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[ 9 ] Urbane , to comfort them , the quaker librarian purred : — And we have , have we not , those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister . A great poet on a great brother poet . A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles , torn by conflicting doubts , as one sees in real life . He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a step backward a sinkapace on the solemn floor . A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him a noiseless beck . — Directly , said he , creaking to go , albeit lingering . The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts . One always feels that Goethe’s judgments are so true . True in the larger analysis . Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off . Bald , most zealous by the door he gave his large ear all to the attendant’s words : heard them : and was gone . Two left . — Monsieur de la Palice , Stephen sneered , was alive fifteen minutes before his death . — Have you found those six brave medicals , John Eglinton asked with elder’s gall , to write Paradise Lost at your dictation ? The Sorrows of Satan he calls it . Smile . Smile Cranly’s smile . First he tickled her Then he patted her Then he passed the female catheter For he was a medical Jolly old medi . . . — I feel you would need one more for Hamlet . Seven is dear to the mystic mind . The shining seven W . B . calls them . Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his greencapped desklamp sought the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow , an ollav , holyeyed . He laughed low : a sizar’s laugh of Trinity : unanswered . Orchestral Satan , weeping many a rood Tears such as angels weep . Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta . He holds my follies hostage . Cranly’s eleven true Wicklowmen to free their sireland . Gaptoothed Kathleen , her four beautiful green fields , the stranger in her house . And one more to hail him : ave , rabbi : the Tinahely twelve . In the shadow of the glen he cooees for them . My soul’s youth I gave him , night by night . God speed . Good hunting . Mulligan has my telegram . Folly . Persist . — Our young Irish bards , John Eglinton censured , have yet to create a figure which the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare’s Hamlet though I admire him , as old Ben did , on this side idolatry . — All these questions are purely academic , Russell oracled out of his shadow . I mean , whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex . Clergymen’s discussions of the historicity of Jesus . Art has to reveal to us ideas , formless spiritual essences . The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring . The painting of Gustave Moreau is the painting of ideas . The deepest poetry of Shelley , the words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the eternal wisdom , Plato’s world of ideas . All the rest is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys . A . E . has been telling some yankee interviewer . Wall , tarnation strike me ! — The schoolmen were schoolboys first , Stephen said superpolitely . Aristotle was once Plato’s schoolboy .
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