Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow comingdown along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the roadmet a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo...His father told him that story: his father looked at him through aglass: he had a hairy face.He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrnelived: she sold lemon platt.O, the wild rose blossoms
On the little green place.He sang that song. That was his song.O, the green wothe botheth.When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His mother puton the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on the pianothe sailor's hornpipe for him to dance. He danced:Tralala lala,
Tralala tralaladdy,
Tralala lala,
Tralala lala.Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older than his father andmother but uncle Charles was older than Dante.Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the maroon velvetback was for Michael Davitt and the brush with the green velvet backwas for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou every time he brought her apiece of tissue paper.The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different father andmother. They were Eileen's father and mother. When they were grown uphe was going to marry Eileen. He hid under the table. His mother said:--O, Stephen will apologize.Dante said:--O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes.--Pull out his eyes,
Apologize,
Apologize,
Pull out his eyes.
Apologize,
Pull out his eyes,
Pull out his eyes,
Apologize.
The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were shouting and theprefects urged them on with strong cries. The evening air was pale andchilly and after every charge and thud of the footballers the greasyleather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light. He kept onthe fringe of his line, out of sight of his prefect, out of the reachof the rude feet, feigning to run now and then. He felt his body smalland weak amid the throng of the players and his eyes were weak andwatery. Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of thethird line all the fellows said.Rody Kickham was a decent fellow but Nasty Roche was a stink. RodyKickham had greaves in his number and a hamper in the refectory. NastyRoche had big hands. He called the Friday pudding dog-in-the-blanket.And one day he had asked:--What is your name?Stephen had answered: Stephen Dedalus.Then Nasty Roche had said:--What kind of a name is that?And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty Roche had asked:--What is your father?Stephen had answered:--A gentleman.Then Nasty Roche had asked:--Is he a magistrate?He crept about from point to point on the fringe of his line, makinglittle runs now and then. But his hands were bluish with cold. He kepthis hands in the side pockets of his belted grey suit. That was a beltround his pocket. And belt was also to give a fellow a belt. One day afellow said to Cantwell:--I'd give you such a belt in a second.Cantwell had answered:--Go and fight your match. Give Cecil Thunder a belt. I'd like to seeyou. He'd give you a toe in the rump for yourself.That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him not to speakwith the rough boys in the college. Nice mother! The first day in thehall of the castle when she had said goodbye she had put up her veildouble to her nose to kiss him: and her nose and eyes were red. But hehad pretended not to see that she was going to cry. She was a nicemother but she was not so nice when she cried. And his father had givenhim two five-shilling pieces for pocket money. And his father had toldhim 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 rectorhad shaken hands with his father and mother, his soutane fluttering inthe breeze, and the car had driven off with his father and mother onit. 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 flashingeyes and muddy boots, bent down to look through the legs. The fellowswere struggling and groaning and their legs were rubbing and kickingand stamping. Then Jack Lawton's yellow boots dodged out the ball andall the other boots and legs ran after. He ran after them a little wayand then stopped. It was useless to run on. Soon they would be goinghome for the holidays. After supper in the study hall he would changethe 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. Hewondered from which window Hamilton Rowan had thrown his hat on theha-ha and had there been flowerbeds at that time under the windows. Oneday when he had been called to the castle the butler had shown him themarks of the soldiers' slugs in the wood of the door and had given hima piece of shortbread that the community ate. It was nice and warm tosee the lights in the castle. It was like something in a book. PerhapsLeicester Abbey was like that. And there were nice sentences in DoctorCornwell's Spelling Book. They were like poetry but they were onlysentences to learn the spelling from.Wolsey died in Leicester Abbey
Where the abbots buried him.
Canker is a disease of plants,
Cancer one of animals.
It would be nice to lie on the hearthrug before the fire, leaning hishead upon his hands, and think on those sentences. He shivered as if hehad cold slimy water next his skin. That was mean of Wells to shoulderhim into the square ditch because he would not swop his little snuffbox for Wells's seasoned hacking chestnut, the conqueror of forty. Howcold and slimy the water had been! A fellow had once seen a big ratjump into the scum. Mother was sitting at the fire with Dante waitingfor Brigid to bring in the tea. She had her feet on the fender and herjewelly slippers were so hot and they had such a lovely warm smell!Dante knew a lot of things. She had taught him where the MozambiqueChannel was and what was the longest river in America and what was thename of the highest mountain in the moon. Father Arnall knew more thanDante because he was a priest but both his father and uncle Charlessaid that Dante was a clever woman and a well-read woman. And whenDante made that noise after dinner and then put up her hand to hermouth: that was heartburn.A voice cried far out on the playground:--All in!Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines:--All in! All in!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 fellowasked him to give it one last: but he walked on without even answeringthe fellow. Simon Moonan told him not to because the prefect waslooking. The fellow turned to Simon Moonan and said:--We all know why you speak. You are McGlade's suck.Suck was a queer word. The fellow called Simon Moonan that name becauseSimon Moonan used to tie the prefect's false sleeves behind his backand 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 Wicklow Hotel andhis father pulled the stopper up by the chain after and the dirty waterwent down through the hole in the basin. And when it had all gone downslowly the hole in the basin had made a sound like that: suck. Onlylouder.To remember that and the white look of the lavatory made him feel coldand 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 thenames printed on the cocks. That was a very queer thing.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 likea little song. Always the same: and when the fellows stopped talking inthe playroom you could hear it.It was the hour for sums. Father Arnall wrote a hard sum on the boardand then said:--Now then, who will win? Go ahead, York! Go ahead, Lancaster!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 thebreast of his jacket began to flutter. He was no good at sums, but hetried his best so that York might not lose. Father Arnall's face lookedvery black, but he was not in a wax: he was laughing. Then Jack Lawtoncracked his fingers and Father Arnall looked at his copybook and said:--Right. Bravo Lancaster! The red rose wins. Come on now, York! Forgeahead!Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge with thered 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 whowould get first place in elements, Jack Lawton or he. Some weeks JackLawton 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 nextsum and heard Father Arnall's voice. Then all his eagerness passed awayand he felt his face quite cool. He thought his face must be whitebecause it felt so cool. He could not get out the answer for the sumbut it did not matter. White roses and red roses: those were beautifulcolours to think of. And the cards for first place and second place andthird place were beautiful colours too: pink and cream and lavender.Lavender and cream and pink roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps awild rose might be like those colours and he remembered the song aboutthe wild rose blossoms on the little green place. But you could nothave a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could.The bell rang and then the classes began to file out of the rooms andalong the corridors towards the refectory. He sat looking at the twoprints of butter on his plate but could not eat the damp bread. Thetablecloth was damp and limp. But he drank off the hot weak tea whichthe clumsy scullion, girt with a white apron, poured into his cup. Hewondered whether the scullion's apron was damp too or whether all whitethings were cold and damp. Nasty Roche and Saurin drank cocoa thattheir people sent them in tins. They said they could not drink the tea;that it was hogwash. Their fathers were magistrates, the fellows said.All the boys seemed to him very strange. They had all fathers andmothers and different clothes and voices. He longed to be at home andlay his head on his mother's lap. But he could not: and so he longedfor the play and study and prayers to be over and to be in bed.He drank another cup of hot tea and Fleming said:--What's up? Have you a pain or what's up with you?--I don't know, Stephen said.--Sick in your breadbasket, Fleming said, because your face lookswhite. It will go away.--O yes, Stephen said.But he was not sick there. He thought that he was sick in his heart ifyou could be sick in that place. Fleming was very decent to ask him. Hewanted to cry. He leaned his elbows on the table and shut and openedthe flaps of his ears. Then he heard the noise of the refectory everytime he opened the flaps of his ears. It made a roar like a train atnight. And when he closed the flaps the roar was shut off like a traingoing into a tunnel. That night at Dalkey the train had roared likethat and then, when it went into the tunnel, the roar stopped. Heclosed his eyes and the train went on, roaring and then stopping;roaring again, stopping. It was nice to hear it roar and stop and thenroar out of the tunnel again and then stop.Then the higher line fellows began to come down along the matting inthe middle of the refectory, Paddy Rath and Jimmy Magee and theSpaniard who was allowed to smoke cigars and the little Portuguese whowore the woolly cap. And then the lower line tables and the tables ofthe third line. And every single fellow had a different way of walking.He sat in a corner of the playroom pretending to watch a game ofdominoes and once or twice he was able to hear for an instant thelittle song of the gas. The prefect was at the door with some boys andSimon Moonan was knotting his false sleeves. He was telling themsomething about Tullabeg.Then he went away from the door and Wells came over to Stephen andsaid:--Tell us, Dedalus, do you kiss your mother before you go to bed?Stephen answered:--I do.Wells turned to the other fellows and said:--O, I say, here's a fellow says he kisses his mother every nightbefore he goes to bed.The other fellows stopped their game and turned round, laughing.Stephen blushed under their eyes and said:--I do not.Wells said:--O, I say, here's a fellow says he doesn't kiss his mother before hegoes to bed.They all laughed again. Stephen tried to laugh with them. He felt hiswhole body hot and confused in a moment. What was the right answer tothe question? He had given two and still Wells laughed. But Wells mustknow the right answer for he was in third of grammar. He tried to thinkof Wells's mother but he did not dare to raise his eyes to Wells'sface. He did not like Wells's face. It was Wells who had shouldered himinto the square ditch the day before because he would not swop hislittle snuff box for Wells's seasoned hacking chestnut, the conquerorof forty. It was a mean thing to do; all the fellows said it was. Andhow cold and slimy the water had been! And a fellow had once seen a bigrat jump plop into the scum.The cold slime of the ditch covered his whole body; and, when the bellrang for study and the lines filed out of the playrooms, he felt thecold air of the corridor and staircase inside his clothes. He stilltried to think what was the right answer. Was it right to kiss hismother or wrong to kiss his mother? What did that mean, to kiss? Youput your face up like that to say good night and then his mother puther 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 tinylittle noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?Sitting in the study hall he opened the lid of his desk and changed thenumber pasted up inside from seventy-seven to seventy-six. But theChristmas vacation was very far away: but one time it would comebecause the earth moved round always.There was a picture of the earth on the first page of his geography: abig ball in the middle of clouds. Fleming had a box of crayons and onenight during free study he had coloured the earth green and the cloudsmaroon. That was like the two brushes in Dante's press, the brush withthe green velvet back for Parnell and the brush with the maroon velvetback for Michael Davitt. But he had not told Fleming to colour themthose colours. Fleming had done it himself.He opened the geography to study the lesson; but he could not learn thenames of places in America. Still they were all different places thathad different names. They were all in different countries and thecountries were in continents and the continents were in the world andthe world was in the universe.He turned to the flyleaf of the geography and read what he had writtenthere: himself, his name and where he was.Stephen Dedalus
Class of Elements
Clongowes Wood College
Sallins
County Kildare
Ireland
Europe
The World
The Universe
That was in his writing: and Fleming one night for a cod had written onthe opposite page:Stephen Dedalus is my name,
Ireland is my nation.
Clongowes is my dwellingplace
And heaven my expectation.
He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry. Then heread the flyleaf from the bottom to the top till he came to his ownname. That was he: and he read down the page again. What was after theuniverse?Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where itstopped before the nothing place began?It could not be a wall; but there could be a thin thin line there allround everything. It was very big to think about everything andeverywhere. Only God could do that. He tried to think what a bigthought that must be; but he could only think of God. God was God'sname just as his name was Stephen. DIEU was the French for God and thatwas God's name too; and when anyone prayed to God and said DIEU thenGod knew at once that it was a French person that was praying. But,though there were different names for God in all the differentlanguages in the world and God understood what all the people whoprayed said in their different languages, still God remained always thesame God and God's real name was God.It made him very tired to think that way. It made him feel his headvery big. He turned over the flyleaf and looked wearily at the greenround earth in the middle of the maroon clouds. He wondered which wasright, to be for the green or for the maroon, because Dante had rippedthe green velvet back off the brush that was for Parnell one day withher scissors and had told him that Parnell was a bad man. He wonderedif 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 MrCasey were on the other side but his mother and uncle Charles were onno side. Every day there was something in the paper about it.It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant and that hedid not know where the universe ended. He felt small and weak. Whenwould he be like the fellows in poetry and rhetoric? They had bigvoices and big boots and they studied trigonometry. That was very faraway. First came the vacation and then the next term and then vacationagain and then again another term and then again the vacation. It waslike a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the noise ofthe boys eating in the refectory when you opened and closed the flapsof the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; noise, stop. How far away itwas! It was better to go to bed to sleep. Only prayers in the chapeland then bed. He shivered and yawned. It would be lovely in bed afterthe sheets got a bit hot. First they were so cold to get into. Heshivered to think how cold they were first. But then they got hot andthen he could sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Nightprayers and then bed: he shivered and wanted to yawn. It would belovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping up from the coldshivering sheets, warmer and warmer till he felt warm all over, ever sowarm and yet he shivered a little and still wanted to yawn.The bell rang for night prayers and he filed out of the study hallafter the others and down the staircase and along the corridors to thechapel. The corridors were darkly lit and the chapel was darkly lit.Soon all would be dark and sleeping. There was cold night air in thechapel and the marbles were the colour the sea was at night. The seawas cold day and night: but it was colder at night. It was cold anddark under the seawall beside his father's house. But the kettle wouldbe on the hob to make punch.The prefect of the chapel prayed above his head and his memory knew theresponses:O Lord open our lips
And our mouths shall announce Thy praise.
Incline unto our aid, O God!
O Lord make haste to help us!
There was a cold night smell in the chapel. But it was a holy smell. Itwas not like the smell of the old peasants who knelt at the back of thechapel at Sunday mass. That was a smell of air and rain and turf andcorduroy. But they were very holy peasants. They breathed behind him onhis neck and sighed as they prayed. They lived in Clane, a fellow said:there were little cottages there and he had seen a woman standing atthe half-door of a cottage with a child in her arms as the cars hadcome past from Sallins. It would be lovely to sleep for one night inthat cottage before the fire of smoking turf, in the dark lit by thefire, in the warm dark, breathing the smell of the peasants, air andrain and turf and corduroy. But O, the road there between the treeswas dark! You would be lost in the dark. It made him afraid to thinkof how it was.He heard the voice of the prefect of the chapel saying the lastprayers. He prayed it too against the dark outside under the trees.VISIT, WE BESEECH THEE, O LORD, THIS HABITATION AND DRIVEAWAY FROM IT ALL THE SNARES OF THE ENEMY. MAY THY HOLYANGELS DWELL HEREIN TO PRESERVE US IN PEACE AND MAY THYBLESSINGS BE ALWAYS UPON US THROUGH CHRIST OUR LORD.AMEN.His fingers trembled as he undressed himself in the dormitory. He toldhis fingers to hurry up. He had to undress and then kneel and say hisown prayers and be in bed before the gas was lowered so that he mightnot go to hell when he died. He rolled his stockings off and put on hisnightshirt quickly and knelt trembling at his bedside and repeated hisprayers quickly, fearing that the gas would go down. He felt hisshoulders shaking as he murmured:God bless my father and my mother and spare them to me!
God bless my little brothers and sisters and spare them to me!
God bless Dante and Uncle Charles and spare them to me!
He blessed himself and climbed quickly into bed and, tucking the end ofthe nightshirt under his feet, curled himself together under the coldwhite sheets, shaking and trembling. But he would not go to hell whenhe died; and the shaking would stop. A voice bade the boys in thedormitory good night. He peered out for an instant over the coverletand saw the yellow curtains round and before his bed that shut him offon all sides. The light was lowered quietly.The prefect's shoes went away. Where? Down the staircase and along thecorridors or to his room at the end? He saw the dark. Was it true aboutthe black dog that walked there at night with eyes as big ascarriage-lamps? They said it was the ghost of a murderer. A long shiverof fear flowed over his body. He saw the dark entrance hall of thecastle. Old servants in old dress were in the ironing-room above thestaircase. It was long ago. The old servants were quiet. There was afire there, but the hall was still dark. A figure came up the staircasefrom the hall. He wore the white cloak of a marshal; his face was paleand strange; he held his hand pressed to his side. He looked out ofstrange eyes at the old servants. They looked at him and saw theirmaster's face and cloak and knew that he had received his death-wound.But only the dark was where they looked: only dark silent air. Theirmaster had received his death-wound on the battlefield of Prague faraway over the sea. He was standing on the field; his hand was pressedto his side; his face was pale and strange and he wore the white cloakof a marshal.O how cold and strange it was to think of that! All the dark was coldand strange. There were pale strange faces there, great eyes likecarriage-lamps. They were the ghosts of murderers, the figures ofmarshals who had received their death-wound on battlefields far awayover the sea. What did they wish to say that their faces were sostrange?VISIT, WE BESEECH THEE, O LORD, THIS HABITATION AND DRIVE AWAY FROM ITALL...Going home for the holidays! That would be lovely: the fellows had toldhim. Getting up on the cars in the early wintry morning outside thedoor of the castle. The cars were rolling on the gravel. Cheers for therector!Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!The cars drove past the chapel and all caps were raised. They drovemerrily along the country roads. The drivers pointed with their whipsto Bodenstown. The fellows cheered. They passed the farmhouseof the Jolly Farmer. Cheer after cheer after cheer. Through Clane theydrove, cheering and cheered. The peasant women stood at the half-doors,the men stood here and there. The lovely smell there was in the wintryair: the smell of Clane: rain and wintry air and turf smouldering andcorduroy.The train was full of fellows: a long long chocolate train with creamfacings. The guards went to and fro opening, closing, locking,unlocking the doors. They were men in dark blue and silver; they hadsilvery whistles and their keys made a quick music: click, click:click, click.And the train raced on over the flat lands and past the Hill of Allen.The telegraph poles were passing, passing. The train went on and on. Itknew. There were lanterns in the hall of his father's house and ropesof green branches. There were holly and ivy round the pierglass andholly and ivy, green and red, twined round the chandeliers. There werered holly and green ivy round the old portraits on the walls. Holly andivy for him and for Christmas.Lovely...All the people. Welcome home, Stephen! Noises of welcome. His motherkissed him. Was that right? His father was a marshal now: higher than amagistrate. Welcome home, Stephen!Noises...There was a noise of curtain-rings running back along the rods, ofwater being splashed in the basins. There was a noise of rising anddressing and washing in the dormitory: a noise of clapping of hands asthe prefect went up and down telling the fellows to look sharp. A palesunlight showed the yellow curtains drawn back, the tossed beds. Hisbed was very hot and his face and body were very hot.He got up and sat on the side of his bed. He was weak. He tried to pullon his stocking. It had a horrid rough feel. The sunlight was queer andcold.Fleming said:--Are you not well?He did not know; and Fleming said:--Get back into bed. I'll tell McGlade you're not well.--He's sick.--Who is?--Tell McGlade.--Get back into bed.--Is he sick?A fellow held his arms while he loosened the stocking clinging to hisfoot and climbed back into the hot bed.He crouched down between the sheets, glad of their tepid glow. He heardthe 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, theywere saying.Then their voices ceased; they had gone. A voice at his bed said:--Dedalus, don't spy on us, sure you won't?Wells's face was there. He looked at it and saw that Wells was afraid.--I didn't mean to. Sure you won't?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:--I didn't mean to, honour bright. It was only for cod. I'm sorry.The face and the voice went away. Sorry because he was afraid. Afraidthat it was some disease. Canker was a disease of plants and cancer oneof animals: or another different. That was a long time ago then out onthe playgrounds in the evening light, creeping from point to point onthe fringe of his line, a heavy bird flying low through the grey light.Leicester Abbey lit up. Wolsey died there. The abbots buried himthemselves.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'shand on his forehead; and he felt his forehead warm and damp againstthe prefect's cold damp hand. That was the way a rat felt, slimy anddamp and cold. Every rat had two eyes to look out of. Sleek slimycoats, little little feet tucked up to jump, black slimy eyes to lookout of. They could understand how to jump. But the minds of rats couldnot understand trigonometry. When they were dead they lay on theirsides. Their coats dried then. They were only dead things.The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was saying thathe was to get up, that Father Minister had said he was to get up anddress and go to the infirmary. And while he was dressing himself asquickly as he could the prefect said:--We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have thecollywobbles!He was very decent to say that. That was all to make him laugh. But hecould not laugh because his cheeks and lips were all shivery: and thenthe prefect had to laugh by himself.The prefect cried:--Quick march! Hayfoot! Strawfoot!They went together down the staircase and along the corridor and pastthe bath. As he passed the door he remembered with a vague fear thewarm turf-coloured bogwater, the warm moist air, the noise of plunges,the smell of the towels, like medicine.Brother Michael was standing at the door of the infirmary and from thedoor of the dark cabinet on his right came a smell like medicine. Thatcame from the bottles on the shelves. The prefect spoke to BrotherMichael and Brother Michael answered and called the prefect sir. He hadreddish hair mixed with grey and a queer look. It was queer that hewould always be a brother. It was queer too that you could not call himsir because he was a brother and had a different kind of look. Was henot holy enough or why could he not catch up on the others?There were two beds in the room and in one bed there was a fellow: andwhen they went in he called out:--Hello! It's young Dedalus! What's up?--The sky is up, Brother Michael said.He was a fellow out of the third of grammar and, while Stephen wasundressing, he asked Brother Michael to bring him a round of butteredtoast.--Ah, do! he said.--Butter you up! said Brother Michael. You'll get your walking papersin the morning when the doctor comes.--Will I? the fellow said. I'm not well yet.Brother Michael repeated:--You'll get your walking papers. I tell you.He bent down to rake the fire. He had a long back like the long back ofa tramhorse. He shook the poker gravely and nodded his head at thefellow out of third of grammar.Then Brother Michael went away and after a while the fellow out ofthird of grammar turned in towards the wall and fell asleep.That was the infirmary. He was sick then. Had they written home to tellhis mother and father? But it would be quicker for one of the prieststo go himself to tell them. Or he would write a letter for the priestto bring.Dear Mother,
I am sick. I want to go home. Please come and take me home.
I am in the infirmary.
Your fond son,
Stephen
How far away they were! There was cold sunlight outside the window. Hewondered 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 inthe chapel like the way the fellows had told him it was when Little haddied. All the fellows would be at the mass, dressed in black, all withsad 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 wouldbe tall yellow candles on the altar and round the catafalque. And theywould carry the coffin out of the chapel slowly and he would be buriedin 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 wouldtoll slowly.He could hear the tolling. He said over to himself the song that Brigidhad taught him.Dingdong! The castle bell!
Farewell, my mother!
Bury me in the old churchyard
Beside my eldest brother.
My coffin shall be black,
Six angels at my back,
Two to sing and two to pray
And two to carry my soul away.
How beautiful and sad that was! How beautiful the words were where theysaid BURY ME IN THE OLD CHURCHYARD! A tremor passed over his body. Howsad 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!The cold sunlight was weaker and Brother Michael was standing at hisbedside with a bowl of beef-tea. He was glad for his mouth was hot anddry. He could hear them playing in the playgrounds. And the day wasgoing on in the college just as if he were there.Then Brother Michael was going away and the fellow out of the third ofgrammar told him to be sure and come back and tell him all the news inthe paper. He told Stephen that his name was Athy and that his fatherkept a lot of racehorses that were spiffing jumpers and that his fatherwould give a good tip to Brother Michael any time he wanted it becauseBrother Michael was very decent and always told him the news out of thepaper they got every day up in the castle. There was every kind of newsin the paper: accidents, shipwrecks, sports, and politics.--Now it is all about politics in the papers, he said. Do your peopletalk about that too?--Yes, Stephen said.--Mine too, he said.Then he thought for a moment and said:--You have a queer name, Dedalus, and I have a queer name too, Athy.My name is the name of a town. Your name is like Latin.Then he asked:--Are you good at riddles?Stephen answered:--Not very good.Then he said:--Can you answer me this one? Why is the county of Kildare like theleg of a fellow's breeches?Stephen thought what could be the answer and then said:--I give it up.--Because there is a thigh in it, he said. Do you see the joke? Athyis the town in the county Kildare and a thigh is the other thigh.--Oh, I see, Stephen said.--That's an old riddle, he said.After a moment he said:--I say!--What? asked Stephen.--You know, he said, you can ask that riddle another way.--Can you? said Stephen.--The same riddle, he said. Do you know the other way to ask it?--No, said Stephen.--Can you not think of the other way? he said.He looked at Stephen over the bedclothes as he spoke. Then he lay backon the pillow and said:--There is another way but I won't tell you what it is.Why did he not tell it? His father, who kept the racehorses, must be amagistrate too like Saurin's father and Nasty Roche's father. Hethought of his own father, of how he sang songs while his mother playedand of how he always gave him a shilling when he asked for sixpence andhe 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? Buthis father had told him that he would be no stranger there because hisgranduncle had presented an address to the liberator there fifty yearsbefore. You could know the people of that time by their old dress. Itseemed to him a solemn time: and he wondered if that was the time whenthe fellows in Clongowes wore blue coats with brass buttons and yellowwaistcoats and caps of rabbitskin and drank beer like grown-up peopleand kept greyhounds of their own to course the hares with.He looked at the window and saw that the daylight had grown weaker.There would be cloudy grey light over the playgrounds. There was nonoise on the playgrounds. The class must be doing the themes or perhapsFather Arnall was reading out of the book.It was queer that they had not given him any medicine. Perhaps BrotherMichael would bring it back when he came. They said you got stinkingstuff to drink when you were in the infirmary. But he felt better nowthan before. It would be nice getting better slowly. You could get abook then. There was a book in the library about Holland. There werelovely foreign names in it and pictures of strange looking cities andships. It made you feel so happy.How pale the light was at the window! But that was nice. The fire roseand fell on the wall. It was like waves. Someone had put coal on and heheard voices. They were talking. It was the noise of the waves. Or thewaves were talking among themselves as they rose and fell.He saw the sea of waves, long dark waves rising and falling, dark underthe moonless night. A tiny light twinkled at the pierhead where theship was entering: and he saw a multitude of people gathered by thewaters' edge to see the ship that was entering their harbour. A tallman stood on the deck, looking out towards the flat dark land: and bythe light at the pierhead he saw his face, the sorrowful face ofBrother Michael.He saw him lift his hand towards the people and heard him say in a loudvoice of sorrow over the waters:--He is dead. We saw him lying upon the catafalque. A wail of sorrowwent up from the people.--Parnell! Parnell! He is dead!They fell upon their knees, moaning in sorrow.And he saw Dante in a maroon velvet dress and with a green velvetmantle hanging from her shoulders walking proudly and silently past thepeople who knelt by the water's edge.A great fire, banked high and red, flamed in the grate and under theivy-twined branches of the chandelier the Christmas table was spread.They had come home a little late and still dinner was not ready: but itwould be ready in a jiffy his mother had said. They were waiting forthe door to open and for the servants to come in, holding the bigdishes covered with their heavy metal covers.All were waiting: uncle Charles, who sat far away in the shadow of thewindow, Dante and Mr Casey, who sat in the easy-chairs at either sideof the hearth, Stephen, seated on a chair between them, his feetresting on the toasted boss. Mr Dedalus looked at himself in thepierglass above the mantelpiece, waxed out his moustache ends and then,parting his coat-tails, stood with his back to the glowing fire: andstill from time to time he withdrew a hand from his coat-tail to waxout one of his moustache ends. Mr Casey leaned his head to one sideand, smiling, tapped the gland of his neck with his fingers. AndStephen smiled too for he knew now that it was not true that Mr Caseyhad a purse of silver in his throat. He smiled to think how the silverynoise which Mr Casey used to make had deceived him. And when he hadtried to open Mr Casey's hand to see if the purse of silver was hiddenthere he had seen that the fingers could not be straightened out: andMr Casey had told him that he had got those three cramped fingersmaking a birthday present for Queen Victoria. Mr Casey tapped the glandof his neck and smiled at Stephen with sleepy eyes: and Mr Dedalus saidto him:--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 the Head today. Ay,bedad.He turned to Dante and said:--You didn't stir out at all, Mrs Riordan?Dante frowned and said shortly:--No.Mr Dedalus dropped his coat-tails and went over to the sideboard. Hebrought forth a great stone jar of whisky from the locker and filledthe decanter slowly, bending now and then to see how much he had pouredin. Then replacing the jar in the locker he poured a little of thewhisky into two glasses, added a little water and came back with themto the fireplace.--A thimbleful, John, he said, just to whet your appetite.Mr Casey took the glass, drank, and placed it near him on themantelpiece. Then he said:--Well, I can't help thinking of our friend Christopher manufacturing...He broke into a fit of laughter and coughing and added:--...manufacturing that champagne for those fellows.Mr Dedalus laughed loudly.--Is it Christy? he said. There's more cunning in one of those wartson his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes.He inclined his head, closed his eyes, and, licking his lips profusely,began to speak with the voice of the hotel keeper.--And he has such a soft mouth when he's speaking to you, don't youknow. He's very moist and watery about the dewlaps, God bless him.Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and laughter.Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotel keeper through his father's faceand voice, laughed.Mr Dedalus put up his eyeglass and, staring down at him, said quietlyand kindly:--What are you laughing at, you little puppy, you?The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table. Mrs Dedalusfollowed and the places were arranged.--Sit over, she said.Mr Dedalus went to the end of the table and said:--Now, Mrs Riordan, sit over. John, sit you down, my hearty.He looked round to where uncle Charles sat and said:--Now then, sir, there's a bird here waiting for you.When all had taken their seats he laid his hand on the cover and thensaid quickly, withdrawing it:--Now, Stephen.Stephen stood up in his place to say the grace before meals:Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which throughThy bounty we are about to receive through Christ ourLord. Amen.All blessed themselves and Mr Dedalus with a sigh of pleasure liftedfrom the dish the heavy cover pearled around the edge with glisteningdrops.Stephen looked at the plump turkey which had lain, trussed andskewered, on the kitchen table. He knew that his father had paid aguinea for it in Dunn's of D'Olier Street and that the man had proddedit often at the breastbone to show how good it was: and he rememberedthe man's voice when he had said:--Take that one, sir. That's the real Ally Daly.Why did Mr Barrett in Clongowes call his pandybat a turkey? ButClongowes was far away: and the warm heavy smell of turkey and ham andcelery rose from the plates and dishes and the great fire was bankedhigh and red in the grate and the green ivy and red holly made you feelso happy and when dinner was ended the big plum pudding would becarried in, studded with peeled almonds and sprigs of holly, withbluish fire running around it and a little green flag flying from thetop.It was his first Christmas dinner and he thought of his little brothersand sisters who were waiting in the nursery, as he had often waited,till the pudding came. The deep low collar and the Eton jacket made himfeel queer and oldish: and that morning when his mother had brought himdown to the parlour, dressed for mass, his father had cried. That wasbecause he was thinking of his own father. And uncle Charles had saidso too.Mr Dedalus covered the dish and began to eat hungrily. Then he said:--Poor old Christy, he's nearly lopsided now with roguery.--Simon, said Mrs Dedalus, you haven't given Mrs Riordan any sauce.Mr Dedalus seized the sauceboat.--Haven't I? he cried. Mrs Riordan, pity the poor blind. Dante coveredher plate with her hands and said:--No, thanks.Mr Dedalus turned to uncle Charles.--How are you off, sir?--Right as the mail, Simon.--You, John?--I'm all right. Go on yourself.--Mary? Here, Stephen, here's something to make your hair curl.He poured sauce freely over Stephen's plate and set the boat again onthe table. Then he asked uncle Charles was it tender. Uncle Charlescould not speak because his mouth was full; but he nodded that it was.--That was a good answer our friend made to the canon. What? said MrDedalus.--I didn't think he had that much in him, said Mr Casey.--I'LL PAY YOUR DUES, FATHER, WHEN YOU CEASE TURNING THE HOUSE OF GODINTO A POLLING-BOOTH.--A nice answer, said Dante, for any man calling himself a catholic togive to his priest.--They have only themselves to blame, said Mr Dedalus suavely. If theytook a fool's advice they would confine their attention to religion.--It is religion, Dante said. They are doing their duty in warning thepeople.--We go to the house of God, Mr Casey said, in all humility to pray toour Maker and not to hear election addresses.--It is religion, Dante said again. They are right. They must directtheir flocks.--And preach politics from the altar, is it? asked Mr Dedalus.--Certainly, said Dante. It is a question of public morality. A priestwould not be a priest if he did not tell his flock what is right andwhat is wrong.Mrs Dedalus laid down her knife and fork, saying:--For pity sake and for pity sake let us have no political discussionon this day of all days in the year.--Quite right, ma'am, said uncle Charles. Now, Simon, that's quiteenough now. Not another word now.--Yes, yes, said Mr Dedalus quickly.He uncovered the dish boldly and said:--Now then, who's for more turkey?Nobody answered. Dante said:--Nice language for any catholic to use!--Mrs Riordan, I appeal to you, said Mrs Dedalus, to let the matterdrop now.Dante turned on her and said:--And am I to sit here and listen to the pastors of my church beingflouted?--Nobody is saying a word against them, said Mr Dedalus, so long asthey don't meddle in politics.--The bishops and priests of Ireland have spoken, said Dante, and theymust be obeyed.--Let them leave politics alone, said Mr Casey, or the people mayleave their church alone.--You hear? said Dante, turning to Mrs Dedalus.--Mr Casey! Simon! said Mrs Dedalus, let it end now.--Too bad! Too bad! said uncle Charles.--What? cried Mr Dedalus. Were we to desert him at the bidding of theEnglish people?--He was no longer worthy to lead, said Dante. He was a public sinner.--We are all sinners and black sinners, said Mr Casey coldly.--WOE BE TO THE MAN BY WHOM THE SCANDAL COMETH! said Mrs Riordan. ITWOULD BE BETTER FOR HIM THAT A MILLSTONE WERE TIED ABOUT HIS NECK ANDTHAT HE WERE CAST INTO THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA RATHER THAN THAT HE SHOULDSCANDALIZE ONE OF THESE, MY LEAST LITTLE ONES. That is the language ofthe Holy Ghost.--And very bad language if you ask me, said Mr Dedalus coolly.--Simon! Simon! said uncle Charles. The boy.--Yes, yes, said Mr Dedalus. I meant about the... I was thinking about thebad language of the railway porter. Well now, that's all right. Here,Stephen, show me your plate, old chap. Eat away now. Here.He heaped up the food on Stephen's plate and served uncle Charles andMr Casey to large pieces of turkey and splashes of sauce. Mrs Dedaluswas eating little and Dante sat with her hands in her lap. She was redin the face. Mr Dedalus rooted with the carvers at the end of the dishand said:--There's a tasty bit here we call the pope's nose. If any lady orgentleman...He held a piece of fowl up on the prong of the carving fork. Nobodyspoke. He put it on his own plate, saying:--Well, you can't say but you were asked. I think I had better eat itmyself because I'm not well in my health lately.He winked at Stephen and, replacing the dish-cover, began to eat again.There was a silence while he ate. Then he said:--Well now, the day kept up fine after all. There were plenty ofstrangers down too.Nobody spoke. He said again:--I think there were more strangers down than last Christmas.He looked round at the others whose faces were bent towards theirplates and, receiving no reply, waited for a moment and said bitterly:--Well, my Christmas dinner has been spoiled anyhow.--There could be neither luck nor grace, Dante said, in a house wherethere is no respect for the pastors of the church.Mr Dedalus threw his knife and fork noisily on his plate.--Respect! he said. Is it for Billy with the lip or for the tub ofguts up in Armagh? Respect!--Princes of the church, said Mr Casey with slow scorn.--Lord Leitrim's coachman, yes, said Mr Dedalus.--They are the Lord's anointed, Dante said. They are an honour to theircountry.--Tub of guts, said Mr Dedalus coarsely. He has a handsome face, mindyou, in repose. You should see that fellow lapping up his bacon andcabbage of a cold winter's day. O Johnny!He twisted his features into a grimace of heavy bestiality and made alapping noise with his lips.--Really, Simon, you should not speak that way before Stephen. It'snot right.--O, he'll remember all this when he grows up, said Dante hotly--thelanguage he heard against God and religion and priests in his own home.--Let him remember too, cried Mr Casey to her from across the table,the language with which the priests and the priests' pawns brokeParnell's heart and hounded him into his grave. Let him remember thattoo when he grows up.--Sons of bitches! cried Mr Dedalus. When he was down they turned onhim to betray him and rend him like rats in a sewer. Low-lived dogs!And they look it! By Christ, they look it!--They behaved rightly, cried Dante. They obeyed their bishops andtheir priests. Honour to them!--Well, it is perfectly dreadful to say that not even for one day inthe year, said Mrs Dedalus, can we be free from these dreadfuldisputes!Uncle Charles raised his hands mildly and said:--Come now, come now, come now! Can we not have our opinions whateverthey are without this bad temper and this bad language? It is too badsurely.Mrs Dedalus spoke to Dante in a low voice but Dante said loudly:--I will not say nothing. I will defend my church and my religion whenit is insulted and spit on by renegade catholics.Mr Casey pushed his plate rudely into the middle of the table and,resting his elbows before him, said in a hoarse voice to his host:--Tell me, did I tell you that story about a very famous spit?--You did not, John, said Mr Dedalus.--Why then, said Mr Casey, it is a most instructive story. It happenednot long ago in the county Wicklow where we are now.He broke off and, turning towards Dante, said with quiet indignation:--And I may tell you, ma'am, that I, if you mean me, am no renegadecatholic. I am a catholic as my father was and his father before himand his father before him again, when we gave up our lives rather thansell our faith.--The more shame to you now, Dante said, to speak as you do.--The story, John, said Mr Dedalus smiling. Let us have the storyanyhow.--Catholic indeed! repeated Dante ironically. The blackest protestantin the land would not speak the language I have heard this evening.Mr Dedalus began to sway his head to and fro, crooning like a countrysinger.--I am no protestant, I tell you again, said Mr Casey, flushing.Mr Dedalus, still crooning and swaying his head, began to sing in agrunting nasal tone:O, come all you Roman catholicsThat never went to mass.He took up his knife and fork again in good humour and set to eating,saying to Mr Casey:--Let us have the story, John. It will help us to digest.Stephen looked with affection at Mr Casey's face which stared acrossthe table over his joined hands. He liked to sit near him at the fire,looking up at his dark fierce face. But his dark eyes were never fierceand his slow voice was good to listen to. But why was he then againstthe priests? Because Dante must be right then. But he had heard hisfather say that she was a spoiled nun and that she had come out of theconvent in the Alleghanies when her brother had got the money from thesavages for the trinkets and the chainies. Perhaps that made her severeagainst Parnell. And she did not like him to play with Eileen becauseEileen was a protestant and when she was young she knew children thatused to play with protestants and the protestants used to make fun ofthe litany of the Blessed Virgin. TOWER OF IVORY, they used to say,HOUSE OF GOLD! How could a woman be a tower of ivory or a house ofgold? Who was right then? And he remembered the evening in theinfirmary in Clongowes, the dark waters, the light at the pierhead andthe moan of sorrow from the people when they had heard.Eileen had long white hands. One evening when playing tig she had puther hands over his eyes: long and white and thin and cold and soft.That was ivory: a cold white thing. That was the meaning of TOWER OFIVORY.--The story is very short and sweet, Mr Casey said. It was one daydown in Arklow, a cold bitter day, not long before the chief died. MayGod have mercy on him!He closed his eyes wearily and paused. Mr Dedalus took a bone from hisplate and tore some meat from it with his teeth, saying:--Before he was killed, you mean.Mr Casey opened his eyes, sighed and went on:--It was down in Arklow one day. We were down there at a meeting andafter the meeting was over we had to make our way to the railwaystation through the crowd. Such booing and baaing, man, you neverheard. They called us all the names in the world. Well there was oneold lady, and a drunken old harridan she was surely, that paid all herattention to me. She kept dancing along beside me in the mud bawlingand screaming into my face: PRIEST-HUNTER! THE PARIS FUNDS! MR FOX!KITTY O'SHEA!--And what did you do, John? asked Mr Dedalus.--I let her bawl away, said Mr Casey. It was a cold day and to keep upmy heart I had (saving your presence, ma'am) a quid of Tullamore in mymouth and sure I couldn't say a word in any case because my mouth wasfull of tobacco juice.--Well, John?--Well. I let her bawl away, to her heart's content, KITTY O'SHEA andthe rest of it till at last she called that lady a name that I won'tsully this Christmas board nor your ears, ma'am, nor my own lips byrepeating.He paused. Mr Dedalus, lifting his head from the bone, asked:--And what did you do, John?--Do! said Mr Casey. She stuck her ugly old face up at me when shesaid it and I had my mouth full of tobacco juice. I bent down to herand PHTH! says I to her like that.He turned aside and made the act of spitting.--PHTH! says I to her like that, right into her eye.He clapped his hand to his eye and gave a hoarse scream of pain.--O JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH! says she. I'M BLINDED! I'M BLINDED ANDDROWNDED!He stopped in a fit of coughing and laughter, repeating:--I'M BLINDED ENTIRELY.Mr Dedalus laughed loudly and lay back in his chair while uncle Charlesswayed his head to and fro.Dante looked terribly angry and repeated while they laughed:--Very nice! Ha! Very nice!It was not nice about the spit in the woman's eye.But what was the name the woman had called Kitty O'Shea that Mr Caseywould not repeat? He thought of Mr Casey walking through the crowds ofpeople and making speeches from a wagonette. That was what he had beenin prison for and he remembered that one night Sergeant O'Neill hadcome to the house and had stood in the hall, talking in a low voicewith his father and chewing nervously at the chinstrap of his cap. Andthat night Mr Casey had not gone to Dublin by train but a car had cometo the door and he had heard his father say something about theCabinteely road.He was for Ireland and Parnell and so was his father: and so was Dantetoo for one night at the band on the esplanade she had hit a gentlemanon the head with her umbrella because he had taken off his hat when theband played GOD SAVE THE QUEEN at the end.Mr Dedalus gave a snort of contempt.--Ah, John, he said. It is true for them. We are an unfortunatepriest-ridden race and always were and always will be till the end ofthe chapter.Uncle Charles shook his head, saying:--A bad business! A bad business!Mr Dedalus repeated:--A priest-ridden Godforsaken race!He pointed to the portrait of his grandfather on the wall to his right.--Do you see that old chap up there, John? he said. He was a goodIrishman when there was no money in the job. He was condemned to deathas a whiteboy. But he had a saying about our clerical friends, that hewould never let one of them put his two feet under his mahogany.Dante broke in angrily:--If we are a priest-ridden race we ought to be proud of it! They are theapple of God's eye. TOUCH THEM NOT, says Christ, FOR THEY ARE THE APPLEOF MY EYE.--And can we not love our country then? asked Mr Casey. Are we not tofollow the man that was born to lead us?--A traitor to his country! replied Dante. A traitor, an adulterer!The priests were right to abandon him. The priests were always the truefriends of Ireland.--Were they, faith? said Mr Casey.He threw his fist on the table and, frowning angrily, protruded onefinger after another.--Didn't the bishops of Ireland betray us in the time of the unionwhen Bishop Lanigan presented an address of loyalty to the MarquessCornwallis? Didn't the bishops and priests sell the aspirations oftheir country in 1829 in return for catholic emancipation? Didn't theydenounce the fenian movement from the pulpit and in the confession box?And didn't they dishonour the ashes of Terence Bellew MacManus?His face was glowing with anger and Stephen felt the glow rise to hisown cheek as the spoken words thrilled him. Mr Dedalus uttered a guffawof coarse scorn.--O, by God, he cried, I forgot little old Paul Cullen! Another appleof God's eye!Dante bent across the table and cried to Mr Casey:--Right! Right! They were always right! God and morality and religioncome first.Mrs Dedalus, seeing her excitement, said to her:--Mrs Riordan, don't excite yourself answering them.--God and religion before everything! Dante cried. God and religionbefore the world.Mr Casey raised his clenched fist and brought it down on the table witha crash.--Very well then, he shouted hoarsely, if it comes to that, no God forIreland!--John! John! cried Mr Dedalus, seizing his guest by the coat sleeve.Dante stared across the table, her cheeks shaking. Mr Casey struggledup from his chair and bent across the table towards her, scraping theair from before his eyes with one hand as though he were tearing asidea cobweb.--No God for Ireland! he cried. We have had too much God In Ireland.Away with God!--Blasphemer! Devil! screamed Dante, starting to her feet and almostspitting in his face.Uncle Charles and Mr Dedalus pulled Mr Casey back into his chair again,talking to him from both sides reasonably. He stared before him out ofhis dark flaming eyes, repeating:--Away with God, I say!Dante shoved her chair violently aside and left the table, upsettingher napkin-ring which rolled slowly along the carpet and came to restagainst the foot of an easy-chair. Mrs Dedalus rose quickly andfollowed her towards the door. At the door Dante turned round violentlyand shouted down the room, her cheeks flushed and quivering with rage:--Devil out of hell! We won! We crushed him to death! Fiend!The door slammed behind her.Mr Casey, freeing his arms from his holders, suddenly bowed his head onhis hands with a sob of pain.--Poor Parnell! he cried loudly. My dead king!He sobbed loudly and bitterly.Stephen, raising his terror-stricken face, saw that his father's eyeswere full of tears.The fellows talked together in little groups.One fellow said:--They were caught near the Hill of Lyons.--Who caught them?--Mr Gleeson and the minister. They were on a car. The same fellowadded:--A fellow in the higher line told me.Fleming asked:--But why did they run away, tell us?--I know why, Cecil Thunder said. Because they had fecked cash out ofthe rector's room.--Who fecked it?--Kickham's brother. And they all went shares in it.--But that was stealing. How could they have done that?--A fat lot you know about it, Thunder! Wells said. I know why theyscut.--Tell us why.--I was told not to, Wells said.--O, go on, Wells, all said. You might tell us. We won't let it out.Stephen bent forward his head to hear. Wells looked round to see ifanyone was coming. Then he said secretly:--You know the altar wine they keep in the press in the sacristy?--Yes.--Well, they drank that and it was found out who did it by the smell.And that's why they ran away, if you want to know.And the fellow who had spoken first said:--Yes, that's what I heard too from the fellow in the higher line.The fellows all were silent. Stephen stood among them, afraid to speak,listening. A faint sickness of awe made him feel weak. How could theyhave done that? He thought of the dark silent sacristy. There were darkwooden presses there where the crimped surplices lay quietly folded. Itwas not the chapel but still you had to speak under your breath. It wasa holy place. He remembered the summer evening he had been there to bedressed as boatbearer, the evening of the Procession to the littlealtar in the wood. A strange and holy place. The boy that held thecenser had swung it lifted by the middle chain to keep the coalslighting. That was called charcoal: and it had burned quietly as thefellow had swung it gently and had given off a weak sour smell. Andthen when all were vested he had stood holding out the boat to therector and the rector had put a spoonful of incense in it and it hadhissed on the red coals.The fellows were talking together in little groups here and there onthe playground. The fellows seemed to him to have grown smaller: thatwas because a sprinter had knocked him down the day before, a fellowout of second of grammar. He had been thrown by the fellow's machinelightly on the cinder path and his spectacles had been broken in threepieces and some of the grit of the cinders had gone into his mouth.That was why the fellows seemed to him smaller and farther away and thegoalposts so thin and far and the soft grey sky so high up. But therewas no play on the football grounds for cricket was coming: and somesaid that Barnes would be prof and some said it would be Flowers. Andall over the playgrounds they were playing rounders and bowlingtwisters and lobs. And from here and from there came the sounds of thecricket bats through the soft grey air. They said: pick, pack, pock,puck: little drops of water in a fountain slowly falling in thebrimming bowl.Athy, who had been silent, said quietly:--You are all wrong.All turned towards him eagerly.--Why?--Do you know?--Who told you?--Tell us, Athy.Athy pointed across the playground to where Simon Moonan was walking byhimself kicking a stone before him.--Ask him, he said.The fellows looked there and then said:--Why him?--Is he in it?Athy lowered his voice and said:--Do you know why those fellows scut? I will tell you but you must notlet on you know.--Tell us, Athy. Go on. You might if you know.He paused for a moment and then said mysteriously:--They were caught with Simon Moonan and Tusker Boyle in the square onenight.The fellows looked at him and asked:--Caught?--What doing?Athy said:--Smugging.All the fellows were silent: and Athy said:--And that's why.Stephen looked at the faces of the fellows but they were all lookingacross the playground. He wanted to ask somebody about it. What didthat mean about the smugging in the square? Why did the five fellowsout of the higher line run away for that? It was a joke, he thought.Simon Moonan had nice clothes and one night he had shown him a ball ofcreamy sweets that the fellows of the football fifteen had rolled downto him along the carpet in the middle of the refectory when he was atthe door. It was the night of the match against the Bective Rangers;and the ball was made just like a red and green apple only it openedand it was full of the creamy sweets. And one day Boyle had said thatan elephant had two tuskers instead of two tusks and that was why hewas called Tusker Boyle but some fellows called him Lady Boyle becausehe was always at his nails, paring them.Eileen had long thin cool white hands too because she was a girl. Theywere like ivory; only soft. That was the meaning of TOWER OF IVORY butprotestants could not understand it and made fun of it. One day he hadstood beside her looking into the hotel grounds. A waiter was runningup a trail of bunting on the flagstaff and a fox terrier was scamperingto and fro on the sunny lawn. She had put her hand into his pocketwhere his hand was and he had felt how cool and thin and soft her handwas. She had said that pockets were funny things to have: and then allof a sudden she had broken away and had run laughing down the slopingcurve of the path. Her fair hair had streamed out behind her like goldin the sun. TOWER OF IVORY. HOUSE OF GOLD. By thinking of things youcould understand them.But why in the square? You went there when you wanted to do something.It was all thick slabs of slate and water trickled all day out of tinypinholes and there was a queer smell of stale water there. And behindthe door of one of the closets there was a drawing in red pencil of abearded man in a Roman dress with a brick in each hand and underneathwas the name of the drawing:Balbus was building a wall.Some fellow had drawn it there for a cod. It had a funny face but itwas very like a man with a beard. And on the wall of another closetthere was written in backhand in beautiful writing:Julius Caesar wrote The Calico Belly.Perhaps that was why they were there because it was a place where somefellows wrote things for cod. But all the same it was queer what Athysaid and the way he said it. It was not a cod because they had runaway. He looked with the others across the playground and began to feelafraid.At last Fleming said:--And we are all to be punished for what other fellows did?--I won't come back, see if I do, Cecil Thunder said. Three days' silencein the refectory and sending us up for six and eight every minute.--Yes, said Wells. And old Barrett has a new way of twisting the noteso that you can't open it and fold it again to see how many ferulae youare to get. I won't come back too.--Yes, said Cecil Thunder, and the prefect of studies was in second ofgrammar this morning.--Let us get up a rebellion, Fleming said. Will we?All the fellows were silent. The air was very silent and you could hearthe cricket bats but more slowly than before: pick, pock.Wells asked:--What is going to be done to them?--Simon Moonan and Tusker are going to be flogged, Athy said, and thefellows in the higher line got their choice of flogging or beingexpelled.--And which are they taking? asked the fellow who had spoken first.--All are taking expulsion except Corrigan, Athy answered. He's goingto be flogged by Mr Gleeson.--I know why, Cecil Thunder said. He is right and the other fellowsare wrong because a flogging wears off after a bit but a fellow thathas been expelled from college is known all his life on account of it.Besides Gleeson won't flog him hard.--It's best of his play not to, Fleming said.--I wouldn't like to be Simon Moonan and Tusker Cecil Thunder said.But I don't believe they will be flogged. Perhaps they will be sent upfor twice nine.--No, no, said Athy. They'll both get it on the vital spot. Wellsrubbed himself and said in a crying voice:--Please, sir, let me off!Athy grinned and turned up the sleeves of his jacket, saying:It can't be helped;
It must be done.
So down with your breeches
And out with your bum.
The fellows laughed; but he felt that they were a little afraid. In thesilence of the soft grey air he heard the cricket bats from here andfrom there: pock. That was a sound to hear but if you were hit then youwould feel a pain. The pandybat made a sound too but not like that. Thefellows said it was made of whalebone and leather with lead inside: andhe wondered what was the pain like. There were different kinds ofsounds. A long thin cane would have a high whistling sound and hewondered what was that pain like. It made him shivery to think of itand cold: and what Athy said too. But what was there to laugh at in it?It made him shivery: but that was because you always felt like a shiverwhen you let down your trousers. It was the same in the bath when youundressed yourself. He wondered who had to let them down, the master orthe boy himself. O how could they laugh about it that way?He looked at Athy's rolled-up sleeves and knuckly inky hands. He hadrolled up his sleeves to show how Mr Gleeson would roll up his sleeves.But Mr Gleeson had round shiny cuffs and clean white wrists and fattishwhite hands and the nails of them were long and pointed. Perhaps hepared them too like Lady Boyle. But they were terribly long and pointednails. So long and cruel they were, though the white fattish hands werenot cruel but gentle. And though he trembled with cold and fright tothink of the cruel long nails and of the high whistling sound of the caneand of the chill you felt at the end of your shirt when you undressedyourself yet he felt a feeling of queer quiet pleasure inside him to thinkof the white fattish hands, clean and strong and gentle. And he thought ofwhat Cecil Thunder had said: that Mr Gleeson would not flog Corrigan hard.And Fleming had said he would not because it was best of his play notto. But that was not whyA voice from far out on the playground cried:--All in!And other voices cried:--All in! All in!During the writing lesson he sat with his arms folded, listening to theslow scraping of the pens. Mr Harford went to and fro making littlesigns in red pencil and sometimes sitting beside the boy to show himhow to hold his pen. He had tried to spell out the headline for himselfthough he knew already what it was for it was the last of the book.ZEAL WITHOUT PRUDENCE IS LIKE A SHIP ADRIFT. But the lines of theletters were like fine invisible threads and it was only by closing hisright eye tight and staring out of the left eye that he could make outthe full curves of the capital.But Mr Harford was very decent and never got into a wax. All the othermasters got into dreadful waxes. But why were they to suffer for whatfellows in the higher line did? Wells had said that they had drunk someof the altar wine out of the press in the sacristy and that it had beenfound out who had done it by the smell. Perhaps they had stolen amonstrance to run away with and sell it somewhere. That must have beena terrible sin, to go in there quietly at night, to open the dark pressand steal the flashing gold thing into which God was put on the altarin the middle of flowers and candles at benediction while the incensewent up in clouds at both sides as the fellow swung the censer andDominic Kelly sang the first part by himself in the choir. But God wasnot in it of course when they stole it. But still it was a strange anda great sin even to touch it. He thought of it with deep awe; aterrible and strange sin: it thrilled him to think of it in the silencewhen the pens scraped lightly. But to drink the altar wine out of thepress and be found out by the smell was a sin too: but it was notterrible and strange. It only made you feel a little sickish on accountof the smell of the wine. Because on the day when he had made his firstholy communion in the chapel he had shut his eyes and opened his mouthand put out his tongue a little: and when the rector had stooped downto give him the holy communion he had smelt a faint winy smell off therector's breath after the wine of the mass. The word was beautiful:wine. It made you think of dark purple because the grapes were darkpurple that grew in Greece outside houses like white temples. But thefaint smell of the rector's breath had made him feel a sick feeling onthe morning of his first communion. The day of your first communion wasthe happiest day of your life. And once a lot of generals had askedNapoleon what was the happiest day of his life. They thought he wouldsay the day he won some great battle or the day he was made an emperor.But he said:--Gentlemen, the happiest day of my life was the day on which I mademy first holy communion.Father Arnall came in and the Latin lesson began and he remained still,leaning on the desk with his arms folded. Father Arnall gave out thetheme-books and he said that they were scandalous and that they wereall to be written out again with the corrections at once. But the worstof all was Fleming's theme because the pages were stuck together by ablot: and Father Arnall held it up by a corner and said it was aninsult to any master to send him up such a theme. Then he asked JackLawton to decline the noun MARE and Jack Lawton stopped at the ablativesingular and could not go on with the plural.--You should be ashamed of yourself, said Father Arnall sternly. You,the leader of the class!Then he asked the next boy and the next and the next. Nobody knew.Father Arnall became very quiet, more and more quiet as each boy triedto answer it and could not. But his face was black-looking andhis eyes were staring though his voice was so quiet. Then he askedFleming and Fleming said that the word had no plural. Father Arnallsuddenly shut the book and shouted at him:--Kneel out there in the middle of the class. You are one of theidlest boys I ever met. Copy out your themes again the rest of you.Fleming moved heavily out of his place and knelt between the two lastbenches. The other boys bent over their theme-books and began to write.A silence filled the classroom and Stephen, glancing timidly at FatherArnall's dark face, saw that it was a little red from the wax he was in.Was that a sin for Father Arnall to be in a wax or was he allowed toget into a wax when the boys were idle because that made them studybetter or was he only letting on to be in a wax? It was because he wasallowed, because a priest would know what a sin was and would not doit. But if he did it one time by mistake what would he do to go toconfession? Perhaps he would go to confession to the minister. And ifthe minister did it he would go to the rector: and the rector to theprovincial: and the provincial to the general of the jesuits. That wascalled the order: and he had heard his father say that they were allclever men. They could all have become high-up people in the world ifthey had not become jesuits. And he wondered what Father Arnall andPaddy Barrett would have become and what Mr McGlade and Mr Gleesonwould have become if they had not become jesuits. It was hard to thinkwhat because you would have to think of them in a different way withdifferent coloured coats and trousers and with beards and moustachesand different kinds of hats.The door opened quietly and closed. A quick whisper ran through theclass: the prefect of studies. There was an instant of dead silence andthen the loud crack of a pandybat on the last desk. Stephen's heartleapt up in fear.--Any boys want flogging here, Father Arnall? cried the prefect ofstudies. Any lazy idle loafers that want flogging in this class?He came to the middle of the class and saw Fleming on his knees.--Hoho! he cried. Who is this boy? Why is he on his knees? What isyour name, boy?--Fleming, sir.--Hoho, Fleming! An idler of course. I can see it in your eye. Why ishe on his knees, Father Arnall?--He wrote a bad Latin theme, Father Arnall said, and he missed allthe questions in grammar.--Of course he did! cried the prefect of studies, of course he did! Aborn idler! I can see it in the corner of his eye.He banged his pandybat down on the desk and cried:--Up, Fleming! Up, my boy!Fleming stood up slowly.--Hold out! cried the prefect of studies.Fleming held out his hand. The pandybat came down on it with a loudsmacking sound: one, two, three, four, five, six.--Other hand!The pandybat came down again in six loud quick smacks.--Kneel down! cried the prefect of studies.Fleming knelt down, squeezing his hands under his armpits, his facecontorted with pain; but Stephen knew how hard his hands were becauseFleming was always rubbing rosin into them. But perhaps he was in greatpain for the noise of the pandybat was terrible. Stephen's heart wasbeating and fluttering.--At your work, all of you! shouted the prefect of studies. We want nolazy idle loafers here, lazy idle little schemers. At your work, I tellyou. Father Dolan will be in to see you every day. Father Dolan will bein tomorrow.He poked one of the boys in the side with his pandybat, saying:--You, boy! When will Father Dolan be in again?--Tomorrow, sir, said Tom Furlong's voice.--Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, said the prefect of studies.Make up your minds for that. Every day Father Dolan. Write away. You,boy, who are you?Stephen's heart jumped suddenly.--Dedalus, sir.--Why are you not writing like the others?--I...my...He could not speak with fright.--Why is he not writing, Father Arnall?--He broke his glasses, said Father Arnall, and I exempted him fromwork.--Broke? What is this I hear? What is this your name is! said theprefect of studies.--Dedalus, sir.--Out here, Dedalus. Lazy little schemer. I see schemer in your face.Where did you break your glasses?Stephen stumbled into the middle of the class, blinded by fear and haste.--Where did you break your glasses? repeated the prefect of studies.--The cinder-path, sir.--Hoho! The cinder-path! cried the prefect of studies. I know that trick.Stephen lifted his eyes in wonder and saw for a moment Father Dolan'swhite-grey not young face, his baldy white-grey head with fluff at thesides of it, the steel rims of his spectacles and his no-coloured eyeslooking through the glasses. Why did he say he knew that trick?--Lazy idle little loafer! cried the prefect of studies. Broke myglasses! An old schoolboy trick! Out with your hand this moment!Stephen closed his eyes and held out in the air his trembling hand withthe palm upwards. He felt the prefect of studies touch it for a momentat the fingers to straighten it and then the swish of the sleeve of thesoutane as the pandybat was lifted to strike. A hot burning stingingtingling blow like the loud crack of a broken stick made his tremblinghand crumple together like a leaf in the fire: and at the sound and thepain scalding tears were driven into his eyes. His whole body was shakingwith fright, his arm was shaking and his crumpled burning livid hand shooklike a loose leaf in the air. A cry sprang to his lips, a prayer to be letoff. But though the tears scalded his eyes and his limbs quivered withpain and fright he held back the hot tears and the cry that scalded histhroat.--Other hand! shouted the prefect of studies.Stephen drew back his maimed and quivering right arm and held out hisleft hand. The soutane sleeve swished again as the pandybat was liftedand a loud crashing sound and a fierce maddening tingling burning painmade his hand shrink together with the palms and fingers in a lividquivering mass. The scalding water burst forth from his eyes and,burning with shame and agony and fear, he drew back his shaking arm interror and burst out into a whine of pain. His body shook with a palsyof fright and in shame and rage he felt the scalding cry come from histhroat and the scalding tears falling out of his eyes and down hisflaming cheeks.--Kneel down, cried the prefect of studies.Stephen knelt down quickly pressing his beaten hands to his sides. Tothink of them beaten and swollen with pain all in a moment made himfeel so sorry for them as if they were not his own but someone else'sthat he felt sorry for. And as he knelt, calming the last sobs in histhroat and feeling the burning tingling pain pressed into his sides, hethought of the hands which he had held out in the air with the palms upand of the firm touch of the prefect of studies when he had steadiedthe shaking fingers and of the beaten swollen reddened mass of palm andfingers that shook helplessly in the air.--Get at your work, all of you, cried the prefect of studies from thedoor. Father Dolan will be in every day to see if any boy, any lazyidle little loafer wants flogging. Every day. Every day.The door closed behind him.The hushed class continued to copy out the themes. Father Arnall rosefrom his seat and went among them, helping the boys with gentle wordsand telling them the mistakes they had made. His voice was very gentleand soft. Then he returned to his seat and said to Fleming and Stephen:--You may return to your places, you two.Fleming and Stephen rose and, walking to their seats, sat down.Stephen, scarlet with shame, opened a book quickly with one weak handand bent down upon it, his face close to the page.It was unfair and cruel because the doctor had told him not to readwithout glasses and he had written home to his father that morning tosend him a new pair. And Father Arnall had said that he need not studytill the new glasses came. Then to be called a schemer before the classand to be pandied when he always got the card for first or second andwas the leader of the Yorkists! How could the prefect of studies knowthat it was a trick? He felt the touch of the prefect's fingers as theyhad steadied his hand and at first he had thought he was going to shakehands with him because the fingers were soft and firm: but then in aninstant he had heard the swish of the soutane sleeve and the crash. Itwas cruel and unfair to make him kneel in the middle of the class then:and Father Arnall had told them both that they might return to theirplaces without making any difference between them. He listened toFather Arnall's low and gentle voice as he corrected the themes.Perhaps he was sorry now and wanted to be decent. But it was unfair andcruel. The prefect of studies was a priest but that was cruel andunfair. And his white-grey face and the no-coloured eyes behind thesteel-rimmed spectacles were cruel looking because he had steadied thehand first with his firm soft fingers and that was to hit it better andlouder.--It's a stinking mean thing, that's what it is, said Fleming in thecorridor as the classes were passing out in file to the refectory, topandy a fellow for what is not his fault.--You really broke your glasses by accident, didn't you? Nasty Rocheasked.Stephen felt his heart filled by Fleming's words and did not answer.--Of course he did! said Fleming. I wouldn't stand it. I'd go up andtell the rector on him.--Yes, said Cecil Thunder eagerly, and I saw him lift the pandy-batover his shoulder and he's not allowed to do that.--Did they hurt you much? Nasty Roche asked.--Very much, Stephen said.--I wouldn't stand it, Fleming repeated, from Baldyhead or any otherBaldyhead. It's a stinking mean low trick, that's what it is. I'd gostraight up to the rector and tell him about it after dinner.--Yes, do. Yes, do, said Cecil Thunder.--Yes, do. Yes, go up and tell the rector on him, Dedalus, said NastyRoche, because he said that he'd come in tomorrow again and pandy you.--Yes, yes. Tell the rector, all said.And there were some fellows out of second of grammar listening and oneof them said:--The senate and the Roman people declared that Dedalus had beenwrongly punished.It was wrong; it was unfair and cruel; and, as he sat in the refectory,he suffered time after time in memory the same humiliation until hebegan to wonder whether it might not really be that there was somethingin his face which made him look like a schemer and he wished he had alittle mirror to see. But there could not be; and it was unjust andcruel and unfair.He could not eat the blackish fish fritters they got on Wednesdays inlent and one of his potatoes had the mark of the spade in it. Yes, hewould do what the fellows had told him. He would go up and tell therector that he had been wrongly punished. A thing like that had beendone before by somebody in history, by some great person whose head wasin the books of history. And the rector would declare that he had beenwrongly punished because the senate and the Roman people alwaysdeclared that the men who did that had been wrongly punished. Thosewere the great men whose names were in Richmal Magnall's Questions.History was all about those men and what they did and that was whatPeter Parley's Tales about Greece and Rome were all about. Peter Parleyhimself was on the first page in a picture. There was a road over aheath with grass at the side and little bushes: and Peter Parley had abroad hat like a protestant minister and a big stick and he was walkingfast along the road to Greece and Rome.It was easy what he had to do. All he had to do was when the dinner wasover and he came out in his turn to go on walking but not out to thecorridor but up the staircase on the right that led to the castle. Hehad nothing to do but that: to turn to the right and walk fast up thestaircase and in half a minute he would be in the low dark narrowcorridor that led through the castle to the rector's room. And everyfellow had said that it was unfair, even the fellow out of second ofgrammar who had said that about the senate and the Roman people.What would happen?He heard the fellows of the higher line stand up at the top of therefectory and heard their steps as they came down the matting: PaddyRath and Jimmy Magee and the Spaniard and the Portuguese and the fifthwas big Corrigan who was going to be flogged by Mr Gleeson. That waswhy the prefect of studies had called him a schemer and pandied him fornothing: and, straining his weak eyes, tired with the tears, he watchedbig Corrigan's broad shoulders and big hanging black head passing in thefile. But he had done something and besides Mr Gleeson would not flog himhard: and he remembered how big Corrigan looked in the bath. He had skinthe same colour as the turf-coloured bogwater in the shallow end of thebath and when he walked along the side his feet slapped loudly on the wettiles and at every step his thighs shook a little because he was fat.The refectory was half empty and the fellows were still passing out infile. He could go up the staircase because there was never a priest ora prefect outside the refectory door. But he could not go. The rectorwould side with the prefect of studies and think it was a schoolboytrick and then the prefect of studies would come in every day the same,only it would be worse because he would be dreadfully waxy at anyfellow going up to the rector about him. The fellows had told him to gobut they would not go themselves. They had forgotten all about it. No,it was best to forget all about it and perhaps the prefect of studieshad only said he would come in. No, it was best to hide out of the waybecause when you were small and young you could often escape that way.The fellows at his table stood up. He stood up and passed out amongthem in the file. He had to decide. He was coming near the door. If hewent on with the fellows he could never go up to the rector because hecould not leave the playground for that. And if he went and was pandiedall the same all the fellows would make fun and talk about youngDedalus going up to the rector to tell on the prefect of studies.He was walking down along the matting and he saw the door before him.It was impossible: he could not. He thought of the baldy head of theprefect of studies with the cruel no-coloured eyes looking at him andhe heard the voice of the prefect of studies asking him twice what hisname was. Why could he not remember the name when he was told the firsttime? Was he not listening the first time or was it to make fun out ofthe name? The great men in the history had names like that and nobodymade fun of them. It was his own name that he should have made fun ofif he wanted to make fun. Dolan: it was like the name of a woman whowashed clothes.He had reached the door and, turning quickly up to the right, walked upthe stairs and, before he could make up his mind to come back, he hadentered the low dark narrow corridor that led to the castle. And as hecrossed the threshold of the door of the corridor he saw, withoutturning his head to look, that all the fellows were looking after himas they went filing by.He passed along the narrow dark corridor, passing little doors thatwere the doors of the rooms of the community. He peered in front of himand right and left through the gloom and thought that those must beportraits. It was dark and silent and his eyes were weak and tired withtears so that he could not see. But he thought they were the portraitsof the saints and great men of the order who were looking down on himsilently as he passed: saint Ignatius Loyola holding an open book andpointing to the words AD MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM in it; saint FrancisXavier pointing to his chest; Lorenzo Ricci with his berretta on hishead like one of the prefects of the lines, the three patrons of holyyouth--saint Stanislaus Kostka, saint Aloysius Gonzago, and BlessedJohn Berchmans, all with young faces because they died when they wereyoung, and Father Peter Kenny sitting in a chair wrapped in a bigcloak.He came out on the landing above the entrance hall and looked abouthim. That was where Hamilton Rowan had passed and the marks of thesoldiers' slugs were there. And it was there that the old servants hadseen the ghost in the white cloak of a marshal.An old servant was sweeping at the end of the landing. He asked himwhere was the rector's room and the old servant pointed to the door atthe far end and looked after him as he went on to it and knocked.There was no answer. He knocked again more loudly and his heart jumpedwhen he heard a muffled voice say:--Come in!He turned the handle and opened the door and fumbled for the handle ofthe green baize door inside. He found it and pushed it open and went in.He saw the rector sitting at a desk writing. There was a skull on thedesk and a strange solemn smell in the room like the old leather ofchairs.His heart was beating fast on account of the solemn place he was in andthe silence of the room: and he looked at the skull and at the rector'skind-looking face.--Well, my little man, said the rector, what is it?Stephen swallowed down the thing in his throat and said:--I broke my glasses, sir.The rector opened his mouth and said:--O!Then he smiled and said:--Well, if we broke our glasses we must write home for a new pair.--I wrote home, sir, said Stephen, and Father Arnall said I am not tostudy till they come.--Quite right! said the rector.Stephen swallowed down the thing again and tried to keep his legs andhis voice from shaking.--But, sir----Yes?--Father Dolan came in today and pandied me because I was not writingmy theme.The rector looked at him in silence and he could feel the blood risingto his face and the tears about to rise to his eyes.The rector said:--Your name is Dedalus, isn't it?--Yes, sir...--And where did you break your glasses?--On the cinder-path, sir. A fellow was coming out of the bicyclehouse and I fell and they got broken. I don't know the fellow's name.The rector looked at him again in silence. Then he smiled and said:--O, well, it was a mistake; I am sure Father Dolan did not know.--But I told him I broke them, sir, and he pandied me.--Did you tell him that you had written home for a new pair? therector asked.--No, sir.--O well then, said the rector, Father Dolan did not understand. You cansay that I excuse you from your lessons for a few days.Stephen said quickly for fear his trembling would prevent him:--Yes, sir, but Father Dolan said he will come in tomorrow to pandy meagain for it.--Very well, the rector said, it is a mistake and I shall speak toFather Dolan myself. Will that do now?Stephen felt the tears wetting his eyes and murmured:--O yes sir, thanks.The rector held his hand across the side of the desk where the skullwas and Stephen, placing his hand in it for a moment, felt a cool moistpalm.--Good day now, said the rector, withdrawing his hand and bowing.--Good day, sir, said Stephen.He bowed and walked quietly out of the room, closing the doorscarefully and slowly.But when he had passed the old servant on the landing and was again inthe low narrow dark corridor he began to walk faster and faster. Fasterand faster he hurried on through the gloom excitedly. He bumped hiselbow against the door at the end and, hurrying down the staircase,walked quickly through the two corridors and out into the air.He could hear the cries of the fellows on the playgrounds. He brokeinto a run and, running quicker and quicker, ran across the cinderpathand reached the third line playground, panting.The fellows had seen him running. They closed round him in a ring,pushing one against another to hear.--Tell us! Tell us!--What did he say?--Did you go in?--What did he say?--Tell us! Tell us!He told them what he had said and what the rector had said and, when hehad told them, all the fellows flung their caps spinning up into theair and cried:--Hurroo!They caught their caps and sent them up again spinning sky-high andcried again:--Hurroo! Hurroo!They made a cradle of their locked hands and hoisted him up among themand carried him along till he struggled to get free. And when he hadescaped from them they broke away in all directions, flinging theircaps again into the air and whistling as they went spinning up andcrying:--Hurroo!And they gave three groans for Baldyhead Dolan and three cheers forConmee and they said he was the decentest rector that was ever inClongowes.The cheers died away in the soft grey air. He was alone. He was happyand free; but he would not be anyway proud with Father Dolan. He wouldbe very quiet and obedient: and he wished that he could do somethingkind for him to show him that he was not proud.The air was soft and grey and mild and evening was coming. There wasthe smell of evening in the air, the smell of the fields in the countrywhere they digged up turnips to peel them and eat them when they wentout for a walk to Major Barton's, the smell there was in the littlewood beyond the pavilion where the gallnuts were.The fellows were practising long shies and bowling lobs and slowtwisters. In the soft grey silence he could hear the bump of the balls:and from here and from there through the quiet air the sound of thecricket bats: pick, pack, pock, puck: like drops of water in a fountainfalling softly in the brimming bowl.
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