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Updated: May 17, 2025
Not only to be separate from all others but to have not even one friend. I will take the risk, said Stephen. And not to have any one person, Cranly said, who would be more than a friend, more even than the noblest and truest friend a man ever had. His words seemed to have struck some deep chord in his own nature. Had he spoken of himself, of himself as he was or wished to be?
Stephen, checked by the crowd at the door, halted irresolutely. From under the wide falling leaf of a soft hat Cranly's dark eyes were watching him. Have you signed? Stephen asked. Cranly closed his long thin-lipped mouth, communed with himself an instant and answered: EGO HABEO. What is it for? What is it for?
One does not seem to stand quite apart from another. Their faces are phosphorescent, with darker streaks. They peer at me and their eyes seem to ask me something. They do not speak. This evening Cranly was in the porch of the library, proposing a problem to Dixon and her brother. A mother let her child fall into the Nile. Still harping on the mother. A crocodile seized the child.
Lynch, for answer, straightened himself and thrust forward his chest. Lynch puts out his chest, said Stephen, as a criticism of life. Lynch smote himself sonorously on the chest and said: Who has anything to say about my girth? Cranly took him at the word and the two began to tussle. When their faces had flushed with the struggle they drew apart, panting.
Where is your brother? Apothecaries' hall. My whetstone. Him, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these. Speech, speech. But act. Act speech. They mock to try you. Act. Be acted on. Lapwing. I am tired of my voice, the voice of Esau. My kingdom for a drink. On. You will say those names were already in the chronicles from which he took the stuff of his plays. Why did he take them rather than others?
Then he said carelessly: Tell me, for example, would you deflower a virgin? Excuse me, Stephen said politely, is that not the ambition of most young gentlemen? What then is your point of view? Cranly asked. His last phrase, sour smelling as the smoke of charcoal and disheartening, excited Stephen's brain, over which its fumes seemed to brood. Look here, Cranly, he said.
Cranly gripped his arm tightly to check his tongue, smiling uneasily, and repeated: Easy, easy, easy! Temple struggled to free his arm but continued, his mouth flecked by a thin foam: Socialism was founded by an Irishman and the first man in Europe who preached the freedom of thought was Collins. Two hundred years ago. He denounced priestcraft, the philosopher of Middlesex.
Saint Augustine says that about unbaptized children going to hell, Temple answered, because he was a cruel old sinner too. I bow to you, Dixon said, but I had the impression that limbo existed for such cases. Don't argue with him, Dixon, Cranly said brutally. Don't talk to him or look at him. Lead him home with a sugan the way you'd lead a bleating goat. Limbo! Temple cried.
He laughed almost slyly and pressed Stephen's arm with an elder's affection. Cunning indeed! he said. Is it you? You poor poet, you! And you made me confess to you, Stephen said, thrilled by his touch, as I have confessed to you so many other things, have I not? Yes, my child, Cranly said, still gaily. You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear.
Addressing it as it lay, he said: Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire! Taking Stephen's arms, he went on again and said: Do you not fear that those words may be spoken to you on the day of Judgement? What is offered me on the other hand? Stephen asked. An eternity of bliss in the company of the dean of studies? Remember, Cranly said, that he would be glorified.
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