ch18b

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Passing down Jones's Road they saw a gaudy advertisement in strong colours for a melodramatic play. Wells asked Stephen had he read Trilby.

— Haven't you? Famous book, you know; style would suit you, I think. Of course it's a bit... blue.



— How is that?



— O, well, you know... Paris, you know... artists.



— O, is that the kind of book it is?



— Nothing very wrong in it that I could see. Still some people think it's a bit immoral.



— You haven't it in the library in Clonliffe?



— No, not likely... Don't I wish I was out of the show!



— Are you thinking of leaving?



— Next year — perhaps this year — I go to Paris for my theology.



— You won't be sorry, I suppose.



— You bet. Rotten show, this place. Food is not so bad but so dull, you know.



— Are there many students in it now?



— O, yes... I don't mix much with them, you know... There are a good lot.



— I suppose you'll be a parish priest one of these days.



— I hope so. You must come and see me when I am.



— Very good.



— When you're a great writer yourself — as the author of a second Trilby or something of that sort... Won't you come in?



— Is it allowed?



— O, with me... you come in, never mind.


college [wiki] [1909 map] [1901 census]


The two young men went into the grounds of the College and along the circular carriage-drive. It was a damp evening and rather dark. In the uncertain light a few of the more adventurous were to be seen vigorously playing handball in a little side-alley, the smack of the wet ball against the concrete wall of the alley alternating with their lusty shouts. For the most part the students were walking in little groups through the ground, some with their berretas pushed far back to the nape of their necks and others holding their soutanes up as women do with their skirts when they cross a muddy street.



— Can you go with anyone you like? asked Stephen.



— Companions are not allowed. You must join the first group you meet.



— Why didn't you go to the Jesuit order?



— Not likely, my boy. Sixteen years of noviciate and no chance of ever settling down. Here today, there tomorrow.



As Stephen looked at the big square block of masonry looming before them through the faint daylight, he re-entered again in thought the seminarist life which he had led for so many years, to the understanding of the narrow activities of which he could now in a moment bring the spirit of an acute sympathetic alien. He recognised at once the martial mind of the Irish Church in the style of this ecclesiastical barracks. He looked in vain at the faces and figures which passed him for a token of moral elevation: all were cowed without being humble, modish without being simple-mannered. Some of the students saluted Wells but got scanty thanks for the courtesy. Wells wished Stephen to gather that he despised his fellow-students and that it was not his fault if they regarded him as an important person. At the foot of the stone steps he turned to Stephen:



— I must go in to see the Dean for a minute. I'm afraid it's too late for me to show you round the show this evening...



— O, not at all. Another time.



— Well, will you wait for me. Stroll along there towards the chapel. I won't be a minute.





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