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Updated: May 17, 2025
The air of wealth and repose diffused about them seemed to comfort their neediness. Behind a hedge of laurel a light glimmered in the window of a kitchen and the voice of a servant was heard singing as she sharpened knives. She sang, in short broken bars: Rosie O'Grady. Cranly stopped to listen, saying: MULIER CANTAT.
Baldhead, Cranly repeated, sucking at a crevice in his teeth. PERNOBILIS ET PERVETUSTA FAMILIA, Temple said to Stephen. The stout student who stood below them on the steps farted briefly. Dixon turned towards him, saying in a soft voice: Did an angel speak? Cranly turned also and said vehemently but without anger: Goggins, you're the flamingest dirty devil I ever met, do you know.
Probably I shall go away, he said. Where? Cranly asked. Where I can, Stephen said. Yes, Cranly said. It might be difficult for you to live here now. But is it that makes you go? I have to go, Stephen answered. Because, Cranly continued, you need not look upon yourself as driven away if you do not wish to go or as a heretic or an outlaw. There are many good believers who think as you do.
Ay, Stephen said somewhat bitterly, bright, agile, impassible and, above all, subtle. It is a curious thing, do you know, Cranly said dispassionately, how your mind is supersaturated with the religion in which you say you disbelieve. Did you believe in it when you were at school? I bet you did. I did, Stephen answered. And were you happier then?
It is very difficult. I tried to unite my will with the will of God instant by instant. In that I did not always fail. I could perhaps do that still Cranly cut him short by asking: Has your mother had a happy life? How do I know? Stephen said. How many children had she? Nine or ten, Stephen answered. Some died.
No wonder the artist retired within or behind his handiwork after having perpetrated this country. The rain fell faster. When they passed through the passage beside Kildare house they found many students sheltering under the arcade of the library. Cranly, leaning against a pillar, was picking his teeth with a sharpened match, listening to some companions. Some girls stood near the entrance door.
Then, turning to Cranly, he said: Good evening, particularly to you. He moved the umbrella in indication and tittered again. Cranly, who was still chewing the fig, answered with loud movements of his jaws. Good? Yes. It is a good evening. The squat student looked at him seriously and shook his umbrella gently and reprovingly. I can see, he said, that you are about to make obvious remarks.
Stephen shook his head slowly. I don't know what your words mean, he said simply. Have you never loved anyone? Cranly asked. Do you mean women? I am not speaking of that, Cranly said in a colder tone. I ask you if you ever felt love towards anyone or anything? Stephen walked on beside his friend, staring gloomily at the footpath. I tried to love God, he said at length. It seems now I failed.
Or do you know what the words mean? I want to see Rosie first, said Stephen. She's easy to find, Cranly said. His hat had come down on his forehead. He shoved it back and in the shadow of the trees Stephen saw his pale face, framed by the dark, and his large dark eyes. Yes. His face was handsome and his body was strong and hard. He had spoken of a mother's love.
And when two constabulary men had come into sight round a bend in the gloomy road he had broken off his prayer to whistle loudly an air from the last pantomime. He began to beat the frayed end of his ashplant against the base of a pillar. Had Cranly not heard him? Yet he could wait. The talk about him ceased for a moment and a soft hiss fell again from a window above.
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