said anything and as silence seemed about to set m permanently Madden asked him what he was looking at. Cranly looked at his questioner and then looked back again at the dirty picture, towards which he nodded his head heavily- — What is. For some time she had been m delicate health and the nuns had recommended that she should have home care. Stephen was standing at the little front window that looked towards the mouth of the river when he saw his parents walking from the tram with a thm pale girl walking between them.

But this slight threat of union between father and son had been worn away by the usages of daily life and, by reason of its tenuity and of the [failure] gradual rustiness which had begun to consume the upper station, it bore fewer and feebler messages along it. He was one of those illogical wiseacres with whom no evidence can outreason the first impression.

His wife had fulfilled her duties to him with startling literalness and yet she had never been able to expiate the offence of her blood. Misunderstanding such as this, which is accepted as natural in higher social grades, is wrongly refused recognition in the burgher class where it is often found to issue in feuds of insatiable, narrow hatred. His alliance therewith was the only sin of which, in the entire honesty of his cowardice, he could accuse himself.

Now that he was making for the final decades of life with the painful consciousness of having dimin- ished comfortable goods and of having accumulated uncom- fortable habits he consoled and revenged himself by tirades so prolonged and so often repeated that he was in danger of becoming a monomaniac. The hearth at night was the sacred witness of these revenges, pondered, muttered, growled and execrated. The exception which his clemency had originally made in favour of his wife was soon out of mind and she began to irritate him by her dutiful symbolism.

The great disappoint- ment of his life was accentuated by a lesser and keener loss — the loss of a coveted fame. On account of a certain income and of certain sociable gifts Mr Daedalus had been accustomed to regard himself as the centre of a little world, the darling of a little society.

This position he still strove to maintain but at [no] the cost of a reckless liberality from which his household had to suffer both in deed and in spirit. He imagined that while he strove to retain this infatuating position his home affairs would, through the agency of a son whom he made no effort to under- stand, in some divine manner right themselves This hope when indulged m would sometimes embitter his affection for a son whom he thereby acknowledged as superior but, now that he was led to suspect that his hope was fatuous, an embitter- ment of that affection seemed likely to fix itself permanently among his emotional landmarks.

He was, in fact, sufficiently acute to observe here a covert menace against castellar rights and he would not have been wrong if he had imagined that his son regarded [these] assistance at these tortuous and obscene mono- logues as the tribute exacted by a father for affording a wayward child a base of supplies. Stephen did not consider his parents very seriously. In his opinion they had opened up misleading and unnatural rela- tions between themselves and him and he considered their af- fection for him requited by a studious demeanour towards them and by a genuine goodwill to perform for them a great number of such material services as, in his present state of fierce ideal- ism, he could look upon as trifles.

The only material services he would refuse them were those which he judged to be spirit- ually dangerous and it is as well to admit that this exception all but nullified his charity for he had cultivated an independence of the soul which could brook very few subjections. Divine ex- emplars abetted him in this.

The phrase which preachers elab- orate into a commandment of obedience seemed to him meagre, ironical and inconclusive and the narrative of the life of Jesus did not in any way impress him [with] as the narrative of the life of one who was subject to others. Now his enfranchisement from the discipline of the Church seemed to be coincident with an [natural] in- stinctive return to the Founder thereof and this impulse would have led him perhaps to a consideration of the merits of Protes- tantism had not another natural impulse inclined him to bring even the self-contradictory and the absurd into order.

Another part of the testimonial was on the hall-table and nearly all the young men in the College were signing their names to it. McCann was speaking volubly to a little group and Stephen discovered that the testimonial was the tribute of Dublin University students to the Tsar of Russia. World-wide peace: solution of all disputes by arbitration: general disarm- ing of the nations: these were the benefits for which the stu- dents were returning their thanks. On the hall table there were two photographs, one of the Tsar of Russia, the other of the Editor of the Review of Reviews: both of the photographs were signed by the famous couple.

As McCann was standing side- ways to the light Stephen amused himself in tracing a resem- blance between him and the pacific Emperor whose photo- graph had been taken in profile. The Tsar's air of besotted [ ] Christ moved him to scorn and he turned for support to Cranly who was standing beside the door Cranly wore a very dirty yellow straw hat of the shape of an inverted bucket in the shelter of which his face was composed to a glaucuous [sic] calm. His eyes wandered up to the dinged vertex of the hat — In the name of God what do you wear that hat for? After a little pause he pointed into it and said- — Viginti-uno denarios.

The subject was not discussed further. Cranly produced a lit- tle grey ball from one of his pockets and began to examine it carefully, indenting the surface at many points. Stephen was watching this operation when he heard McCann addressing him. Stephen shook his head. Temple who had been wandenng round the hall in search of sympathy came over at this moment and said to Stephen: — Do you believe in peace? No-one answered him. Stephen shook his head again: — Why not? Did you hear that 7 he said to Cranly and McCann both of whom he seemed to regard as very hard of hearing.

I believe in universal brotherhood. McCann took no heed of the question but continued ad- dressing Stephen. He began an argument in favour of peace [ ] which Temple listened to for a few moments, but, as he spoke with his back to Temple, that revolutionary young man who could not hear him very well began to wander round the hall again. He went off to get more signatures for the Tsar while Cranly and Stephen went out into the garden.

The ball-alley was de- serted so they arranged a match of twenty, Cranly allowing Stephen seven points. Cranly was a strong, accurate player but Stephen thought too heavy of foot to be a brilliant one. While they were playing Madden came into the alley and sat down on an old box. Now, Cranly! Stephen sat down on his heels beside Madden and they both looked up at the figure of Cranly who was holding on to the netting and making signals to one of the gardeners from the top of the wall. Madden took out smoking matenals: — Are you and Cranly long here?

I heard him speaking of you to someone. The two were leaning over the marble staircase of the Library, idly watching the people coming m and going out. The big windows m front of them were thrown and the mild air [entered] came through: [them] — Do you like the services of Holy Week?

No-one knows where he comes from: he has no connection with the mass. He comes out by himself and opens a book at the right hand side of the altar and when he has read the lesson he closes the book and goes away as he came. He chanted the opening of the lesson in mezza voce and his voice went flowing down the staircase and round the circular hall, each tone coming back upon the ear enriched and sof- tened.

He is what that chalk-faced chap was for me, advocatus diaboli. Jesus has no friend on Good Fri- day. Do you know what kind of a figure rises before me on Good Friday? Jesus is on strange terms with that father of his. His father seems to me something of a snob. Do you notice that he never notices his son publicly but once — when Jesus is in full dress on the top of Thabor? There are too many mammas and daughters going chapel-hunting. The chapel smells too much of flowers and hot candles and women. Besides girls praying put me off my stroke. The bells ring and the service is full of irrelevant alleluias.!

This young man, who was named Glynn, was unable to keep his head steady as he suffered from inherited nervousness and his hands trembled very much whenever he tried to do anything with them. He spoke with nervous hesitations and seemed to obtain satisfac- tion only m the methodic stamp of his feet.

He usually carried an umbrella and his conversation was for the most part a translation of commonplaces into poly- syllabic phrases. This habit he cultivated partly because it saved him from the inconvenience of cerebrating at the normal rate and perhaps because he considered it was the channel best fitted for his peculiar humour. Well, yes. On Spy Wednesday night Cranly and Stephen attended the office of Tenebrae in the Pro-Cathedral They went round to the back of the altar and knelt behind the students from Clon- liffe who were chanting the office.

He said to Cranly that the chapel with its polished benches and incandescent lamps re- minded him of an insurance office.


Cranly accompanied Stephen part of the way home and explained very minutely, using his large hands for the purpose, all the merits of Wicklow bacon. He believed that the pig was much maligned he said there was a lot of money to be made out of pigs He instanced all the Germans who made small fortunes m Dublin by opening pork- shops. Dillon S. Stephen felt very solitary and purposeless as he traversed empty street after empty street and, without being keenly aware of it, he began to pro- ceed in the direction of Gardiner St It was a warm sunless day and the city wore an air of sacred torpor As he passed under S.

He entered the Church m Gardiner St and, passing by without honouring the table of the lay-brother who roused himself from a stupefied doze in expectation of silver, arrived in the right wing of the chapel. The chapel was crowded from altar to doors with a well-dressed multitude. Not very far from him in the shelter of one of the pillars Stephen saw his father and two friends. His father had directed his eyeglass upon the distant choir and his face wore an expression of impressed piety.

The choir was executing some florid tracery which was intended as an expression of mour ning The walk, the heat, the crush, the darkness of the chapel over- came Stephen and, leaning against the lintel of the door, he half closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift. Rhymes began to make themselves m his head He perceived dimly that a white figure had ascended the pulpit and he heard a voice saying Consummatum est. He recog- nised the voice and he knew that Father Dillon was preaching on the Seventh Word.

He took no trouble to hear the sermon but every few minutes he heard a new translation of the Word rolling over the congregation. He wagered with himself as to what word the preacher would select. Stephen was borne along in the crowd and everywhere about him he heard the same murmurs of admiration and saw the same expressions of satisfaction, discreet murmurs, subdued expressions. The special charges of the Jesuits were congratulating themselves and one another on a well-spent Good Friday.

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To avoid his father Stephen slipped round towards the body of the chapel and waited in the central porch while the com- mon people came shuffling and stumbling past him. Here also there was admiration, satisfaction. As the time of the Sum- mer Examinations was approaching Maurice and Stephen were both supposed to be hard at work. Maurice retired to his room carefully every evening after tea-time and Stephen repaired to the Library where he was supposed to be engaged in senous work. As a matter of fact he read little or nothing in the Li- brary.

He talked with Cranly by the hour either at a table, or, if removed by the librarian or by the indignant glances of stu- dents, standing at the top of the staircase. At ten o'clock when the library closed the two returned together through the central streets exchanging banalities with the other students.