Портрет художника в юности
Chapter 5
Hetriedtowarmhisperishingjoyintheirscarletglow,imaginingarosewayfromwherehelayupwardstoheavenallstrewnwithscarletflowers.Weary!Weary!Hetoowaswearyofardentways.
Agradualwarmth,alanguorouswearinesspassedoverhimdescendingalonghisspinefromhiscloselycowledhead.Hefeltitdescendand,seeinghimselfashelay,smiled.Soonhewouldsleep.
Hehadwrittenversesforheragainaftertenyears.Tenyearsbeforeshehadwornhershawlcowlwiseaboutherhead,sendingspraysofherwarmbreathintothenightair,tappingherfootupontheglassyroad.Itwasthelasttram;thelankbrownhorsesknewitandshooktheirbellstotheclearnightinadmonition.Theconductortalkedwiththedriver,bothnoddingofteninthegreenlightofthelamp.Theystoodonthestepsofthetram,heontheupper,sheonthelower.Shecameuptohisstepmanytimesbetweentheirphrasesandwentdownagainandonceortwiceremainedbesidehimforgettingtogodownandthenwentdown.Letbe!Letbe!
Tenyearsfromthatwisdomofchildrentohisfolly.Ifhesenthertheverses?Theywouldbereadoutatbreakfastamidthetappingofegg-shells.Follyindeed!Herbrotherswouldlaughandtrytowrestthepagefromeachotherwiththeirstronghardfingers.Thesuavepriest,heruncle,seatedinhisarm-chair,wouldholdthepageatarm’slength,readitsmilingandapproveoftheliteraryform.
No,no;thatwasfolly.