Page 228 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

crossed the hall and took the corridor to the left which led
to the physics theatre. The corridor was dark and silent but
not unwatchful. Why did he feel that it was not unwatch-
ful? Was it because he had heard that in Buck Whaley’s
time there was a secret staircase there? Or was the jesuit
house extra-territorial and was he walking among aliens?
The Ireland of Tone and of Parnell seemed to have receded
in space.
He opened the door of the theatre and halted in the chilly
grey light that struggled through the dusty windows. A fig-
ure was crouching before the large grate and by its leanness
and greyness he knew that it was the dean of studies light-
ing the fire. Stephen closed the door quietly and approached
the fireplace.
—Good morning, sir! Can I help you?
The priest looked up quickly and said:
—One moment now, Mr Dedalus, and you will see. There
is an art in lighting a fire. We have the liberal arts and we
have the useful arts. This is one of the useful arts.
—I will try to learn it, said Stephen.
—Not too much coal, said the dean, working briskly at
his task, that is one of the secrets.
He produced four candle-butts from the side-pockets
of his soutane and placed them deftly among the coals and
twisted papers. Stephen watched him in silence. Kneeling
thus on the flagstone to kindle the fire and busied with the
disposition of his wisps of paper and candle-butts he seemed
more than ever a humble server making ready the place of
sacrifice in an empty temple, a levite of the Lord. Like a

228 A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man