Complete Works of James Joyce

by Unknown

  — Yes, yes, said Father Butt one day after one of these scenes, I see . . . I quite see your point . . . It would apply of course to the dramas of Turgenieff?

  Stephen had read and admired certain translations of Turgenieff’s novels and stories and he asked therefore with a genuine note in his voice:

  — Do you mean his novels?

  — Novels, yes, said Father Butt swiftly, . . . his novels, to be sure . . . but of course they are dramas . . . are they not, Mr Daedalus?

  Very often Stephen used to visit at a house in Donnybrook the atmosphere of which was compact of liberal patriotism and orthodox study. There were several marriageable daughters in the family and whenever any promise [was] on the part of a young student was signalled he was sure to receive an invitation to this house. The young feminist McCann was a constant visitor there and Madden used to visit occasionally. The father of the family was an elderly man who played chess on week evenings with his grown-up sons and assisted on Sunday evenings at a round of games and music. The music was supplied by Stephen. There was an old piano in the room and when the room was tired of games one of the daughters used to come over smilingly to Stephen and a ask him to sing them some of his beautiful songs. The keys of the piano were worn away and sometimes the notes would not sound but the tone was soft and mellow and Stephen used to sit down and sing his beautiful songs to the polite, tired, unmusical audience. The songs, for him at least, were really beautiful — the old country songs of England and the elegant songs of the Elizabethans. The ‘moral’ of these songs was sometimes a little dubious and Stephen’s ear used to catch at once the note of qualification in the applause that followed them. The studious daughters found these songs very quaint but Mr Daniel said that Stephen should sing operatic music if he wanted to have his voice heard properly. In spite of the entire absence of sympathy between this circle and himself Stephen was very much at ease in it and he was, as they bade him be, very much ‘at home’ as he sat on the sofa counting the lumps of horsehair with the ends of his a fingers, and listening to the conversation. The young men and the daughters amused themselves tolerably under Mr Daniel’s eye but whenever there was an approach to artistic matters during the process of their games Stephen with egoistic humour imagined his presence acting as a propriety. He could see seriousness developing on the shrewd features of a young man who had to put a certain question to one of the daughters:

  — I suppose it’s my turn now . . . Well . . . let me see . . . (and here he became as serious as a young man, who has been laughing very much for a full five minutes, can become) . . . Who is your favourite poet, Annie?

  Annie thought for a few moments: there was a pause. Annie and the young man were ‘doing’ the same course.

  — . . . German?

  — . .. Yes.

  Annie thought for another few moments while the table waited to be edified.

  — I think . . . Goethe.

  McCann used very often to organise a charades in which he used to take the most violent parts. The charades were very farcical and everyone took his part with goodwill, Stephen as well as the others. Stephen would [play often] play his quiet deliberative manner off against McCann’s uproarious acting and for this reason the two were often ‘picked’ together. These charades wearied Stephen a little but McCann was very much given to organising them as he was of the opinion that amusement is necessary for the bodily welfare of mankind. The young feminist’s Northern accent always excited laughter and his face, adorned with its Cavalier beard, was certainly capable of brazen grimaces. In the college McCann [was] had never been assimilated on account of his ‘ideas’ but here he partook of the inner life of the family. In this house it was the custom to call a young visitor by his Christian name a little too soon and though Stephen was spared the compliment, McCann was never spoken of as anything but ‘Phil.’ Stephen used to call him ‘Bonny Dundee’ nonsensically associating [the] his brisk name and his brisk manners with the sound of the line:

  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can.

  Whenever the evening assumed the character of a serious affair Mr Daniel would be asked to recite something for the company. Mr Daniel had formerly been the manager of a theatre in Wexford and he had often spoken at public meetings through the country. He recited national pieces in a stern declamatory fashion amid attentive silence. The daughters also recited. During these recitations Stephen’s eye never moved from the picture of the Sacred Heart which hung right above the head of the reciter’s head. The Miss Daniels were not so imposing as their father and their dress was {illegible word} somewhat colleen. Jesus, moreover, exposed his heart somewhat too obviously in the cheap print: and Stephen’s thoughts were usually fascinated to a pleasant stupor by these twin futilities. A parliamentary charade was frequent. Mr Daniel had sat for his county some years before and for this reason he was chosen to impersonate the Speaker of the House. McCann always represented a member of the Opposition and he spoke point-blank. Then a member would protest and there would be a make-believe of parliamentary manners.

  — Mr Speaker, I must ask . . .

  — Order! Order!

  — You know it’s a lie!

  — You must withdraw, Sir.

  — As I was saying before the honourable gentleman interrupted we must . . .

  — I won’t withdraw.

  — I must ask honourable members to preserve order in the House.

  — I won’t withdraw.

  — Order! Order!

  Another favourite was “Who’s Who.” A person goes out of the room and the rest of the company choose the name of someone who is supposed to have special attractions for the absent player. This latter, when he returns to the company, has to ask questions all round and try to guess the name. This game was generally used to the discomfiture of the young male guests for the manner in which it was played suggested that each young student had an affair of the heart with some young lady within tolerable distance of him: but the young men, who were at first surprised by these implications, ended by looking as if they thought that the sagacity of the other players had just forestalled them in an unexpected, not unpleasant, discovery. No such suggestion could be seriously made by the company to fit Stephen’s case and so the first time he played the game they chose differently for him. The [company was] players were unable to answer his questions when he returned to the room: such questions as: “Where does the person live?” “Is the person married or single?” “What age is the person?” could not be answered by the circle until McCann had been consulted in a swift undertone. The answer “Norway” gave Stephen the clue at once and so the game ended and the company proceeded to divert themselves as before this serious interruption. Stephen sat down beside one of the daughters and, while admiring the rural comeliness of her features, waited quietly for her first word which, he knew, would destroy his satisfaction. Her large handsome eyes looked at him for a while as if they were a about to trust him and then she said:

  — How did you guess it so quickly?

  — I knew you meant him. But you’re wrong about his age.

  Others had heard this: but she was impressed by a possible vastness of the unknown, complimented to confer with one who conferred directly with the exceptional. She leaned forward to speak with soft seriousness.

  — Why, how old is he?

  — Over seventy.

  — Is he?

  Stephen now imagined that he had explored this region sufficiently and he would have discontinued his visits had not two causes induced him to continue. The first cause was the unpleasant character of his home and the second was the curiosity occasioned by the advent of a new figure. One evening while he was musing on the horsehair sofa he heard his name called and stood up to be introduced. A dark a full-figured girl was standing before him and, without waiting for Miss Daniel’s introduction, she said:

  — I think we know each other already.

  She sat beside him on the sofa and he found out that she was studying in the s
ame college with the Miss Daniels and that she always signed her name in Irish. She said Stephen should a learn Irish too and join the League. A young man of the company, [with] whose face wore always the same look of studied purpose, spoke with her across Stephen addressing her familiarly by her Irish name. Stephen therefore spoke very formally and always addressed her as ‘Miss Clery.’ She seemed on her part to include him in the a general scheme of her nationalising charm: and when he helped her into her jacket she allowed his hands to rest for a moment against the warm flesh of her shoulders.

  XVII

  Stephen’s home-life had by this time grown sufficiently unpleasant: the direction of his development was against the stream of tendency of his family. The evening walks with Maurice had been prohibited for it had become evident that Stephen was corrupting his brother to idle habits. Stephen was harassed very much by enquiries as to his progress at the College and Mr Daedalus, meditating upon the evasive answers, had begun to express a fear that his son was falling into bad company. The youth was given to understand that if he did not succeed brilliantly at the coming examination his career at the University would come to a close. He was not greatly troubled by this warning for he knew that his fate was, in this respect, with his godfather and not with his father. He felt that the moments of his youth were too precious to be wasted in a dull mechanical endeavour and he determined, whatever came of it, to prosecute his intentions to the end. His family expected that he would at once follow the path of remunerative respectability and save the situation but he could not satisfy his family. He thanked their intention: it had first fulfilled him with egoism; and he rejoiced that his life had been so self-centred. He felt [also] however that there were activities which it a would be a peril :D to postpone.

  Maurice accepted this prohibition with a bad grace and had to be restrained by his brother from overt disobedience. Stephen himself bore it lightly because he could ease himself greatly in solitude and for human channels, at the worst, he could resort to a few of his college-companions. He was now busily preparing his paper for the Literary and Historical Society and he took every precaution to ensure in it a maximum of explosive force. It seemed to him that the students might need only the word to enkindle them towards liberty or that, at least, his trumpet-call might bring to his side a certain minority of the elect. McCann was the Auditor of the Society and as he was anxious to know the trend of Stephen’s paper the two used often to leave the Library at ten o’clock and walk towards the Auditor’s lodgings, discussing. McCann enjoyed the reputation of a fearless, free-spoken young man but Stephen found it difficult to bring him to any fixed terms on matters which were held to be dangerous ground. McCann would talk freely on feminism and on rational life: he believed that the sexes should be educated together in order to accustom them early to each other’s influences and he believed that women should be afforded the same opportunities as were afforded to the so-called superior sex and he believed that women had the right to compete with men in every branch of social and intellectual activity. He also held the opinion that a man should live without using any kind of stimulant, that he had a moral obligation to transmit to posterity sound minds in sound bodies, and that he should not allow himself to be dictated to on the subject of dress by any conventions. Stephen delighted to riddle these theories with agile bullets.

  — You would have no sphere of life closed to them?

  — Certainly not.

  — Would you have the soldiery, the police and the fire-brigade recruited also from them?

  — There are certain social duties for which women are physically unfitted.

  — I believe you.

  — At the same time they should be allowed to follow any civil profession for which they have an aptitude.

  — Doctors and lawyers?

  — Certainly.

  — And what about the third learned profession?

  — How do you mean?

  — Do you think they would make good confessors?

  — You are flippant. The Church does not allow women to enter the priesthood.

  — O, the Church!

  Whenever the conversation reached this point McCann refused to follow it further. The discussions usually ended in [an impasse] a deadlock:

  — But you go mountain-climbing in search of fresh air?

  — Yes.

  — And bathing in the summertime?

  — Yes.

  — And surely the mountain air and the salt water act as stimulants!

  — Natural stimulants, yes.

  — What do you call an unnatural stimulant?

  — Intoxicating drinks.

  — But they are produced from natural vegetable substances, aren’t they?

  — Perhaps, but by an unnatural process.

  — Then you regard a brewer as a high thaumaturgist?

  — Intoxicating drinks are manufactured to satisfy artificially induced appetites. Man, in the normal condition, has no need for such props to life.

  — Give me an example of man in what you call ‘the normal condition.’

  — A man who lives a healthy, natural life.

  — Yourself?

  — Yes.

  — Do you then represent normal humanity?

  — I do.

  — Then is normal humanity short-sighted and tone-deaf?

  — Tone-deaf?

  — Yes: I think you are tone-deaf.

  — I like to hear music.

  — What music?

  — All music.

  — But you cannot distinguish one air from another.

  — No: I can recognise some airs.

  — For instance?

  — I can recognise ‘God save the Queen.’

  — Perhaps because all the people stand up and take off their hats.

  — Well, admit that my ear is a little defective.

  — And your eyes?

  — They too.

  — Then how do you represent normal humanity?

  — In my manner of life.

  — Your wants and the manner in which you satisfy them,

  — Exactly.

  — And what are your wants?

  — Air and food.

  — Have you any subsidiary ones?

  — The acquisition of knowledge.

  — And you need also religious comforts?

  — Maybe so . . . at times.

  — And women . . . at times?

  — Never!

  This last word was uttered with a moral snap of the jaws and in such a business-like tone of voice that Stephen burst out into a fit of loud laughter. As for the fact, though he was very suspicious in this matter, Stephen was inclined to believe in McCann’s chastity and much as he disliked it he chose to contemplate it rather than the contrary phenomenon. He almost trembled to think of that unhorizoned doggedness working its way backwards.

  McCann’s insistence on a righteous life and his condemnation of licence as a sin against the future both annoyed and stung Stephen. It annoyed him because it savoured so strongly of and it stung him because it seemed to judge him incapable of that part. In McCann’s mouth he considered it unjust and unnatural and he fell back on a sentence of Bacon’s. The care of posterity, he quoted, is greatest in them that have no posterity: and for the rest he said that he could not understand what right the future had to hinder him from any passionate exertions in the present.

  — That is not the teaching of Ibsen, said McCann.

  — Teaching! cried Stephen.

  — The moral of is just the opposite of what you say.

  — Bah! You regard a play as a scientific document.

  — teaches self-repression.

  — O Jesus! said Stephen in agony.

  — This is my lodging, said McCann, halting at the gate. I must go in.

  — You have connected Ibsen and Eno’s fruit salt forever in my mind, said Stephen.

  — Daedalus, said the Auditor crisply, you are a good fellow but you
have yet to learn the dignity of altruism and the responsibility of the human individual.

  Stephen had decided to address himself to Madden to [find out] ascertain where Miss Clery was to be found. He set about this task carefully. Madden and he were often together but their conversations were rarely serious and though the rustic mind of one was very forcibly impressed by the metropolitanism of the other both young men were on relations of affectionate familiarity. Madden who had previously tried in vain to infect Stephen with nationalistic fever was surprised to hear these overtures of his friend. He was delighted at the prospect of making such a convert and he began to appeal eloquently to the sense of justice. Stephen allowed his critical faculty a rest. The so-desired community for the realising of which Madden sought to engage his personal force seemed to him anything but ideal and the liberation which would have satisfied Madden would by no means have satisfied him. The Roman, not the Sassenach, was for him the tyrant of the islanders: and so deeply had the tyranny eaten into all souls that the intelligence, first overborne so arrogantly, was now eager to prove that arrogance its friend. The watchcry was Faith and Fatherland, a sacred word in that world of cleverly inflammable enthusiasms With literal obedience and with annual doles the Irish bid eagerly for the honour which was studiously withheld from them to be given to nations which in the [present] past, as in the [past] present, had never bent the knee but in defiance. While the multitude of preachers assured them that high honours were on the way and encouraged them ever to hope. The last should be first, according to the Christian sentiment, and whosoever humbled himself, exalted and in reward for several centuries of obscure fidelity the Pope’s Holiness had presented a tardy cardinal to an island which was for him, perhaps, only the afterthought of Europe.