一个青年艺术家的画像（英文版）

      A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is the first novel of Irish writer James Joyce. It is the semi-autobiographical portrayal of James Joyce's early upbringing as an Irish Catholic in late 19th century and early 20th century Dublin. In his first and still most widely read novel, James Joyce makes a strange peace with the traditional narrative of a young man's self-discovery by respecting its substance while exploding its form, thereby inaugurating a literary revolution.

　　The novel begins with the confidence, ease and innocence of a story told to a child and ends with a tone that is hesitant, suspicious, fragmented and estranged. Between the two comes the education of one Stephen Dedalus, as the nets of race, religion and family attempt to ensnare his tender soul and complex imagination.

　　The publication of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and the short story collection Dubliners earned Joyce a place at the forefront of literary modernism.

　　詹姆斯·乔伊斯（James Joyce），爱尔兰诗人、作家。后现代主义文学的开山鼻祖，其代表作《尤利西斯》、《一个青年艺术家的画像》、《芬尼根的守灵夜》和《都柏林人》在世界文学史上占有举足轻重的地位。前三部作品均入选兰登书屋评选的"20世纪一百本优秀英文小说"。乔伊斯一生颠沛流离，辗转于欧洲各地，靠教授英语和写作糊口，晚年饱受眼疾之痛，几近失明。但他一生坚持文学创作，终成一代巨匠。

Chapter 1 / 3

Chapter 2 / 56

Chapter 3 / 98

Chapter 4 / 144

Chapter 5 / 171

　　Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo....

　　His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face.

　　He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrne lived: 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 put on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.

　　His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on the piano the 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 and mother but uncle Charles was older than Dante.

　　Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the maroon velvet back was for Michael Davitt and the brush with the green velvet back was for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou every time he brought her a piece of tissue paper.

　　The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different father and mother. They were Eileen's father and mother. When they were grown up he was going to marry Eileen. He hid under the table. His mother said:

　　-O, Stephen will apologise.

　　Dante said:

　　-O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes.-

　　Pull out his eyes,

　　Apologise,

　　Apologise,

　　Pull out his eyes.

　　Apologise,

　　Pull out his eyes,

　　Pull out his eyes,

　　Apologise.

　　The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were shouting and the prefects urged them on with strong cries. The evening air was pale and chilly and after every charge and thud of the footballers the greasy leather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light. He kept on the fringe of his line, out of sight of his prefect, out of the reach of the rude feet, feigning to run now and then. He felt his body small and weak amid the throng of the players and his eyes were weak and watery. Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of the third line all the fellows said.

　　Rody Kickham was a decent fellow but Nasty Roche was a stink. Rody Kickham had greaves in his number and a hamper in the refectory. Nasty Roche 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, making little runs now and then. But his hands were bluish with cold. He kept his hands in the side pockets of his belted grey suit. That was a belt round his pocket. And belt was also to give a fellow a belt. One day a fellow 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 see you. He'd give you a toe in the rump for yourself.

　　That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him not to speak with the rough boys in the college. Nice mother! The first day in the hall of the castle when she had said goodbye she had put up her veil double to her nose to kiss him: and her nose and eyes were red. But he had pretended not to see that she was going to cry. She was a nice mother but she was not so nice when she cried. And his father had given him two five-shilling pieces for pocket money. And his father had told him 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 rector had shaken hands with his father and mother, his soutane fluttering in the breeze, and the car had driven off with his father and mother on it. They had cried to him from the car, waving their hands:

　　-Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!

　　-Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!

页　　数：256

开　　本：32开

正文语种：英文