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A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man by James Joyce PDF
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 five-shilling 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:
—Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!
—Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!
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 study hall, he would change the number pasted up inside his desk from seventy-seven to seventy-six.
It would be better to be in the study hall 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 Leicester Abbey 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.
Wolsey died in Leicester Abbey
Where the abbots buried him.
Canker is a disease of plants,
Cancer is one of the animals.
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 to his skin.
That was mean of Wells to shoulder him into the square ditch because he would not swop his little snuffbox 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 jewellry slippers were so hot and they had such a lovely warm smell! Dante knew a lot of things.
She had taught him where the Mozambique Channel was and what was the longest river in America and what was the name of the highest mountain on 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 well-read woman.
And when Dante made that noise after dinner and then put up her hand to her mouth: that was heartburn.
| Author | James Joyce |
| Language | English |
| No. of Pages | 299 |
| PDF Size | 15.9 MB |
| Category | Art |
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