He was for Ireland and Parnell and so was his father: and so was Dante too for one night at the band on the esplanade she had hit a gentlemen on the head with her umbrella because he had taken his hat off when the band played God Save the Queen at the end.
Mr. Dedalus gave a snort of contempt.
— Ah, John, he said. It is true for them. We are an unfortunate priestridden race and always were and always will be till the end of the chapter
Uncle Charles shook his head, saying:
— A bad business! A bad business!
Mr. Dedalus repeated:
— A priestridden, Godforsaken race!
He pointed to a portrait of his grandfather on the wall to his right.
— Do you see that old chap up there, John? he said. He was a good Irishman when there was no money in the job. He was condemned to death as a whiteboy. But he had a saying about our clerical friends, that he would never let one of them put his two feet under his mahogany.
Dante broke in angrily:
— If we are a priestridden race then we ought to be proud of it! They are the apple of God’s eye. Touch them not, says Christ, for they are the apple of my eye.
— And can we not love our country then? asked Mr. Casey. Are we not to follow the man who was born to lead us?
— A traitor to his country! replied Dante. A traitor, an adulterer! The priests were right to abandon him. The priests were always the true friends of Ireland.
— Were they, faith? said Mr. Casey.
He threw his fist on the table and, frowning angrily, protruded one finger after another.
— Didn’t the bishops of Ireland betray us in the time of the union when bishop Lanigan presented an address of loyalty to the Marquess Cornwallis? Didn’t the bishops and the priests sell the aspirations of their country in 1829 in return for catholic emancipation? Didn’t they denounce the fenian movement from the pulpit and in the confessionbox? And didn’t they dishonour the ashes of Terrence Bellew MacManus?
His face was glowing with anger and Stephen felt the glow rise to his own cheek as the spoken words thrilled him. Mr. Dedalus uttered a guffaw of coarse scorn.
— O, by God, he cried, I forgot little old Paul Cullen! Another apple of God’s eye!
Dante bent across the table and cried to Mr. Casey:
— Right! Right! They were always right! God and morality and religion come first!
— James Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man