Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 5
Whydidhefeelthatitwasnotunwatchful?WasitbecausehehadheardthatinBuckWhaley’stimetherewasasecretstaircasethere?Orwasthejesuithouseextra-territorialandwashewalkingamongaliens?TheIrelandofToneandofParnellseemedtohaverecededinspace.
Heopenedthedoorofthetheatreandhaltedinthechillygreylightthatstruggledthroughthedustywindows.Afigurewascrouchingbeforethelargegrateandbyitsleannessandgreynessheknewthatitwasthedeanofstudieslightingthefire.Stephenclosedthedoorquietlyandapproachedthefireplace.
—Goodmorning,sir!CanIhelpyou?
Thepriestlookedupquicklyandsaid:
—Onemomentnow,MrDedalus,andyouwillsee.Thereisanartinlightingafire.Wehavetheliberalartsandwehavetheusefularts.Thisisoneoftheusefularts.
—Iwilltrytolearnit,saidStephen.
—Nottoomuchcoal,saidthedean,workingbrisklyathistask,thatisoneofthesecrets.
Heproducedfourcandle-buttsfromtheside-pocketsofhissoutaneandplacedthemdeftlyamongthecoalsandtwistedpapers.Stephenwatchedhiminsilence.Kneelingthusontheflagstonetokindlethefireandbusiedwiththedispositionofhiswispsofpaperandcandle-buttsheseemedmorethaneverahumbleservermakingreadytheplaceofsacrificeinanemptytemple,aleviteoftheLord.
