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.

—­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?  Cranly asked softly, happier than you are now, for instance?

—­Often happy, Stephen said, and often unhappy.  I was someone else then.

—­How someone else?  What do you mean by that statement?

—­I mean, said Stephen, that I was not myself as I am now, as I had to become.

—­Not as you are now, not as you had to become, Cranly repeated.  Let me ask you a question.  Do you love your mother?

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.  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.

—­Was your father...  Cranly interrupted himself for an instant, and then said:  I don’t want to pry into your family affairs.  But was your father what is called well-to-do?  I mean, when you were growing up?

—­Yes, Stephen said.

—­What was he?  Cranly asked after a pause.

Stephen began to enumerate glibly his father’s attributes.

—­A medical student, an oarsman, a tenor, an amateur actor, a shouting politician, a small landlord, a small investor, a drinker, a good fellow, a story-teller, somebody’s secretary, something in a distillery, a tax-gatherer, a bankrupt and at present a praiser of his own past.

Cranly laughed, tightening his grip on Stephen’s arm, and said: 

—­The distillery is damn good.

—­Is there anything else you want to know?  Stephen asked.