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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?>
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<TEI>
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<title type="uniform">Portrait of the artist as a young man</title>
<title type="main">A portrait of the artist as a young man [Electronic resource] / James Joyce</title>
<author>Joyce, James, 1882-1941</author>
<respStmt>
<resp>creation of machine-readable version</resp>
<name>Gabler, Hans Walter, 1938-</name>
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<seg type="designation">Text data</seg>
<seg type="size">(1 file : ca. 470 kilobytes)</seg>
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<authority>[Depositor details removed]<date>1992-03-11</date></authority>
<distributor>
<orgName type="OTA">University of Oxford Text Archive</orgName>
<placeName>Oxford</placeName>
<address>
<orgName type="OTA">University of Oxford Text Archive</orgName>
<orgName type="OUCS">Oxford University Computing
Services</orgName>
<addrLine>13 Banbury Road</addrLine>
<addrLine>Oxford</addrLine>
<addrLine>OX2 6NN</addrLine>
</address>
<email>[email protected]</email>
</distributor>
<idno type="ota">1606</idno>
<availability n="OTA-new" status="free" rend="visible">
<licence target="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/">
Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
</licence>
</availability>
</publicationStmt>
<notesStmt>
<note>Mode of access: Online. OTA website.</note>
<note>Title proper taken from electronic text</note>
<note>Unknown markup version of this text (1606) available at 1359</note>
</notesStmt>
<sourceDesc>
<biblFull>
<titleStmt>
<title>A portrait of the artist as a young man</title>
<author>Joyce, James, 1882-1941</author>
<editor>Anderson, Chester G.</editor>
<editor>Ellmann, Richard, 1918-</editor>
</titleStmt>
<publicationStmt>
<publisher>Viking Press</publisher>
<pubPlace>New York</pubPlace>
<date>1964</date>
</publicationStmt>
<notesStmt>
<note>First ed. 1904</note>
</notesStmt>
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<bibl>Library of Congress Subject Headings</bibl>
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<term type="genre">Novels</term>
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<term type="genre">Irish literature -- 20th century</term>
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<change><date>2015-10-02</date><label>Editor</label><name>Reeve, Jonathan</name>Began creation of open TEI edition. Further revisions logged in git.
</change>
<change><date>2015-04-07</date><label>Cataloguer</label><name>Wynne, Martin</name>Availability and licence changed to freely available under CC, following expiry of author copyright at the end of 2011.
</change>
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<body>
<div n="1" type="chapter">
<div n="1.1" type="section">
<epigraph xml:lang="la">
<cit>
<quote><emph>Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes.</emph></quote>
<bibl>- Ovid, <emph>Metamorphoses</emph>, VIII, 188</bibl>
</cit>
</epigraph>
<head><l>I</l></head>
<p>Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was
a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow
that was coming down along the road met a nicens little
boy named baby tuckoo .... </p>
<p>His father told him that story: his father looked at him
through a glass: he had a hairy face. </p>
<p>He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road
where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon platt. </p>
<lg type="song">
<l>O, the wild rose blossoms</l>
<l>On the little green place.</l>
</lg>
<p>He sang that song. That was his song. </p>
<lg type="song">
<l>O, the green wothe botheth.</l>
</lg>
<p>When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His
mother put on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell. </p>
<p>His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on
the piano the sailor's hornpipe for him to dance. He danced: </p>
<lg type="song">
<l>Tralala lala</l>
<l>Tralala tralaladdy</l>
<l>Tralala lala</l>
<l>Tralala lala.</l>
</lg>
<p>Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older than his
father and mother but uncle Charles was older than Dante. </p>
<p>Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the
maroon velvet back was for Michael Davitt and the brush with
the green velvet back was for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou
every time he brought her a piece of tissue paper. </p>
<p>The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different
father and mother. They were Eileen's father and mother.
When they were grown up he was going to marry Eileen. He
hid under the table. His mother said: </p>
<p><said who="Mary Dedalus">—O, Stephen will apologise. </said></p>
<p>Dante said: </p>
<p><said who="Dante">—O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes. </said></p>
<lg>
<l>Pull out his eyes,</l>
<l>Apologise,</l>
<l>Apologise,</l>
<l>Pull out his eyes.</l>
<l>Apologise,</l>
<l>Pull out his eyes,</l>
<l>Pull out his eyes,</l>
<l>Apologise.</l>
</lg>
<milestone unit="section" rend="asterixes"/>
</div> <!-- 1.1 -->
<div n="1.2" type="section">
<p>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 of his prefect, out of the reach of the rude feet,
feigning to run now and then. He felt his body small and weak
amid the throng of players and his eyes were weak and watery.
Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of the
third line all the fellows said. </p>
<p>Rody Kickham was a decent fellow but Nasty Roche was a
stink. Rody Kickham had greaves in his number and a hamper
in the refectory. Nasty Roche had big hands. He called the
Friday pudding dog-in-the-blanket. And one day he had
asked: </p>
<p><said who="Nasty Roche">—What is your name? </said></p>
<p>Stephen had answered: </p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—Stephen Dedalus. </said></p>
<p>Then Nasty Roche had said: </p>
<p><said who="Nasty Roche">—What kind of a name is that? </said></p>
<p>And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty
Roche had asked: </p>
<p><said who="Nasty Roche">—What is your father? </said></p>
<p>Stephen had answered: </p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—A gentleman. </said></p>
<p>Then Nasty Roche had asked: </p>
<p><said who="Nasty Roche">—Is he a magistrate? </said></p>
<p>He crept about from point to point on the fringe of his line,
making little runs now and then. But his hands were bluish
with cold. He kept his hands in the sidepockets of his belted
grey suit. That was a belt round his pocket. And belt was also
to give a fellow a belt. One day a fellow had said to Cantwell: </p>
<p><said who="a fellow">—I'd give you such a belt in a second. </said></p>
<p>Cantwell had answered: </p>
<p><said who="Cantwell">—Go and fight your match. Give Cecil Thunder a belt. I'd
like to see you. He'd give you a toe in the rump for yourself.</said></p>
<p>That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him
not to speak with the rough boys in the college. Nice mother!
The first day in the hall of the castle when she had said goodbye
she had put up her veil double to her nose to kiss him:
and her nose and eyes were red. But he had pretended not to
see that she was going to cry. She was a nice mother but she
was not so nice when she cried. And his father had given him
two <seg type="neologism">fiveshilling</seg> pieces for pocket money. And his father had
told him if he wanted anything to write home to him and,
whatever he did, never to peach on a fellow. Then at the door
of the castle the rector had shaken hands with his father and
mother, his soutane fluttering in the breeze, and the car had
driven off with his father and mother on it. They had cried to
him from the car, waving their hands: </p>
<said who="Mary Dedalus, Simon Dedalus">
<p>—Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye! </p>
<p>—Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye! </p>
</said>
<p>He was caught in the whirl of a scrimmage and, fearful of
the flashing eyes and muddy boots, bent down to look through
the legs. The fellows were struggling and groaning and their
legs were rubbing and kicking and stamping. Then Jack Lawton's
yellow boots dodged out the ball and all the other boots
and legs ran after. He ran after them a little way and then
stopped. It was useless to run on. Soon they would be going
home for the holidays. After supper in the <seg type="neologism">studyhall</seg>
he would change the number pasted up inside his desk from <seg type="neologism">seventyseven</seg>
to <seg type="neologism">seventysix</seg>. </p>
<p>It would be better to be in the <seg type="neologism">studyhall</seg>
than out there in the cold. The sky was pale and cold but there were lights in
the castle. He wondered from which window Hamilton Rowan
had thrown his hat on the haha and had there been flowerbeds
at that time under the windows. One day when he had been
called to the castle the butler had shown him the marks of the
soldiers' slugs in the wood of the door and had given him a
piece of shortbread that the community ate. It was nice and
warm to see the lights in the castle. It was like something in a
book. Perhaps <place><location><geo>52.640379 -1.132563</geo></location><placeName>Leicester Abbey</placeName></place> was like that. And there were
nice sentences in Doctor Cornwell's Spelling Book. They were
like poetry but they were only sentences to learn the spelling
from. </p>
<lg>
<l>Wolsey died in <place><location><geo>52.640379 -1.132563</geo></location><placeName>Leicester Abbey</placeName></place></l>
<l>Where the abbots buried him.</l>
<l>Canker is a disease of plants,</l>
<l>Cancer one of animals.</l>
</lg>
<p>It would be nice to lie on the hearthrug before the fire,
leaning his head upon his hands, and think on those sentences.
He shivered as if he had cold slimy water next his skin. That
was mean of Wells to shoulder him into the square ditch
because he would not swop his little <seg type="neologism">snuffbox</seg>
for Wells's seasoned hacking chestnut, the conqueror of forty. How cold
and slimy the water had been! A fellow had once seen a big rat
jump into the scum. 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 <place><location><geo>-18.615949 41.280858</geo></location><placeName>Mozambique Channel</placeName></place> was and what was
<place><location><geo>38.627003 -90.199404</geo></location><placeName>the longest river in America</placeName></place> and what was the name of the
highest mountain in the moon. Father Arnall knew more than
Dante because he was a priest but both his father and uncle
Charles said that Dante was a clever woman and a <seg type="neologism">wellread</seg>
woman. And when Dante made that noise after dinner and
then put up her hand to her mouth: that was heartburn. </p>
<p>A voice cried far out on the playground: </p>
<said who="a voice">
<p>—All in! </p>
</said>
<p>Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines: </p>
<said who="other voices from the lower and third lines">
<p>—All in! All in! </p>
</said>
<p>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 without even answering the fellow. Simon Moonan
told him not to because the prefect was looking. The fellow
turned to Simon Moonan and said: </p>
<p><said who="a fellow">—We all know why you speak. You are McGlade's suck.</said></p>
<p>Suck was a queer word. The fellow called Simon Moonan
that name because Simon Moonan used to tie the prefect's
false sleeves behind his back and the prefect used to let on to
be angry. But the sound was ugly. Once he had washed his
hands in the lavatory of the <place><location><geo>53.342872 -6.260651</geo></location><placeName>Wicklow Hotel</placeName></place> and his father
pulled the stopper up by the chain after and the dirty water
went down through the hole in the basin. And when it had all
gone down slowly the hole in the basin had made a sound like
that: suck. Only louder. </p>
<p>To remember that and the white look of the lavatory made
him feel cold and then hot. There were two cocks that you
turned and water came out: cold and hot. He felt cold and
then a little hot: and he could see the names printed on the
cocks. That was a very queer thing. </p>
<p>And the air in the corridor chilled him too. It was queer and
wettish. But soon the gas would be lit and in burning it made a
light noise like a little song. Always the same: and when the
fellows stopped talking in the playroom you could hear it. </p>
<p>It was the hour for sums. Father Arnall wrote a hard sum
on the board and then said: </p>
<p><said who="Father Arnall">—Now then, who will win? Go ahead, York! Go ahead,
Lancaster!</said></p>
<p>Stephen tried his best but the sum was too hard and he felt
confused. The little silk badge with the white rose on it that
was pinned on the breast of his jacket began to flutter. He was
no good at sums but he tried his best so that York might not
lose. Father Arnall's face looked very black but he was not in
a wax: he was laughing. Then Jack Lawton cracked his fingers
and Father Arnall looked at his copybook and said: </p>
<p><said who="Father Arnall">—Right. Bravo Lancaster! The red rose wins. Come on
now, York! Forge ahead!</said></p>
<p>Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge
with the red rose on it looked very rich because he had a blue
sailor top on. Stephen felt his own face red too, thinking of all
the bets about who would get first place in elements, Jack
Lawton or he. Some weeks Jack Lawton got the card for first
and some weeks he got the card for first. His white silk badge
fluttered and fluttered as he worked at the next sum and heard
Father Arnall's voice. Then all his eagerness passed away and
he felt his face quite cool. He thought his face must be white
because it felt so cool. He could not get out the answer for the
sum but it did not matter. White roses and red roses: those
were beautiful colours to think of. And the cards for first place
and second place and third place were beautiful colours too:
pink and cream and lavender. Lavender and cream and pink
roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps a wild rose might be
like those colours and he remembered the song about the wild
rose blossoms on the little green place. But you could not have
a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could. </p>
<p>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 apron, poured into his cup. He wondered
whether the scullion's apron was damp too or whether all
white things were cold and damp. Nasty Roche and Saurin
drank cocoa that their people sent them in tins. They said they
could not drink the tea; that it was hogwash. Their fathers
were magistrates, the fellows said. </p>
<p>All the boys seemed to him very strange. They had all
fathers and mothers and different clothes and voices. He
longed to be at home and lay his head on his mother's lap. But
he could not: and so he longed for the play and study and
prayers to be over and to be in bed. </p>
<p>He drank another cup of hot tea and Fleming said: </p>
<p><said who="Fleming">—What's up? Have you a pain or what's up with you? </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—I don't know, Stephen said. </said></p>
<p><said who="Fleming">—Sick in your breadbasket, Fleming said, because your
face looks white. It will go away. </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—O yes, Stephen said. </said></p>
<p>But he was not sick there. He thought that he was sick in
his heart if you could be sick in that place. Fleming was very
decent to ask him. He wanted to cry. He leaned his elbows on
the table and shut and opened the flaps of his ears. Then he
heard the noise of the refectory every time he opened the flaps
of his ears. It made a roar like a train at night. And when he
closed the flaps the roar was shut off like a train going into a
tunnel. That night at <place><location><geo>53.277911 -6.105844</geo></location><placeName>Dalkey</placeName></place> the train had roared like that and
then, when it went into the tunnel, the roar stopped. He closed
his eyes and the train went on, roaring and then stopping;
roaring again, stopping. It was nice to hear it roar and stop
and then roar out of the tunnel again and then stop. </p>
<p>Then the higher line fellows began to come down along the
matting in the middle of the refectory, Paddy Rath and Jimmy
Magee and the Spaniard who was allowed to smoke cigars and
the little Portuguese who wore the woolly cap. And then the
lower line tables and the tables of the third line. And every
single fellow had a different way of walking. </p>
<p>He sat in a corner of the playroom pretending to watch a
game of dominos and once or twice he was able to hear for an
instant the little song of the gas. The prefect was at the door
with some boys and Simon Moonan was knotting his false
sleeves. He was telling them something about <place><location><geo>52.888640 -8.428450</geo></location><placeName>Tullabeg</placeName></place>. </p>
<p>Then he went away from the door and Wells came over to
Stephen and said: </p>
<p><said who="Wells">—Tell us, Dedalus, do you kiss your mother before you go
to bed? </said></p>
<p>Stephen answered: </p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—I do. </said></p>
<p>Wells turned to the other fellows and said: </p>
<p><said who="Wells">—O, I say, here's a fellow says he kisses his mother every
night before he goes to bed. </said></p>
<p>The other fellows stopped their game and turned round,
laughing. Stephen blushed under their eyes and said: </p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—I do not. </said></p>
<p>Wells said: </p>
<p><said who="Wells">—O, I say, here's a fellow says he doesn't kiss his mother
before he goes to bed. </said></p>
<p>They all laughed again. Stephen tried to laugh with them.
He felt his whole body hot and confused in a moment. What
was the right answer to the question? He had given two and
still Wells laughed. But Wells must know the right answer for
he was in third of grammar. He tried to think of Wells's
mother but he did not dare to raise his eyes to Wells's face. He
did not like Wells's face. It was Wells who had shouldered him
into the square ditch the day before because he would not
swop his little <seg type="neologism">snuffbox</seg> for Wells's
seasoned hacking chestnut, the conqueror of forty. It was a
mean thing to do; all the fellows said it was. And how cold
and slimy the water had been! And a fellow had once seen a big
rat jump plop into the scum. </p>
<p>The cold slime of the ditch covered his whole body; and,
when the bell rang for study and the lines filed out of the
playrooms, he felt the cold air of the corridor and staircase
inside his clothes. He still tried to think what was the right
answer. Was it right to kiss his mother or wrong to kiss his
mother? What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up
like that to say goodnight and then his mother put her face
down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek;
her lips were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a
tiny little noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two
faces? </p>
<p>Sitting in the <seg type="neologism">studyhall</seg> he opened the lid of
his desk and changed the number pasted up inside from <seg type="neologism">seventyseven</seg>
to <seg type="neologism">seventysix</seg>. But the Christmas vacation
was very far away: but one time it would come because the earth
moved round always. </p>
<p>There was a picture of the earth on the first page of his
geography: a big ball in the middle of clouds. Fleming had a
box of crayons and one night during free study he had coloured
the earth green and the clouds maroon. That was like
the two brushes in Dante's press, the brush with the green
velvet back for Parnell and the brush with the maroon velvet
back for Michael Davitt. But he had not told Fleming to
colour them those colours. Fleming had done it himself. </p>
<p>He opened the geography to study the lesson; but he could
not learn the names of places in America. Still they were all
different places that had those different names. They were all
in different countries and the countries were in continents and
the continents were in the world and the world was in the
universe. </p>
<p>He turned to the flyleaf of the geography and read what he
had written there: himself, his name and where he was. </p>
<lg>
<l>Stephen Dedalus</l>
<l>Class of Elements</l>
<l><place><location><geo>53.310769 -6.684716</geo></location><placeName>Clongowes Wood College</placeName></place></l>
<l><place><location><geo>53.251067 -6.665231 </geo></location><placeName>Sallins</placeName></place></l>
<l>County Kildare</l>
<l>Ireland</l>
<l>Europe</l>
<l>The World</l>
<l>The Universe</l>
</lg>
<p>That was in his writing: and Fleming one night for a cod
had written on the opposite page: </p>
<lg>
<l>Stephen Dedalus is my name,</l>
<l>Ireland is my nation.</l>
<l><place><location><geo>53.310769 -6.684716</geo></location><placeName>Clongowes</placeName></place>is my <seg type="neologism">dwellingplace</seg></l>
<l>And heaven my expectation.</l>
</lg>
<p>He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry.
Then he read the flyleaf from the bottom to the top till he
came to his own name. That was he: and he read down the
page again. What was after the universe? Nothing. But was
there anything round the universe to show where it stopped
before the nothing place began? It could not be a wall but
there could be a thin thin line there all round everything. It
was very big to think about everything and everywhere. Only
God could do that. He tried to think what a big thought that
must be but he could think only of God. God was God's name
just as his name was Stephen. <emph>Dieu</emph> was the French for God
and that was God's name too; and when anyone prayed to
God and said <emph>Dieu</emph> then God knew at once that it was a
French person that was praying. But though there were
different names for God in all the different languages in the
world and God understood what all the people who prayed
said in their different languages still God remained always the
same God and God's real name was God. </p>
<p>It made him very tired to think that way. It made him feel
his head very big. He turned over the flyleaf and looked
wearily at the green round earth in the middle of the maroon
clouds. He wondered which was right, to be for the green or
for the maroon, because Dante had ripped the green velvet
back off the brush that was for Parnell one day with her scissors
and had told him that Parnell was a bad man. He wondered
if they were arguing at home about that. That was called
politics. 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. </p>
<p>It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant
and that he did not know where the universe ended. He felt
small and weak. When would he be like the fellows in poetry
and rhetoric? They had big voices and big boots and they
studied trigonometry. That was very far away. First came the
vacation and then the next term and then vacation again and
then again another term and then again the vacation. It was
like a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the
noise of the boys eating in the refectory when you opened and
closed the flaps of the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; noise,
stop. How far away it was! It was better to go to bed to sleep.
Only prayers in the chapel and then bed. He shivered and
yawned. It would be lovely in bed after the sheets got a bit
hot. First they were so cold to get into. He shivered to think
how cold they were first. But then they got hot and then he
could sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Night
prayers and then bed: he shivered and wanted to yawn. It
would be lovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping
up from the cold shivering sheets, warmer and warmer till
he felt warm all over, ever so warm; ever so warm and yet he
shivered a little and still wanted to yawn. </p>
<p>The bell rang for night prayers and he filed out of the <seg type="neologism">studyhall</seg>
after the others and down the staircase and along the
corridors to the chapel. The corridors were darkly lit and the
chapel was darkly lit. Soon all would be dark and sleeping.
There was cold night air in the chapel and the marbles were
the colour the sea was at night. The sea was cold day and
night: but it was colder at night. It was cold and dark under
the seawall beside his father's house. But the kettle would be
on the hob to make punch. </p>
<p>The prefect of the chapel prayed above his head and his
memory knew the responses: </p>
<lg type="prayer">
<l>O Lord, open our lips</l>
<l>And our mouth shall announce Thy praise.</l>
<l>Incline unto our aid, O God!</l>
<l>O Lord, make haste to help us!</l>
</lg>
<p>There was a cold night smell in the chapel. But it was a holy
smell. It was not like the smell of the old peasants who knelt at
the back of the chapel at Sunday mass. That was a smell of air
and rain and turf and corduroy. But they were very holy
peasants. They breathed behind him on his neck and sighed as
they prayed. They lived in <place><location><geo>53.293785 -6.687040</geo></location><placeName>Clane</placeName></place>, a fellow said: there were
little cottages there and he had seen a woman standing at the
<seg type="neologism">halfdoor</seg> of a cottage with a child in her arms, as the cars had
come past from <place><location><geo>53.251067 -6.665231 </geo></location><placeName>Sallins</placeName></place>. It would be lovely to sleep for one
night in that cottage before the fire of smoking turf, in the
dark lit by the fire, in the warm dark, breathing the smell of
the peasants, air and rain and turf and corduroy. But, O, the
road there between the trees was dark! You would be lost in
the dark. It made him afraid to think of how it was. </p>
<p>He heard the voice of the prefect of the chapel saying the
last prayer. He prayed it too against the dark outside under
the trees. </p>
<p>
<seg type="prayer">
Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this habitation and
drive away from it all the snares of the enemy. May Thy
holy angels dwell herein to preserve us in peace and
may Thy blessing be always upon us through Christ, Our
Lord. Amen.
</seg>
</p>
<p>His fingers trembled as he undressed himself in the dormitory.
He told his fingers to hurry up. He had to undress and
then kneel and say his own prayers and be in bed before the
gas was lowered so that he might not go to hell when he died.
He rolled his stockings off and put on his nightshirt quickly
and knelt trembling at his bedside and repeated his prayers
quickly quickly, fearing that the gas would go down. He felt
his shoulders shaking as he murmured: </p>
<lg type="prayer">
<l>God bless my father and my mother and spare them to me!</l>
<l>God bless my little brothers and sisters and spare them to me!</l>
<l>God bless Dante and uncle Charles and spare them to me!</l>
</lg>
<p>He blessed himself and climbed quickly into bed and,
tucking the end of the nightshirt under his feet, curled himself
together under the cold white sheets, shaking and trembling.
But he would not go to hell when he died; and the shaking
would stop. A voice bade the boys in the dormitory goodnight.
He peered out for an instant over the coverlet and saw the
yellow curtains round and before his bed that shut him off on
all sides. The light was lowered quietly. </p>
<p>The prefect's shoes went away. Where? Down the staircase
and along the corridors or to his room at the end? He saw the
dark. Was it true about the black dog that walked there at
night with eyes as big as <seg type="neologism">carriagelamps</seg>?
They said it was the ghost of a murderer. A long shiver of fear flowed
over his body. He saw the dark entrance hall of the castle. Old servants
in old dress were in the <seg type="neologism">ironingroom</seg> above the
staircase. It was long ago. The old servants were quiet. There was a fire
there but the hall was still dark. A figure came up the staircase
from the hall. He wore the white cloak of a marshal; his face
was pale and strange; he held his hand pressed to his side. He
looked out of strange eyes at the old servants. They looked at
him and saw their master's face and cloak and knew that he
had received his <seg type="neologism">deathwound</seg>. But only the dark was where
they looked: only dark silent air. Their master had received
his <seg type="neologism">deathwound</seg> on the battlefield of <place><location><geo>50.075538 14.437800</geo></location><placeName>Prague</placeName></place> far away over the
sea. He was standing on the field; his hand was pressed to his
side; his face was pale and strange and he wore the white
cloak of a marshal. </p>
<p>O how cold and strange it was to think of that! All the dark
was cold and strange. There were pale strange faces there,
great eyes like <seg type="neologism">carriagelamps</seg>. They were the ghosts of murderers,
the figures of marshals who had received their <seg type="neologism">deathwound</seg>
on battlefields far away over the sea. What did they
wish to say that their faces were so strange? </p>
<p>
<seg type="prayer">
Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this habitation and drive
away from it all ...
</seg>
</p>
<p>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! </p>
<p>Hurray! Hurray! Hurray! </p>
<p>The cars drove past the chapel and all caps were raised.
They drove merrily along the country roads. The drivers
pointed with their whips to <place><location><geo>53.262617 -6.666295</geo></location><placeName>Bodenstown</placeName></place>. The fellows cheered.
They passed the farmhouse of the Jolly Farmer. Cheer after
cheer after cheer. Through <place><location><geo>53.293785 -6.687040</geo></location><placeName>Clane</placeName></place> they drove, cheering and
cheered. The peasant women stood at the <seg type="neologism">halfdoors</seg>, the men
stood here and there. The lovely smell there was in the wintry
air: the smell of Clane: rain and wintry air and turf smouldering
and corduroy. </p>
<p>The train was full of fellows: a long long chocolate train
with cream facings. The guards went to and fro opening,
closing, locking, unlocking the doors. They were men in dark
blue and silver; they had silvery whistles and their keys made
a quick music: click, click: click, click. </p>
<p>And the train raced on over the flat lands and past the <place><location><geo>53.230556 -6.866389</geo></location><placeName>Hill
of Allen</placeName></place>. The <seg type="neologism">telegraphpoles</seg> were passing, passing. The train
went on and on. It knew. There were coloured lanterns in the
hall of his father's house and ropes of green branches. There
were holly and ivy round the <seg type="neologism">pierglass</seg> and holly and ivy, green
and red, twined round the chandeliers. There were red holly
and green ivy round the old portraits on the walls. Holly and
ivy for him and for Christmas. </p>
<p>Lovely ... </p>
<p>All the people. Welcome home, Stephen! Noises of welcome.
His mother kissed him. Was that right? His father was a
marshal now: higher than a magistrate. Welcome home,
Stephen! </p>
<p>Noises ... </p>
<p>There was a noise of <seg type="neologism">curtainrings</seg> running back along the
rods, of water being splashed in the basins. There was a noise
of rising and dressing and washing in the dormitory: a noise of
clapping of hands as the prefect went up and down telling the
fellows to look sharp. A pale sunlight showed the yellow
curtains drawn back, the tossed beds. His bed was very hot
and his face and body were very hot. </p>
<p>He got up and sat on the side of his bed. He was weak. He
tried to pull on his stocking. It had a horrid rough feel. The
sunlight was queer and cold. </p>
<p>Fleming said: </p>
<p><said who="Fleming">—Are you not well? </said></p>
<p>He did not know; and Fleming said: </p>
<p><said who="Fleming">—Get back into bed. I'll tell McGlade you're not well. </said></p>
<p><said who="Fleming">—He's sick. </said></p>
<p><said who="">—Who is? </said></p>
<p><said who="Fleming">—Tell McGlade. </said></p>
<p><said who="">—Get back into bed. </said></p>
<p><said who="">—Is he sick? </said></p>
<p>A fellow held his arms while he loosened the stocking
clinging to his foot and climbed back into the hot bed. </p>
<p>He crouched down between the sheets, glad of their tepid
glow. He heard the fellows talk among themselves about him
as they dressed for mass. It was a mean thing to do, to shoulder
him into the square ditch, they were saying. </p>
<p>Then their voices ceased; they had gone. A voice at his bed
said: </p>
<p><said who="Wells">—Dedalus, don't spy on us, sure you won't? </said></p>
<p>Wells's face was there. He looked at it and saw that Wells
was afraid. </p>
<p><said who="Wells">—I didn't mean to. Sure you won't? </said></p>
<p>His father had told him, whatever he did, never to peach on
a fellow. He shook his head and answered no and felt glad.
Wells said: </p>
<p><said who="Wells">—I didn't mean to, honour bright. It was only for cod. I'm
sorry. </said></p>
<p>The face and the voice went away. Sorry because he was
afraid. Afraid that it was some disease. Canker was a disease
of plants and cancer one of animals: or another different. That
was a long time ago then out on the playgrounds in the evening
light, creeping from point to point on the fringe of his
line, a heavy bird flying low through the grey light. Leicester
Abbey lit up. Wolsey died there. The abbots buried him
themselves. </p>
<p>It was not Wells's face, it was the prefect's. He was not
foxing. No, no: he was sick really. He was not foxing. And he
felt the prefect's hand on his forehead; and he felt his forehead
warm and damp against the prefect's cold damp hand. That
was the way a rat felt, slimy and damp and cold. Every rat had
two eyes to look out of. Sleek slimy coats, little little feet
tucked up to jump, black shiny eyes to look out of. They could
understand how to jump. 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. </p>
<p>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: </p>
<p><said who="the prefect">—We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have
the collywobbles! Terrible thing to have the collywobbles!
How we wobble when we have the collywobbles! </said></p>
<p>He was very decent to say that. That was all to make him
laugh. But he could not laugh because his cheeks and lips
were all shivery: and then the prefect had to laugh by himself. </p>
<p>The prefect cried: </p>
<p><said who="the prefect">—Quick march! Hayfoot! Strawfoot! </said></p>
<p>They went together down the staircase and along the corridor
and past the bath. As he passed the door he remembered
with a vague fear the warm <seg type="neologism">turfcoloured</seg> bogwater, the warm
moist air, the noise of plunges, the smell of the towels, like
medicine. </p>
<p>Brother Michael was standing at the door of the infirmary
and from the door of the dark cabinet on his right came a
smell like medicine. That came from the bottles on the
shelves. The prefect spoke to Brother Michael and Brother
Michael answered and called the prefect sir. He had reddish
hair mixed with grey and a queer look. It was queer that he
would always be a brother. It was queer too that you could
not call him sir because he was a brother and had a different
kind of look. Was he not holy enough or why could he not
catch up on the others? </p>
<p>There were two beds in the room and in one bed there was
a fellow: and when they went in he called out: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Hello! It's young Dedalus! What's up? </said></p>
<p><said who="Brother Michael">—The sky is up, Brother Michael said. </said></p>
<p>He was a fellow out of the third of grammar and, while
Stephen was undressing, he asked Brother Michael to bring
him a round of buttered toast. </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Ah, do! he said. </said></p>
<p><said who="Brother Michael">—Butter you up! said Brother Michael. You'll get your
walking papers in the morning when the doctor comes. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Will I? the fellow said. I'm not well yet. </said></p>
<p>Brother Michael repeated: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—You'll get your walking papers, I tell you. </said></p>
<p>He bent down to rake the fire. He had a long back like the
long back of a <seg type="neologism">tramhorse</seg>. He shook the poker gravely and
nodded his head at the fellow out of third of grammar. </p>
<p>Then Brother Michael went away and after a while the
fellow out of third of grammar turned in towards the wall and
fell asleep. </p>
<p>That was the infirmary. He was sick then. Had they written
home to tell his mother and father? But it would be quicker
for one of the priests to go himself to tell them. Or he would
write a letter for the priest to bring. </p>
<lg type="letter">
<l>Dear Mother</l>
<l>I am sick. I want to go home. Please come and take me
home. I am in the infirmary.</l>
<l>Your fond son,</l>
<l>Stephen</l>
</lg>
<p>How far away they were! There was cold sunlight outside
the window. He wondered if he would die. You could die just
the same on a sunny day. He might die before his mother
came. Then he would have a dead mass in the chapel like the
way the fellows had told him it was when Little had died. All
the fellows would be at the mass, dressed in black, all with sad
faces. Wells too would be there but no fellow would look at
him. The rector would be there in a cope of black and gold
and there would be tall yellow candles on the altar and round
the catafalque. And they would carry the coffin out of the
chapel slowly and he would be buried in the little graveyard of
the community off the main avenue of limes. And Wells would
be sorry then for what he had done. And the bell would toll
slowly. </p>
<p>He could hear the tolling. He said over to himself the song
that Brigid had taught him. </p>
<lg type="song">
<l>Dingdong! The castle bell!</l>
<l>Farewell, my mother!</l>
<l>Bury me in the old churchyard</l>
<l>Beside my eldest brother.</l>
<l>My coffin shall be black,</l>
<l>Six angels at my back,</l>
<l>Two to sing and two to pray</l>
<l>And two to carry my soul away.</l>
</lg>
<p>How beautiful and sad that was! How beautiful the words
were where they said <emph>Bury me in the old churchyard</emph>! A
tremor passed over his body. How sad and how beautiful! He
wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so
beautiful and sad, like music. The bell! The bell! Farewell! O
farewell! </p>
<p>The cold sunlight was weaker and Brother Michael was
standing at his bedside with a bowl of <seg type="neologism">beeftea</seg>.
He was glad for his mouth was hot and dry. He could hear them playing on the
playgrounds. And the day was going on in the college just as if
he were there. </p>
<p>Then Brother Michael was going away and the fellow out of
third of grammar told him to be sure and come back and tell
him all the news in the paper. He told Stephen that his name
was Athy and that his father kept a lot of racehorses that were
spiffing jumpers and that his father would give a good tip to
Brother Michael any time he wanted it because Brother Michael
was very decent and always told him the news out of the
paper they got every day up in the castle. There was every
kind of news in the paper: accidents, shipwrecks, sports and
politics. </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Now it is all about politics in the paper, he said. Do your
people talk about that too? </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—Yes, Stephen said. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Mine too, he said. </said></p>
<p>Then he thought for a moment and said: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—You have a queer name, Dedalus, and I have a queer
name too, <place><location><geo>52.991834 -6.985728</geo></location><placeName>Athy</placeName></place>. My name is the name of a town. Your name
is like Latin. </said></p>
<p>Then he asked: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Are you good at riddles? </said></p>
<p>Stephen answered: </p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—Not very good. </said></p>
<p>Then he said: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Can you answer me this one? Why is the county Kildare
like the leg of a fellow's breeches? </said></p>
<p>Stephen thought what could be the answer and then said: </p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—I give it up. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Because there is a thigh in it, he said. Do you see the
joke? Athy is the town in the county Kildare and a thigh is the
other thigh. </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—O, I see, Stephen said. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—That's an old riddle, he said. </said></p>
<p>After a moment he said: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—I say! </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—What? asked Stephen. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—You know, he said, you can ask that riddle another way? </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—Can you? said Stephen. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—The same riddle, he said. Do you know the other way to
ask it? </said></p>
<p><said who="Stephen">—No, said Stephen. </said></p>
<p><said who="Athy">—Can you not think of the other way? he said. </said></p>
<p>He looked at Stephen over the bedclothes as he spoke.
Then he lay back on the pillow and said: </p>
<p><said who="Athy">—There is another way but I won't tell you what it is. </said></p>
<p>Why did he not tell it? His father, who kept the racehorses,
must be a magistrate too like Saurin's father and Nasty
Roche's father. He thought of his own father, of how he sang
songs while his mother played and of how he always gave him
a shilling when he asked for sixpence and he felt sorry for him
that he was not a magistrate like the other boys' fathers. Then
why was he sent to that place with them? But his father had
told him that he would be no stranger there because his granduncle
had presented an address to the liberator there fifty
years before. You could know the people of that time by their
old dress. It seemed to him a solemn time: and he wondered if
that was the time when the fellows in Clongowes wore blue
coats with brass buttons and yellow waistcoats and caps of
<seg type="neologism">rabbitskin</seg> and drank beer like grownup people and kept
greyhounds of their own to course the hares with. </p>
<p>He looked at the window and saw that the daylight had
grown weaker. There would be cloudy grey light over the
playgrounds. There was no noise on the playgrounds. The
class must be doing the themes or perhaps Father Arnall was
reading a legend out of the book. </p>
<p>It was queer that they had not given him any medicine.
Perhaps Brother Michael would bring it back when he came.
They said you got stinking stuff to drink when you were in the
infirmary. But he felt better now than before. It would be nice
getting better slowly. You could get a book then. There was a
book in the library about Holland. There were lovely foreign
names in it and pictures of <seg type="neologism">strangelooking</seg> cities and ships. It
made you feel so happy. </p>
<p>How pale the light was at the window! But that was nice.
The fire rose and fell on the wall. It was like waves. Someone
had put coal on and he heard voices. They were talking. It was
the noise of the waves. Or the waves were talking among
themselves as they rose and fell. </p>
<p>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 the flat dark land: and by the light at
the pierhead he saw his face, the sorrowful face of Brother
Michael. </p>
<p>He saw him lift his hand towards the people and heard him
say in a loud voice of sorrow over the waters: </p>
<p><said who="Brother Michael">—He is dead. We saw him lying upon the catafalque. </said></p>
<p>A wail of sorrow went up from the people. </p>
<p><said who="the people">—Parnell! Parnell! He is dead! </said></p>
<p>They fell upon their knees, moaning in sorrow. </p>
<p>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 who knelt by the waters'
edge. </p>
<milestone unit="section" rend="asterixes"/>
</div> <!-- 1.2 -->
<div n="1.3" type="section">
<p>A great fire, banked high and red, flamed in the grate and
under the <seg type="neologism">ivytwined</seg> 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 to come in, holding the big dishes covered
with their heavy metal covers. </p>
<p>All were waiting: uncle Charles, who sat far away in the
shadow of the window, Dante and Mr Casey, who sat in the
<seg type="neologism">easychairs</seg> at either side of the hearth, Stephen, seated on a
chair between them, his feet resting on the toasted boss. Mr
Dedalus looked at himself in the <seg type="neologism">pierglass</seg> above the mantelpiece,
waxed out his moustache-ends and then, parting his
coattails, stood with his back to the glowing fire: and still,
from time to time, he withdrew a hand from his coattail to
wax out one of his moustache-ends. Mr Casey leaned his
head to one side and, smiling, tapped the gland of his neck
with his fingers. And Stephen smiled too for he knew now that
it was not true that Mr Casey had a purse of silver in his
throat. He smiled to think how the silvery noise which Mr
Casey used to make had deceived him. And when he had tried
to open Mr Casey's hand to see if the purse of silver was
hidden there he had seen that the fingers could not be straightened
out: and Mr Casey had told him that he had got those
three cramped fingers making a birthday present for Queen
Victoria. </p>
<p>Mr Casey tapped the gland of his neck and smiled at Stephen
with sleepy eyes: and Mr Dedalus said to him: </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—Yes. Well now, that's all right. O, we had a good walk,
hadn't we, John? Yes ... I wonder if there's any likelihood
of dinner this evening. Yes .... O, well now, we got a good
breath of ozone round <place><location><geo>53.190760 -6.089490</geo></location><placeName>the Head</placeName></place> today. Ay, bedad. </said></p>
<p>He turned to Dante and said: </p>
<p><said who="John Casey">—You didn't stir out at all, Mrs Riordan? </said></p>
<p>Dante frowned and said shortly: </p>
<p><said who="Dante">—No. </said></p>
<p>Mr Dedalus dropped his coattails and went over to the
sideboard. He brought forth a great stone jar of whisky from
the locker and filled the decanter slowly, bending now and
then to see how much he had poured in. Then replacing the
jar in the locker he poured a little of the whisky into two
glasses, added a little water and came back with them to the
fireplace. </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—A thimbleful, John, he said, just to whet your appetite. </said></p>
<p>Mr Casey took the glass, drank, and placed it near him on
the mantelpiece. Then he said: </p>
<p><said who="John Casey">—Well, I can't help thinking of our friend Christopher
manufacturing ... </said></p>
<p>He broke into a fit of laughter and coughing and added: </p>
<p><said who="John Casey">—... manufacturing that champagne for those fellows. </said></p>
<p>Mr Dedalus laughed loudly. </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—Is it Christy? he said. There's more cunning in one of
those warts on his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes. </said></p>
<p>He inclined his head, closed his eyes, and, licking his lips
profusely, began to speak with the voice of the hotelkeeper. </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—And he has such a soft mouth when he's speaking to you,
don't you know. He's very moist and watery about the dewlaps,
God bless him. </said></p>
<p>Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and
laughter. Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotelkeeper through
his father's face and voice, laughed. </p>
<p>Mr Dedalus put up his eyeglass and, staring down at him,
said quietly and kindly: </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—What are you laughing at, you little puppy, you? </said></p>
<p>The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table.
Mrs Dedalus followed and the places were arranged. </p>
<p><said who="Mary Dedalus">—Sit over, she said. </said></p>
<p>Mr Dedalus went to the end of the table and said: </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—Now, Mrs Riordan, sit over. John, sit you down, my
hearty. </said></p>
<p>He looked round to where uncle Charles sat and said: </p>
<p><said who="Simon Dedalus">—Now then, sir, there's a bird here waiting for you. </said></p>
<p>When all had taken their seats he laid his hand on the cover