Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/23

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20
 

open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen
in the shell of his hands.
        Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or
you don’t, isn’t it? Personally I couldn’t stomach that idea of a personal God.
You don’t stand for that, I suppose?
        You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible
example of free thought.
       He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side.
Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My familiar,
after me, calling Steeeeeeeeeeeephen. A wavering line along the path. They will
walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants that key. It is mine, I
paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him the key too. All. He will
ask for it. That was in his eyes.
        After all, Haines began...
       Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was
not all unkind.
        After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your
own master, it seems to me.
        I am the servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an
Italian.
        Italian? Haines said.
       A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.
        And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.
        Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?
        The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and
the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.
       Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.
        I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think like
that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly.
It seems history is to blame.
       The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen’s memory the triumph of
their brazen bells : et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam : the
slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a
chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope Marcellus, the
voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation : and behind their chant the
vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs. A
horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry : Photius and the brood of mockers