Complete Works of James Joyce (261 page)

 
— Shelley.

 
— Illume — it’s just the word, d’ye know, for autumn, deep gold colour.

 
— A spiritual interpretation of landscape is very rare. Some people think they write spiritually if they make their scenery dim and cloudy.

 
— That bit you said now doesn’t seem to me spiritual.

 
— Nor to me: but sometimes Shelley does not address the eye. He says “many a lake-surrounded flute.” Does that strike your eye or your sense of colour?

 
— Shelley has a face that reminds me of a bird. What is it? “The lake-surrounded sun illume”? . . .

—”The lake-reflected sun illume

  
The yellow bees in the ivy bloom.”

 
— What are you quoting? asked Glynn who had just come out of the Library after several hours of study.

Cranly surveyed him before answering:

 
— Shelley.

 
— O, Shelley? What was the quotation again?

Cranly nodded towards Stephen.

 
— What was the quotation? asked Glynn. Shelley is an old flame of mine.

Stephen repeated the lines and Glynn nodded his head nervously several times in approval.

 
— Beautiful poetry Shelley wrote, didn’t he? So mystical.

 
— D’ye know what they call them yellow bees in Wickla? asked Cranly suddenly, turning to Glynn.

 
— No? what?

 
— Red-arsed bees.

Cranly laughed loudly at his own remark and struck his heels on the granite steps. Glynn, conscious of a false position, began to fumble with his umbrella and to search for one of his stock witticisms.

 
— But that is only, he said, if you will pardon the expression, that is only so to speak . . .

—”The lake-surrounded sun illume

  
The red-arsed bees in the ivy bloom.”

 
— It’s every bit as good bloody poetry as Shelley’s, said Cranly to Glynn. What do you think?

 
— It seems to me undeniable, said Glynn driving his unsteady umbrella before him as an emphasis, that the bees are in the bloom. Of that we may say that it is distinctly so.

The examination lasted five days. After the first two days Cranly did not even go through the form of entering the examination hall but after each paper he was to be seen outside the University going over all the questions carefully with his more diligent friends. He said that the papers were very easy and that anyone could pass them on a fair knowledge. He did not ask Stephen any particular questions but said merely “I suppose you’re through.” “I expect so” said Stephen. McCann usually came to meet the students who had been under examination. He came partly because he considered it was part of his duty to show an interest in all that concerned the College, and partly because one of Mr Daniel’s daughters was under examination. Stephen who did not care very much whether he succeeded or failed in the examination was very much amused observing the jealousies and nervous anxieties which tried to conceal themselves under airs of carelessness. Students who had studied hard all the year pretended to be in the same case as idlers and idle and diligent both appeared to submit to the examination with great unwillingness. Those who were rivals did not speak to each other, being afraid to trust their eyes, but one questioned wandering acquaintances privily about the other’s success. Their excitement was so genuine that even the excitement of sex failed to overcome it. The girl students were not the subject of the usual sniggers and jokes but were regarded with some aversion as sly enemies. Some of the young men eased their enmity and vindicated their superiority at the same time by saying that it was no wonder the women would do well seeing that they could study ten hours [all] a day all the year round. McCann, who acted as go-between, told them the gossip from the other camp and it was he who [had] spread the report that Landy would not get first class honours in English because Miss Reeves had written an essay of twenty pages on .

The examination ended on Tuesday. On Wednesday morning Stephen’s mother seemed to be rather anxious. Stephen had not given his parents much satisfaction as to his conduct at the examination but he could not think that this was the cause of his mother’s trouble: he waited, however, for the trouble to declare itself. His mother waited till the room was clear and then she said casually:

 
— You have not made your Easter duty yet, have you, Stephen?

Stephen answered that he had not.

 
— It would be better for you to go to confession in the daytime. Tomorrow is Ascension Thursday and the chapels are sure to be crowded tonight by people who have left off making their Easter duty till the last moment. It’s a wonder people wouldn’t have more shame in them. Goodness knows they have time enough from Ash Wednesday, without waiting till the stroke of twelve to go to the priest . . . I’m not speaking of you, Stephen. I know you have been studying for your examination. But people who have nothing to do . . .

Stephen made no answer to this but went on scraping diligently in his eggshell.

 
— I have made my Easter duty already — on Holy Thursday — but I’m going to the altar in the morning. I am making a novena and I want you to offer up your communion for a special intention of mine.

 
— What special intention?

 
— Well, dear, I’m very much concerned about Isabel . . . I don’t know what to think . . .

Stephen stuck his spoon angrily through the bottom of the shell and asked was there any more tea.

 
— There’s no more in the pot but I can boil some water in a minute.

 
— O, never mind.

 
— It won’t be a jiffy.

Stephen allowed the water to be put on as it would [allow] give him time to put an end to the conversation. He was much annoyed that his mother should try to wheedle him into conformity by using his sister’s health as an argument. He felt that such an attempt dishonoured him and freed him from the last dissuasions of considerate piety. His mother put on the water and appeared to be less anxious as if she had expected a blunt refusal. She even ventured on the small talk of religious matrons.

 
— I must try and get in to town tomorrow in time for High Mass in Marlborough St. Tomorrow is a great feast-day in the Church.

 
— Why? asked Stephen smiling.

 
— The Ascension of Our Lord, answered his mother gravely.

 
— And why is that a great feast-day?

 
— Because it was on that day he showed Himself Divine: he ascended into Heaven.

Stephen began to plaster butter over a crusty heel of the loaf while his features settled into definite hostility:

 
— Where did he go off?

 
— From Mount Olivet, answered his mother reddening under her eyes.

 
— Head first?

 
— What do you mean, Stephen?

 
— I mean he must have been rather giddy by the time he arrived. Why didn’t he go by balloon?

 
— Stephen, are you trying to scoff at Our Lord? I really thought you had more intelligence than to use that kind of language: it’s only what people who believe only in what they can see under their noses say. I’m surprised.

 
— Tell me, mother, said Stephen between mouthfuls, do you mean to tell me you believe that our friend went up off the mountain as they say he did?

 
— I do.

 
— I don’t.

 
— What are you saying, Stephen?

 
— It’s absurd: it’s Barnum. He comes into the world God knows how, walks on the water, gets out of his grave and goes up off the Hill of Howth. What drivel is this?

 
— Stephen!

 
— I don’t believe it: and it would be no credit if I did. It’s no credit to me that I don’t. It’s drivel.

 
— The most learned doctors of the Church believe it and that’s good enough for me.

 
— He can fast for forty days .

 
— God can do all things.

 
— There’s a fellow in Capel St at present in a show who says he can eat glass and hard nails. He calls himself .

 
— Stephen, said his mother, I’m afraid you have lost your faith.

 
— I’m afraid so too, said Stephen.

Mrs Daedalus looked very discomposed and sat down helplessly on the nearest chair. Stephen fixed his attention on the water and when it was ready made himself another cup of tea.

 
— I little thought, said his mother, that it would come to this — that a child of mine would lose the faith.

 
— But you knew some time ago.

 
— How could I know?

 
— You knew.

 
— I suspected something was wrong but I never thought

 
— And yet you wanted me to receive Holy Communion!

 
— Of course you cannot receive it now. But I thought you would make your Easter duty as you have done every year up till now. I do not know what led you astray unless it was those books you read. John, too, your uncle — he was led astray by books when he was young but — only for a time.

 
— Poor fellow! said Stephen.

 
— You were religiously brought up by the Jesuits, in a Catholic home . . .

 
— A very Catholic home!

 
— None of your people, neither your father’s nor mine, have a drop of anything but Catholic blood in their veins.

 
— Well, I’ll make a beginning in the family.

 
— This is the result of being left too much liberty. You do as you like and believe what you like.

 
— I don’t believe, for example, that Jesus was the only man that ever had pure auburn hair.

 
— Well?

 
— Nor that he was the only man that was exactly six feet high, neither more nor less.

 
— Well?

 
— Well, you believe that. I heard you tell that years ago to our nurse in Bray — do you remember nurse Sarah?

Mrs Daedalus defended the tradition in a half-hearted way.

 
— That is what they say.

 
— O, they say! They say a great deal.

 
— But you need not believe that if you don’t want to.

 
— Thanks very much.

 
— All you are asked to believe in is the word of God. Think of the beautiful teachings of Our Lord. Think of your own life when you believed in those teachings. Weren’t you better and happier then?

 
— It was good for me at the time, perhaps, but it is quite useless for me now.

 
— I know what is wrong with you — you suffer from the pride of the intellect. You forget that we are only worms of the earth. You think you can defy God because you have misused the talents he has given you.

 
— I think Jehovah gets too high a salary for judging motives. I want to retire him on the plea of old age.

Mrs Daedalus stood up.

 
— Stephen, you may use that kind of language with your companions whoever they are but I will not allow you to use it with me. Even your father, bad as he is supposed to be, does not speak such blasphemy as you do. I am afraid that you are a changed boy since you went to that University. I suppose you fell in with some of those students . . .