Дублинцы

УДК 
372.8
ББК 
81.2 Англ-93
 
Д 42

ISBN 978-5-9925-0839-0

Джойс Дж.
Д 42 Дублинцы: Книга для чтения на английском 
языке. — СПб.: КАРО, 2013. — 320 с. («Modern 
Prose»).

ISBN 978-5-9925-0839-0.

Джеймс Джойс (1882–1941) — один из самых знаменитых писателей первой половины XX века. «Дублинцы» — 
сборник его рассказов, впервые опубликованный в 1914 году. 
В рассказах в импрессионистической манере изображена 
жизнь дублинцев среднего класса.
Книга адресована студентам языковых вузов и всем любителям современной англоязычной литературы.

УДК 372.8
ББК 81.2 Англ-93

© КАРО, 2013

ОБ АВТОРЕ

Джеймс Огастин Алоизиус Джойс (1882–1941) — 
один из известнейших писателей XX века, прозаик и поэт, представитель модернизма.
Он родился в Дублине в большой семье Джона 
Станисласа Джойса и Мэри Джейн Марри. Неудачное ведение дел почти разорило его отца, который 
вынужден был неоднократно менять профессию. 
Семья несколько раз переезжала из одного района 
Дублина в другой. Джеймсу удалось получить неплохое образование, однако нищета и неустроенность жизни в юности навсегда остались в памяти 
писателя, что отчасти нашло отражение в его произведениях.
В 1902 году Джойс на год уехал в Париж, где жил в 
бедности и писал стихи, потом возвратился в Дублин 
в связи с болезнью и смертью матери. Вскоре после 
этого он практически навсегда покинул Ирландию, 
уехал в Триест вместе с Норой Барнакл, которая спустя 27 лет стала его женой.
Незадолго до начала Первой мировой войны 
Джойс с супругой перебрались в Цюрих, где он на

ОБ АВТОРЕ

чал работать над романом «Портрет художника в 
юности», а позже и над первыми главами «Улисса». 
Путешествуя по Европе, Джойс писал стихи. Некоторые произведения были опубликованы в антологиях имажизма. Он также продолжал работать над 
«Улиссом», романом, который впервые увидел свет 
не на родине писателя (где был опубликован только в 1933 году), а во Франции. Это наиболее известное произведение Джойса, где автор на 600 страницах повествует об одном дне (16 июня 1904 года) 
дублинского еврея Леопольда Блума. Несмотря на 
то что «Улисс» создавался за границей, по этой книге, как утверждал сам Джойс, «можно было бы восстановить Дублин в случае его разрушения». 16 июня отмечается почитателями Джойса во всем мире 
как Блумсдэй (Bloomsday).
В Париже Джеймс Джойс начал работу над своим последним масштабным произведением — романом «Поминки по Финнегану», опубликованным в 
1939 году. Этот сложный экспериментальный роман, 
однако, не был достаточно хорошо принят публикой 
и до сих пор остается книгой «для специалистов», в 
отличие от более ранней книги новелл Джойса 
«Дублинцы».
После поражения Франции и оккупации части 
ее территории немецкими войсками в начале Второй 
мировой войны Джойс вернулся в Цюрих. Здоровье 
его сильно пошатнулось. 13 января 1941 года писатель умер.

THE SISTERS

THERE was no hope for him this time: it was the 
third stroke. Night aft er night I had passed the house 
(it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square 
of window: and night aft er night I had found it lighted 
in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I 
thought, I would see the refl ection of candles on the 
darkened blind for I knew that two candles must be set 
at the head of a corpse. He had oft en said to me: “I am 
not long for this world1,” and I had thought his words 
idle. Now I knew they were true. Every night as I gazed 
up at the window I said soft ly to myself the word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like 
the word gnomon in the Euclid2 and the word simony 
in the Catechism3. But now it sounded to me like the 

1 I am not long for this world — (разг.) Мне уже недолго осталось
2 Euclid — Евклид (III в. до н. э.), древнегреческий 
математик
3 Catechism — Катехизис (от греч. поучение), изложение христианского вероучения в форме вопросов и 
ответов

DUBLINERS

6

name of some malefi cent and sinful being. It fi lled me 
with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look 
upon its deadly work.
Old Cotter was sitting at the fi re, smoking, when I 
came downstairs to supper. While my aunt was ladling 
out my stirabout he said, as if returning to some former 
remark of his:
“No, I wouldn’t say he was exactly... but there was 
something queer... there was something uncanny about 
him. I’ll tell you my opinion...”
He began to puff  at his pipe, no doubt arranging his 
opinion in his mind1. Tiresome old fool! When we knew 
him fi rst he used to be rather interesting, talking of 
faints and worms; but I soon grew tired of him and his 
endless stories about the distillery.
“I have my own theory about it,” he said. “I think it 
was one of those... peculiar cases... But it’s hard to say...”
He began to puff  again at his pipe without giving us 
his theory. My uncle saw me staring and said to me:
“Well, so your old friend is gone, you’ll be sorry to 
hear.”
“Who?” said I.
“Father Flynn.”
“Is he dead?”
“Mr. Cotter here has just told us. He was passing by 
the house.”

1 arranging his opinion in his mind — (разг.) пытаясь 
сформулировать свою мысль

THE SISTERS

I knew that I was under observation so I continued 
eating as if the news had not interested me. My uncle 
explained to old Cotter.
“Th e youngster and he were great friends. Th e old 
chap taught him a great deal, mind you; and they say 
he had a great wish for him.”
“God have mercy on his soul,” said my aunt pio usly.
Old Cotter looked at me for a while. I felt that his 
little beady black eyes were examining me but I would 
not satisfy him by looking up from my plate. He 
returned to his pipe and fi nally spat rudely into the 
grate.
“I wouldn’t like children of mine,” he said, “to have 
too much to say to a man like that.”
“How do you mean1, Mr. Cotter?” asked my aunt.
“What I mean is,” said old Cotter, “it’s bad for 
children. My idea is: let a young lad run about and play 
with young lads of his own age and not be... Am I right, 
Jack?”
“Th at’s my principle, too,” said my uncle. “Let him 
learn to box his corner. Th at’s what I’m always saying 
to that Rosicrucian2 there: take exercise. Why, when 
I was a nipper every morning of my life I had a cold 
bath, winter and summer. And that’s what stands to me 

1 How do you mean — (разг.) Что вы имеете в виду
2 Rosicrucian — розенкрейцер, член тайного мистического религиозного ордена

DUBLINERS

8

now. Education is all very fi ne and large... Mr. Cotter 
might take a pick of that leg mutton,” he added to my 
aunt.
“No, no, not for me,” said old Cotter.
My aunt brought the dish from the safe and put it 
on the table.
“But why do you think it’s not good for children, 
Mr. Cotter?” she asked.
“It’s bad for children,” said old Cotter, “because their 
minds are so impressionable. When children see things 
like that, you know, it has an eff ect...”
I crammed my mouth with stirabout for fear I might 
give utterance to my anger1. Tiresome old red-nosed 
imbecile!
It was late when I fell asleep. Th ough I was angry 
with old Cotter for alluding to me as a child, I puzzled 
my head to extract meaning from his unfi nished sentences. In the dark of my room I imagined that I saw 
again the heavy grey face of the paralytic. I drew the 
blankets over my head and tried to think of Christmas. 
But the grey face still followed me. It murmured; and I 
understood that it desired to confess something. I felt 
my soul receding into some pleasant and vicious region; 
and there again I found it waiting for me. It began to 
confess to me in a murmuring voice and I wondered 
why it smiled continually and why the lips were so moist 

1 give utterance to my anger — (разг.) дам волю своему гневу

THE SISTERS

9

with spittle. But then I remembered that it had died of 
paralysis and I felt that I too was smiling feebly as if to 
absolve the simoniac of his sin.
Th e next morning aft er breakfast I went down to 
look at the little house in Great Britain Street. It was an 
unassuming shop, registered under the vague name of 
Drapery. Th e drapery consisted mainly of children’s 
bootees and umbrellas; and on ordinary days a notice 
used to hang in the window, saying: Umbrellas Recovered. No notice was visible now for the shutters were 
up. A crape bouquet was tied to the door-knocker with 
ribbon. Two poor women and a telegram boy were 
reading the card pinned on the crape. I also approached 
and read:

July 1st, 1895
Th e Rev.1 James Flynn (formerly of
S. Catherine’s Church, Meath Street),
aged sixty-fi ve years.
R.I.P.2

Th e reading of the card persuaded me that he was 
dead and I was disturbed to fi nd myself at check. Had 
he not been dead I would have gone into the little dark 
room behind the shop to fi nd him sitting in his arm
1 Rev. — сокр. от Reverend, достопочтенный; ставится перед именем священника
2 R.I.P. — сокр. от Rest in Peace, покойся с миром 
(надгробная надпись)

DUBLINERS

10

chair by the fi re, nearly smothered in his great-coat. 
Perhaps my aunt would have given me a packet of High 
Toast for him and this present would have roused him 
from his stupefi ed doze. It was always I who emptied 
the packet into his black snuff-box for his hands 
trembled too much to allow him to do this without 
spilling half the snuff  about the fl oor. Even as he raised 
his large trembling hand to his nose little clouds of 
smoke dribbled through his fi ngers over the front of 
his coat. It may have been these constant showers of 
snuff  which gave his ancient priestly garments their 
green faded look for the red handkerchief, blackened, 
as it always was, with the snuff -stains of a week, with 
which he tried to brush away the fallen grains, was quite 
ineffi  cacious.
I wished to go in and look at him but I had not the 
courage to knock. I walked away slowly along the sunny 
side of the street, reading all the theatrical advertisements in the shopwindows as I went. I found it strange 
that neither I nor the day seemed in a mourning mood 
and I felt even annoyed at discovering in myself a 
sensation of freedom as if I had been freed from 
something by his death. I wondered at this for, as my 
uncle had said the night before, he had taught me a 
great deal. He had studied in the Irish college in Rome 
and he had taught me to pronounce Latin properly. He 
had told me stories about the catacombs and about 
Napoleon Bonaparte, and he had explained to me the 
meaning of the diff erent ceremonies of the Mass and