Ulysses
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Ulysses
James Joyce
This eBook is designed and published by Planet PDF. For more free
eBooks visit our Web site at http://www.planetpdf.com .
Ulysses
2 of 1305 I
Morning at the Tower
- Buck Mulligan performs a mock-religious ceremony with his shaving gear atop a Martello tower.
- Stephen Dedalus observes Mulligan's irreverent antics with cold, weary detachment.
- The dialogue reveals a tension between the 'Hellenic' spirit Mulligan claims and Stephen's somber Jesuit education.
- The presence of an Englishman named Haines creates friction, as he spent the night raving about a black panther.
- Stephen expresses genuine fear and a desire to leave the tower if the unstable Haines remains.
- Mulligan's character is established as a playful yet mocking figure who balances medical realism with aesthetic pretension.
He held the bowl aloft and intoned: âIntroibo ad altare Dei.
Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead,
bearing a bowl of lather on whic h a mirror and a razor lay
crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:
âIntroibo ad altare Dei .
Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and
called out coarsely:
âCome up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!
Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round
gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased
and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gu rgling face that blessed him,
equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair,
grained and hued like pale oak.
Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and
then covered the bowl smartly.
Ulysses
3 of 1305 âBack to barracks! he said sternly.
He added in a preacherâs tone: âFor this, O dearly belove d, is the genuine Christine:
body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.
He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of
call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.
âThanks, old chap, he cr ied briskly. That will do
nicely. Switch off the current, will you?
He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his
watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.
âThe mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name,
an ancient Greek!
He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to
the parapet, laughing to hi mself. Stephen Dedalus stepped
up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his
Ulysses
4 of 1305 mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and
lathered cheeks and neck.
Buck Mulliganâs gay voice went on. âMy name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two
dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasnât it? Tripping and
sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?
He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight,
cried:
âWill he come? The jejune jesuit! Ceasing, he began to shave with care. âTell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.
âYes, my love?
âHow long is Haines going to stay in this tower? Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right
shoulder.
âGod, isnât he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous
Saxon. He thinks youâre not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxfor d. You know, Dedalus, you
have the real Oxford manner. He canât make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.
He shaved warily over his chin.
Ulysses
5 of 1305 âHe was raving all night about a black panther,
Stephen said. Where is his guncase?
âA woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk? âI was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear.
Out here in the dark with a man I donât know raving and moaning to himself about s hooting a black panther. You
saved men from drowning. Iâm not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.
Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade.
He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.
âScutter! he cried thickly.
He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into
Stephenâs upper pocket, said:
The Bard and the Sea
- Buck Mulligan uses Stephen Dedalus's dirty handkerchief to clean his razor, mockingly dubbing the color 'snotgreen' and applying the term to the Irish Sea.
- Mulligan juxtaposes classical Greek reverence for the sea as a 'great sweet mother' with the grim reality of Stephen's own mother's recent death.
- Stephen is haunted by the memory of his mother's deathbed, specifically his refusal to kneel and pray for her as she requested.
- The physical reality of death is contrasted with Mulligan's flippant aestheticism, as Stephen recalls the 'green sluggish bile' his mother vomited.
- Mulligan offers Stephen secondhand clothes while simultaneously mocking his moral scruples, noting the irony of a man who 'kills his mother' but refuses to wear grey trousers.
- The interaction highlights the tension between Stephen's internal guilt and Mulligan's boisterous, cynical vitality.
Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes.
âLend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor. Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show
by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:
âThe bardâs noserag! A new art colour for our Irish
poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, canât you?
He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over
Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.
Ulysses
6 of 1305 âGod! he said quietly. Isnât the sea what Algy calls it: a
great sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The
scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton . Ah, Dedalus, the
Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the
original. Thalatta! Thalatta ! She is our great sweet mother.
Come and look.
Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet.
Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of Kingstown.
âOur mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.
He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea
to Stephenâs face.
âThe aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said.
Thatâs why she wonât let me have anything to do with you.
âSomeone killed her, Stephen said gloomily. âYou could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when
your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. Iâm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you ...
He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther
cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.
Ulysses
7 of 1305 âBut a lovely mummer! he murmured to himself.
Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all!
He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously. Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned
his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of
his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose
brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet
mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay
and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the
green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.
Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade. âAh, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must
give you a shirt and a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?
âThey fit well enough, Stephen answered. Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his
underlip.
Ulysses
8 of 1305 âThe mockery of it, he sa id contentedly. Secondleg
they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. Youâll look spiffing in them. Iâm not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when youâre dressed.
âThanks, Stephen said. I canât wear them if they are
grey.
âHe canât wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in
the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he canât wear grey trousers.
He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of
fingers felt the smooth skin.
Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump
face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.
âThat fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said
Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. Heâs up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane!
He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the
tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.
âLook at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!
Ulysses
The Cracked Looking-Glass
- Stephen Dedalus contemplates his reflection in a cracked mirror, leading to his famous definition of Irish art as 'the cracked looking-glass of a servant.'
- Buck Mulligan attempts to charm Stephen into a partnership to 'Hellenise' Ireland, despite Stephen's deep-seated resentment toward him.
- The narrative shifts into a vivid, chaotic memory of a 'ragging' at Oxford, contrasting the cruelty of wealthy students with Stephen's current poverty.
- Stephen remains emotionally distant from Mulligan, privately viewing their relationship as a duel between the 'lancet' of medical science and the 'steelpen' of art.
- The tension culminates when Stephen confronts Mulligan about a callous remark made shortly after the death of Stephen's mother.
- Mulligan's defense of his past behavior reveals a temperament that prioritizes fleeting 'ideas and sensations' over the weight of personal grief.
It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.
9 of 1305 Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out
to him, cleft by a crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody
to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
âI pinched it out of the skivvyâs room, Buck Mulligan
said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.
Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from
Stephenâs peering eyes.
âThe rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a
mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you!
Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with
bitterness:
âIt is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass
of a servant.
Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephenâs
and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.
âItâs not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said
kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.
Parried again. He fears the lanc et of my art as I fear that
of his. The cold steelpen.
Ulysses
10 of 1305 âCracked lookingglass of a servant! Tell that to the
oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. Heâs stinking with money and thinks youâre not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or
some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.
Cranlyâs arm. His arm. âAnd to think of your having to beg from these
swine. Iâm the only one that knows what you are. Why donât you trust me more? What have you up your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here Iâll
bring down Seymour and weâll give him a ragging worse
than they gave Clive Kempthorpe.
Young shouts of moneye d voices in Clive
Kempthorpeâs rooms. Palefaces : they hold their ribs with
laughter, one clasping another. O, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit ribbons
of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailorâs shears. A scared calfâs face gilded with marmalade. I donât want to be debagged! Donât you play the giddy ox with me!
Ulysses
11 of 1305 Shouts from the open window startling evening in the
quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnoldâs face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.
To ourselves ... new paganism ... omphalos. âLet him stay, Stephen said. Thereâs nothing wrong
with him except at night.
âThen what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently.
Cough it up. Iâm quite frank with you. What have you
against me now?
They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray
Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping
whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.
âDo you wish me to tell you? he asked. âYes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I donât
remember anything.
He looked in Stephenâs face as he spoke. A light wind
passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.
Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said: âDo you remember the first day I went to your house
after my motherâs death?
Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:
Ulysses
12 of 1305 âWhat? Where? I canât remember anything. I
remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?
âYou were making tea, Stephen said, and went across
the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room.
âYes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.
âYou said, Stephen answered, O, itâs only Dedalus
whose mother is beastly dead.
A flush which made him seem younger and more
Love's Bitter Mystery
- Buck Mulligan dismisses the sanctity of death, viewing it as a purely biological and 'beastly' process based on his medical training.
- Stephen Dedalus reveals that his resentment stems not from an insult to his dead mother, but from the personal offense Mulliganâs callousness caused him.
- Mulligan mocks Stephen's 'Jesuit strain' and his refusal to pray at his mother's deathbed, contrasting Stephen's rigid principles with his own flippant nihilism.
- The narrative shifts into Stephenâs internal monologue, where he recalls intimate, tactile memories of his mother and her meager possessions.
- Stephen is haunted by the memory of singing Fergusâ song to his dying mother, a moment of shared grief that now fuels his 'moody brooding.'
- The imagery of the sea and the darkening sky reflects Stephen's deepening melancholy and the 'bitter waters' of his conscience.
Her shapely fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the childrenâs shirts.
engaging rose to Buck Mulliganâs cheek.
âDid I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that? He shook his constraint from him nervously. âAnd what is death, he asked, your motherâs or yours
or my own? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingr oom. Itâs a beastly thing and
nothing else. It simply doesnât matter. You wouldnât kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because you hav e the cursed jesuit strain
in you, only itâs injected the wrong way. To me itâs all a
mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks
Ulysses
13 of 1305 buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till itâs over. You
crossed her last wish in deat h and yet you sulk with me
because I donât whinge like some hired mute from
Lalouetteâs. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didnât mean to
offend the memory of your mother.
He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen,
shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:
âI am not thinking of the offence to my mother. âOf what then? Buck Mulligan asked. âOf the offence to me, Stephen answered. Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel.
âO, an impossible person! he exclaimed.
He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen
stood at his post, gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he felt the fever
of his cheeks.
A voice within the tower called loudly: âAre you up there, Mulligan? âIâm coming, Buck Mulligan answered. He turned towards Stephen and said:
Ulysses
14 of 1305 âLook at the sea. What does it care about offences?
Chuck Loyola, Kinch, and co me on down. The Sassenach
wants his morning rashers.
His head halted again for a moment at the top of the
staircase, level with the roof:
âDonât mope over it all day, he said. Iâm
inconsequent. Give up the moody brooding.
His head vanished but the drone of his descending
voice boomed out of the stairhead:
And no more turn aside and brood
Upon loveâs bitter mystery
For Fergus rules the brazen cars.
Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning
peace from the stairhead seaw ard where he gazed. Inshore
and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. Whit e breast of the dim sea. The
twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite
wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.
A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly,
shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay beneath him, a
bowl of bitter waters. Fergusâ song: I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Her door was
Ulysses
15 of 1305 open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and
pity I went to her bedside. Sh e was crying in her wretched
bed. For those words, Stephen: loveâs bitter mystery.
Where now? Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards,
powdered with musk, a gaud of amber beads in her locked
drawer. A birdcage hung in the sunny window of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in the pantomime of Turko the Terrible and laughed with others when he sang:
I am the boy
That can enjoy
Invisibility.
Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.
And no more turn aside and brood.
Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys.
Memories beset his brooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar, roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapely
Ulysses
16 of 1305 fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from
the childrenâs shirts.
In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted
Grief and Morning Rituals
- Stephen Dedalus is haunted by a visceral, macabre vision of his dying mother and the religious guilt surrounding her death.
- Buck Mulligan interrupts Stephen's morbid introspection with boisterous calls for breakfast and news of Haines's apology.
- The financial disparity and transactional nature of their friendship are highlighted as Mulligan asks to borrow Stephen's upcoming wages.
- Stephen reflects on his identity and past, feeling like a 'server of a servant' while handling a shaving bowl that reminds him of a religious incense boat.
- The domestic scene in the Martello tower transitions from gloomy smoke and grease to 'welcome light' as the heavy door is finally opened.
- Mulligan's irreverent attitude clashes with Stephen's somber mood, particularly regarding Stephen's 'Paris fads' and the lack of milk for breakfast.
Ghoul! Chewer of corpses! No, mother! Let me be and let me live.
body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odour of wetted ashes.
Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and
bend my soul. On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on their knees.
Her eyes on me to strike me down. Liliata rutilantium te
confessorum turma circumdet: iubilantium te virginum chorus
excipiat.
Ghoul! Chewer of corpses! No, mother! Let me be and let me live. âKinch ahoy! Buck Mulliganâs voice sang from within the tower. It
came nearer up the staircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soulâs cry, heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly words.
âDedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is
ready. Haines is apologising for waking us last night. Itâs all
right.
âIâm coming, Stephen said, turning.
Ulysses
17 of 1305 âDo, for Jesusâ sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake
and for all our sakes.
His head disappeared and reappeared. âI told him your symbol of Irish art. He says itâs very
clever. Touch him for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean.
âI get paid this morning, Stephen said. âThe school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much?
Four quid? Lend us one.
âIf you want it, Stephen said. âFour shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with
delight. Weâll have a glorious dr unk to astonish the druidy
druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.
He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone
stairs, singing out of tune with a Cockney accent:
O, wonât we have a merry time,
Drinking whisky, beer and wine! On coronation, Coronation day!
O, wonât we have a merry time
On coronation day!
Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel
shavingbowl shone, forgotten, on the parapet. Why should
Ulysses
18 of 1305 I bring it down? Or leave it there all day, forgotten
friendship?
He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling
its coolness, smelling the cla mmy slaver of the lather in
which the brush was stuck. So I carried the boat of incense
then at Clongowes. I am anot her now and yet the same. A
servant too. A server of a servant.
In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck
Mulliganâs gowned form moved briskly to and fro about the hearth, hiding and revealing its yellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floor from the high barbacans: and at the meet ing of their rays a cloud of
coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.
âWeâll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open
that door, will you?
Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall
figure rose from the hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open the inner doors.
âHave you the key? a voice asked. âDedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, Iâm
choked!
He howled, without looking up from the fire: âKinch! âItâs in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward.
Ulysses
19 of 1305 The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the
heavy door had been set ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at the doorway, looking out. Stephen haled his upended valis e to the table and sat down
to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish beside him. Then he carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, set them down heavily and sighed with relief.
âIâm melting, he said, as the candle remarked when ...
But, hush! Not a word more on that subject! Kinch, wake
up! Bread, butter, honey. Hain es, come in. The grub is
ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts. Whereâs the sugar? O, jay, thereâs no milk.
Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the
buttercooler from the locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet.
âWhat sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come
after eight.
âWe can drink it black, Stephen said thirstily. Thereâs
a lemon in the locker.
âO, damn you and your Paris fads! Buck Mulligan
The Milk and the Crone
- Buck Mulligan serves breakfast to Haines and Stephen, performing a mock-religious ritual over the food while mimicking local folklore.
- Mulligan satirizes Haines's academic interest in Irish culture, suggesting the Englishman's 'book' will be bloated with excessive footnotes on trivial folk tales.
- An old milkwoman arrives, serving as a living symbol of Irelandâthe 'Silk of the kine' and the 'poor old woman'âto the three men.
- Stephen views the woman with a mix of reverence and pity, seeing her as a lowly immortal serving her 'conqueror' (Haines) and her 'gay betrayer' (Mulligan).
- Mulligan adopts a patronizing tone with the woman, blaming the country's physical decay on poor diet and living conditions while drinking her milk.
A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning.
said. I want Sandycove milk.
Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly: âThat woman is coming up with the milk.
Ulysses
20 of 1305 âThe blessings of God on you! Buck Mulligan cried,
jumping up from his chair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here, I canât go fumbling at
the damned eggs.
He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it
out on three plates, saying:
âIn nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Haines sat down to pour out the tea. âIâm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say,
Mulligan, you do make strong tea, donât you?
Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said
in an old womanâs wheedling voice:
âWhen I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan
said. And when I makes water I makes water.
âBy Jove, it is tea, Haines said. Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:
âSo I do, Mrs Cahill, says she. Begob, maâam, says Mrs
Cahill, God send you donât make them in the one pot.
He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice
of bread, impaled on his knife.
âThatâs folk, he said very earnestly, for your book,
Haines. Five lines of text and ten pages of notes about the
folk and the fishgods of Dundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind.
Ulysses
21 of 1305 He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled
voice, lifting his brows:
âCan you recall, brother, is mother Groganâs tea and
water pot spoken of in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?
âI doubt it, said Stephen gravely. âDo you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone.
Your reasons, pray?
âI fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or
out of the Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Ann.
Buck Mulliganâs face smiled with delight.
âCharming! he said in a finical sweet voice, showing
his white teeth and blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming!
Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he
growled in a hoarsened raspin g voice as he hewed again
vigorously at the loaf:
âFor old Mary Ann
She doesnât care a damn. But, hising up her petticoats ...
He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and
droned.
Ulysses
22 of 1305 The doorway was darkened by an entering form.
âThe milk, sir! âCome in, maâam, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug. An old woman came forward and stood by Stephenâs
elbow.
âThatâs a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to
God.
âTo whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be
sure!
Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the
locker.
âThe islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak
frequently of the collector of prepuces.
âHow much, sir? asked the old woman. âA quart, Stephen said. He watched her pour into the measure and thence into
the jug rich white milk, not h ers. Old shrunken paps. She
poured again a measureful and a tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe a messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out. Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor old woman,
Ulysses
23 of 1305 names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly
form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common cuckqu ean, a messenger from the
secret morning. To serve or to upbraid, whether he could
not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.
âIt is indeed, maâam, Bu ck Mulligan said, pouring
milk into their cups.
âTaste it, sir, she said. He drank at her bidding. âIf we could live on good food like that, he said to
her somewhat loudly, we wouldnât have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten guts. Living in a bogswamp,
eating cheap food and the streets paved with dust,
The Milkwoman and the Bards
- An elderly milkwoman visits the tower, deferring to Buck Mulligan's medical persona while ignoring Stephen's silent presence.
- The interaction highlights a cultural irony as Haines, an Englishman, speaks Irish to the woman, who cannot understand her own native tongue.
- Stephen reflects bitterly on the woman's subservience to religious and medical authority, viewing her as a symbol of a subjugated Ireland.
- Financial tensions surface as Mulligan struggles to pay the milk bill, eventually prompting him to pressure Stephen to bring back money from his teaching job.
- Haines expresses interest in documenting Stephen's wit, specifically citing his metaphor of Irish art being a 'cracked lookingglass of a servant.'
- The scene concludes with Mulligan mocking Stephen's hygiene and the group preparing for a morning swim.
She bows her old head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she slights.
horsedung and consumptivesâ spits.
âAre you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked. âI am, maâam, Buck Mulligan answered. âLook at that now, she said. Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old
head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is of her but her womanâs unclean loins, of manâ s flesh made not in Godâs
likeness, the serpentâs prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes.
Ulysses
24 of 1305 âDo you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.
âIs it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said
to Haines.
Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently. âIrish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you? âI thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it.
Are you from the west, sir?
âI am an Englishman, Haines answered. âHeâs English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we
ought to speak Irish in Ireland.
âSure we ought to, the old woman said, and Iâm
ashamed I donât speak the language myself. Iâm told itâs a
grand language by them that knows.
âGrand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan.
Wonderful entirely. Fill us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, maâam?
âNo, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the
ring of the milkcan on her fo rearm and about to go.
Haines said to her: âHave you your bill? We had better pay her,
Mulligan, hadnât we?
Stephen filled again the three cups. âBill, sir? she said, halting. Well, itâs seven mornings a
pint at twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence
Ulysses
25 of 1305 over and these three mornings a quart at fourpence is three
quarts is a shilling. Thatâs a shilling and one and two is two
and two, sir.
Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with
a crust thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his
legs and began to search his trouser pockets.
âPay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him,
smiling.
Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring
faintly the thick rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a
florin, twisted it round in his fingers and cried:
âA miracle!
He passed it along the table towards the old woman,
saying:
âAsk nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I
give.
Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand. âWeâll owe twopence, he said. âTime enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time
enough. Good morning, sir.
She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck
Mulliganâs tender chant:
Ulysses
26 of 1305 âHeart of my heart, were it more,
More would be laid at your feet.
He turned to Stephen and said:
âSeriously, Dedalus. Iâm stony. Hurry out to your
school kip and bring us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland expects that every man this day will do his duty.
âThat reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to
visit your national library today.
âOur swim first, Buck Mulligan said. He turned to Stephen and asked blandly: âIs this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch? Then he said to Haines: âThe unclean bard makes a point of washing once a
month.
âAll Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said
as he let honey trickle over a slice of the loaf.
Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a
scarf about the loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:
âI intend to make a collection of your sayings if you
will let me.
Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub.
Agenbite of inwit. Conscience. Yet hereâs a spot.
Ulysses
27 of 1305 âThat one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant
being the symbol of Irish art is deuced good.
Buck Mulligan kicked Stephe nâs foot under the table
and said with warmth of tone:
âWait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines. âWell, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to
Stephen. I was just thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.
âWould I make any money by it? Stephen asked. Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from
The Omphalos and the Ghost
- Buck Mulligan rebukes Stephen Dedalus for his 'Jesuit jibes' which threaten their ability to secure money from their guest, Haines.
- Mulligan adopts a mercurial persona, quoting Walt Whitman and dressing with theatrical flair while mocking their impoverished circumstances.
- The trio departs the Martello tower, which Stephen reveals they rent from the Secretary of State for War for twelve pounds.
- Mulligan describes the tower as the 'omphalos' or navel of the world, grounding their local setting in a grand, mythological context.
- Haines inquires about Stephenâs idiosyncratic theory of Hamlet, which Mulligan dismisses as a complex algebraic paradox involving ancestral identity.
- Stephen remains listless and aloof, suggesting that his intellectual explanations require the lubrication of alcohol to be shared.
He proves by algebra that Hamletâs grandson is Shakespeareâs grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.
the holdfast of the hammock, said:
âI donât know, Iâm sure.
He strolled out to the door way. Buck Mulligan bent
across to Stephen and said with coarse vigour:
âYou put your hoof in it no w. What did you say that
for?
âWell? Stephen said. The pro blem is to get money.
From whom? From the milkwoma n or from him. Itâs a
toss up, I think.
âI blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and
then you come along with your lousy leer and your
gloomy jesuit jibes.
âI see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.
Ulysses
28 of 1305 Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on
Stephenâs arm.
âFrom me, Kinch, he said. In a suddenly changed tone he added: âTo tell you the Godâs truth I think youâre right.
Damn all else they are good for. Why donât you play them
as I do? To hell with them all. Let us get out of the kip.
He stood up, gravely ungir dled and disrobed himself of
his gown, saying resignedly:
âMulligan is stripped of his garments. He emptied his pockets on to the table. âThereâs your snotrag, he said.
And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he
spoke to them, chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and rummaged in his trunk while he called for a clean handkerchief. God, weâll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and green boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself . Mercurial Malachi. A limp
black missile flew out of his talking hands.
âAnd thereâs your Latin quarter hat, he said. Stephen picked it up and pu t it on. Haines called to
them from the doorway:
âAre you coming, you fellows?
Ulysses
29 of 1305 âIâm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards
the door. Come out, Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose. Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:
âAnd going forth he met Butterly. Stephen, taking his ashpl ant from its leaningplace,
followed them out and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.
At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked: âDid you bring the key? âI have it, Stephen said, preceding them.
He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan
club with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or
grasses.
âDown, sir! How dare you, sir! Haines asked: âDo you pay rent for this tower? âTwelve quid, Buck Mulligan said. âTo the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over
his shoulder.
They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said
at last:
Ulysses
30 of 1305 âRather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello
you call it?
âBilly Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when
the French were on the sea. But ours is the omphalos .
âWhat is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen. âNo, no, Buck Mulligan s houted in pain. Iâm not
equal to Thomas Aquinas and the fiftyfive reasons he has made out to prop it up. Wait till I have a few pints in me
first.
He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly
the peaks of his primrose waistcoat:
âYou couldnât manage it under three pints, Kinch,
could you?
âIt has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can
wait longer.
âYou pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it
some paradox?
âPooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of
Wilde and paradoxes. Itâs quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamletâs grands on is Shakespeareâs grandfather
and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.
âWhat? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen.
He himself?
Ulysses
31 of 1305 Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck
and, bending in loose laughter, said to Stephenâs ear:
âO, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a
father!
âWeâre always tired in the morning, Stephen said to
Haines. And it is rather long to tell.
Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands. âThe sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of
Dedalus, he said.
The Ballad of Joking Jesus
- Haines compares the Martello tower and surrounding cliffs to the setting of Elsinore in Hamlet.
- Stephen perceives a sharp contrast between his own somber mourning clothes and the vibrant attire of his companions.
- Buck Mulligan performs a blasphemous, mocking song about the divinity of Christ and the nature of miracles.
- Haines expresses a secular, intellectualized view of religion while remaining fascinated by Mulligan's irreverent energy.
- Stephen identifies himself with 'grim displeasure' as a 'horrible example of free thought' when questioned about his faith.
- The interaction highlights the tension between Mulligan's performative mockery and Stephen's internal, heavy spiritual struggle.
In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires.
âI mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they
followed, this tower and these cliffs here remind me
somehow of Elsinore. That beetles oâer his base into the sea,
isnât it?
Buck Mulligan turned suddenl y. for an instant towards
Stephen but did not speak. In the bright silent instant
Stephen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires.
âItâs a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to
halt again.
Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm
and prudent. The seasâ ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for the smokeplume of the mailboat vague on the bright skyline and a sail tacking by the Muglins.
Ulysses
32 of 1305 âI read a theological int erpretation of it somewhere,
he said bemused. The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the Father.
Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling
face. He looked at them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a dollâs head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat
quivering, and began to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:
âIâm the queerest young fellow that ever you
heard.
My motherâs a jew, my fatherâs a bird. With Joseph the joiner I cannot agree.
So hereâs to disciples and Calvary.
He held up a forefinger of warning.
âIf anyone thinks that I amnât divine
Heâll get no free drinks when Iâm making the wine
But have to drink water and wish it were plain
That i make when the wine becomes water again.
Ulysses
33 of 1305 He tugged swiftly at Stephenâ s ashplant in farewell and,
running forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:
âGoodbye, now, goodbye! Write down all I
said
And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the
dead. Whatâs bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly
And Olivetâs breezy ... Goodbye, now,
goodbye!
He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot
hole, fluttering his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercuryâs hat quivering in th e fresh wind that bore back
to them his brief birdsweet cries.
Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on
beside Stephen and said:
âWe oughtnât to laugh, I suppose. Heâs rather
blasphemous. Iâm not a believer my self, that is to say. Still
his gaiety takes the harm out of it somehow, doesnât it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?
âThe ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered. âO, Haines said, you have heard it before?
Ulysses
34 of 1305 âThree times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.
âYouâre not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I
mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God.
âThereâs only one sense of the word, it seems to me,
Stephen said.
Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in
which twinkled a green stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.
âThank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette. Haines helped himself and s napped the case to. He put
it back in his sidepocket and took from his
waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too,
and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.
âYes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either
you believe or you donât, isnât it? Personally I couldnât stomach that idea of a personal God. You donât stand for that, I suppose?
âYou 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,
Ulysses
Servant of Two Masters
- Stephen Dedalus expresses his internal conflict, identifying as a servant to both the British Empire and the Roman Catholic Church.
- Haines, an Englishman, dismisses historical colonial tensions by vaguely suggesting that 'history is to blame' for the treatment of Ireland.
- Stephen reflects on the grand, rhythmic power of Church dogma and the various heresies that have challenged its authority throughout history.
- The conversation shifts to Haines's own nationalist anxieties, including casual anti-Semitism regarding the 'national problem' in England.
- The narrative transitions to the coast where characters observe the sea, waiting for the body of a drowned man to surface after nine days.
- Buck Mulligan maintains his irreverent persona, mocking religious gestures while preparing to swim near the cliffs.
The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michaelâs host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields.
35 of 1305 Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A waveri ng 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.
âAfter all, Haines began ... Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had
measured him was not all unkind.
âAfter all, I should think you are able to free yourself.
You are your own master, it seems to me.
âI am a servant of two masters, Stephen said, an
English and an Italian.
âItalian? Haines said.
A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me. âAnd a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for
odd jobs.
âItalian? Haines said again. What do you mean? âThe imperial British sta te, 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.
âI can quite understand that, he said calmly. An
Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feel in
Ulysses
36 of 1305 England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems
history is to blame.
The proud potent titles clanged over Stephenâs
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 wit h mitres awry: Photius and
the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurning Christâs terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius
who held that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a
worsting from those embattl ed angels of the church,
Michaelâs host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields.
Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu!
Ulysses
37 of 1305 âOf course Iâm a Britisher, Hainesâs voice said, and I
feel as one. I donât want to see my country fall into the
hands of German jews either. T hatâs our national problem,
Iâm afraid, just now.
Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching:
businessman, boatman.
âSheâs making for Bullock harbour. The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay
with some disdain.
âThereâs five fathoms out there, he said. Itâll be swept
up that way when the tide comes in about one. Itâs nine days today.
The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the
blank bay waiting for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite. Here I am.
They followed the winding path down to the creek.
Buck Mulligan stood on a sto ne, in shirtsleeves, his
unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him, moved slowly frogwise his green legs in the deep jelly of the water.
âIs the brother with you, Malachi? âDown in Westmeath. With the Bannons. âStill there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found
a sweet young thing down there. Photo girl he calls her.
Ulysses
38 of 1305 âSnapshot, eh? Brief exposure.
Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly
man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black sagging loincloth.
Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and,
glancing at Haines and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips and breastbone.
âSeymourâs back in town, the young man said,
Usurpers and Pyrrhic Victories
- Buck Mulligan mocks the social and military ambitions of his peers while bathing, adopting a Nietzschean persona of the 'Uebermensch'.
- Stephen Dedalus experiences a growing sense of alienation, surrendering his key and money to Mulligan and vowing not to return to the tower.
- The narrative shifts to a classroom setting where Stephen teaches history to a group of disinterested, wealthy schoolboys.
- Stephen reflects on the nature of history and memory, viewing historical events as 'fabled' narratives rather than absolute truths.
- The interaction with the student Armstrong highlights the class divide and the lack of intellectual discipline in the schoolroom environment.
I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and time one livid final flame.
grasping again his spur of rock. Chucked medicine and
going in for the army.
âAh, go to God! Buck Mulligan said. âGoing over next week to stew. You know that red
Carlisle girl, Lily?
âYes. âSpooning with him last night on the pier. The father
is rotto with money.
âIs she up the pole? âBetter ask Seymour that. âSeymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said. He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and
stood up, saying tritely:
Ulysses
39 of 1305 âRedheaded women buck like goats.
He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his
flapping shirt.
âMy twelfth rib is gone, he cried. Iâm the
Uebermensch. Toothless Kinch and I, the supermen.
He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to
where his clothes lay.
âAre you going in here, Malachi? âYes. Make room in the bed. The young man shoved himself backward through the
water and reached the middle of the creek in two long
clean strokes. Haines sat down on a stone, smoking.
âAre you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked. âLater on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast. Stephen turned away. âIâm going, Mulligan, he said. âGive us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep
my chemise flat.
Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it
across his heaped clothes.
âAnd twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there. Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing,
undressing. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:
Ulysses
40 of 1305 âHe who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord.
Thus spake Zarathustra.
His plump body plunged. âWeâll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen
walked up the path and smiling at wild Irish.
Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon. âThe Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve. âGood, Stephen said. He walked along the upwardcurving path.
Liliata rutilantium.
Turma circumdet.
Iubilantium te virginum.
The priestâs grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed
discreetly. I will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.
A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from
the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a se alâs, far out on the water,
round.
Usurper.
* * * * *
Ulysses
41 of 1305 âYou, Cochrane, what city sent for him?
âTarentum, sir. âVery good. Well? âThere was a battle, sir. âVery good. Where? The boyâs blank face asked the blank window. Fabled by the daughters of memory. And yet it was in
some way if not as memory fabled it. A phrase, then, of
impatience, thud of Blakeâs wings of excess. I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and time one livid final flame. Whatâs left us then?
âI forget the place, sir. 279 B. C.
âAsculum, Stephen said, glancing at the name and
date in the gorescarred book.
âYes, sir. And he said: Another victory like that and we
are done for.
That phrase the world had remembered. A dull ease of
the mind. From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general
speaking to his officers, leane d upon his spear. Any general
to any officers. They lend ear.
âYou, Armstrong, Stephen said. What was the end of
Pyrrhus?
âEnd of Pyrrhus, sir? âI know, sir. Ask me, sir, Comyn said.
Ulysses
42 of 1305 âWait. You, Armstrong. Do you know anything
about Pyrrhus?
A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrongâs satchel. He
curled them between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly. Crumbs adhered to the tissue of his lips. A
sweetened boyâs breath. Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in the navy. Vico road, Dalkey.
âPyrrhus, sir? Pyrrhus, a pier. All laughed. Mirthless high malicious laughter.
Armstrong looked round at his classmates, silly glee in profile. In a moment they will laugh more loudly, aware
of my lack of rule and of the fees their papas pay.
âTell me now, Stephen said, poking the boyâs
shoulder with the book, what is a pier.
âA pier, sir, Armstrong said. A thing out in the water.
A kind of a bridge. Kingstown pier, sir.
History and the Infinite Possible
- Stephen Dedalus reflects on the nature of history, viewing it as a series of fixed events that have ousted all other infinite possibilities.
- The classroom setting reveals a disconnect between the students' casual indifference to history and Stephen's deep philosophical burden.
- While a student recites Milton's Lycidas, Stephen's mind wanders to Aristotelian definitions of actuality and his studious nights in Paris.
- The narrative explores the weight of religious and imperial shadowsâthe 'coin of the tribute'âon the hearts of the young and the cynical alike.
- Stephen transitions from formal instruction to the enigmatic world of riddles, challenging the students' literal minds with poetic mystery.
Time has branded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite possibilities they have ousted.
Some laughed again: mirt hless but with meaning. Two
in the back bench whispered. Yes. They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. All. With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily. Their likes: their breaths, too, sweetened with tea and jam, their bracelets tittering in the struggle.
âKingstown pier, Stephen said. Yes, a disappointed
bridge.
Ulysses
43 of 1305 The words troubled their gaze.
âHow, sir? Comyn asked. A bridge is across a river. For Hainesâs chapbook. No-one here to hear. Tonight
deftly amid wild drink and talk, to pierce the polished mail of his mind. What then? A jester at the court of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement masterâs praise. Why had they chosen a ll that part? Not wholly for
the smooth caress. For them t oo history was a tale like any
other too often heard, their land a pawnshop.
Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldamâs hand in Argos or
Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. They are not to be thought away. Time has branded them and fettered they
are lodged in the room of the infinite possibilities they
have ousted. But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to
pass? Weave, weaver of the wind.
âTell us a story, sir. âO, do, sir. A ghoststory. âWhere do you begin in this? Stephen asked, opening
another book.
--Weep no more, Comyn said.
âGo on then, Talbot. âAnd the story, sir? âAfter, Stephen said. Go on, Talbot.
Ulysses
44 of 1305 A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly
under the breastwork of his satchel. He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the text:
âWeep no more, woful shepherds, weep no
more
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ...
It must be a movement then, an actuality of the
possible as possible. Aristotleâs phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the studious silence
of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, sheltered from the sin of Paris, night by night. By his elbow a delicate Siamese c onned a handbook of strategy.
Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and in my mindâs darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her drag on scaly folds. Thought is the
thought of thought. Tranquil brig htness. The soul is in a
manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms.
Talbot repeated:
Ulysses
45 of 1305 âThrough the dear might of Him that walked
the waves,
Through the dear might ...
âTurn over, Stephen said quietly. I donât see
anything.
âWhat, sir? Talbot asked simply, bending forward. His hand turned the page over. He leaned back and
went on again, having just remembered. Of him that walked the waves. Here also over these craven hearts his
shadow lies and on the scofferâs heart and lips and on mine. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the tribute. To Caesar what is Caesarâs, to God what is
Godâs. A long look from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven and woven on the churchâs looms. Ay.
Riddle me, riddle me, randy ro.
My father gave me seeds to sow.
Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel.
âHave I heard all? Stephen asked.
âYes, sir. Hockey at ten, sir. âHalf day, sir. Thursday. âWho can answer a riddle? Stephen asked.
Ulysses
46 of 1305 They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages
rustling. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily:
âA riddle, sir? Ask me, sir. âO, ask me, sir. âA hard one, sir. âThis is the riddle, Stephen said:
The cock crew,
The sky was blue:
The bells in heaven
Were striking eleven.
âTis time for this poor soul
To go to heaven.
What is that?
âWhat, sir? âAgain, sir. We didnât hear. Their eyes grew bigger as th e lines were repeated. After
a silence Cochrane said:
The Snail and the Sum
- Stephen Dedalus finishes a lesson with his students, leaving him alone with the struggling and physically awkward Cyril Sargent.
- Observing Sargent's frailty and ink-stained face, Stephen reflects on the protective power of maternal love that saves the weak from being trampled.
- Stephen experiences a moment of self-recognition, seeing his own past gracelessness and childhood reflected in the boy's posture.
- The act of solving an algebraic sum becomes a meditative process, linking mathematical symbols to historical figures like Averroes and Maimonides.
- Stephen contemplates the 'secrets' locked within the human heart, describing them as weary tyrants that govern the soul's inner palace.
She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life?
âWhat is it, sir? We give it up. Stephen, his throat itching, answered: âThe fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. He stood up and gave a shout of nervous laughter to
which their cries echoed dismay.
Ulysses
47 of 1305 A stick struck the door and a voice in the corridor
called:
âHockey! They broke asunder, sidling out of their benches,
leaping them. Quickly they were gone and from the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their boots and tongues.
Sargent who alone had lingered came forward slowly,
showing an open copyboo k. His thick hair and scraggy
neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his misty glasses weak eyes looked up pleading. On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent
and damp as a snailâs bed.
He held out his copybook. The word Sums was written
on the headline. Beneath were sloping figures and at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a blot. Cyril Sargent: his name and seal.
âMr Deasy told me to write them out all again, he
said, and show them to you, sir.
Stephen touched the edges of the book. Futility. âDo you understand how to do them now? he asked. âNumbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Mr
Deasy said I was to copy them off the board, sir.
âCan you do them. yourself? Stephen asked.
Ulysses
48 of 1305 âNo, sir.
Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of
ink, a snailâs bed. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart. But for her the race of the
world would have trampled him underfoot, a squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? His motherâs prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burn t in the fire, an odour of
rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A
poor soul gone to heav en: and on a heath beneath
winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.
Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the problem. He
proves by algebra that Shak espeareâs ghost is Hamletâs
grandfather. Sargent peered askance through his slanted glasses. Hockeysticks rattled in the lumberroom: the hollow knock of a ball and calls from the field.
Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice,
in the mummery of their lett ers, wearing quaint caps of
squares and cubes. Give hands, traverse, bow to partner:
Ulysses
49 of 1305 so: imps of fancy of the Moor s. Gone too from the world,
Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and
movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the world, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
âDo you understand now? Can you work the second
for yourself?
âYes, sir. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. Waiting
always for a word of help his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a faint hue of shame flickering behind
his dull skin. Amor matris: subjective and objective
genitive. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had
fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.
Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this
gracelessness. My childhood be nds beside me. Too far for
me to lay a hand there once or lightly. Mine is far and his
secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: se crets weary of their tyranny:
tyrants, willing to be dethroned.
The sum was done. âIt is very simple, Stephen said as he stood up. âYes, sir. Thanks, Sargent answered.
Ulysses
50 of 1305 He dried the page with a sheet of thin blottingpaper
and carried his copybook back to his bench.
âYou had better get your sti ck and go out to the
others, Stephen said as he followed towards the door the
boyâs graceless form.
The Pride of the Englishman
- Stephen Dedalus observes the chaotic schoolyard as Mr. Deasy attempts to mediate a dispute among the students.
- The setting of Deasy's study is described through sensory details of stale air, abraded leather, and religious and historical artifacts.
- Mr. Deasy settles his financial debt with Stephen, meticulously counting out three pounds and twelve shillings using a mechanical coin dispenser.
- Stephen reflects on the nature of money, viewing it as a symbol of greed and misery compared to the natural beauty of the shells on the table.
- Deasy lectures Stephen on the importance of saving, quoting Iago from Othello to equate money with power and English identity.
- The interaction highlights the generational and philosophical divide between the cynical, pragmatic headmaster and the contemplative, detached teacher.
A lump in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery.
âYes, sir. In the corridor his name was heard, called from the
playfield.
âSargent! âRun on, Stephen said. Mr Deasy is calling you. He stood in the porch and watched the laggard hurry
towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife.
They were sorted in tea ms and Mr Deasy came away
stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. When he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him. He turned his angry white moustache.
âWhat is it now? he cr ied continually without
listening.
âCochrane and Halliday are on the same side, sir,
Stephen said.
âWill you wait in my study for a moment, Mr Deasy
said, till I restore order here.
And as he stepped fussily back across the field his old
manâs voice cried sternly:
Ulysses
51 of 1305 âWhat is the matter? What is it now?
Their sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their
many forms closed round him, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his illdyed head.
Stale smoky air hung in the study with the smell of
drab abraded leather of its chairs. As on the first day he bargained with me here. As it was in the beginning, is now. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a bog: and ever shall be. And snug in their spooncase of purple plush, faded, the twelve apostles having preached to all the gentiles: world without end.
A hasty step over the stone porch and in the corridor.
Blowing out his rare moustache Mr Deasy halted at the
table.
âFirst, our little financial settlement, he said. He brought out of his coat a pocketbook bound by a
leather thong. It slapped open and he took from it two notes, one of joined halves, and laid them carefully on the table.
âTwo, he said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook
away.
And now his strongroom for the gold. Stephenâs
embarrassed hand moved over the shells heaped in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard
Ulysses
52 of 1305 shells: and this, whorled as an emirâs turban, and this, the
scallop of saint James. An old pilgrimâs hoard, dead
treasure, hollow shells.
A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the soft pile of the
tablecloth.
âThree, Mr Deasy said, turn ing his little savingsbox
about in his hand. These are handy things to have. See.
This is for sovereigns. Th is is for shillings. Sixpences,
halfcrowns. And here crowns. See.
He shot from it two crowns and two shillings. âThree twelve, he said. I think youâll find thatâs right. âThank you, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money
together with shy haste and putting it all in a pocket of his
trousers.
âNo thanks at all, Mr Deasy said. You have earned it. Stephenâs hand, free again, went back to the hollow
shells. Symbols too of beauty and of power. A lump in my
pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery.
âDonât carry it like that, Mr Deasy said. Youâll pull it
out somewhere and lose it. You just buy one of these machines. Youâll find them very handy.
Answer something. âMine would be often empty, Stephen said.
Ulysses
53 of 1305 The same room and hour, the same wisdom: and I the
same. Three times now. Three nooses round me here.
Well? I can break them in this instant if I will.
âBecause you donât save, Mr Deasy said, pointing his
finger. You donât know yet what money is. Money is power. When you have lived as long as I have. I know, I know. If youth but knew. But what does Shakespeare say?
Put but money in thy purse.
âIago, Stephen murmured. He lifted his gaze from the idle shells to the old manâs
stare.
âHe knew what money was, Mr Deasy said. He made
money. A poet, yes, but an Englishman too. Do you know what is the pride of the English? Do you know what is the proudest word you will ever hear from an
Englishmanâs mouth?
The seasâ ruler. His seacold eyes looked on the empty
History and Debt
- Mr. Deasy boasts of his financial independence and moral rectitude, contrasting his lack of debt with Stephen Dedalus's internal list of numerous creditors.
- The conversation shifts to Irish history and identity, where Deasy claims a lineage that supported the Union while asserting that 'we are all Irish.'
- Stephen expresses a profound skepticism toward grand historical narratives and nationalistic rhetoric, famously stating his fear of 'big words.'
- Deasy recounts his memories of political shifts and the Great Famine, positioning himself as a witness to three generations of Irish struggle.
- The scene transitions as Deasy prepares a letter for the press, while Stephen observes the room's decor, including images of famous racehorses.
- The dialogue highlights the generational and ideological divide between Deasy's pragmatic Toryism and Stephen's detached, artistic melancholy.
âI fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.
bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on my words,
unhating.
âThat on his empire, Stephen said, the sun never sets. âBa! Mr Deasy cried. Thatâs not English. A French
Celt said that. He tapped his savingsbox against his thumbnail.
Ulysses
54 of 1305 âI will tell you, he said sole mnly, what is his proudest
boast. I paid my way.
Good man, good man.
âI paid my way. I never borro wed a shilling in my life. Can
you feel that? I owe nothing. Can you?
Mulligan, nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one pair
brogues, ties. Curran, ten guineas. McCann, one guinea. Fred Ryan, two shillings. Tem ple, two lunches. Russell,
one guinea, Cousins, ten sh illings, Bob Reynolds, half a
guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five
weeksâ board. The lump I have is useless.
âFor the moment, no, Stephen answered. Mr Deasy laughed with rich delight, putting back his
savingsbox.
âI knew you couldnât, he said joyously. But one day
you must feel it. We are a generous people but we must also be just.
âI fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us
so unhappy.
Mr Deasy stared sternly for some moments over the
mantelpiece at the shapely bu lk of a man in tartan filibegs:
Albert Edward, prince of Wales.
âYou think me an old fogey and an old tory, his
thoughtful voice said. I sa w three generations since
Ulysses
55 of 1305 OâConnellâs time. I remember the famine in â46. Do you
know that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the union twenty years before OâConnell did or before the prelates of your comm union denounced him as a
demagogue? You fenians forget some things.
Glorious, pious and immortal memory. The lodge of
Diamond in Armagh the s plendid behung with corpses of
papishes. Hoarse, masked and armed, the plantersâ
covenant. The black north and true blue bible. Croppies
lie down.
Stephen sketched a brief gesture. âI have rebel blood in me too, Mr Deasy said. On the
spindle side. But I am descended from sir John Blackwood
who voted for the union. We are all Irish, all kingsâ sons.
âAlas, Stephen said.
âPer vias rectas , Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto.
He voted for it and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the Ards of Down to do so.
Lal the ral the ra
The rocky road to Dublin.
A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots. Soft
day, sir John! Soft day, your honour! ... Day! ... Day! ...
Ulysses
56 of 1305 Two topboots jog dangling on to Dublin. Lal the ral the
ra. Lal the ral the raddy.
âThat reminds me, Mr Deasy said. You can do me a
favour, Mr Dedalus, with some of your literary friends. I
have a letter here for the press. Sit down a moment. I have
just to copy the end.
He went to the desk near the window, pulled in his
chair twice and read off some words from the sheet on the drum of his typewriter.
âSit down. Excuse me, he said over his shoulder, the
dictates of common sense. Just a moment.
He peered from under his shaggy brows at the
manuscript by his elbow and, muttering, began to prod
the stiff buttons of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he screwed up th e drum to erase an error.
Stephen seated himself noiselessly before the princely
presence. Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their meek heads poised in air: lord Hastingsâ Repulse, the duke of Westminsterâs
Shotover, the duke of Beaufortâs Ceylon, prix de Paris ,
1866. Elfin riders sat them, watchful of a sign. He saw
their speeds, backing kingâs colours, and shouted with the shouts of vanished crowds.
Ulysses
57 of 1305 âFull stop, Mr Deasy bade his keys. But prompt
ventilation of this allimportant question ...
Where Cranly led me to ge t rich quick, hunting his
winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their pitches and reek of the canteen, over the motley slush. Fair Rebel! Fair Rebel! Even money the
favourite: ten to one the fi eld. Dicers and thimbleriggers
Deasy's Letter and Prejudice
- Stephen Dedalus listens as Mr. Deasy presents a formal letter intended for the press regarding the foot and mouth disease affecting Irish cattle.
- Mr. Deasy advocates for an Austrian veterinary cure, blaming bureaucratic 'intrigues' and 'backstairs influence' for the Department of Agriculture's inaction.
- The conversation shifts from agricultural policy to a virulent antisemitic tirade, with Deasy claiming that Jewish influence is causing the decay of England.
- Stephen offers a brief, cynical rebuttal by defining a merchant simply as one who 'buys cheap and sells dear,' regardless of religion.
- Deasy justifies his prejudice through a religious lens, asserting that Jewish people are 'wanderers on the earth' because they 'sinned against the light.'
- The narrative reflects Stephen's internal observations of the 'goldskinned men' of the exchange, noting their perceived status as outsiders in a hostile world.
Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the frozen deathspew of the slain, a shout of spearspikes baited with menâs bloodied guts.
we hurried by after the hoofs, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a butcherâs dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange.
Shouts rang shrill from the boysâ playfield and a
whirring whistle.
Again: a goal. I am among them, among their battling
bodies in a medley, the joust of life. You mean that knockkneed motherâs darling who seems to be slightly crawsick? Jousts. Time shocke d rebounds, shock by shock.
Jousts, slush and uproar of ba ttles, the frozen deathspew of
the slain, a shout of spearspikes baited with menâs bloodied guts.
âNow then, Mr Deasy said, rising. He came to the table, pi nning together his sheets.
Stephen stood up.
Ulysses
58 of 1305 âI have put the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said.
Itâs about the foot and mouth disease. Just look through it. There can be no two opinions on the matter.
May I trespass on your valuable space. That doctrine of
laissez faire which so often in our history. Our cattle trade.
The way of all our old industries. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. European conflagration. Grain supplies through the narrow waters of the channel. The pluterperfect imperturbability of the department of agriculture. Pardoned a classical allusion. Cassandra. By a woman who was no better than she
should be. To come to the point at issue.
âI donât mince words, do I? Mr Deasy asked as
Stephen read on.
Foot and mouth disease. Known as Kochâs preparation.
Serum and virus. Percentage of salted horses. Rinderpest. Emperorâs horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. Veterinary surgeons. Mr Henry Blackwood Price. Courteous offer a fair trial. Dictates of common sense. Allimportant question. In every sense of the word take the bull by the horns. Thanking you for the hospitality of your columns.
âI want that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy said.
You will see at the next outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. And it can be cured. It is cured.
Ulysses
59 of 1305 My cousin, Blackwood Price, writ es to me it is regularly
treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there. They
offer to come over here. I am trying to work up influence
with the department. Now Iâm going to try publicity. I am surrounded by difficulties, by ... intrigues by ... backstairs influence by ...
He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his
voice spoke.
âMark my words, Mr Dedalu s, he said. England is in
the hands of the jews. In all th e highest places: her finance,
her press. And they are the signs of a nationâs decay. Wherever they gather they eat up the nationâs vital
strength. I have seen it coming these years. As sure as we
are standing here the jew merc hants are already at their
work of destruction. Old England is dying.
He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as
they passed a broad sunbeam. He faced about and back again.
âDying, he said again, if not dead by now.
The harlotâs cry from street to street
Shall weave old Englandâs windingsheet.
His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the
sunbeam in which he halted.
Ulysses
60 of 1305 âA merchant, Stephen said, is one who buys cheap
and sells dear, jew or gentile, is he not?
âThey sinned against the light , Mr Deasy said gravely.
And you can see the darkness in their eyes. And that is why they are wanderers on the earth to this day.
On the steps of the Paris stock exchange the
goldskinned men quoting prices on their gemmed fingers. Gabble of geese. They swarmed loud, uncouth about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats.
Not theirs: these clothes, this speech, these gestures. Their full slow eyes belied the words, the gestures eager and unoffending, but knew the rancours massed about them
and knew their zeal was vain. Vain patience to heap and
History and the Nightmare
- Stephen Dedalus famously defines history as a nightmare from which he is attempting to escape, contrasting his view with Mr. Deasy's teleological belief in history as a movement toward God.
- Mr. Deasy attributes historical failures and wars to the influence of women, citing figures like Helen of Troy and the wife of MacMurrough.
- The conversation highlights the generational and ideological divide between the cynical, artistic Stephen and the moralistic, Ulster-loyalist Deasy.
- Deasy tasks Stephen with getting a letter regarding cattle disease published in local newspapers, leading Stephen to anticipate being mocked as a 'bullockbefriending bard.'
- The encounter concludes with Deasy delivering a bigoted joke about Ireland never persecuting Jews because the country 'never let them in.'
- Stephen reflects on his unsuitability for teaching, viewing himself instead as a perpetual learner amidst the 'toothless terrors' of authority.
History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
hoard. Time surely would scatter all. A hoard heaped by the roadside: plundered and passing on. Their eyes knew their years of wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their flesh.
âWho has not? Stephen said. âWhat do you mean? Mr Deasy asked. He came forward a pace and stood by the table. His
underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly. Is this old wisdom? He waits to hear from me.
âHistory, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I
am trying to awake.
Ulysses
61 of 1305 From the playfield the boys raised a shout. A whirring
whistle: goal. What if that nightmare gave you a back
kick?
âThe ways of the Creator a re not our ways, Mr Deasy
said. All human history moves towards one great goal, the manifestation of God.
Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying: âThat is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! âWhat? Mr Deasy asked. âA shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging
his shoulders.
Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings
of his nose tweaked between his fingers. Looking up again he set them free.
âI am happier than you are, he said. We have
committed many errors and m any sins. A wo man brought
sin into the world. For a woman who was no better than she should be, Helen, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, MacMurroughâs wife and her leman, OâRour ke, prince of Breffni. A
woman too brought Parnell low. Many errors, many
Ulysses
62 of 1305 failures but not the one sin. I am a struggler now at the
end of my days. But I will fight for the right till the end.
For Ulster will fight
And Ulster will be right.
Stephen raised the sheets in his hand.
âWell, sir, he began ... âI foresee, Mr Deasy said, that you will not remain
here very long at this work. You were not born to be a teacher, I think. Perhaps I am wrong.
âA learner rather, Stephen said. And here what will you learn more?
Mr Deasy shook his head.
âWho knows? he said. To learn one must be humble.
But life is the great teacher.
Stephen rustled the sheets again. âAs regards these, he began. âYes, Mr Deasy said. You have two copies there. If
you can have them published at once.
Telegraph. Irish Homestead.
âI will try, Stephen said, and let you know tomorrow.
I know two editors slightly.
âThat will do, Mr Deasy said briskly. I wrote last
night to Mr Field, M.P. There is a meeting of the
Ulysses
63 of 1305 cattletradersâ association today at the City Arms hotel. I
asked him to lay my letter before the meeting. You see if you can get it into your two papers. What are they?
âThe Evening Telegraph ...
âThat will do, Mr Deasy sa id. There is no time to
lose. Now I have to answer t hat letter from my cousin.
âGood morning, sir, Stephen said, putting the sheets
in his pocket. Thank you.
âNot at all, Mr Deasy said as he searched the papers
on his desk. I like to break a lance with you, old as I am.
âGood morning, sir, Stephen said again, bowing to
his bent back.
He went out by the open porch and down the gravel
path under the trees, hearing th e cries of voices and crack
of sticks from the playfield. The lions couchant on the
pillars as he passed out throug h the gate: toothless terrors.
Still I will help him in his fight. Mulligan will dub me a new name: the bullockbefriending bard.
âMr Dedalus! Running after me. No more letters, I hope. âJust one moment. âYes, sir, Stephen said, turning back at the gate. Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his
breath.
Ulysses
64 of 1305 âI just wanted to say, he said. Ireland, they say, has the
honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. Do you know that? No. And do you know why?
He frowned sternly on the bright air. âWhy, sir? Stephen asked, beginning to smile. âBecause she never let th em in, Mr Deasy said
solemnly.
A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat dragging
after it a rattling chain of phle gm. He turned back quickly,
The Modality of the Visible
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a philosophical meditation on the nature of perception, distinguishing between the 'visible' (nebeneinander) and the 'audible' (nacheinander).
- Walking along Sandymount Strand with eyes closed, he tests the reality of the physical world through the rhythmic sound of his boots crushing shells.
- The narrative shifts to a contemplation of birth and lineage as Stephen observes two midwives, imagining the 'strandentwining cable' of navel cords linking all humanity back to Eve.
- Stephen reflects on his own origins, viewing his parents as agents of a 'couplerâs will' and himself as a being 'made not begotten' within a theological framework.
- The text explores the tension between the eternal and the temporal, referencing the heresiarch Arius and the complexity of consubstantiality.
- The internal monologue blends high scholastic philosophy with visceral, earthy imagery of the sea, decay, and the human body.
The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh.
coughing, laughing, his lifted arms waving to the air.
âShe never let them in, he cried again through his
laughter as he stamped on gaitered feet over the gravel of
the path. Thatâs why.
On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of
leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins.
* * * * *
Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no
more, thought through my eyes . Signatures of all things I
am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he
Ulysses
65 of 1305 was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How?
By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald
he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno . Limit of
the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door.
Shut your eyes and see.
Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush
crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it
howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the
nacheinander . Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality
of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a
cliff that beetles oâer his base, fell through the nebeneinander
ineluctably! I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap wit h it: they do. My two feet
in his boots are at the ends of his legs, nebeneinander .
Sounds solid: made by the mallet of Los Demiurgos . Am I
walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea m oney. Dominie Deasy kens
them aâ.
Wonât you come to Sandymount,
Madeline the mare?
Ulysses
66 of 1305 Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter
of iambs marching. No, agallop: deline the mare .
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all
vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black
adiaphane. Basta! I will see if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever
shall be, world without end.
They came down the steps from Leahyâs terrace
prudently, Frauenzimmer : and down the shelving shore
flabbily, their splayed feet sin king in the silted sand. Like
me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother.
Number one swung lourdily her midwifeâs bag, the otherâs gamp poked in the beach. From the liberties, out for the day. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in your omphalos. Hello! Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one.
Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked
Eve. She had no navel. Gaze. Belly without blemish,
Ulysses
67 of 1305 bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped
corn, orient and immortal, sta nding from everlasting to
everlasting. Womb of sin.
Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten.
By them, the man with my voice and my eyes and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the couplerâs will. From before the ages He
willed me and now may not will me away or ever. A lex
eterna stays about Him. Is that then the divine substance
wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Where is poor
dear Arius to try conclusions? Warring his life long upon
the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. Illstarred heresiarchâ In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a widowed see, with upstiffed omophorion, with clotted hinderparts.
Airs romped round him, nipping and eager airs. They
Houses of Decay
- Stephen Dedalus reflects on his family's social decline while visiting his uncle Richie Goulding's cramped and shuttered cottage.
- The narrative captures the tension between Stephen's intellectual aspirations and the gritty, often drunken reality of his relatives.
- Richie Goulding is depicted as a robust but decaying figure, drafting legal bills in bed while demanding whiskey over lithia water.
- Stephen experiences a sense of shame regarding his past pretensions, recalling how he lied to schoolmates about his family's status.
- The text transitions into a feverish meditation on madness, religious ritual, and the 'equine' faces of his peers, linking them to the prophecies of Joachim Abbas.
A hater of his kind ran from them to the wood of madness, his mane foaming in the moon, his eyeballs stars.
are coming, waves. The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the steeds of Mananaan.
I mustnât forget his letter for the press. And after? The
Ship, half twelve. By the way go easy with that money like a good young imbecile.
Yes, I must.
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68 of 1305 His pace slackened. Here. Am I going to aunt Saraâs or
not? My consubstantial fatherâs voice. Did you see anything of your artist brother Stephen lately? No? Sure heâs not down in Strasburg terrace with his aunt
Sally? Couldnât he fly a bit higher than that, eh? And
and and and tell us, Stephen, how is uncle Si? O, weeping God, the things I married into! De boys up in de hayloft. The drunken little costdrawer and his brother, the cornet player. Highly respectable gondoliers! And skeweyed Walter sirring his father, no less! Sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. Jesus
wept: and no wonder, by Christ!
I pull the wheezy bell of their shuttered cottage: and
wait. They take me for a dun, peer out from a coign of
vantage.
âItâs Stephen, sir. âLet him in. Let Stephen in. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. âWe thought you were someone else. In his broad bed nuncle Richie, pillowed and
blanketed, extends over the hillock of his knees a sturdy forearm. Cleanchested. He has washed the upper moiety.
âMorrow, nephew. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of
costs for the eyes of master Goff and master Shapland
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69 of 1305 Tandy, filing consents and commo n searches and a writ of
Duces Tecum . A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wildeâs
Requiescat . The drone of his misleading whistle brings
Walter back.
âYes, sir? âMalt for Richie and Stephen, tell mother. Where is
she?
âBathing Crissie, sir. Papaâs little bedpal. Lump of love. âNo, uncle Richie ...
âCall me Richie. Damn your lithia water. It lowers.
Whusky!
âUncle Richie, really ... âSit down or by the law Harry Iâll knock you down. Walter squints vainly for a chair. âHe has nothing to sit down on, sir. âHe has nowhere to put it, you mug. Bring in our
chippendale chair. Would you like a bite of something? None of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. The rich of a rasher fried with a herring? Sure? So much the better. We
have nothing in the house but backache pills.
Allâerta !
He drones bars of Ferrandoâs aria di sortita . The grandest
number, Stephen, in the whole opera. Listen.
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70 of 1305 His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with
rushes of the air, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees.
This wind is sweeter. Houses of decay, mine, his and all. You told the
Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the army. Come out of them, Stephen. Beauty is not there. Nor in the stagnant bay of Marshâs library where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. For whom? The hundredheaded rabble of the cathedral close. A hater of his kind ran from them to the wood of madness, his mane foaming in the moon, his
eyeballs stars. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. The oval
equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Abbas father,â furious dean, what offence
laid fire to their brains? Paff! Descende, calve, ut ne amplius
decalveris . A garland of grey hair on his comminated head
see him me clambering down to the footpace ( descende !),
clutching a monstrance, ba siliskeyed. Get down, baldpoll!
A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the
altarâs horns, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat.
Ulysses
Stephen's Internal Monologue and Memories
- Stephen Dedalus reflects on the synchronized rituals of the Catholic Mass, imagining bells ringing across the city in a 'diphthong' of devotion.
- He mocks his own past religious fervor and youthful vanity, recalling prayers to avoid a red nose and his secret lustful outbursts.
- The narrative shifts to his failed literary ambitions, specifically his 'epiphanies' written on green leaves intended for the great libraries of the world.
- Stephen navigates the physical landscape of the Dublin shore, observing the 'sewage breath' of the sandflats and the 'crucified shirts' on a drying line.
- He recalls his time in Paris with Patrice, the son of a Fenian exile, discussing socialism, atheism, and the 'fleshpots of Egypt' over warm milk.
Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world, including Alexandria?
71 of 1305 And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the
corner is elevating it. Dringdring! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Dringadring! And in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his own cheek. Dringdring! Down, up, forward, back. Dan Occam thought of that, invincible doctor. A misty English
morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his second bell the first bell in the transept (he is lifting his) and, rising, heard (now I am lifting) their two bells (he is kneeling) twang in diphthong.
Cousin Stephen, you will never be a saint. Isle of saints.
You were awfully holy, werenât you? You prayed to the
Blessed Virgin that you migh t not have a red nose. You
prayed to the devil in Serpen tine avenue that the fubsy
widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the
wet street. O si, certo ! Sell your soul for that, do, dyed rags
pinned round a squaw. More tell me, more still!! On the top of the Howth tram alone crying to the rain: Naked
women! naked women ! What about that, eh?
What about what? What else were they invented for?
Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night,
eh? I was young. You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face.
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72 of 1305 Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-one saw: tell
no-one. Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? O yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but
W is wonderful. O yes, W. Remember your epiphanies
written on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there after a few thousand years, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola like. Ay, very like a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is
at one with one who once ...
The grainy sand had gone from under his feet. His
boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells,
squeaking pebbles, that on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a midden of manâs ashes. He coasted them, walking warily. A porterbottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in the cakey sand dough. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Broken hoops on the shore; at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the higher beach a
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73 of 1305 dryingline with two crucified shirts. Ringsend: wigwams
of brown steersmen and master mariners. Human shells.
He halted. I have passed the way to aunt Saraâs. Am I
not going there? Seems not. No-one about. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse.
âQui vous a mis dans cette fichue position?
âcâest le pigeon, Joseph.
Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me
in the bar MacMahon. Son of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris. My fatherâs a bi rd, he lapped the sweet lait chaud
with pink young tongue, plump bunnyâs face. Lap, lapin.
He hopes to win in the gros lots . About the nature of
women he read in Michel et. But he must send me La Vie
de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. Lent it to his friend.
âCâest tordant, vous savez. Mo i, je suis socialiste. Je ne
crois pas en lâexistence de Dieu. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re.
âIl croit?
âMon pere, oui.
Schluss . He laps.
My Latin quarter hat. God, we simply must dress the
character. I want puce gloves. You were a student,
werenât you? Of what in the other devilâs name?
Paysayenn. P. C. N., you know: physiques, chimiques et
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74 of 1305 naturelles . Aha. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet ,
fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Just say
Parisian Memories and Exile
- Stephen Dedalus reflects on his time in Paris, recalling the bohemian lifestyle and the use of train tickets as alibis.
- The narrative shifts to the harsh reality of poverty, including the memory of a closed post office and the desperation of hunger.
- Stephen confronts his failed ambitions of being a 'missionary to Europe,' returning home instead with trivial French magazines and a telegram announcing his mother's death.
- The text vividly recreates the sensory atmosphere of Paris, from the 'lemon streets' and 'wormwood' to the yellowed mouths of women eating pastry.
- Stephen recalls encounters with Kevin Egan, an exiled Fenian, amidst the 'green fairy' of absinthe and political conspiracies.
- The internal monologue explores themes of guilt and family, specifically the accusation that Stephen's lifestyle contributed to his mother's demise.
Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her lemon streets.
in the most natural tone: when I was in Paris; boulâ Michâ , I
used to. Yes, used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murder somewhere. Justice. On the night of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Other fellow did it:
other me. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. Lui, câest moi . You
seem to have enjoyed yourself.
Proudly walking. Whom were you trying to walk like?
Forget: a dispossessed. With moth erâs money order, eight
shillings, the banging door of the post office slammed in
your face by the usher. Hunger toothache. Encore deux
minutes . Look clock. Must get. Ferme . Hired dog! Shoot
him to bloody bits with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered
walls all brass buttons. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Not hurt? O, thatâs all right. Shake hands. See what I meant, see? O, thatâs all right. Shake a shake. O, thatâs all only all right.
You were going to do wonders, what? Missionary to
Europe after fiery Columbanus. Fiacre and Scotus on their
creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots,
loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Euge ! Pretending to speak broken
English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence,
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75 of 1305 across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Comment? Rich booty
you brought back; Le Tutu , five tattered numbers of
Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge ; a blue French telegram,
curiosity to show:
âMother dying come home father. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Thatâs why
she wonât.
Then hereâs a health to Mulliganâs aunt
And Iâll tell you the reason why.
She always kept things decent in
The Hannigan famileye.
His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the
sand furrows, along by the b oulders of the south wall. He
stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Gold
light on sea, on sand, on b oulders. The sun is there, the
slender trees, the lemon houses.
Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her lemon
streets. Moist pith of farls of bread, the froggreen
wormwood, her matin incense, court the air. Belluomo rises from the bed of his wifeâs loverâs wife, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a saucer of acetic acid in her hand. In
Rodotâs Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled
beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry,
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76 of 1305 their mouths yellowed with the pus of flan breton . Faces of
Paris men go by, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores.
Noon slumbers. Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes
through fingers smeared with printerâs ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white. About us gobblers fork
spiced beans down their gullets. Un demi setier! A jet of
coffee steam from the burnished caldron. She serves me at
his beck. Il est irlandais. Hollandais? Non fromage. Deux
irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui! She thought you
wanted a cheese hollandais . Your postprandial, do you
know that word? Postprandial. There was a fellow I knew once in Barcelona, queer fello w, used to call it his
postprandial. Well: slainte ! Around the slabbed tables the
tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. His breath hangs over our saucestained pla tes, the green fairyâs fang
thrusting between his lips. Of Ireland, the Dalcassians, of hopes, conspiracies, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. Youâre your fatherâs son. I know the voice. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Span ish tassels at his secrets.
M. Drumont, famous journali st, Drumont, know what he
called queen Victoria? Old hag with the yellow teeth.
Ulysses
77 of 1305 Vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes . Maud Gonne, beautiful
woman, La Patrie , M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how
he died? Licentious men. The froeken, bonne a tout faire ,
who rubs male nakedness in the bath at Upsala. Moi faire ,
The Exile of Kevin Egan
- Stephen Dedalus reflects on the life of Kevin Egan, a Fenian exile living in Paris, who exists in a state of loveless and landless isolation.
- The narrative recounts tales of Irish rebellion, including wild escapes in disguise and the Clerkenwell prison bombing.
- Egan is depicted as a forgotten man, haunting dingy printing houses and taverns while his wife lives comfortably without him.
- Stephen experiences a physical and existential sinking as he walks along the treacherous, shifting sands of the Dublin shore.
- The tower at Sandycove is reimagined as a tomb for his companions, leading Stephen to resolve not to return there that night.
- The landscape is personified as a heavy accumulation of history and language, where the tide and debris represent the 'silted' past of Ireland.
The cold domed room of the tower waits. Through the barbicans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dial floor.
she said, Tous les messieurs . Not this Monsieur , I said. Most
licentious custom. Bath a most private thing. I wouldnât let my brother, not even my own brother, most lascivious thing. Green eyes, I see you. Fang, I feel. Lascivious
people.
The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns
clear. Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Raw facebones under his peep of day boyâs hat. How the head centre got away, authentic version. Got up as a young bride, man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to Malahide. Did, faith. Of lost leaders, the betr ayed, wild escapes. Disguises,
clutched at, gone, not here.
Spurned lover. I was a stra pping young gossoon at that
time, I tell you. Iâll show you my likeness one day. I was,
faith. Lover, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the fog. Shattered glass and toppling masonry.
In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save
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78 of 1305 by me. Making his dayâs stations, the dingy printingcase,
his three taverns, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-dâOr, damascened with flyblown faces
of the gone. Loveless, landless, wifeless. She is quite nicey
comfy without her outcast man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers. Peachy cheeks, a
zebra skirt, frisky as a young thingâs. Spurned and undespairing. Tell Pat you sa w me, wonât you? I wanted
to get poor Pat a job one time. Mon fils , soldier of France.
I taught him to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring
blades . Know that old lay? I taught Patrice that. Old
Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strong bowâs castle on the Nore.
Goes like this. O, O. He takes me, Napper Tandy, by the hand.
O, O THE BOYS OF
KILKENNY ...
Weak wasting hand on mine. They have forgotten
Kevin Egan, not he them. Remembering thee, O Sion.
He had come nearer the edge of the sea and wet sand
slapped his boots. The new ai r greeted him, harping in
wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. Here, I am not walking out to the Ki sh lightship, am I? He stood
Ulysses
79 of 1305 suddenly, his feet beginning to sink slowly in the quaking
soil. Turn back.
Turning, he scanned the shore south, his feet sinking
again slowly in new sockets. The cold domed room of the tower waits. Through the barbac ans the shafts of light are
moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping
duskward over the dial floor. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. In the darkness of the dome they wait, their pushedback chairs, my obelisk valise, around a board of abandoned platters. Who to clear it? He has the key. I will
not sleep there when this nigh t comes. A shut door of a
silent tower, entombing theirâblind bodies, the
panthersahib and his pointer. Call: no answer. He lifted his
feet up from the suck and turned back by the mole of boulders. Take all, keep all. My soul walks with me, form
of forms. So in the moonâs midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinoreâs
tempting flood.
The flood is following me. I can watch it flow past
from here. Get back then by the Poolbeg road to the strand there. He climbed over the sedge and eely oarweeds
and sat on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant in a grike.
A bloated carcass of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack.
Before him the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand. Un coche
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80 of 1305 ensablĂŠ Louis Veuillot called Gautierâs prose. These heavy
sands are language tide and wind have silted here. And these, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a warren of weasel rats. Hide gold there. Try it. You have some. Sands and stones. Heavy of the past. Sir Loutâs toys. Mind you donât get one bang on the ear. Iâm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. Feefawfum. I zmellz de bloodz odz an
Iridzman.
Sandymount Strand Reflections
- Stephen Dedalus observes a dog and its owners on the beach, triggering a defensive internal monologue about mastery and slavery.
- The landscape evokes historical visions of Viking invasions and a medieval Dublin plagued by famine and slaughter.
- Stephen reflects on his own cowardice and the 'paradise of pretenders,' comparing himself to historical usurpers and failed figures.
- The memory of a recently drowned man forces Stephen to confront his physical fear of water and his inability to save others.
- He experiences a moment of guilt and paralysis, linking the 'bitter death' of the sea to his inability to save his dying mother.
- The dogâs frantic movements across the sand serve as a kinetic counterpoint to Stephenâs static, heavy meditations on the past.
Galleys of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in quest of prey, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter surf.
A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the
sweep of sand. Lord, is he going to attack me? Respect his
liberty. You will not be master of others or their slave. I
have my stick. Sit tight. From farther away, walking shoreward across from the crested tide, figures, two. The two maries. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Peekaboo. I see you. No, the do g. He is running back to
them. Who?
Galleys of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in quest of
prey, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter surf. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the shallows. Then from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my people, with
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81 of 1305 flayersâ knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery
whalemeat. Famine, plague and slaughters. Their blood is in me, their lusts my waves. I moved among them on the frozen Liffey, that I, a chang eling, among the spluttering
resin fires. I spoke to no-one: none to me.
The dogâs bark ran towards him, stopped, ran back.
Dog of my enemy. I just simply stood pale, silent, bayed
about. Terribilia meditans . A primrose doublet, fortuneâs
knave, smiled on my fear. For that are you pining, the bark of their applause? Preten ders: live their lives. The
Bruceâs brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin
Warbeck, Yorkâs false scion, in breeches of silk of
whiterose ivory, wonder of a day, and Lambert Simnel, with a tail of nans and sutlers, a scullion crowned. All kingsâ sons. Paradise of pretend ers then and now. He saved
men from drowning and you shake at a curâs yelping. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their own house. House of ... We donât want any of your medieval abstrusiosities. Would you do what he did?
A boat would be near, a lifebuoy. NatĂźrlich , put there for
you. Would you or would you not? The man that was drowned nine days ago off Maidenâs rock. They are waiting for him now. The truth, spit it out. I would want to. I would try. I am not a strong swimmer. Water cold
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82 of 1305 soft. When I put my face in to it in the basin at
Clongowes. Canât see! Whoâs behind me? Out quickly, quickly! Do you see the tide flowing quickly in on all
sides, sheeting the lows of sand quickly, shellcocoacoloured? If I had l and under my feet. I want his
life still to be his, mine to be mine. A drowning man. His
human eyes scream to me out of horror of his death. I ... With him together down ... I c ould not save her. Waters:
bitter death: lost.
A woman and a man. I see her skirties. Pinned up, I
bet.
Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand,
trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in
a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shad ow of a lowskimming gull.
The manâs shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe of the tide he halted with stiff
forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. Hi s snout lifted barked at
the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpented towards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves.
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83 of 1305 Cocklepickers. They waded a little way in the water
The Dog and the Drifters
- A dog explores the shoreline, sniffing a carcass and engaging in primal behaviors that mirror the cycle of life and decay.
- Stephen Dedalus observes a pair of gypsies or 'red Egyptians' trudging across the sand, sparking a stream of consciousness about their rough lifestyle and canting language.
- The narrative shifts into a dreamlike recollection of a street of harlots and a mysterious encounter involving a melon and a red carpet.
- Stephen reflects on the nature of sin and desire, referencing Aquinas and the concept of 'morose delectation' or dwelling on forbidden pleasures.
- The passage concludes with a poetic meditation on the moon, the tides, and the inevitable progression from the 'bridebed' to the 'allwombing tomb.'
- Language fluctuates between high theological Latin and low 'rogues' rum lingo,' illustrating the tension between Stephen's intellectualism and the physical world.
His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her moomb. Oomb, allwombing tomb.
and, stooping, soused their bags and, lifting them again, waded out. The dog yelped running to them, reared up and pawed them, dropping on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, a rag of wolfâs tongue redpanting from his jaws. His speckled body ambled ahead of them and then loped off at a calfâs gallop. The carcass lay on his path. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, sniffling rapidly like a dog all over the dead dogâs bedraggled fell. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the ground, moves to one
great goal. Ah, poor dogsbody! Here lies poor dogsbodyâs
body.
âTatters! Out of that, you mongrel! The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a
blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of
sand, crouched in flight. He slunk back in a curve.
Doesnât see me. Along by the edge of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock. and from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. He trotted forward and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quic k short at an unsmelt rock.
The simple pleasures of the poor. His hindpaws then scattered the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved.
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84 of 1305 Something he buried there, his grandmother. He rooted in
the sand, dabbling, delving and sto pped to listen to the air,
scraped up the sand again with a fury of his claws, soon ceasing, a pard, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead.
After he woke me last night same dream or was it?
Wait. Open hallway. Street of harlots. Remember. Haroun al Raschid. I am almo sting it. That man led me,
spoke. I was not afraid. The melon he had he held against my face. Smiled: creamfruit sm ell. That was th e rule, said.
In. Come. Red carpet spread. You will see who.
Shouldering their bags they trudged, the red Egyptians.
His blued feet out of turn edup trousers slapped the
clammy sand, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. With woman steps she followed: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Spoils slung at her back. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. About her windraw face hair trailed. Behind her lord, his helpmate, bing awast to
Romeville. When night hides her bodyâs flaws calling under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in OâLoughlinâs of Blackpitts. Buss her, wap in roguesâ rum lingo, for, O, my dimber wapping dell! A shefiendâs
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85 of 1305 whiteness under her rancid rags. Fumballyâs lane that
night: the tanyard smells.
White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.
Couch a hogshead with me then.
In the darkmans clip and kiss.
Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate
porcospino . Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. Call away
let him: thy quarrons dainty is . Language no whit worse
than his. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets.
Passing now. A side eye at my Hamlet hat. If I were suddenly naked
here as I sit? I am not. Acros s the sands of all the world,
followed by the sunâs flaming sword, to the west, trekking
to evening lands. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags,
trascines her load. A tide westering, moondrawn, in her wake. Tides, myriadislanded, within her, blood not mine,
oinopa ponton , a winedark sea. Behold the handmaid of the
moon. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise.
Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, ghostcandled. Omnis caro
ad te veniet . He comes, pale vampire, through storm his
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86 of 1305 eyes, his bat sails bloodying th e sea, mouth to her mouthâs
kiss.
Here. Put a pin in that chap, will you? My tablets.
Mouth to her kiss.
No. Must be two of em. Glue em well. Mouth to her
mouthâs kiss.
His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth
to her moomb. Oomb, allwo mbing tomb. His mouth
Signs on a White Field
- Stephen Dedalus pauses on the rocks to scribble poetic fragments on a scrap of paper torn from Mr. Deasy's letter.
- He contemplates the nature of perception, invoking Bishop Berkeley's theories on the visual field and the 'ineluctable modality' of sight.
- His thoughts drift to a woman glimpsed at a bookstore, oscillating between romanticized longing and cynical, earthy details of her attire.
- Stephen reflects on his own isolation and the 'shamewounded' state of the soul, yearning for a human touch to break his solitude.
- He recognizes his own physical presence through borrowed items, noting his 'buck's castoffs' boots and the memory of friends like Cranly.
Darkly they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds.
moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Paper. The banknotes, blast them. Old Deasyâs letter. Here. Thanking you for the
hospitality tear the blank end off. Turning his back to the
sun he bent over far to a table of rock and scribbled words. Thatâs twice I forgot to take slips from the library counter.
His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. Why
not endless till the farthest sta r? Darkly they are there
behind this light, darkness shining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Me sits there with his augurâs rod of
ash, in borrowed sandals, by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. I throw this ended shadow from me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Endless, would it be mine, form of my form? Who watches me here? Who
Ulysses
87 of 1305 ever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a
white field. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice.
The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of the temple out of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Hold har d. Coloured on a flat: yes,
thatâs right. Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I
see, east, back. Ah, see now! Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Click does the trick. You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls do you not think? Flutier. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet
more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more.
She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes.
Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the
veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she? The virgin at Hodges
Figgisâ window on Monday looking in for one of the alphabet books you were going to write. Keen glance you gave her. Wrist through the braided jesse of her sunshade.
She lives in Leeson park with a grief and kickshaws, a lady
of letters. Talk that to someone else, Stevie: a pickmeup. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Talk about
apple dumplings, piuttosto . Where are your wits?
Ulysses
88 of 1305 Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft s oft soft hand. I am lonely
here. O, touch me soon, now. What is that word known to all men? I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me.
He lay back at full stretch over the sharp rocks,
cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pock his
hat. His hat down on his ey es. That is Kevin Eganâs
movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Et
vidit Deus. Et erant valde bona . Alo! Bonjour . Welcome as
the flowers in May. Under its leaf he watched through
peacocktwittering lashes the s outhing sun. I am caught in
this burning scene. Panâs hour, the faunal noon. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Pain is far.
And no more turn aside and brood.
His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a buckâs
castoffs, nebeneinander . He counted the creases of rucked
leather wherein anotherâs foot had nested warm. The foot
that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. But you were delighted when Esther Os valtâs shoe went on you:
girl I knew in Paris. Tiens, quel petit pied! Staunch friend, a
brother soul: Wildeâs love that dare not speak its name.
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89 of 1305 His arm: Cranlyâs arm. He now will leave me. And the
blame? As I am. As I am. All or not at all.
In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed
Tides of Mortality and Offal
- Stephen Dedalus observes the rhythmic, onomatopoeic language of the rising tide, personifying the sea as a weary, lunar-driven force.
- The narrative shifts to a visceral meditation on a drowned corpse, imagining the biological cycle of decay where man becomes fish and barnacle.
- Stephen reflects on his own physical decay, specifically his rotting teeth, and mockingly dubs himself 'Toothless Kinch, the superman.'
- The section concludes with a sharp transition to Mr. Leopold Bloom, introducing his specific culinary preference for the 'inner organs of beasts.'
- Bloom's character is established through his sensory appreciation for mutton kidneys and their 'faintly scented urine' tang.
God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle goose becomes featherbed mountain.
full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, rising, flowing. My ashplant will float away. I shall wait. No, they
will pass on, passing, chafing against the low rocks, swirling, passing. Better get this job over quick. Listen: a
fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Vehement breath of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. And, spent, its speech ceases. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling.
Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds
lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronds. Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. Lord, they are we ary; and, whispered to, they
sigh. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves,
waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac
noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit . To no end gathered;
vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the moon. Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, a naked woman shining in her courts, she draws a toil of waters.
Ulysses
90 of 1305 Five fathoms out there. Full fat hom five thy father lies.
At one, he said. Found drowned. High water at Dublin bar. Driving before it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. There he is. Hook it quick. Pull. Sunk though he be
beneath the watery floor. We have him. Easy now.
Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. A quiver of
minnows, fat of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of
his buttoned trouserfly. God becomes man becomes fish
becomes barnacle goose beco mes featherbed mountain.
Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a
urinous offal from all dead. Hauled stark over the gunwale
he breathes upward the stench of his green grave, his leprous nosehole snoring to the sun.
A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. Seadeath, mildest
of all deaths known to man. Old Father Ocean. Prix de
paris: beware of imitations. Just you give it a fair trial. We
enjoyed ourselves immensely.
Come. I thirst. Clouding over. No black clouds
anywhere, are there? Thunderstorm. Allbright he falls,
proud lightning of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit
occasum . No. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal
shoon. Where? To evening lands. Evening will find itself.
Ulysses
91 of 1305 He took the hilt of his ashplant, lunging with it softly,
dallying still. Yes, evening will fi nd itself in me, without
me. All days make their end. By the way next when is it
Tuesday will be the longest day. Of all the glad new year,
mother, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Lawn Tennyson,
gentleman poet. GiĂ . For the old hag with the yellow
teeth. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist. GiĂ .
My teeth are very bad. Why, I wonder. Feel. That one is
going too. Shells. Ought I go to a dentist, I wonder, with that money? That one. Th is. Toothless Kinch, the
superman. Why is that, I wonder, or does it mean
something perhaps?
My handkerchief. He threw it. I remember. Did I not
take it up?
His hand groped vainly in his pockets. No, I didnât.
Better buy one.
He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a ledge
of rock, carefully. For the rest let look who will.
Behind. Perhaps there is someone. He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant.
Moving through the air high spars of a threemaster, her sails brailed up on the cr osstrees, homing, upstream,
silently moving, a silent ship.
Ulysses
92 of 1305 II
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of
beasts and fowls. He liked thic k giblet soup, nutty gizzards,
a stuffed roast heart, liverslic es fried with crustcrumbs,
fried hencodsâ roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the
Bloom and the Cat
- Leopold Bloom prepares a light breakfast in his kitchen while observing the behavior and physical traits of his cat.
- Bloom reflects on the nature of cats, considering their intelligence, their predatory instincts, and how they might perceive humans.
- He feeds the cat milk from a saucer, noting the animal's greed and the physical mechanics of its rough tongue.
- Bloom checks on his sleeping wife, Molly, who provides a sleepy grunt indicating she does not want a heavy breakfast.
- The sound of the jingling bedstead prompts a brief memory of Molly's father, Major Tweedy, and his military background in Gibraltar and Plevna.
- Bloom prepares to leave the house for a pork kidney, gathering his hat and coat while contemplating the business of postage stamps.
He watched the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones.
kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the kitchen but out of
doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feel
a bit peckish.
The coals were reddening. Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right.
She didnât like her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the hob and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and sq uat, its spout stuck out. Cup of
tea soon. Good. Mouth dry. The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high.
âMkgnao! âO, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the
fire.
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93 of 1305 The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly
round a leg of the table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my head. Prr.
Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black
form. Clean to see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail, the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
âMilk for the pussens, he said. âMrkgnao! the cat cried. They call them stupid. They understand what we say
better than we understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice
never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonder what I look like to
her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
âAfraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly.
Afraid of the chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.
Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to
like it.
âMrkrgnao! the cat said loudly. She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes,
mewing plaintively and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stone s. Then he went to the
Ulysses
94 of 1305 dresser, took the jug Hanlonâ s milkman had just filled for
him, poured warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
âGurrhr! she cried, running to lap. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light
as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they canât mouse after. Why? They
shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or kind of feelers in
the dark, perhaps.
He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No
good eggs with this drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a mutton kidney at
Buckleyâs. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Better a
pork kidney at Dlugaczâs. While the kettle is boiling. She
lapped slower, then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough? To lap better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. No.
On quietly creaky boots he we nt up the staircase to the
hall, paused by the bedroom door. She might like something tasty. Thin bread and butter she likes in the morning. Still perhaps: once in a way.
He said softly in the bare hall: âIâm going round the corner. Be back in a minute. And when he had heard his voice say it he added:
Ulysses
95 of 1305 âYou donât want anything for breakfast?
A sleepy soft grunt answered: âMn. No. She didnât want anything. He heard then a warm
heavy sigh, softer, as she tu rned over and the loose brass
quoits of the bedstead jingl ed. Must get those settled
really. Pity. All the way from Gibraltar. Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. Wonder what her father gave for it. Old style. Ah yes! of course. Bought it at the governorâs
auction. Got a short knock. Hard as nails at a bargain, old Tweedy. Yes, sir. At Plevna that was. I rose from the ranks, sir, and Iâm proud of it. Still he had brains enough
to make that corner in stamps. Now that was farseeing.
His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled
heavy overcoat and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Stamps: stickyback pictures. Daresay lots of officers are in the swim too. Course they do. The sweated
legend in the crown of his hat told him mutely: Plastoâs
Bloom's Morning Wanderings
- Leopold Bloom leaves his home for the morning, realizing he has forgotten his latchkey but deciding not to disturb his sleeping wife.
- Walking in the heat of his black funeral clothes, he contemplates the physics of heat absorption and the sensory details of the Dublin morning.
- He indulges in an exotic orientalist fantasy of traveling east, imagining turbaned faces, carpet shops, and the scent of fennel-water.
- Bloom reflects on Irish politics and the 'homerule sun,' noting the irony of a sun rising in the northwest in a local newspaper illustration.
- He assesses the commercial viability of local businesses like Larry O'Rourkeâs pub, considering how a new tramline might affect property values.
- The narrative captures Bloom's internal monologue as he prepares to offer condolences for the upcoming funeral of Paddy Dignam.
He pulled the halldoor after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped gently over the threshold, a limp lid.
high grade ha. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. White slip of paper. Quite safe.
On the doorstep he felt in his hip pocket for the
latchkey. Not there. In the trousers I left off. Must get it. Potato I have. Creaky wardro be. No use disturbing her.
She turned over sleepily that time. He pulled the halldoor
Ulysses
96 of 1305 to after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped
gently over the threshold, a limp lid. Looked shut. All right till I come back anyhow.
He crossed to the bright side, avoiding the loose
cellarflap of number seventyfive. The sun was nearing the steeple of Georgeâs church. Be a warm day I fancy. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. Black conducts, reflects, (refracts is it?), the heat. But I couldnât go in that light suit. Make a picnic of it. His eyelids sank
quietly often as he walked in happy warmth. Bolandâs breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterdayâs loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Makes you
feel young. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off
at dawn. Travel round in front of the sun, steal a dayâs march on him. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Walk along a strand , strange land, come to a
city gate, sentry there, old ranker too, old Tweedyâs big moustaches, leaning on a long kind of a spear. Wander through awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe . Cries of sellers in the
streets. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Dander along all day. Might meet a robber or two. Well, meet him. Getting on to sundown. The shadows of the
Ulysses
97 of 1305 mosques among the pillars: prie st with a scroll rolled up. A
shiver of the trees, signal, the evening wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches me from her doorway. She calls her children home in their dark language. High
wall: beyond strings twanged. Night sky, moon, violet,
colour of Mollyâs new garters. Strings. Listen. A girl playing one of those instruments what do you call them: dulcimers. I pass.
Probably not a bit like it really. Kind of stuff you read:
in the track of the sun. Sunburst on the titlepage. He smiled, pleasing himself. What Arthur Griffith said about
the headpiece over the Freeman leader: a homerule sun
rising up in the northwest fr om the laneway behind the
bank of Ireland. He prolonged his pleased smile. Ikey touch that: homerule sun rising up in the north-west.
He approached Larry OâRourkeâs. From the cellar
grating floated up the flabby gush of porter. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Good house, however: just the end of the city traffic. For instance MâAuleyâs down there: n. g. as position. Of course if they ran a tramline along the North Circular from the cattlemarket to the quays value would go up like a shot.
Ulysses
98 of 1305 Baldhead over the blind. Cute old codger. No use
canvassing him for an ad. Still he knows his own business
best. There he is, sure enough, my bold Larry, leaning against the sugarbin in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. Simon Dedalus takes him off to a tee with his eyes screwed up. Do you know what Iâm going to tell you? Whatâs that, Mr
OâRourke? Do you know what? The Russians, theyâd only be an eight oâclock breakfast for the Japanese.
Stop and say a word: about the funeral perhaps. Sad
thing about poor Dignam, Mr OâRourke.
Turning into Dorset street he said freshly in greeting
through the doorway:
Morning Errands and Earthly Desires
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the rapid financial rise of publicans and the pervasive nature of Dublin's drinking culture.
- While passing a schoolhouse, the sounds of children reciting the alphabet and geography trigger a brief, nostalgic internal monologue.
- At Dlugaczâs butcher shop, Bloom is captivated by the sight of sausages and a raw kidney, while simultaneously observing a neighbor's servant girl.
- Bloom experiences a mix of voyeuristic attraction and critical judgment toward the girl, admiring her physical vigor while noting her chapped hands.
- A flyer for a model farm in Palestine sparks a momentary interest in Zionist agricultural projects and pastoral imagery.
- The encounter ends with a sense of missed opportunity as the girl walks away, leaving Bloom with a 'sting of disregard' as he waits for his purchase.
The way her crooked skirt swings at each whack.
âGood day, Mr OâRourke. âGood day to you. âLovely weather, sir. ââTis all that. Where do they get the money? Coming up redheaded
curates from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the cellar. Then, lo and behold, they blossom out
as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Then thin of the competition. General thirst. Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub. Save it they canât. Off the drunks perhaps. Put down three and carry five. What is
Ulysses
99 of 1305 that, a bob here and there, dribs and drabs. On the
wholesale orders perhaps. Doing a double shuffle with the town travellers. Square it y ou with the boss and weâll split
the job, see?
How much would that tot to off the porter in the
month? Say ten barrels of stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. O more. Fifteen. He passed Saint Josephâs National school. Bratsâ clamour. Windows open. Fresh air helps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk. Inishark. Inishboffin. At their joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom.
He halted before Dlugaczâs window, staring at the
hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Fifteen multiplied by. The figures whitened in his mind, unsolved: displeased, he let them fade. The shiny links,
packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigsâ blood.
A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the willowpatterned
dish: the last. He stood by the nextdoor girl at the counter.
Would she buy it too, calling the items from a slip in her
hand? Chapped: washingsoda. And a pound and a half of Dennyâs sausages. His eyes rested on her vigorous hips.
Ulysses
100 of 1305 Woods his name is. Wonder what he does. Wife is oldish.
New blood. No followers allowed. Strong pair of arms. Whacking a carpet on the clot hesline. She does whack it,
by George. The way her crook ed skirt swings at each
whack.
The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had
snipped off with blotchy fingers , sausagepink. Sound meat
there: like a stallfed heifer.
He took a page up from the pile of cut sheets: the
model farm at Kinnereth on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Can become ideal winter sanatorium. Moses Montefiore. I thought he was. Farmhouse, wall round it, blurred cattle
cropping. He held the page from him: interesting: read it
nearer, the title, the blurred cropping cattle, the page rustling. A young white heifer. Those mornings in the cattlemarket, the beasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter, thereâs a prime one, unpeeled switches in their hands. He held the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and his will, hi s soft subject gaze at rest.
The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack by whack.
The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the pile,
wrapped up her prime sausages and made a red grimace.
Ulysses
101 of 1305 âNow, my miss, he said.
She tendered a coin, smiling boldly, holding her thick
wrist out.
âThank you, my miss. And one shilling threepence
change. For you, please?
Mr Bloom pointed quickly. To catch up and walk
behind her if she went slowly, behind her moving hams. Pleasant to see first thing in the morning. Hurry up, damn
it. Make hay while the sun shines. She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the right. He
sighed down his nose: they never understand. Sodachapped hands. Crusted toenails too. Brown scapulars
in tatters, defending her both ways. The sting of disregard
Visions of Agendath Netaim
- Leopold Bloom completes a purchase at the butcher and begins reading a prospectus for a Zionist plantation scheme in Palestine.
- He contemplates the agricultural potential of the Levant, imagining the cultivation of olives, oranges, and citrons in sandy tracts.
- The sensory details of the fruit trigger nostalgic memories of past evenings with Molly and old friends like Citron and Mastiansky.
- His mood shifts abruptly as a cloud obscures the sun, transforming his vision of a lush orchard into a desolate, volcanic wasteland.
- He reflects on the Jewish diaspora as a 'first race' wandering through history from captivity to captivity.
- Overwhelmed by a sense of physical and spiritual decay, he hurries home to escape the 'grey horror' of his own thoughts.
A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race.
glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. For another: a constable off duty cuddling her in Eccles lane. They like them sizeable. Prime sausage. O please, Mr Policeman, Iâm lost in the wood.
âThreepence, please. His hand accepted the mois t tender gland and slid it
into a sidepocket. Then it fetched up three coins from his trousersâ pocket and laid them on the rubber prickles. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the till.
âThank you, sir. Another time.
Ulysses
102 of 1305 A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He
withdrew his gaze after an instant. No: better not: another time.
âGood morning, he said, moving away. âGood morning, sir. No sign. Gone. What matter? He walked back along Dorset street, reading gravely.
Agendath Netaim: plantersâ company. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkish government and plant with eucalyptus trees. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. You pay eighty marks and they plant a
dunam of land for you with olives, oranges, almonds or
citrons. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. Every year you get a sen ding of the crop. Your name
entered for life as owner in the book of the union. Can pay ten down and the balanc e in yearly instalments.
Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15.
Nothing doing. Still an idea behind it. He looked at the cattle, blurred in silver heat.
Silverpowdered olivetrees. Qu iet long days: pruning,
ripening. Olives are packed in jars, eh? I have a few left
from Andrews. Molly spitting them out. Knows the taste of them now. Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates.
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103 of 1305 Citrons too. Wonder is poor Citron still in Saint Kevinâs
parade. And Mastiansky with the old cither. Pleasant evenings we had then. Molly in Citronâs basketchair. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the hand, lift it to the nostrils and smell the perfume. Like that, heavy, sweet,
wild perfume. Always the sa me, year after year. They
fetched high prices too, Moisel told me. Arbutus place: Pleasants street: pleasant old times. Must be without a flaw, he said. Coming all that way: Spain, Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the Levant. Crates lined up on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees. Thereâs
whatdoyoucallhim out of. How do you? Doesnât see.
Chap you know just to salute bit of a bore. His back is like that Norwegian captainâs. Wonder if Iâll meet him today. Watering cart. To provoke the rain. On earth as it is in
heaven.
A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly. Grey.
Far.
No, not like that. A barren land, bare waste. Vulcanic
lake, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind could lift those waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called it raining down: the cities of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom.
Ulysses
104 of 1305 All dead names. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old.
Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race. A bent hag
crossed from Cassidyâs, clutching a naggin bottle by the neck. The oldest people. Wandered far away over all the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born
everywhere. It lay there now. Now it could bear no more.
Dead: an old womanâs: the grey sunken cunt of the world.
Desolation. Grey horror seared his flesh. Folding the page into his
pocket he turned into Eccles street, hurrying homeward. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with a salt cloak. Well, I am here now. Yes, I
am here now. Morning mouth bad images. Got up wrong
Morning Rituals and Domestic Letters
- Leopold Bloom observes the neighborhood houses and sensory details of his home while preparing breakfast.
- Bloom delivers mail to his wife, Molly, noticing her secretive reaction as she hides a letter under her pillow.
- The domestic scene shifts to the kitchen where Bloom prepares tea and fries a kidney for his breakfast.
- Bloom feeds his cat and reflects on the feline's hunting instincts and dietary habits.
- Reading a letter from his daughter Milly, Bloom reminisces about her childhood and her developing personality.
- The narrative captures Bloom's internal monologue, blending mundane tasks with nostalgic memories and subtle marital tension.
Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, swiftly, in slim sandals, along the brightening footpath.
side of the bed. Must begin again those Sandowâs exercises. On the hands down. Blotchy brown brick houses. Number eighty still unlet . Why is that? Valuation
is only twenty-eight. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills. Plasters on a sore eye. To smell the gentle smoke of tea, fume of the pan, sizzling butter. Be near her ample bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes.
Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley
road, swiftly, in slim sandals, along the brightening
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105 of 1305 footpath. Runs, she runs to m eet me, a girl with gold hair
on the wind.
Two letters and a card lay on the hallfloor. He stooped
and gathered them. Mrs Ma rion Bloom. His quickened
heart slowed at once. Bold hand. Mrs Marion.
âPoldy! Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and
walked through warm yellow twilight towards her tousled head.
âWho are the letters for? He looked at them. Mullingar. Milly. âA letter for me from Milly, he said carefully, and a
card to you. And a letter for you.
He laid her card and letter on the twill bedspread near
the curve of her knees.
âDo you want the blind up? Letting the blind up by ge ntle tugs halfway his
backward eye saw her glance at the letter and tuck it
under her pillow.
âThat do? he asked, turning. She was reading the card, propped on her elbow. âShe got the things, she said. He waited till she had laid the card aside and curled
herself back slowly with a snug sigh.
Ulysses
106 of 1305 âHurry up with that te a, she said. Iâm parched.
âThe kettle is boiling, he said. But he delayed to clear the chair: her striped petticoat,
tossed soiled linen: and lifted all in an armful on to the foot of the bed.
As he went down the kitchen stairs she called: âPoldy! âWhat? âScald the teapot. On the boil sure enough: a plume of steam from the
spout. He scalded and rinsed out the teapot and put in
four full spoons of tea, tilting the kettle then to let the
water flow in. Having set it to draw he took off the kettle,
crushed the pan flat on the live coals and watched the lump of butter slide and melt. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat mewed hungrily against him. Give her too much meat she wonât mouse. Say they wonât eat pork.
Kosher. Here. He let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her and dropped the kidney amid the sizzling butter sauce. Pepper. He sprinkled it thr ough his fingers ringwise from
the chipped eggcup.
Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the page
and over. Thanks: new tam: Mr Coghlan: lough Owel picnic: young student: Blazes Boylanâs seaside girls.
Ulysses
107 of 1305 The tea was drawn. He filled his own moustachecup,
sham crown
Derby, smiling. Silly Millyâs birthday gift. Only five she
was then. No, wait: four. I gave her the amberoid
necklace she broke. Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the letterbox for her. He smiled, pouring.
O, Milly Bloom, you are my darling.
You are my lookingglass from night to morning.
Iâd rather have you without a farthing
Than Katey Keogh with her ass and garden.
Poor old professor Goodwin. Dreadful old case. Still he
was a courteous old chap. Oldfashioned way he used to bow Molly off the platform. And the little mirror in his silk hat. The night Milly brought it into the parlour. O,
look what I found in professor Goodwinâs hat! All we laughed. Sex breaking out even then. Pert little piece she
was.
He prodded a fork into the kidney and slapped it over:
then fitted the teapot on the tray. Its hump bumped as he took it up. Everything on it? Bread and butter, four, sugar,
spoon, her cream. Yes. He carri ed it upstairs, his thumb
hooked in the teapot handle.
Ulysses
Metempsychosis and Morning Tea
- Leopold Bloom serves breakfast to his wife, Molly, in their bedroom, observing her physical presence and the domestic clutter.
- Molly mentions an upcoming musical performance with Blazes Boylan, introducing a subtle tension regarding her social and romantic life.
- The couple struggles to define the word 'metempsychosis' found in Molly's book, leading to a discussion on the transmigration of souls.
- Bloom attempts to explain complex philosophical concepts in 'plain words' while Molly remains dismissive of academic jargon.
- The narrative weaves between their dialogue and Bloom's internal stream of consciousness regarding death, reincarnation, and cheap literature.
The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge of the orangekeyed chamberpot.
108 of 1305 Nudging the door open with his knee he carried the
tray in and set it on the chair by the bedhead.
âWhat a time you were! she said. She set the brasses jingling as she raised herself briskly,
an elbow on the pillow. He looked calmly down on her bulk and between her large s oft bubs, sloping within her
nightdress like a shegoatâs udder. The warmth of her couched body rose on the air, mingling with the fragrance of the tea she poured.
A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the
dimpled pillow. In the act of go ing he stayed to straighten
the bedspread.
âWho was the letter from? he asked.
Bold hand. Marion. âO, Boylan, she said. Heâs bringing the programme. âWhat are you singing?
âLa ci darem with J. C. Doyle, she said, and Loveâs Old
Sweet Song .
Her full lips, drinking, smiled. Rather stale smell that
incense leaves next day. Like foul flowerwater.
âWould you like the window open a little? She doubled a slice of bread into her mouth, asking:
âWhat time is the funeral? âEleven, I think, he answered. I didnât see the paper.
Ulysses
109 of 1305 Following the pointing of her finger he took up a leg
of her soiled drawers from th e bed. No? Then, a twisted
grey garter looped round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole.
âNo: that book. Other stocking. Her petticoat. âIt must have fell down, she said.
He felt here and there. Voglio e non vorrei . Wonder if
she pronounces that right: voglio. Not in the bed. Must
have slid down. He stooped and lifted the valance. The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge of the
orangekeyed chamberpot.
âShow here, she said. I put a mark in it. Thereâs a
word I wanted to ask you.
She swallowed a draught of tea from her cup held by
nothandle and, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the blanket, began to search the text with the hairpin till she reached the word.
âMet him what? he asked. âHere, she said. What does that mean?
He leaned downward and read near her polished
thumbnail.
âMetempsychosis? âYes. Whoâs he when heâs at home?
Ulysses
110 of 1305 âMetempsychosis, he said, fr owning. Itâs Greek: from
the Greek. That means the transmigration of souls.
âO, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words. He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eyes. The
same young eyes. The first night after the charades.
Dolphinâs Barn. He turned over the smudged pages. Ruby:
the Pride of the Ring . Hello. Illustration. Fierce Italian with
carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floor
naked. Sheet kindly lent. The monster Maffei desisted and
flung his victim from him with an oath . Cruelty behind it all.
Doped animals. Trapeze at He nglerâs. Had to look the
other way. Mob gaping. Break your neck and weâll break our sides. Families of them. Bone them young so they metamspychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a manâs soul after he dies. Dignamâs soul ...
âDid you finish it? he asked. âYes, she said. Thereâs nothing smutty in it. Is she in
love with the first fellow all the time?
âNever read it. Do you want another? âYes. Get another of Paul de Kockâs. Nice name he
has.
She poured more tea into her cup, watching it flow
sideways.
Ulysses
111 of 1305 Must get that Capel street library book renewed or
theyâll write to Kearney, my guarantor. Reincarnation: thatâs the word.
âSome people believe, he sa id, that we go on living in
another body after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That we all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some other planet. They say we
have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past lives.
The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her
tea. Bette remind her of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?
The Bath of the Nymph over the bed. Given away with
the Easter number of Photo Bits : Splendid masterpiece in
art colours. Tea before you put milk in. Not unlike her
Metempsychosis and Milly's Letter
- Leopold Bloom attempts to explain the concept of metempsychosis to Molly before being interrupted by the smell of burning meat.
- Bloom rescues his breakfast kidney from the fire, finding it only slightly charred and proceeding to eat it with discernment.
- He reads a birthday letter from his daughter Milly, who is fifteen and working in a photography business in Mullingar.
- The letter mentions a young student named Bannon and a song by Blazes Boylan, sparking a mix of pride and paternal anxiety in Bloom.
- Bloom reflects on Milly's childhood, her growing independence, and the somber memory of his deceased son, Rudy.
- Despite his worries about Milly's vanity and the risks of her new environment, he resolves to wait and see how her destiny unfolds.
Pungent smoke shot up in an angry jet from a side of the pan.
with her hair down: slimmer. Three and six I gave for the frame. She said it would look nice over the bed. Naked nymphs: Greece: and for instance all the people that lived then.
He turned the pages back. âMetempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks
called it. They used to believe you could be changed into
an animal or a tree, for instance. What they called nymphs, for example.
Ulysses
112 of 1305 Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed
straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils.
âThereâs a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave
anything on the fire?
âThe kidney! he cried suddenly. He fitted the book roughly into his inner pocket and,
stubbing his toes against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs with a flurried storkâs legs. Pungent smoke shot up in an angry jet from a side of the pan. By prodding a prong of
the fork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its back. Only a littl e burnt. He tossed it off the
pan on to a plate and let the scanty brown gravy trickle
over it.
Cup of tea now. He sat down , cut and buttered a slice
of the loaf. He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the cat. Then he put a forkful into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant meat. Done to a turn. A mouthful of tea. Then he cut away dies of bread,
sopped one in the gravy and put it in his mouth. What was that about some young student and a picnic? He creased out the letter at his side, reading it slowly as he chewed, sopping another die of bread in the gravy and raising it to his mouth.
Ulysses
113 of 1305
Dearest Papli
Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It
suits me splendid. Everyone says I am quite the belle in
my new tam. I got mummyâs Iovely box of creams and am writing. They are lovely. I am getting on swimming in the
photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of me and Mrs. Will send when developed. We did great biz
yesterday. Fair day and all the beef to the heels were in.
We are going to lough Owel on Monday with a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love to mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the piano downstairs. There is to be a concert in the Greville Arms on Saturday. There is a young student comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or something are big swells and he sings Boylanâs (I was on the pop of writing Blazes Boylanâs) song ab out those seaside girls. Tell
him silly Milly sends my best respects. I must now close with fondest love
Your fond daughter, MILLY. P. S. Excuse bad writing am in hurry. Byby. M. Fifteen yesterday. Curious, fifteenth of the month too.
Her first birthday away from home. Separation. Remember the summer morning she was born, running to
Ulysses
114 of 1305 knock up Mrs Thor nton in Denzille street. Jolly old
woman. Lot of babies she must have helped into the world. She knew from the first poor little Rudy wouldnât live. Well, God is good, sir. She knew at once. He would
be eleven now if he had lived.
His vacant face stared pityingly at the postscript. Excuse
bad writing. Hurry. Piano downstairs. Coming out of her shell. Row with her in the XL Cafe about the bracelet.
Wouldnât eat her cakes or speak or look. Saucebox. He sopped other dies of bread in the gravy and ate piece after piece of kidney. Twelve and six a week. Not much. Still, she might do worse. Music hall stage. Young student. He
drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his meal.
Then he read the letter again: twice.
O, well: she knows how to mi nd herself. But if not?
No, nothing has happened. Of course it might. Wait in any case till it does. A wild pie ce of goods. Her slim legs
running up the staircase. Destiny. Ripening now.
Vain: very. He smiled with troubled affection at the kitchen
window. Day I caught her in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. Anemic a little. Was given milk too long. On the ERINâS KING that day round the Kish.
Morning Ruminations and Garden Plans
- Bloom experiences a wave of nostalgia and regret while thinking of his wife Molly and daughter Milly, contemplating the inevitability of change and infidelity.
- The domestic environment is characterized by the presence of the cat, whose restless behavior Bloom interprets as a sign of approaching thunder.
- Bloom considers the practicalities of gardening, noting the poor quality of his soil and the necessity of manure and household waste for reclamation.
- The narrative follows Bloom's physical movements through the house and garden as he prepares for a bowel movement, choosing an old magazine for reading material.
- The passage highlights Bloom's stream of consciousness, blending mundane tasks with memories of seaside girls and preparations for an upcoming funeral.
A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing. Will happen, yes. Prevent. Useless: canât move.
Ulysses
115 of 1305 Damned old tub pitching about. Not a bit funky. Her pale
blue scarf loose in the wind with her hair.
All dimpled cheeks and curls,
Your head it simply swirls.
Seaside girls. Torn envelope. Hands stuck in his
trousersâ pockets, jarvey off for the day, singing. Friend of the family. Swurls, he says. Pier with lamps, summer evening, band,
Those girls, those girls,
Those lovely seaside girls.
Milly too. Young kisses: the first. Far away now past.
Mrs Marion. Reading, lying back now, counting the strands of her hair, smiling, braiding.
A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone,
increasing. Will happen, yes. Prevent. Useless: canât move.
Girlâs sweet light lips. Will happen too. He felt the
flowing qualm spread over him. Useless to move now. Lips kissed, kissing, kissed. Full gluey womanâs lips.
Better where she is down there: away. Occupy her.
Wanted a dog to pass the time. Might take a trip down there. August bank holiday, only two and six return. Six
Ulysses
116 of 1305 weeks off, however. Might work a press pass. Or through
MâCoy.
The cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the
meatstained paper, nosed at it and stalked to the door. She
looked back at him, mewing. Wants to go out. Wait before a door sometime it will open. Let her wait. Has the fidgets. Electric. Thunder in the air. Was washing at her ear with her back to the fire too.
He felt heavy, full: then a gentle loosening of his
bowels. He stood up, undoing the waistband of his trousers. The cat mewed to him.
âMiaow! he said in answer. Wait till Iâm ready.
Heaviness: hot day coming. Too much trouble to fag
up the stairs to the landing.
A paper. He liked to read at stool. Hope no ape comes
knocking just as Iâm.
In the tabledrawer he found an old number of Titbits .
He folded it under his armpit, went to the door and opened it. The cat went up in soft bounds. Ah, wanted to go upstairs, curl up in a ball on the bed.
Listening, he heard her voice: âCome, come, pussy. Come. He went out through the backdoor into the garden:
stood to listen towards th e next garden. No sound.
Ulysses
117 of 1305 Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry. The maid was in the
garden. Fine morning.
He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint
growing by the wall. Make a summerhouse here. Scarlet runners. Virginia creepers. Want to manure the whole place over, scabby soil. A coat of liver of sulphur. All soil
like that without dung. House hold slops. Loam, what is
this that is? The hens in th e next garden: their droppings
are very good top dressing. Best of all though are the cattle, especially when they are fed on those oilcakes.
Mulch of dung. Best thing to clean ladiesâ kid gloves.
Dirty cleans. Ashes too. Re claim the whole place. Grow
peas in that corner there. Lettuce. Always have fresh
greens then. Still gardens have their drawbacks. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday.
He walked on. Where is my hat, by the way? Must
have put it back on the peg. Or hanging up on the floor.
Funny I donât remember that. Hallstand too full. Four umbrellas, her raincloak. Picking up the letters. Dragoâs shopbell ringing. Queer I was just thinking that moment.
Brown brillantined hair over his collar. Just had a wash and brushup. Wonder have I time for a bath this morning. Tara street. Chap in the pa ybox there got away James
Stephens, they say. OâBrien.
Ulysses
118 of 1305 Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has. Agendath what is
it? Now, my miss. Enthusiast.
He kicked open the crazy door of the jakes. Better be
careful not to get these trous ers dirty for the funeral. He
went in, bowing his head under the low lintel. Leaving the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his br aces. Before sitting down he
peered through a chink up at the nextdoor windows. The king was in his countinghouse. Nobody.
Asquat on the cuckstool he folded out his paper,
Bloom's Morning Contemplations
- Leopold Bloom reads a prize-winning story by Philip Beaufoy while attending to his morning bowel movement in the outhouse.
- He calculates the author's earnings and considers writing his own sketch based on his wife Molly's idiosyncratic remarks.
- Bloom recalls intimate details of Molly dressing and her questions about Blazes Boylan, hinting at his underlying anxieties.
- He conceptualizes a poetic idea for a story based on the 'Dance of the Hours,' transitioning from morning light to night.
- After finishing his business and using the story as toilet paper, he emerges to the sound of church bells tolling for a funeral.
- Bloom begins his walk through the city streets, passing industrial sites and observing the gritty reality of Dublin's working class.
He read on, seated calm above his own rising smell.
turning its pages over on his bared knees. Something new and easy. No great hurry. Keep it a bit. Our prize titbit:
Matchamâs Masterstroke . Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy,
Playgoersâ Club, London. Payment at the rate of one guinea a column has been made to the writer. Three and a half. Three pounds three. Three pounds, thirteen and six.
Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column
and, yielding but resisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding, he a llowed his bowels to ease
themselves quietly as he rea d, reading still patiently that
slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope itâs not
too big bring on piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive. One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Life might be so. It did not move or touch him but it was something quick
Ulysses
119 of 1305 and neat. Print anything now. Silly season. He read on,
seated calm above his own rising smell. Neat certainly.
Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke by which he won the laughing witch who now . Begins and ends morally. Hand in
hand. Smart. He glanced back through what he had read
and, while feeling his water flow quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six.
Might manage a sketch. By Mr and Mrs L. M. Bloom.
Invent a story for some prov erb. Which? Time I used to
try jotting down on my cuff wh at she said dressing. Dislike
dressing together. Nicked myself shaving. Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her skirt. Timing her. 9.l5. Did Roberts pay you yet? 9.20. What had Gretta Conroy on? 9.23. What possesse d me to buy this comb?
9.24. Iâm swelled after that ca bbage. A speck of dust on
the patent leather of her boot.
Rubbing smartly in turn each welt against her
stockinged calf. Morning after the bazaar dance when Mayâs band played Ponchielliâs dance of the hours. Explain
that: morning hours, noon, then evening coming on, then night hours. Washing her teeth. That was the first night. Her head dancing. Her fansticks clicking. Is that Boylan well off? He has money. Why? I noticed he had a good
Ulysses
120 of 1305 rich smell off his breath dancing. No use humming then.
Allude to it. Strange kind of music that last night. The
mirror was in shadow. She rubbed her handglass briskly on her woollen vest against her full wagging bub. Peering into it. Lines in her eyes. It wouldnât pan out somehow.
Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then:
black with daggers and eyemasks. Poetical idea: pink, then golden, then grey, then black. Still, true to life also. Day:
then the night.
He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped
himself with it. Then he girded up his trousers, braced and
buttoned himself. He pulled back the jerky shaky door of
the jakes and came forth from the gloom into the air.
In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he
eyed carefully his black trousers: the ends, the knees, the houghs of the knees. What time is the funeral? Better find out in the paper.
A creak and a dark whirr in the air high up. The bells
of Georgeâs church. They tolle d the hour: loud dark iron.
Heigho! Heigho!
Heigho! Heigho! Heigho! Heigho!
Ulysses
121 of 1305 Quarter to. There again: the overtone following
through the air, third.
Poor Dignam!
* * * * *
By lorries along sir John Rogersonâs quay Mr Bloom
walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leaskâs the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office. Could have given that address too. And past the sailorsâ home. He turned from the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street. By Bradyâs cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of ec zema on her forehead eyed
him, listlessly holding her ba ttered caskhoop. Tell him if
Leopold Bloom's Morning Wanderings
- Bloom navigates the streets of Dublin, passing landmarks like the undertaker's and the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company.
- He engages in a sensory and scientific internal monologue, contemplating the physics of gravity and the 'law of falling bodies.'
- A daydream of the 'Far East' reveals Bloom's longing for a lethargic, exotic paradise as an escape from his mundane reality.
- He surreptitiously retrieves a hidden business card from his hatband to use at the post office.
- Bloom visits the Westland Row post office to collect a clandestine letter addressed to his pseudonym, Henry Flower.
Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a handâs turn all day.
he smokes he wonât grow. O let him! His life isnât such a bed of roses. Waiting outside pubs to bring da home.
Come home to ma, da. Slack hour: wonât be many there. He crossed Townsend street, passed the frowning face of
Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And past Nicholsâ the undertaker. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for OâNeillâs. Singing with his eyes shut. Corny. Met h er once in the park. In the
dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name and address she
Ulysses
122 of 1305 then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he
bagged it. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. With my
tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.
In Westland row he halted before the window of the
Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, family
tea. Rather warm. Tea. Must get some from Tom Kernan.
Couldnât ask him at a funeral, though. While his eyes still read blandly he took off his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand with sl ow grace over his brow and
hair. Very warm morning. Under their dropped lids his eyes found the tiny bow of the leather headband inside his
high grade ha. Just there. Hi s right hand came down into
the bowl of his hat. His fingers found quickly a card behind the headband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket.
So warm. His right hand once more more slowly went
over his brow and hair. Then he put on his hat again, relieved: and read again: choice blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lo vely spot it must be: the
garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like that. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in
the sun in dolce far niente , not doing a handâs turn all day.
Ulysses
123 of 1305 Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to quarrel.
Influence of the climate. Le thargy. Flowers of idleness.
The air feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk on roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chap I saw in that picture somewhere? Ah yes, in the dead sea floating on his back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldnât sink if you tried: so thick with salt . Because the weight of the
water, no, the weight of the body in the water is equal to the weight of the what? Or is it the volume is equal to the
weight? Itâs a law something like that. Vance in High
school cracking his fingerjoin ts, teaching. The college
curriculum. Cracking curriculum. What is weight really when you say the weight? Thirtytwo feet per second per second. Law of falling bodies: per second per second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. Itâs the force of gravity of the earth is the weight.
He turned away and saunt ered across the road. How
did she walk with her sausages? L ike that something. As he
walked he took the folded Freeman from his sidepocket,
unfolded it, rolled it lengthwise in a baton and tapped it at each sauntering step against hi s trouserleg. Careless air: just
drop in to see. Per second per second. Per second for
Ulysses
124 of 1305 every second it means. From the curbstone he darted a
keen glance through the door of the postoffice. Too late box. Post here. No-one. In.
He handed the card through the brass grill. âAre there any letters for me? he asked. While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed
at the recruiting poster with so ldiers of all arms on parade:
and held the tip of his baton against his nostrils, smelling
freshprinted rag paper. No answer probably. Went too far last time.
The postmistress handed him back through the grill his
card with a letter. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at
the typed envelope.
Henry Flower Esq,
c/o P. O. Westland Row, City.
Answered anyhow. He slipped card and letter into his
Soldiers, Mourning, and Voyeurism
- Bloom observes the Dublin Fusiliers, reflecting on the allure of uniforms and the political criticisms of the British army's presence.
- While opening a secret letter in his pocket, Bloom is interrupted by M'Coy, leading to a conversation about the death of Paddy Dignam.
- Bloom attempts to balance the social obligation of the conversation with his desire to maintain his privacy and inspect the contents of his letter.
- Distracted by a stylish woman across the road, Bloom analyzes her social status and physical appearance with a mix of cynicism and desire.
- The dialogue reveals the casual nature of Dublin gossip as M'Coy recounts how he learned of Dignam's sudden passing.
Possess her once take the starch out of her.
sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade. Whereâs old Tweedyâs regiment? Castoff soldier. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. No, heâs a grenadier. Pointed cuffs. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Redcoats. Too showy. That must be why the women go
after them. Uniform. Easier to enlist and drill. Maud
Ulysses
125 of 1305 Gonneâs letter about taking them off OâConnell street at
night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Griffithâs paper is on the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empi re. Half baked they look:
hypnotised like. Eyes front. Ma rk time. Table: able. Bed:
ed. The Kingâs own. Never see him dressed up as a fireman or a bobby. A mason, yes.
He strolled out of the postoffice and turned to the
right. Talk: as if that would mend matters. His hand went
into his pocket and a forefinger felt its way under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks. Women will pay a lot of heed, I donât think. His fingers drew forth the
letter the letter and crumpled the envelope in his pocket.
Something pinned on: photo perhaps. Hair? No.
MâCoy. Get rid of him quickly. Take me out of my
way. Hate company when you.
âHello, Bloom. Where are you off to? âHello, MâCoy. Nowhere in particular. âHowâs the body? âFine. How are you? âJust keeping alive, MâCoy said. His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked with low
respect:
âIs there any ... no trouble I hope? I see youâre ...
Ulysses
126 of 1305 âO, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know.
The funeral is today.
âTo be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time? A photo it isnât. A badge maybe. âE ... eleven, Mr Bloom answered. âI must try to get out there, MâCoy said. Eleven, is it?
I only heard it last night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy?
âI know. Mr Bloom gazed across the road at the outsider drawn
up before the door of the Grosvenor. The porter hoisted the valise up on the well. She stood still, waiting, while
the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets
for change. Stylish kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a day like this, looks like blanketcloth. Careless stand of her with her hands in those pa tch pockets. Like that
haughty creature at the polo match. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Handsome is and handsome does. Reserved about to yield. Th e honourable Mrs and Brutus
is an honourable man. Possess her once take the starch out of her.
âI was with Bob Doran, heâs on one of his periodical
bends, and what do you ca ll him Bantam Lyons. Just
down there in Conwayâs we were.
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127 of 1305 Doran Lyons in Conwayâs. She raised a gloved hand to
her hair. In came Hoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, the braided drums.
Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. Talking of one thing or another. Ladyâs hand. Which side will she get up?
âAnd he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy!
What Paddy? I said. Poor little Paddy Dignam , he said.
Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown
boots with laces dangling. Wellturned foot. What is he
foostering over that change for? Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two strings to her bow.
âWhy? I said. Whatâs wrong with him? I said.
Proud: rich: silk stockings. âYes, Mr Bloom said. He moved a little to the side of MâCoyâs talking head.
Getting up in a minute.
âWhatâs wrong with him ? He said. Heâs dead , he said.
And, faith, he filled up. Is it Paddy Dignam ? I said. I
couldnât believe it when I heard it. I was with him no
later than Friday last or T hursday was it in the Arch. Yes,
Ulysses
Casual Deceptions and Social Maneuvers
- Mr. Bloom and MâCoy exchange news about their wives' singing careers, though Bloom maintains a sense of private superiority regarding his wife's talent.
- Bloom reflects on the transience of life and the suddenness of death after learning of an acquaintance's passing.
- MâCoy asks Bloom to forge his signature on a funeral attendance list, revealing a lack of genuine social commitment.
- Bloom internally critiques MâCoyâs character, suspecting him of being a 'soft mark' who borrows items like valises without returning them.
- The narrative captures Bloom's wandering attention, shifting from advertisements for potted meat to voyeuristic glimpses of women in the street.
- Bloom experiences a moment of social wariness, wondering if MâCoy is following him before confirming they are heading in different directions.
Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch! A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose.
128 of 1305 he said. Heâs gone. He died on Monday, poor fellow . Watch!
Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!
A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of
it. Paradise and the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her fr iend covering the display of.
esprit de corps . Well, what are you gaping at?
âYes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another
gone.
âOne of the best, MâCoy said.
The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop
Line bridge, her rich gloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of her hat in the sun: flicker, flick.
âWife well, I suppose? MâCoyâs changed voice said. âO, yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks. He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly:
What is home without
Plumtreeâs Potted Meat? Incomplete With it an abode of bliss.
âMy missus has just got an engagement. At least itâs
not settled yet.
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129 of 1305 Valise tack again. By the way no harm. Iâm off that,
thanks.
Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty
friendliness.
âMy wife too, he said. Sheâs going to sing at a
swagger affair in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the twenty-fifth.
âThat so? MâCoy said. Glad to hear that, old man.
Whoâs getting it up?
Mrs Marion Bloom. Not up yet. Queen was in her
bedroom eating bread and. No book. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. Dark lady and fair
man. Letter. Cat furry black ball. Torn strip of envelope.
Loveâs
Old Sweet Song Comes lo-oveâs old ...
âItâs a kind of a tour, donâ t you see, Mr Bloom said
thoughtfully. Sweeeet song . Thereâs a committee formed.
Part shares and part profits.
MâCoy nodded, picking at his moustache stubble. âO, well, he said. Thatâs good news. He moved to go.
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130 of 1305 âWell, glad to see you looking fit, he said. Meet you
knocking around.
âYes, Mr Bloom said. âTell you what, MâCoy said. You might put down
my name at the funeral, will you? Iâd like to go but I mightnât be able, you see. Thereâs a drowning case at
Sandycove may turn up and th en the coroner and myself
would have to go down if the body is found. You just shove in my name if Iâm not there, will you?
âIâll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off.
Thatâll be all right.
âRight, MâCoy said brightly. Thanks, old man. Iâd go
if I possibly could. Well, tolloll. Just C. P. MâCoy will do.
âThat will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly. Didnât catch me napping that wheeze. The quick
touch. Soft mark. Iâd like my job. Valise I have a particular
fancy for. Leather. Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Bob Cowley lent him his for the Wicklow regatta concert last ye ar and never heard tidings
of it from that good day to this.
Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled.
My missus has just got an. Reedy freckled soprano. Cheeseparing nose. Nice enough in its way: for a little ballad. No guts in it. You and me, donât you know: in the
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131 of 1305 same boat. Softsoaping. Give you the needle that would.
Canât he hear the difference? Think heâs that way inclined a bit. Against my grain some how. Thought that Belfast
would fetch him. I hope that smallpox up there doesnât get worse. Suppose she wouldn ât let herself be vaccinated
again. Your wife and my wife.
Wonder is he pimping after me? Mr Bloom stood at the corner, his eyes wandering over
the multicoloured hoardings. Cantrell and Cochraneâs Ginger Ale (Aromatic). Cleryâs Summer Sale. No, heâs
going on straight. Hello. Leah tonight. Mrs Bandmann
Palmer. Like to see her again in that. Hamlet she played
Memories and Secret Correspondence
- Leopold Bloom reflects on his father's grief and theatrical memories, specifically a scene of a blind father recognizing a wayward son.
- Bloom observes the simple, sensory existence of carriage horses, noting their lack of agency and their contentment with basic needs.
- The narrative shifts to Bloom's clandestine correspondence as he cautiously finds a private spot to open a hidden letter.
- Bloom receives a letter from Martha, who adopts a playful yet demanding tone, calling him a 'naughty boy' and asking for the meaning of a specific word.
- Martha expresses a deep, almost desperate attraction to Bloom while inquiring about the perfume his wife uses.
- The scene highlights Bloom's internal isolation and his reliance on secret emotional outlets to escape his domestic reality.
A wise tabby, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Pity to disturb them. Mohammed cut a piece out of his mantle not to wake her.
last night. Male impersonator . Perhaps he was a woman.
Why Ophelia committed suicide. Poor papa! How he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the afternoon to get in. Year before I was born that was: sixtyfive. And Ristori in Vienna. What is this the right name is? By Mo senthal it is. Rachel, is it?
No. The scene he was always talking about where the old blind Abraham recognises the voic e and puts his fingers on
his face.
Nathanâs voice! His sonâs vo ice! I hear the voice of
Nathan who left his father to die of grief and misery in my
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132 of 1305 arms, who left the house of his father and left the God of
his father.
Every word is so deep, Leopold. Poor papa! Poor man! Iâm glad I didnât go into the
room to look at his face. That day! O, dear! O, dear! Ffoo!
Well, perhaps it was best for him.
Mr Bloom went round the corner and passed the
drooping nags of the hazard. No use thinking of it any
more. Nosebag time. Wish I hadnât met that MâCoy fellow.
He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats,
the gently champing teeth. Th eir full buck eyes regarded
him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss.
Their Eldorado. Poor jugginses! Damn all they know or care about anything with thei r long noses stuck in
nosebags. Too full for words. Still they get their feed all right and their doss. Gelded too: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. Might be happy all the same that way. Good poor brutes they look. Still their neigh can be very irritating.
He drew the letter from his pocket and folded it into
the newspaper he carried. Might just walk into her here. The lane is safer.
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133 of 1305 He passed the cabmanâs shelter. Curious the life of
drifting cabbies. All weathers, all places, time or setdown,
no will of their own. Voglio e non . Like to give them an
odd cigarette. Sociable. Shout a few flying syllables as they
pass. He hummed:
La ci darem la mano
La la lala la la.
He turned into Cumberland street and, going on some
paces, halted in the lee of the station wall. No-one.
Meadeâs timberyard. Piled ba lks. Ruins and tenements.
With careful tread he passe d over a hopscotch court with
its forgotten pickeystone. Not a sinner. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a cunnythumb. A wise tabby, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Pity to disturb them. Mohammed cut a piece out of his mantle not to wake her.
Open it. And once I played mar bles when I went to that
old dameâs school. She liked mignonette. Mrs Ellisâs. And Mr? He opened the letter within the newspaper.
A flower. I think itâs a. A yellow flower with flattened
petals. Not annoyed then? What does she say?
Dear Henry
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134 of 1305 I got your last letter to me and thank you very much
for it. I am sorry you did not like my last letter. Why did you enclose the stamps? I am awfully angry with you. I do wish I could punish you for t hat. I called you naughty boy
because I do not like that oth er world. Please tell me what
is the real meaning of that word? Are you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? I do wish I could do something for you. Please tell me what you think of poor me. I often think of the beautiful name you have. Dear Henry, when will we meet ? I think of you so often
you have no idea. I have never fe lt myself so much drawn
to a man as you. I feel so bad about. Please write me a
long letter and tell me more. Remember if you do not I
will punish you. So now you know what I will do to you, you naughty boy, if you do not wrote. O how I long to meet you. Henry dear, do not deny my request before my
patience are exhausted. Then I will tell you all. Goodbye now, naughty darling, I have su ch a bad headache. today.
and write by return to your longing
Martha
P. S. Do tell me what kind of perfume does your wife
use. I want to know.
Ulysses
The Secret Language of Martha
- Leopold Bloom reads a clandestine letter from Martha, interpreting her coded 'language of flowers' and flirtatious threats of punishment.
- He reflects on the physical nature of women's clothing and the ubiquitous presence of pins, triggered by a pin found in the envelope.
- Bloom contemplates the biblical figures Martha and Mary, contrasting domestic service with the quiet intimacy of listening.
- The narrative shifts to a calculation of the Guinness family's wealth, translating a million-pound cheque into millions of gallons of porter.
- The sound of a passing train transforms into a surreal vision of a vast, dull flood of beer overflowing across the landscape.
- Bloom arrives at All Hallows church, transitioning from his private romantic fantasies back to the public sphere of religious observation.
Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth.
135 of 1305 He tore the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its
almost no smell and placed it in his heart pocket. Language of flowers. They like it be cause no-one can hear. Or a
poison bouquet to strike him down. Then walking slowly forward he read the letter again, murmuring here and there a word. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you d onât please poor forgetmenot
how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone
meet all naughty nightstalk wife Marthaâs perfume. Having read it all he took it from the newspaper and put it back in his sidepocket.
Weak joy opened his lips. Changed since the first letter.
Wonder did she wrote it herself. Doing the indignant: a
girl of good family like me, respectable character. Could
meet one Sunday after the rosary. Thank you: not having any. Usual love scrimmage. Then running round corners. Bad as a row with Molly. Ci gar has a cooling effect.
Narcotic. Go further next time. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of course. Brutal, why not? Try it anyhow. A bit at a time.
Fingering still the letter in his pocket he drew the pin
out of it. Common pin, eh? He threw it on the road. Out
of her clothes somewhere: pinned together. Queer the
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136 of 1305 number of pins they always have. No roses without
thorns.
Flat Dublin voices bawled in his head. Those two sluts
that night in the Coombe, linked together in the rain.
O, Mary lost the pin of her drawers.
She didnât know what to do To keep it up To keep it up.
It? Them. Such a bad headache. Has her roses
probably. Or sitting all da y typing. Eyefocus bad for
stomach nerves. What perfum e does your wife use. Now
could you make out a thing like that?
To keep it up.
Martha, Mary. I saw that picture somewhere I forget
now old master or faked for money. He is sitting in their house, talking. Mysterious. Also the two sluts in the Coombe would listen.
To keep it up.
Nice kind of evening feeling. No more wandering
about. Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. Forget. Tell about places you have been, strange customs. The other one, jar on her head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool wa ter out of a well, stonecold like
the hole in the wall at Ashtown. Must carry a paper goblet
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137 of 1305 next time I go to the trottingmatches. She listens with big
dark soft eyes. Tell her: more and more: all. Then a sigh: silence. Long long long rest.
Going under the railway arch he took out the
envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the road. The shreds fluttered away, sank in the dank air: a white flutter, then all sank.
Henry Flower. You could te ar up a cheque for a
hundred pounds in the same way. Simple bit of paper. Lord Iveagh once cashed a sevenfigure cheque for a million in the bank of Irelan d. Shows you the money to
be made out of porter. Still the other brother lord
Ardilaun has to change his shirt four times a day, they say.
Skin breeds lice or vermin. A million pounds, wait a moment. Twopence a pint, four pence a quart, eightpence
a gallon of porter, no, one and fourpence a gallon of porter. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Yes, exactly. Fifteen millions of barrels of porter.
What am I saying barrels? Gallons. About a million
barrels all the same.
An incoming train clanked heavily above his head,
coach after coach. Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together,
Ulysses
138 of 1305 winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy
pooling swirl of liquor bearin g along wideleaved flowers
of its froth.
He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows.
Stepping into the porch he doffed his hat, took the card from his pocket and tucked it again behind the leather headband. Damn it. I might have tried to work MâCoy for a pass to Mullingar.
Same notice on the door. S ermon by the very reverend
The Ritual of Communion
- Bloom observes the Catholic Mass with a detached, skeptical curiosity, comparing the missionary efforts in China and Africa to local religious fervor.
- The act of receiving the Eucharist is viewed through a visceral lens, with Bloom likening the consumption of the host to eating bits of a corpse or a 'lollipop'.
- He notes the psychological comfort of religion, suggesting that the 'bread of angels' provides a sense of belonging and lulls the pain of existence through blind faith.
- The use of Latin is interpreted as a tool to stupefy the congregation, creating a hypnotic atmosphere that facilitates spiritual submission.
- Bloom reflects on the physical reality of the clergy, noticing the priest's worn bootsole and bald spot, which grounds the divine ceremony in the mundane.
- The narrative highlights the communal aspect of the church, where the 'kingdom of God' feeling serves to make the practitioners feel less lonely, like a family party.
Shut your eyes and open your mouth. What? Corpus: body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupefies them first.
John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the African Mission. Prayers for the conversion of Gladstone they had too when he was almost unconscious. The
protestants are the same. Convert Dr William J. Walsh
D.D. to the true religion. Save Chinaâs millions. Wonder how they explain it to the heathen Chinee. Prefer an ounce of opium. Celestials. Rank heresy for them. Buddha their god lying on his side in the museum. Taking it easy with hand under his cheek. Josssticks burning. Not like Ecce Homo. Crown of thor ns and cross. Clever idea
Saint Patrick the shamrock. Chopsticks? Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguishedlooking. Sorry I didnât work him about getting Molly into the choir instead of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasnât. Theyâre taught that. Heâs not going out in bluey specs
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139 of 1305 with the sweat rolling off him to baptise blacks, is he? The
glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Like to see them sitting round in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. Still life. Lap it up like milk, I suppose.
The cold smell of sacred stone called him. He trod the
worn steps, pushed the swingd oor and entered softly by
the rere.
Something going on: some sodality. Pity so empty.
Nice discreet place to be next some girl. Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slow music. That
woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in the benches with crimson halters round their necks,
heads bowed. A batch knelt at the altarrails. The priest
went along by them, murmurin g, holding the thing in his
hands. He stopped at each, took out a communion, shook a drop or two (are they in water?) off it and put it neatly into her mouth. Her hat and head sank. Then the next one. Her hat sank at once. Th en the next one: a small old
woman. The priest bent down to put it into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one. Shut your
eyes and open your mouth. What? Corpus: body. Corpse.
Good idea the Latin. Stupefies them first. Hospice for the dying. They donât seem to ch ew it: only swallow it down.
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140 of 1305 Rum idea: eating bits of a corpse. Why the cannibals
cotton to it.
He stood aside watching th eir blind masks pass down
the aisle, one by one, and seek their places. He approached
a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his hat and newspaper. These pots we have to wear. We ought to
have hats modelled on our head s. They were about him
here and there, with heads still bowed in their crimson halters, waiting for it to melt in their stomachs. Something like those mazzoth: itâs that sort of bread: unleavened
shewbread. Look at them. Now I bet it makes them feel
happy. Lollipop. It does. Yes, bread of angels itâs called.
Thereâs a big idea behind it, kind of kingdom of God is
within you feel. First communi cants. Hokypoky penny a
lump. Then feel all like one family party, same in the theatre, all in the same swim. They do. Iâm sure of that. Not so lonely. In our confraternity. Then come out a bit spreeish. Let off steam. Thing is if you really believe in it. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding. Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. Hence those snores. Blind faith. Safe in the arms of kingdom come. Lulls all pain. Wake this time next
year.
Ulysses
141 of 1305 He saw the priest stow the communion cup away, well
in, and kneel an instant before it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the lace affair he had on. Suppose he lost the pin of his. He wouldnât know what to do to. Bald spot behind. Letters on his back: I.N.R.I? No: I.H.S. Molly told me one time I asked her. I have sinned: or no: I have suffered, it is. And the other one? Iron nails ran in.
Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Do not deny my
request. Turn up with a veil and black bag. Dusk and the
Ritual and Sacred Music
- Bloom reflects on the hypocrisy of religious devotion, citing a murderer who took communion daily.
- He observes the priest drinking the sacramental wine, viewing the exclusion of the laity as a practical measure to prevent drunkenness.
- The silence of the church reminds Bloom of Molly's past performance of Rossini's Stabat Mater and the power of her voice.
- He considers the historical patronage of the arts by popes, including their appreciation for music and liqueurs.
- Bloom muses on the physical and vocal nature of eunuchs in church choirs, wondering about their placid existence.
- He admires the clockwork efficiency and organization of the Catholic Church despite his personal detachment from the faith.
Old Glynn he knew how to make that instrument talk, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say he had in Gardiner street.
light behind her. She might be here with a ribbon round her neck and do the other thing all the same on the sly. Their character. That fellow that turned queenâs evidence
on the invincibles he used to receive the, Carey was his
name, the communion every morning. This very church. Peter Carey, yes. No, Peter Claver I am thinking of. Denis Carey. And just imagin e that. Wife and six children
at home. And plotting that murder all the time. Those
crawthumpers, now thatâs a good name for them, thereâs
always something shiftylooking about them. Theyâre not straight men of business either. O, no, sheâs not here: the
flower: no, no. By the way, did I tear up that envelope?
Yes: under the bridge.
The priest was rinsing out the chalice: then he tossed
off the dregs smartly. Wine. Makes it more aristocratic
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142 of 1305 than for example if he drank what they are used to
Guinnessâs porter or some temperance beverage Wheatleyâs Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochraneâs ginger ale (aromatic). Doesnât give them any of it: shew wine: only the other. Cold comfort. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise theyâd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a drink. Queer the whole atmosphere of the. Quite right. Perfectly right that is.
Mr Bloom looked back towards the choir. Not going
to be any music. Pity. Who has the organ here I wonder?
Old Glynn he knew how to ma ke that instrument talk,
the vibrato : fifty pounds a year they say he had in Gardiner
street. Molly was in fine voice that day, the Stabat Mater of
Rossini. Father Bernard Vaughanâ s sermon first. Christ or
Pilate? Christ, but donât keep us all night over it. Music they wanted. Footdrill stopped. Could hear a pin drop. I told her to pitch her voice agai nst that corner. I could feel
the thrill in the air, the full, the people looking up:
Quis est homo.
Some of that old sacred music splendid. Mercadante:
seven last words. Mozartâs twelfth mass: Gloria in that.
Those old popes keen on music, on art and statues and pictures of all kinds. Palestrina for example too. They had
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143 of 1305 a gay old time while it lasted. Healthy too, chanting,
regular hours, then brew liqueurs. Benedictine. Green Chartreuse. Still, having eunuchs in their choir that was coming it a bit thick. What kind of voice is it? Must be
curious to hear after th eir own strong basses.
Connoisseurs. Suppose they wouldnât feel anything after. Kind of a placid. No worry. Fall into flesh, donât they? Gluttons, tall, long legs. Who knows? Eunuch. One way out of it.
He saw the priest bend do wn and kiss the altar and
then face about and bless all the people. All crossed themselves and stood up. Mr Bloom glanced about him
and then stood up, looking over the risen hats. Stand up at
the gospel of course. Then all settled down on their knees again and he sat back quietly in his bench. The priest came down from the altar, holding the thing out from him, and he and the massboy answered ea ch other in Latin. Then
the priest knelt down and began to read off a card:
âO God, our refuge and our strength ... Mr Bloom put his face forward to catch the words.
English. Throw them the bone. I remember slightly. How long since your last mass? Glorious and immaculate virgin. Joseph, her spouse. Peter and P aul. More interesting if you
understood what it was all ab out. Wonderful organisation
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144 of 1305 certainly, goes like clockwork. Confession. Everyone
Confessionals and Chemist Jars
- Bloom observes the rituals of the Catholic Church, noting the psychological power priests hold over women through the secrecy of the confessional.
- He reflects on the financial and political influence of the Church, viewing it as a well-organized 'show' that secures wealth through bequests and theology.
- A moment of personal embarrassment occurs as Bloom realizes his waistcoat buttons were open, leading to a brief internal monologue on female vanity and social decorum.
- Leaving the church, Bloom transitions from the spiritual atmosphere to the practical world of commerce, heading toward a chemist to fulfill a prescription.
- He contemplates the physical and mental toll of the pharmaceutical trade, imagining the chemist as a shrivelled alchemist living among herbs and poisons.
- Bloom's stream of consciousness links the smell of the pharmacy to the history of medicine, from ancient 'simples' to modern anesthetics like chloroform.
The chemist turned back page after page. Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have. Shrunken skull.
wants to. Then I will tell you all. Penance. Punish me, please. Great weapon in their hands. More than doctor or solicitor. Woman dying to. And I schschschschschsch. And did you chachachachacha? And why did you? Look down at her ring to find an excu se. Whispering gallery walls
have ears. Husband learn to his surprise. Godâs little joke. Then out she comes. Repentance skindeep. Lovely shame. Pray at an altar. Hail Mary and Holy Mary. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Hide her blushes. Salvation army
blatant imitation. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. How I found the Lord. Squareheaded chaps
those must be in Rome: they work the whole show. And
donât they rake in the money too? Bequests also: to the P.P. for the time being in his absolute discretion. Masses for the repose of my soul to be said publicly with open
doors. Monasteries and convents. The priest in that Fermanagh will case in the witnessbox. No browbeating him. He had his answer pat for everything. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church. The doctors of the church: they mapped out the whole theology of it.
The priest prayed: âBlessed Michael, archangel, de fend us in the hour of
conflict. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and
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145 of 1305 snares of the devil (may God restrain him, we humbly
pray!): and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust Satan down to hell and with him
those other wicked spirits w ho wander through the world
for the ruin of souls.
The priest and the massboy stood up and walked off.
All over. The women remained behind: thanksgiving.
Better be shoving along. Brother Buzz. Come around
with the plate perhaps. Pay your Easter duty.
He stood up. Hello. Were those two buttons of my
waistcoat open all the time? Women enjoy it. Never tell
you. But we. Excuse, miss, thereâs a (whh!) just a (whh!)
fluff. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. Glimpses of
the moon. Annoyed if you donât. Why didnât you tell me before. Still like you better untidy. Good job it wasnât farther south. He passed, discreetly buttoning, down the aisle and out through the main door into the light. He
stood a moment unseeing by the cold black marble bowl while before him and behi nd two worshippers dipped
furtive hands in the low tide of holy water. Trams: a car of
Prescottâs dyeworks: a widow in her weeds. Notice because Iâm in mourning myself. He covered himself. How goes the time? Quarter past. Time enough yet. Better get that lotion made up. Where is this? Ah yes, the
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146 of 1305 last time. Swenyâs in Lincoln place. Chemists rarely move.
Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. Hamilton Longâs, founded in the year of the flood. Huguenot churchyard near there. Visit some day.
He walked southward along Westland row. But the
recipe is in the other trousers. O, and I forgot that latchkey too. Bore this funeral affair. O well, poor fellow, itâs not his fault. When was it I got it made up last? Wait. I
changed a sovereign I remember. First of the month it must have been or the second. O, he can look it up in the prescriptions book.
The chemist turned back page after page. Sandy
shrivelled smell he seems to have. Shrunken skull. And
old. Quest for the philosopherâs stone. The alchemists. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then. Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character. Living all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. All hi s alabaster lilypots. Mortar and pestle.
Aq. Dist. Fol. Laur. Te Virid. Smell almost cure you like the dentistâs doorbell. Doctor Whack. He ought to physic
himself a bit. Electuary or em ulsion. The first fellow that
picked an herb to cure himself had a bit of pluck. Simples.
Want to be careful. Enough stuff here to chloroform you. Test: turns blue litmus pap er red. Chloroform. Overdose
Ulysses
147 of 1305 of laudanum. Sleeping draughts. Lovephiltres. Paragoric
Bloom at the Chemist
- Leopold Bloom visits a chemist to order a custom skin lotion for Molly, reflecting on the efficacy of homely recipes and the sensory qualities of drugs and soaps.
- Bloom contemplates the physical body, considering the layers of skin, the accumulation of dirt, and the therapeutic potential of a Turkish bath.
- While purchasing a cake of lemon soap, Bloom encounters Bantam Lyons, who is searching the newspaper for horse racing tips for the Ascot Gold Cup.
- A misunderstanding occurs when Bloom tells Lyons he was going to 'throw away' the paper, which Lyons interprets as a tip for the horse 'Throwaway'.
- Bloom reflects on the destructive nature of gambling and embezzlement in Dublin society as he heads toward the public baths.
Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax.
poppysyrup bad for cough. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Clever of nature.
âAbout a fortnight ago, sir? âYes, Mr Bloom said. He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen
reek of drugs, the dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs.
Lot of time taken up telling your aches and pains.
âSweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr
Bloom said, and then orangeflower water ...
It certainly did make her s kin so delicate white like
wax.
âAnd white wax also, he said. Brings out the darkness of h er eyes. Looking at me, the
sheet up to her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when I was
fixing the links in my cuffs. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk. Skinfood. One of the old queenâs sons, duke of Albany was it? had only one skin. Leopold, yes. Three we have. Warts, bunions and pimples to make it worse. But you
want a perfume too. What perfume does your? Peau
dâEspagne . That orangeflower water is so fresh. Nice smell
Ulysses
148 of 1305 these soaps have. Pure curd soap. Time to get a bath
round the corner. Hammam. Tu rkish. Massage. Dirt gets
rolled up in your navel. Nicer if a nice girl did it. Also I think I. Yes I. Do it in the bath. Curious longing I. Water to water. Combine business with pleasure. Pity no time for massage. Feel fresh then all the day. Funeral be rather
glum.
âYes, sir, the chemist said. That was two and nine.
Have you brought a bottle?
âNo, Mr Bloom said. Make it up, please. Iâll call later
in the day and Iâll take one of these soaps. How much are
they?
âFourpence, sir.
Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony
wax.
âIâll take this one, he said. That makes three and a
penny.
âYes, sir, the chemist said. You can pay all together,
sir, when you come back.
âGood, Mr Bloom said. He strolled out of the shop, the newspaper baton under
his armpit, the coolwrappered soap in his left hand.
At his armpit Bantam Lyonsâ voice and hand said:
Ulysses
149 of 1305 âHello, Bloom. Whatâs the be st news? Is that todayâs?
Show us a minute.
Shaved off his moustache again, by Jove! Long cold
upper lip. To look younger. He does look balmy. Younger than I am.
Bantam Lyonsâs yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the
baton. Wants a wash too. Take off the rough dirt. Good morning, have you used Pearsâ soap? Dandruff on his shoulders. Scalp wants oiling.
âI want to see about that French horse thatâs running
today, Bantam Lyons sai d. Where the bugger is it?
He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his
high collar. Barberâs itch. Tight collar heâll lose his hair.
Better leave him the paper and get shut of him.
âYou can keep it, Mr Bloom said. âAscot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered.
Half a mo. Maximum the second.
âI was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said. Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered
weakly.
âWhatâs that? his sharp voice said. âI say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was
going to throw it away that moment.
Ulysses
150 of 1305 Bantam Lyons doubted an inst ant, leering: then thrust
the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloomâs arms.
âIâll risk it, he said. Here, thanks. He sped off towards Conwayâs corner. God speed scut. Mr Bloom folded the sheets ag ain to a neat square and
lodged the soap in it, smilin g. Silly lips of that chap.
Betting. Regular hotbed of it lately. Messenger boys stealing to put on sixpence. Raffle for large tender turkey. Your Christmas dinner for threepence. Jack Fleming embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to America.
Keeps a hotel now. They never come back. Fleshpots of Egypt.
He walked cheerfully towards the mosque of the baths.
Remind you of a mosque, redba ked bricks, the minarets.
College sports today I see. He eyed the horseshoe poster
The Stream of Life and Death
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the aesthetics of advertising and the fleeting nature of pleasant weather while observing the streets of Dublin.
- Bloom indulges in a sensual, quasi-religious meditation on the ritual of bathing, envisioning his body as a 'languid floating flower' in a womb of warmth.
- The narrative shifts to a funeral procession as Bloom joins Martin Cunningham, Mr. Power, and Simon Dedalus in a horse-drawn carriage.
- Bloom observes the morbid curiosity of the living toward the dead, noting how neighbors watch the hearse pass with a sense of relief that they were 'passed over.'
- The physical discomfort of the carriage ride is punctuated by Bloom's realization that he is sitting on a bar of soap he purchased earlier.
- The group travels through Dublin, noting the public displays of respect as passersby lift their hats to the passing funeral cortege.
He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.
over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like a cod in a pot. Damn bad ad. Now if they had made it round like a wheel. Then the spokes: sports, sports, sports: and
the hub big: college. Something to catch the eye.
Thereâs Hornblower standing at the porterâs lodge.
Keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the nod. How do you do, Mr Hornblower? How do you do, sir?
Ulysses
151 of 1305 Heavenly weather really. If life was always like that.
Cricket weather. Sit around under sunshades. Over after over. Out. They canât play it here. Duck for six wickets.
Still Captain Culler broke a window in the Kildare street club with a slog to square leg. Donnybrook fair more in their line. And the skulls we were acracking when
MâCarthy took the floor. Heatwave. Wonât last. Always passing, the stream of life, wh ich in the stream of life we
trace is dearer than them all.
Enjoy a bath now: clean troug h of water, cool enamel,
the gentle tepid stream. This is my body.
He foresaw his pale body reclin ed in it at full, naked, in
a womb of warmth, oiled by sce nted melting soap, softly
laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and
sustained, buoyed lightly u pward, lemonyellow: his navel,
bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.
* * * * *
Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head
into the creaking carriage and, entering deftly, seated
Ulysses
152 of 1305 himself. Mr Power stepped in after him, curving his height
with care.
âCome on, Simon. âAfter you, Mr Bloom said. Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying: Yes, yes. âAre we all here now? Martin Cunningham asked.
Come along, Bloom.
Mr Bloom entered and sat in the vacant place. He
pulled the door to after him and slammed it twice till it shut tight. He passed an arm through the armstrap and
looked seriously from the open carriagewindow at the
lowered blinds of the avenue. One dragged aside: an old
woman peeping. Nose whiteflattened against the pane. Thanking her stars she was passed over. Extraordinary the interest they take in a corpse . Glad to see us go we give
them such trouble coming. Job seems to suit them. Huggermugger in corners. Slop about in slipperslappers for
fear heâd wake. Then getting it ready. Laying it out. Molly and Mrs Fleming making the bed. Pull it more to your side. Our windingsheet. Never know who will touch you dead. Wash and shampoo. I be lieve they clip the nails and
the hair. Keep a bit in an en velope. Grows all the same
after. Unclean job.
Ulysses
153 of 1305 All waited. Nothing was said. Stowing in the wreaths
probably. I am sitting on something hard. Ah, that soap: in my hip pocket. Better shift it out of that . Wait for an
opportunity.
All waited. Then wheels w ere heard from in front,
turning: then nearer: then horsesâ hoofs. A jolt. Their carriage began to move, creaking and swaying. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. The blinds of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar. At walking pace.
They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had
turned and were passing along the tramtracks. Tritonville
road. Quicker. The wheels rattled rolling over the cobbled
causeway and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the doorframes.
âWhat way is he taking us? Mr Power asked through
both windows.
âIrishtown, Martin Cunningham said. Ringsend.
Brunswick street.
Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out. âThatâs a fine old custom, he said. I am glad to see it
has not died out.
All watched awhile throug h their windows caps and
hats lifted by passers. Respect. The carriage swerved from
Ulysses
154 of 1305 the tramtrack to the smoother road past Watery lane. Mr
Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in mourning, a
Paternal Pride and Lost Sons
- Mr. Dedalus expresses vitriolic disdain for his son Stephen's association with Buck Mulligan, whom he views as a corrupting influence.
- The carriage ride through Dublin triggers a bitter rant from Dedalus against his in-laws, the Goulding family, revealing deep-seated class and personal animosities.
- Leopold Bloom reflects privately on the physical decline of Richie Goulding, noting the futility of his backache 'cures' and his past antics.
- Bloom experiences a poignant moment of grief for his deceased son, Rudy, imagining the life and legacy they might have shared together.
- The narrative shifts to Bloom's memories of Molly's pregnancy and the domestic origins of life, contrasted with his thoughts on his daughter Milly's maturation.
- The passengers' focus returns to the physical discomfort of their carriage, complaining about its cleanliness and the 'mildewed' state of the upholstery.
My son. Me in his eyes. Strange feeling it would be. From me. Just a chance.
wide hat.
âThereâs a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said. âWho is that? âYour son and heir. âWhere is he? Mr Dedalus said, stretching over across. The carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of
rippedup roadway before the tenement houses, lurched round the corner and, swerving back to the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels. Mr Dedalus fell back, saying:
âWas that Mulligan cad with him? His fidus Achates !
âNo, Mr Bloom said. He was alone. âDown with his aunt Sally, I suppose, Mr Dedalus
said, the Goulding faction, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papaâs little lump of dung, the wise child that knows her own father.
Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. Wallace
Bros: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge.
Richie Goulding and the legal bag. Goulding, Collis
and Ward he calls the firm. His jokes are getting a bit damp. Great card he was. Wa ltzing in Stamer street with
Ignatius Gallaher on a Sunday morning, the landladyâs two
Ulysses
155 of 1305 hats pinned on his head. Out on the rampage all night.
Beginning to tell on him now: that backache of his, I fear.
Wife ironing his back. Thinks heâll cure it with pills. All
breadcrumbs they are. About six hundred per cent profit.
âHeâs in with a lowdown cr owd, Mr Dedalus snarled.
That Mulligan is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. His name stinks all over Dublin.
But with the help of God and His blessed mother Iâll
make it my business to write a letter one of those days to his mother or his aunt or w hatever she is that will open
her eye as wide as a gate. Iâll tickle his catastrophe, believe
you me.
He cried above the clatter of the wheels:
âI wonât have her bastard of a nephew ruin my son. A
counterjumperâs son. Selling tapes in my cousin, Peter Paul MâSwineyâs. Not likely.
He ceased. Mr Bloom glanced from his angry
moustache to Mr Powerâs mild face and Martin Cunninghamâs eyes and bear d, gravely shaking. Noisy
selfwilled man. Full of his son. He is right. Something to
hand on. If little Rudy had liv ed. See him grow up. Hear
his voice in the house. Walkin g beside Molly in an Eton
suit. My son. Me in his eyes . Strange feeling it would be.
From me. Just a chance. Must have been that morning in
Ulysses
156 of 1305 Raymond terrace she was at the window watching the
two dogs at it by the wall of the cease to do evil. And the sergeant grinning up. She had that cream gown on with the rip she never stitched. Give us a touch, Poldy. God, Iâm dying for it. How life begins.
Got big then. Had to refuse the Greystones concert.
My son inside her. I could have helped him on in life. I could. Make him independent. Learn German too.
âAre we late? Mr Power asked. âTen minutes, Martin Cunningham said, looking at
his watch.
Molly. Milly. Same thing wa tered down. Her tomboy
oaths. O jumping Jupiter! Ye gods and little fishes! Still,
sheâs a dear girl. Soon be a woman. Mullingar. Dearest
Papli. Young student. Yes, yes: a woman too. Life, life.
The carriage heeled over and back, their four trunks
swaying.
âCorny might have given us a more commodious
yoke, Mr Power said.
âHe might, Mr Dedalus said, if he hadnât that squint
troubling him. Do you follow me?
He closed his left eye. Martin Cunningham began to
brush away crustcrumbs from under his thighs.
âWhat is this, he said, in the name of God? Crumbs?
Ulysses
157 of 1305 âSomeone seems to have been making a picnic party
here lately, Mr Power said.
All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the
mildewed buttonless leather of the seats. Mr Dedalus,
twisting his nose, frowned downward and said:
âUnless Iâm greatly mistaken. What do you think,
Martin?
âIt struck me too, Martin Cunningham said. Mr Bloom set his thigh down. Glad I took that bath.
Feel my feet quite clean. But I wish Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better.
Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly.
âAfter all, he said, itâs the most natural thing in the
world.
A Carriage Ride Through Mortality
- The funeral carriage halts near the Grand Canal gasworks, prompting Bloom to reflect on childhood illnesses and the 'canvassing for death' inherent in life.
- Bloom recalls his father's dying wish regarding his dog, Athos, noting how the animal pined away in a display of loyalty that transcends the grave.
- The men in the carriage discuss the social performances of their peers, specifically Tom Kernanâs pompous vocabulary and Ben Dollardâs singing.
- Bloom scans the obituary columns in the newspaper, observing the 'inked characters fast fading' and the repetitive, sentimental language of grief.
- The narrative shifts between the external dialogue of the mourners and Bloomâs internal anxieties regarding a secret letter and his domestic errands.
- Bloom observes a manual laborer and briefly contemplates the economic cycle of automation, weighing the loss of old jobs against the creation of new ones.
Inked characters fast fading on the frayed breaking paper. Thanks to the Little Flower. Sadly missed. To the inexpressible grief of his.
âDid Tom Kernan turn up? Martin Cunningham
asked, twirling the peak of his beard gently.
âYes, Mr Bloom answered. Heâs behind with Ned
Lambert and Hynes.
âAnd Corny Kelleher himself? Mr Power asked. âAt the cemetery, Martin Cunningham said. âI met MâCoy this morning, Mr Bloom said. He said
heâd try to come.
The carriage halted short. âWhatâs wrong?
Ulysses
158 of 1305 âWeâre stopped.
âWhere are we? Mr Bloom put his head out of the window. âThe grand canal, he said. Gasworks. Whooping cough th ey say it cures. Good
job Milly never got it. Poor children! Doubles them up
black and blue in convulsions. Shame really. Got off lightly with illnesses compare d. Only measles. Flaxseed
tea. Scarlatina, influenza epide mics. Canvassing for death.
Donât miss this chance. Dogsâ home over there. Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos, Leop old, is my last wish. Thy
will be done. We obey them in the grave. A dying scrawl.
He took it to heart, pined away. Quiet brute. Old menâs
dogs usually are.
A raindrop spat on his hat. He drew back and saw an
instant of shower spray dots over the grey flags. Apart. Curious. Like through a colander. I thought it would. My boots were creaking I remember now.
âThe weather is changing, he said quietly. âA pity it did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham
said.
âWanted for the country, Mr Power said. Thereâs the
sun again coming out.
Ulysses
159 of 1305 Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the
veiled sun, hurled a mute curse at the sky.
âItâs as uncertain as a childâs bottom, he said. âWeâre off again. The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their
trunks swayed gently. Martin Cunningham twirled more
quickly the peak of his beard.
âTom Kernan was immense last night, he said. And
Paddy Leonard taking him off to his face.
âO, draw him out, Martin, Mr Power said eagerly.
Wait till you hear him, Sim on, on Ben Dollardâs singing
of The Croppy Boy .
âImmense, Martin Cunningham said pompously. His
singing of that simple ballad, Martin, is the most trenchant rendering I ever heard in the whole course of my experience.
âTrenchant, Mr Power said laughing. Heâs dead nuts
on that. And the retrospective arrangement.
âDid you read Dan Dawson âs speech? Martin
Cunningham asked.
âI did not then, Mr Dedalus said. Where is it? âIn the paper this morning. Mr Bloom took the paper from his inside pocket. That
book I must change for her.
âNo, no, Mr Dedalus said quickly. Later on please.
Ulysses
160 of 1305 Mr Bloomâs glance travelled down the edge of the
paper, scanning the deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what Peake is that? is it
the chap was in Crosbie and Alleyneâs? no, Sexton,
Urbright. Inked characters fast fading on the frayed breaking paper. Thanks to the Little Flower. Sadly missed. To the inexpressible grief of his. Aged 88 after a long and tedious illness. Monthâs mind: Quinlan. On whose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy.
It is now a month since dear Henry fled
To his home up above in the sky
While his family weeps and mourns his loss
Hoping some day to meet him on high.
I tore up the envelope? Yes . Where did I put her letter
after I read it in the bath? He patted his waistcoatpocket. There all right. Dear Henry fled. Before my patience are exhausted.
National school. Meadeâs yard. The hazard. Only two
there now. Nodding. Full as a tick. Too much bone in their skulls. The other trotti ng round with a fare. An hour
ago I was passing there. The jarvies raised their hats.
A pointsmanâs back straighten ed itself upright suddenly
against a tramway standard by Mr Bloomâs window. Couldnât they invent something automatic so that the
Ulysses
161 of 1305 wheel itself much handier? Well but that fellow would
lose his job then? Well but then another fellow would get a job making the new invention?
Antient concert rooms. Nothing on there. A man in a
buff suit with a crape armlet. Not much grief there. Quarter mourning. People in law perhaps.
Encounters and Silent Reflections
- The group travels through Dublin, passing landmarks and theater advertisements that trigger Bloom's internal monologue about upcoming performances.
- The appearance of Blazes Boylan, Molly's manager and potential lover, creates a moment of tension and scrutiny among the men in the carriage.
- Bloom distracts himself by obsessively inspecting his fingernails and contemplating the physical aging of the human body.
- The conversation shifts to Mollyâs upcoming concert tour, forcing Bloom to navigate social inquiries about her professional and personal associations.
- Bloom observes a destitute man selling bootlaces, reflecting on the fragility of social status and the 'relics of old decency.'
- The mention of 'Madame' (Molly) leads Bloom into a private musical reverie, analyzing her vocal technique and the beauty of her singing voice.
From the door of the Red Bank the white disc of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed.
They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Markâs, under
the railway bridge, past the Queenâs theatre: in silence. Hoardings: Eugene Stratton, Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Could I go to see LEAH toni ght, I wonder. I said I. Or
the Lily of Killarney ? Elster Grimes Opera Company. Big
powerful change. Wet bright bills for next week. Fun on
the Bristol . Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the
Gaiety. Have to stand a drink or two. As broad as itâs long.
Heâs coming in the afternoon. Her songs. Plastoâs. Sir Philip Cramptonâs memorial fountain bust.
Who was he?
âHow do you do? Martin Cunningham said, raising
his palm to his brow in salute.
âHe doesnât see us, Mr Power said. Yes, he does.
How do you do?
âWho? Mr Dedalus asked. âBlazes Boylan, Mr Power said. There he is airing his
quiff.
Ulysses
162 of 1305 Just that moment I was thinking.
Mr Dedalus bent across to sa lute. From the door of the
Red Bank the white disc of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed.
Mr Bloom reviewed the nails of his left hand, then
those of his right hand. The nails, yes. Is there anything more in him that they she sees? Fascination. Worst man in Dublin. That keeps him alive. They sometimes feel what a person is. Instinct. But a type like that. My nails. I am just looking at them: well pared. And after: thinking alone. Body getting a bit softy. I would notice that: from remembering. What causes that ? I suppose the skin canât
contract quickly enough when the flesh falls off. But the
shape is there. The shape is there still. Shoulders. Hips.
Plump. Night of the dance dressing. Shift stuck between the cheeks behind.
He clasped his hands between his knees and, satisfied,
sent his vacant glance over their faces.
Mr Power asked: âHow is the concert tour getting on, Bloom? âO, very well, Mr Bloom sa id. I hear great accounts
of it. Itâs a good idea, you see ...
âAre you going yourself?
Ulysses
163 of 1305 âWell no, Mr Bloom said. In point of fact I have to
go down to the county Clare on some private business. You see the idea is to tour the chief towns. What you lose on one you can make up on the other.
âQuite so, Martin Cunni ngham said. Mary Anderson
is up there now.
Have you good artists? âLouis Werner is touring her, Mr Bloom said. O yes,
weâll have all topnobbers. J. C. Doyle and John MacCormack I hope and. The best, in fact.
âAnd Madame , Mr Power said smiling. Last but not
least.
Mr Bloom unclasped his hands in a gesture of soft
politeness and clasped them. Smith OâBrien. Someone has
laid a bunch of flowers there. Woman. Must be his deathday. For many happy returns. The carriage wheeling by Farrellâs statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.
Oot: a dullgarbed old man fr om the curbstone tendered
his wares, his mouth opening: oot.
âFour bootlaces for a penny. Wonder why he was struck off the rolls. Had his office
in Hume street. Same house as Mollyâs namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for Waterford. Has that silk hat
ever since. Relics of old dece ncy. Mourning too. Terrible
Ulysses
164 of 1305 comedown, poor wretch! Kicked about like snuff at a
wake. OâCallaghan on his last legs.
And Madame . Twenty past eleven. Up. Mrs Fleming is
in to clean. Doing her hair, humming. voglio e non vorrei .
No. vorrei e non . Looking at the tips of her hairs to see if
they are split. Mi trema un poco il . Beautiful on that tre her
voice is: weeping tone. A th rush. A throstle. There is a
word throstle that expresses that.
His eyes passed lightly over Mr Powerâs goodlooking
face. Greyish over the ears. Madame : smiling. I smiled
A Florin for a Life
- The men in the carriage observe a passing figure, prompting Martin Cunningham to mockingly identify him as being 'of the tribe of Reuben.'
- Leopold Bloom attempts to tell a humorous anecdote about Reuben J. Dodd and his son, but he is repeatedly interrupted and eventually eclipsed by Martin Cunningham.
- The story involves a son jumping into the Liffey to escape his father, only to be rescued by a boatman who is rewarded with a mere two-shilling coin.
- Mr. Dedalus provides a cynical punchline, suggesting the rescue was overpriced by one and eightpence, highlighting the group's shared anti-Semitic prejudices.
- The mood shifts abruptly from cruel laughter to somber reflection as the men remember the deceased Paddy Dignam, for whom they are currently traveling in a funeral procession.
- The group attributes Dignam's sudden death to a heart breakdown caused by excessive drinking, personified as 'John Barleycorn.'
A boatman got a pole and fished him out by the slack of the breeches and he was landed up to the father on the quay more dead than alive.
back. A smile goes a long way. Only politeness perhaps. Nice fellow. Who knows is that true about the woman he
keeps? Not pleasant for the wife. Yet they say, who was it told me, there is no carnal. You would imagine that would get played out pretty quick. Yes, it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of rumpsteak. What is this she was? Barma id in Juryâs. Or the Moira, was
it?
They passed under the hugecloaked Liberatorâs form. Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power. âOf the tribe of Reuben, he said. A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a stick, stumping
round the corner of Elveryâs Elephant house, showed
them a curved hand open on his spine.
Ulysses
165 of 1305 âIn all his pristine beauty, Mr Power said.
Mr Dedalus looked after the stumping figure and said
mildly:
âThe devil break the hasp of your back! Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face from
the window as the carriage passed Grayâs statue.
âWe have all been there, Martin Cunningham said
broadly.
His eyes met Mr Bloomâs ey es. He caressed his beard,
adding:
âWell, nearly all of us. Mr Bloom began to speak with sudden eagerness to his
companionsâ faces.
âThatâs an awfully good one thatâs going the rounds
about Reuben J and the son.
âAbout the boatman? Mr Power asked. âYes. Isnât it awfully good? âWhat is that? Mr Dedalus asked. I didnât hear it. âThere was a girl in the case, Mr Bloom began, and
he determined to send him to the Isle of Man out of harmâs way but when they were both ...
âWhat? Mr Dedalus asked. That confirmed bloody
hobbledehoy is it?
Ulysses
166 of 1305 âYes, Mr Bloom said. They were both on the way to
the boat and he tried to drown ...
âDrown Barabbas! Mr Dedalus cried. I wish to Christ
he did!
Mr Power sent a long laugh down his shaded nostrils. âNo, Mr Bloom said, the son himself ... Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely: âReuben and the son were piking it down the quay
next the river on their way to the Isle of Man boat and the
young chiseller suddenly got loose and over the wall with him into the Liffey.
âFor Godâs sake! Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. Is
he dead?
âDead! Martin Cunningham cried. Not he! A
boatman got a pole and fished him out by the slack of the breeches and he was landed up to the father on the quay more dead than alive. Half the town was there.
âYes, Mr Bloom said. But the funny part is ... âAnd Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said, gave the
boatman a florin for saving his sonâs life.
A stifled sigh came from under Mr Powerâs hand. âO, he did, Martin Cunningham affirmed. Like a
hero. A silver florin.
âIsnât it awfully good? Mr Bloom said eagerly.
Ulysses
167 of 1305 âOne and eightpence too much, Mr Dedalus said
drily.
Mr Powerâs choked laugh burst quietly in the carriage. Nelsonâs pillar. âEight plums a penny! Eight for a penny! âWe had better look a little serious, Martin
Cunningham said.
Mr Dedalus sighed. âAh then indeed, he said, poor little Paddy wouldnât
grudge us a laugh. Many a good one he told himself.
âThe Lord forgive me! Mr Power said, wiping his wet
eyes with his fingers. Poor Pa ddy! I little thought a week
ago when I saw him last and he was in his usual health that
Iâd be driving after him like this. Heâs gone from us.
âAs decent a little man as ever wore a hat, Mr
Dedalus said. He went very suddenly.
âBreakdown, Martin Cunningham said. Heart. He tapped his chest sadly. Blazing face: redhot. Too much John Barleycorn. Cure
for a red nose. Drink like the devil till it turns adelite. A lot of money he spent colouring it.
Mr Power gazed at the pa ssing houses with rueful
apprehension.
âHe had a sudden death, poor fellow, he said.
Ulysses
Death and Social Judgment
- Mr. Bloom and his companions observe a child's funeral procession, prompting reflections on the fragility of life and the cruelty of nature.
- The group discusses the social and religious stigma of suicide, which is labeled a disgrace and a cowardly act by some.
- Martin Cunningham attempts to offer a charitable perspective on self-destruction, attributing it to temporary insanity to avoid harsh judgment.
- Bloom privately recalls the traumatic details of his own father's suicide, including the inquest, the red-labeled bottle, and the final letter addressed to him.
- The conversation shifts abruptly from the solemnity of death to the excitement of an upcoming auto race in Germany, highlighting the fleeting nature of grief.
They used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasnât broken already.
168 of 1305 âThe best death, Mr Bloom said.
Their wide open eyes looked at him. âNo suffering, he said. A mome nt and all is over. Like
dying in sleep.
No-one spoke. Dead side of the street this. Dull business by day, land
agents, temperance hotel, Falconerâs railway guide, civil service college, Gillâs, catholic club, the industrious blind.
Why? Some reason. Sun or wind. At night too. Chummies and slaveys. Under the patronage of the late Father Mathew. Foundation stone for Parnell. Breakdown. Heart.
White horses with white frontlet plumes came round
the Rotunda corner, galloping. A tiny coffin flashed by. In a hurry to bury. A mourning coach. Unmarried. Black for the married. Piebald for bachelors. Dun for a nun.
âSad, Martin Cunningham said. A child. A dwarfâs face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudyâs
was. Dwarfâs body, weak as pu tty, in a whitelined deal
box. Burial friendly society pays. Penny a week for a sod of turf. Our. Little. Beggar. Baby. Meant nothing. Mistake of nature. If itâs healthy itâs from the mother. If not from
the man. Better luck next time.
âPoor little thing, Mr Dedalu s said. Itâs well out of it.
Ulysses
169 of 1305 The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland
square. Rattle his bones. Over the stones. Only a pauper. Nobody owns.
âIn the midst of life, Martin Cunningham said. âBut the worst of all, Mr Power said, is the man who
takes his own life.
Martin Cunningham drew out his watch briskly,
coughed and put it back.
âThe greatest disgrace to have in the family, Mr
Power added.
âTemporary insanity, of course, Martin Cunningham
said decisively. We must take a charitable view of it.
âThey say a man who does it is a coward, Mr Dedalus
said.
âIt is not for us to judge, Martin Cunningham said. Mr Bloom, about to speak, clos ed his lips again. Martin
Cunninghamâs large eyes. Looking away now. Sympathetic human man he is. Intelligent. Like Shakespeareâs face. Always a good word to say. They have no mercy on that here or infanticide. Refuse christian
burial. They used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasnât broken already. Yet sometimes they repent too la te. Found in the riverbed
clutching rushes. He looked at me. And that awful
Ulysses
170 of 1305 drunkard of a wife of his. Setting up house for her time
after time and then pawning the furniture on him every Saturday almost. Leading him the life of the damned. Wear the heart out of a stone , that. Monday morning.
Start afresh. Shoulder to the wheel. Lord, she must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me he was in there. Drunk about the place and capering with Martinâs umbrella.
And they call me the jewel of Asia,
Of Asia,
The Geisha.
He looked away from me. He knows. Rattle his bones. That afternoon of the inquest. The redlabelled bottle
on the table. The room in the hotel with hunting pictures. Stuffy it was. Sunlight through the slats of the Venetian blind. The coronerâs sunlit ears, big and hairy. Boots giving evidence. Thought he was asleep first. Then saw like yellow streaks on his face. Had slipped down to the
foot of the bed. Verdict: overdose. Death by misadventure. The letter. For my son Leopold.
No more pain. Wake no more. Nobody owns. The carriage rattled swiftly along Blessington street.
Over the stones.
Ulysses
171 of 1305 âWe are going the pace, I think, Martin Cunningham
said.
âGod grant he doesnât upset us on the road, Mr
Power said.
âI hope not, Martin Cunningham said. That will be a
great race tomorrow in Germany. The Gordon Bennett.
âYes, by Jove, Mr Dedalus said. That will be worth
seeing, faith.
As they turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near
the Basin sent over and after them a rollicking rattling song of the halls. Has anybody here seen Kelly? Kay ee
double ell wy. Dead March from Saul. Heâs as bad as old
Antonio. He left me on my ownio. Pirouette! The Mater
Misericordiae . Eccles street. My house down there. Big
Cattle, Carriages, and Corpses
- The carriage journey is interrupted by a drove of cattle and sheep being herded toward the docks for export to England.
- Bloom reflects on the economic loss of the 'fifth quarter'âthe hides and byproductsâand suggests a tramline for livestock to clear the streets.
- Bloom proposes municipal funeral trams to improve efficiency and dignity, an idea met with skepticism and mockery by his companions.
- The men recount a gruesome local legend of a hearse capsizing at Dunphyâs corner, spilling a coffin and its occupant onto the road.
- Bloom contemplates the physical realities of death, including the decomposition of the body and the practicalities of sealing orifices with wax.
- The group passes Dunphyâs pub and the Royal Canal, observing the quiet, industrial landscape of Dublin's outskirts.
A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large for him.
place. Ward for incurables there. Very encouraging. Our Ladyâs Hospice for the dying. Deadhouse handy underneath. Where old Mrs Riordan died. They look terrible the women. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the spoon. Then the screen round her bed for her to die. Nice young student that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. Heâs gone over to the lying-in hospital they told me. From one extreme to the other. The carriage galloped round a corner: stopped.
âWhatâs wrong now?
Ulysses
172 of 1305 A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows,
lowing, slouching by on padde d hoofs, whisking their tails
slowly on their clotted bony croups. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear.
âEmigrants, Mr Power said. âHuuuh! the droverâs voice cried, his switch sounding
on their flanks.
Huuuh! out of that! Thursday, of course. Tomorrow is killing day.
Springers. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each.
For Liverpool probably. Roastbeef for old England. They buy up all the juicy ones. And then the fifth quarter lost:
all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Comes to a big thing in
a year. Dead meat trade. Byproducts of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Wonder if
that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the train at
Clonsilla.
The carriage moved on through the drove. âI canât make out why the corporation doesnât run a
tramline from the parkgate to the quays, Mr Bloom said. All those animals could be ta ken in trucks down to the
boats.
âInstead of blocking up the thoroughfare, Martin
Cunningham said. Quite right. They ought to.
Ulysses
173 of 1305 âYes, Mr Bloom said, and another thing I often
thought, is to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you know. Run the line out to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and all. Donât you see what I mean?
âO, that be damned for a story, Mr Dedalus said.
Pullman car and saloon diningroom.
âA poor lookout for Corny, Mr Power added. âWhy? Mr Bloom asked, turning to Mr Dedalus.
Wouldnât it be more decent than galloping two abreast?
âWell, thereâs something in that, Mr Dedalus granted. âAnd, Martin Cunningham said, we wouldnât have
scenes like that when the hear se capsized round Dunphyâs
and upset the coffin on to the road.
âThat was terrible, Mr Pow erâs shocked face said, and
the corpse fell about the road. Terrible!
âFirst round Dunphyâs, Mr Dedalus said, nodding.
Gordon Bennett cup.
âPraises be to God! Martin Cunningham said piously. Bom! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road.
Burst open. Paddy Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large for him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking whatâs up now. Quite right to close it. L ooks horrid open. Then the
Ulysses
174 of 1305 insides decompose quickly. Much better to close up all the
orifices. Yes, also. With wax. Th e sphincter loose. Seal up
all.
âDunphyâs, Mr Power announced as the carriage
turned right.
Dunphyâs corner. Mourning coaches drawn up,
drowning their grief. A paus e by the wayside. Tiptop
position for a pub. Expect weâll pull up here on the way back to drink his health. Pass round the consolation. Elixir of life.
But suppose now it did happen. Would he bleed if a
nail say cut him in the knocking about? He would and he
wouldnât, I suppose. Depends on where. The circulation
stops. Still some might ooze out of an artery. It would be
better to bury them in red: a dark red.
In silence they drove al ong Phibsborough road. An
empty hearse trotted by, comi ng from the cemetery: looks
relieved.
Crossguns bridge: the royal canal. Water rushed roaring through the sluices. A man stood
on his dropping barge, between clamps of turf. On the towpath by the lock a slacktethered horse. Aboard of the
Bugabu.
Ulysses
175 of 1305 Their eyes watched him. On the slow weedy waterway
he had floated on his raft co astward over Ireland drawn by
The Pomp of Death
- Leopold Bloom contemplates traveling the canal waterways to visit his daughter Milly, musing on houseboats and the transport of turf.
- The funeral carriage passes the site of the Childs murder, prompting a discussion on legal maxims and the public's morbid fascination with crime.
- The group arrives at Prospect Cemetery, passing a stonecutter's yard filled with white, sorrowful monuments and fragments of hewn shapes.
- Bloom reflects on the 'pomp of death' and the equality of the grave, noting that whether a funeral is paltry or grand, the end result is the same.
- As they disembark, Bloom discreetly moves a cake of soap between his pockets, maintaining his personal routine amidst the funereal atmosphere.
An old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. After lifeâs journey.
a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the canal. Or cycle down. Hire some old crock, safety. Wren had one the other day at the auction but a ladyâs. Developing waterways. James MâCannâs hobby to row me oâer the ferry. Cheaper transit. By easy stages. Houseboats.
Camping out. Also hearses. To heaven by water. Perhaps I will without writing. Come as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin. With
turf from the midland bogs. Salute. He lifted his brown
straw hat, saluting Paddy Dignam.
They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. Near it
now.
âI wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr
Power said.
âBetter ask Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said. âHow is that? Martin Cunningham said. Left him
weeping, I suppose?
âThough lost to sight, Mr Dedalus said, to memory
dear.
The carriage steered left for Finglas road.
Ulysses
176 of 1305 The stonecutterâs yard on the right. Last lap. Crowded
on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white, sorrowful, holding out calm hands, knelt in grief, pointing. Fragments of shapes, hewn. In white silence: appealing. The best obtainable. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor.
Passed. On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the sextonâs, an
old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. After lifeâs journey.
Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one: gloomy
houses.
Mr Power pointed.
âThat is where Childs was mu rdered, he said. The last
house.
âSo it is, Mr Dedalus said. A gruesome case. Seymour
Bushe got him off. Murdered his brother. Or so they said.
âThe crown had no evidence, Mr Power said. âOnly circumstantial, Martin Cunningham added.
Thatâs the maxim of the law. Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for one innoc ent person to be wrongfully
condemned.
They looked. Murdererâs ground. It passed darkly.
Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. Whole place
Ulysses
177 of 1305 gone to hell. Wrongfully condemned. Murder. The
murdererâs image in the eye of the murdered. They love reading about it. Manâs head found in a garden. Her clothing consisted of. How she met her death. Recent
outrage. The weapon used. Mu rderer is still at large.
Clues. A shoelace. The body to be exhumed. Murder will out.
Cramped in this carriage. Sh e mightnât like me to come
that way without letting her know. Must be careful about
women. Catch them once with their pants down. Never forgive you after. Fifteen.
The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze.
Dark poplars, rare white forms. Forms more frequent,
white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the air.
The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped.
Martin Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back
the handle, shoved the door open with his knee. He stepped out. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus followed.
Change that soap now. Mr Bloomâs hand unbuttoned
his hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief pocket. He stepped out of the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other hand still held.
Ulysses
178 of 1305 Paltry funeral: coach and th ree carriages. Itâs all the
same. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Pomp of death. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the dead. Dogbiscuits. Who ate
them? Mourners coming out.
He followed his companions. Mr Kernan and Ned
Lambert followed, Hynes walking after them. Corny Kelleher stood by the opened hearse and took out the two wreaths. He handed one to the boy.
Where is that childâs funeral disappeared to? A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling
plodding tread, dragging through the funereal silence a
The Weight of Mortality
- Bloom reflects on the relentless frequency of death, noting the constant stream of funerals and the sheer volume of people being buried daily.
- A tense social moment occurs when Martin Cunningham reveals to Mr. Power that Bloom's father committed suicide, explaining his earlier discomfort with the topic.
- The mourners discuss the financial ruin of the deceased, Paddy Dignam, including his mortgaged insurance policy and the need for a collection to support his five children.
- Bloom muses on the nature of widowhood and the inevitability of one partner outliving the other, drawing parallels to Queen Victoria's long mourning.
- The men engage in hushed, casual conversation about mutual acquaintances and the physical decline of old friends while waiting at the mortuary chapel.
- The narrative highlights the contrast between the solemnity of the funeral and the practical, often blunt, concerns of the living regarding money and social standing.
One must go first: alone, under the ground: and lie no more in her warm bed.
creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. The waggoner marching at their head saluted.
Coffin now. Got here before us, dead as he is. Horse
looking round at it with his plume skeowways. Dull eye: collar tight on his neck, pressing on a bloodvessel or something. Do they know what they cart out here every day? Must be twenty or thirty funerals every day. Then Mount Jerome for the prote stants. Funerals all over the
world everywhere every minut e. Shovelling them under
by the cartload doublequick. Thousands every hour. Too many in the world.
Ulysses
179 of 1305 Mourners came out through the gates: woman and a
girl. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a bargain, her bonnet awry. Girlâs face stained with dirt and tears, holding the womanâs arm, looking up at her for a sign to cry. Fishâs face, bloodless and livid.
The mutes shouldered the coffin and bore it in through
the gates. So much dead weight. Felt heavier myself stepping out of that bath. First the stiff: then the friends of
the stiff. Corny Kelleher and the boy followed with their wreaths. Who is that beside them? Ah, the brother-in-law.
All walked after. Martin Cunningham whispered:
âI was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide
before Bloom.
âWhat? Mr Power whispered. How so? âHis father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham
whispered. Had the Queenâs hotel in Ennis. You heard him say he was going to Clare. Anniversary.
âO God! Mr Power whispered. First I heard of it.
Poisoned himself?
He glanced behind him to where a face with dark
thinking eyes followed towards the cardinalâs mausoleum. Speaking.
âWas he insured? Mr Bloom asked.
Ulysses
180 of 1305 âI believe so, Mr Kernan answered. But the policy
was heavily mortgaged. Martin is trying to get the youngster into Artane.
âHow many children did he leave? âFive. Ned Lambert says heâll try to get one of the
girls into Toddâs.
âA sad case, Mr Bloom said gently. Five young
children.
âA great blow to the poor wife, Mr Kernan added. âIndeed yes, Mr Bloom agreed. Has the laugh at him now. He looked down at the boots he had blacked and
polished. She had outlived him. Lost her husband. More
dead for her than for me. One must outlive the other. Wise men say. There are more women than men in the world. Condole with her. Your terrible loss. I hope youâll soon follow him. For Hindu widows only. She would marry another. Him? No. Yet who knows after. Widowhood not the thing since the old queen died. Drawn on a guncarriage. Victoria and Albert. Frogmore memorial mourning. But in the end she put a few violets in her bonnet. Vain in her heart of hearts. All for a shadow. Consort not even a king. Her son was the substance. Something new to hope for not like the past
Ulysses
181 of 1305 she wanted back, waiting. It never comes. One must go
first: alone, under the ground: and lie no more in her warm bed.
âHow are you, Simon? Ned Lambert said softly,
clasping hands. Havenât seen you for a month of Sundays.
âNever better. How are all in Corkâs own town? âI was down there for the Cork park races on Easter
Monday, Ned Lambert said. Same old six and eightpence. Stopped with Dick Tivy.
âAnd how is Dick, the solid man? âNothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert
answered.
âBy the holy Paul! Mr De dalus said in subdued
wonder. Dick Tivy bald?
âMartin is going to get up a whip for the youngsters,
Ned Lambert said, pointing ahead. A few bob a skull. Just to keep them going till th e insurance is cleared up.
âYes, yes, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. Is that the
eldest boy in front?
âYes, Ned Lambert said, with the wifeâs brother. John
Henry Menton is behind. He put down his name for a
quid.
Ulysses
182 of 1305 âIâll engage he did, Mr Dedalus said. I often told poor
Paddy he ought to mind that job. John Henry is not the
worst in the world.
âHow did he lose it? Ned Lambert asked. Liquor,
what?
âMany a good manâs fault, Mr Dedalus said with a
sigh.
They halted about the door of the mortuary chapel. Mr
The Ritual of the Dead
- Leopold Bloom observes the funeral rites for Paddy Dignam, focusing on the physical presence of the deceased's son and the mechanics of the chapel service.
- Bloom offers a cynical and irreverent internal monologue regarding Father Coffey, comparing the priest's physical appearance to a 'poisoned pup' and a toad.
- The narrative highlights the performative nature of the Latin liturgy, which Bloom suggests is designed to make the mourners feel more important despite the repetitive nature of the task.
- Bloom's thoughts drift toward the macabre biological realities of death, specifically the accumulation of 'bad gas' in coffins and the necessity of venting it.
- The scene underscores the mechanical indifference of the clergy, who perform the same blessings over a 'fresh batch' of corpses every day regardless of their identity.
- The transition from the spiritual service to the physical labor of the gravediggers emphasizes the functional, almost industrial process of disposing of the dead.
Down in the vaults of saint Werburghâs lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore a hole in the coffins sometimes to let out the bad gas and burn it.
Bloom stood behind the boy with the wreath looking down at his sleekcombed hair and at the slender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar. Poor boy! Was he there when the father? Both unconscious. Lighten up at the last
moment and recognise for the last time. All he might have
done. I owe three shillings to OâGrady. Would he understand? The mutes bore the coffin into the chapel. Which end is his head?
After a moment he followed the others in, blinking in
the screened light. The coffin lay on its bier before the
chancel, four tall yellow candle s at its corners. Always in
front of us. Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore corner, beckoned to the boy to kneel. The mourners knelt
here and there in prayingdesks. Mr Bloom stood behind near the font and, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his pocket and knelt his right
Ulysses
183 of 1305 knee upon it. He fitted his bla ck hat gently on his left
knee and, holding its brim, bent over piously.
A server bearing a brass buck et with something in it
came out through a door. Th e whitesmocked priest came
after him, tidying his stole with one hand, balancing with the other a little book against his toadâs belly. Whoâll read the book? I, said the rook.
They halted by the bier and the priest began to read
out of his book with a fluent croak.
Father Coffey. I knew his name was like a coffin.
Domine-namine. Bully about the muzzle he looks. Bosses
the show. Muscular christian. Woe betide anyone that
looks crooked at him: priest. Thou art Peter. Burst sideways like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he will. With a belly on him like a poisoned pup. Most amusing expressions that man finds. Hhhn: burst sideways.
âNon intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine.
Makes them feel more important to be prayed over in
Latin. Requiem mass. Crape weepers. Blackedged notepaper. Your name on the altarlist. Chilly place this. Want to feed well, sitting in there all the morning in the
gloom kicking his heels waiting for the next please. Eyes of a toad too. What swells him up that way? Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Air of the place maybe. Looks full
Ulysses
184 of 1305 up of bad gas. Must be an i nfernal lot of bad gas round the
place. Butchers, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks. Who was telling me? Mervyn Browne. Down in the vaults of saint Werburghâs lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore a hole in the coffins sometimes to
let out the bad gas and burn it. Out it rushes: blue. One
whiff of that and youâre a goner.
My kneecap is hurting me. Ow. Thatâs better. The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out
of the boyâs bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As you were before
you rested. Itâs all written down: he has to do it.
âEt ne nos inducas in tentationem.
The server piped the answers in the treble. I often
thought it would be better to have boy servants. Up to fifteen or so. After that, of course ...
Holy water that was, I expect. Shaking sleep out of it.
He must be fed up with that job, shaking that thing over all the corpses they trot up. What harm if he could see what he was shaking it over. Every mortal day a fresh batch: middleaged men, old women, children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrowsâ
Ulysses
185 of 1305 breasts. All the year round he prayed the same thing over
them all and shook water on top of them: sleep. On Dignam now.
âIn paradisum.
Said he was going to paradise or is in paradise. Says that
over everybody. Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something.
The priest closed his book and went off, followed by
the server. Corny Kelleher op ened the sidedoors and the
gravediggers came in, hoisted the coffin again, carried it
out and shoved it on their cart. Corny Kelleher gave one
The Last Day Idea
- The funeral procession moves through Glasnevin Cemetery, passing the monument of Daniel O'Connell as Simon Dedalus breaks down in grief over his late wife.
- Mr. Kernan critiques the Catholic funeral service, comparing it unfavorably to the Protestant rites at Mount Jerome.
- Leopold Bloom privately rejects the religious concept of resurrection, viewing the human heart as a mere mechanical pump that eventually fails.
- Bloom reflects on the absurdity of the afterlife, imagining the chaos of souls searching for their decomposed organs on Judgment Day.
- John Henry Menton inquires about Bloom's identity, remembering his wife Molly as a 'finelooking woman' and recalling a past social slight.
The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth, Lazarus! And he came fifth and lost the job.
wreath to the boy and one to the brother-in-law. All
followed them out of the sidedoors into the mild grey air. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into his
pocket. He gazed gravely at the ground till the coffincart
wheeled off to the left. The metal wheels ground the gravel with a sharp grating cry and the pack of blunt boots followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres.
The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Lord, I mustnât
lilt here.
âThe OâConnell circle, Mr Dedalus said about him. Mr Powerâs soft eyes went up to the apex of the lofty
cone.
Ulysses
186 of 1305 âHeâs at rest, he said, in the middle of his people, old
Dan Oâ. But his heart is buried in Rome. How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon!
âHer grave is over there, Jack, Mr Dedalus said. Iâll
soon be stretched beside her. Let Him take me whenever
He likes.
Breaking down, he began to weep to himself quietly,
stumbling a little in his walk. Mr Power took his arm.
âSheâs better where she is, he said kindly. âI suppose so, Mr Dedalus said with a weak gasp. I
suppose she is in heaven if there is a heaven.
Corny Kelleher stepped aside from his rank and
allowed the mourners to plod by.
âSad occasions, Mr Kernan began politely. Mr Bloom closed his eyes and sadly twice bowed his
head.
âThe others are putting on their hats, Mr Kernan said.
I suppose we can do so too. We are the last. This cemetery is a treacherous place.
They covered their heads. âThe reverend gentleman read the service too
quickly, donât you think? Mr Kernan said with reproof.
Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the quick
bloodshot eyes. Secret eyes, secretsearching. Mason, I
Ulysses
187 of 1305 think: not sure. Beside him agai n. We are the last. In the
same boat. Hope heâll say something else.
Mr Kernan added: âThe service of the Irish church used in Mount
Jerome is simpler, more impressive I must say.
Mr Bloom gave prudent assent. The language of course
was another thing.
Mr Kernan said with solemnity:
âI am the resurrection and the life . That touches a manâs
inmost heart.
âIt does, Mr Bloom said.
Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six
feet by two with his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections. Broken heart. A pump after all,
pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are. Lots of them lying around here: lungs, hear ts, livers. Old rusty pumps:
damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. That last day idea. Knocking
them all up out of their grav es. Come forth, Lazarus! And
he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps. Find damn all of himself that
Ulysses
188 of 1305 morning. Pennyweight of powder in a skull. Twelve
grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure.
Corny Kelleher fell into step at their side. âEverything went off A1, he said. What? He looked on them from his drawling eye. Policemanâs
shoulders. With your tooraloom tooraloom.
âAs it should be, Mr Kernan said. âWhat? Eh? Corny Kelleher said. Mr Kernan assured him. âWho is that chap behind with Tom Kernan? John
Henry Menton asked. I know his face.
Ned Lambert glanced back.
âBloom, he said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was,
is, I mean, the soprano. Sheâs his wife.
âO, to be sure, John He nry Menton said. I havenât
seen her for some time. he was a finelooking woman. I danced with her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago,
at Mat Dillonâs in Roundtown . And a good armful she
was.
He looked behind through the others. âWhat is he? he asked. What does he do? Wasnât he
in the stationery line? I fell foul of him one evening, I remember, at bowls.
Ned Lambert smiled.
Ulysses
189 of 1305 âYes, he was, he said, in Wisdom Helyâs. A traveller
for blottingpaper.
âIn Godâs name, John Henry Menton said, what did
Humor and Mortality at Glasnevin
- The funeral party arrives at the cemetery and is greeted by the caretaker, John OâConnell, a man of professional poise and social standing.
- OâConnell shares a humorous anecdote about two drunks misidentifying a statue of Christ as their deceased friend Mulcahy.
- Martin Cunningham explains that the caretakerâs levity is a deliberate act of kindness intended to cheer up the bereaved.
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the caretakerâs domestic life, wondering what kind of woman would agree to live in a graveyard.
- Bloomâs internal monologue shifts from the logistics of advertising to morbidly erotic thoughts about 'love among the tombstones.'
- The narrative explores the proximity of life and death, noting how the living find ways to maintain desire and humor even in the presence of the 'holy fields.'
And, after blinking up at the sacred figure, Not a bloody bit like the man, says he. Thatâs not Mulcahy, says he, whoever done it.
she marry a coon like that for? She had plenty of game in her then.
âHas still, Ned Lambert said. He does some canvassing
for ads.
John Henry Mentonâs large eyes stared ahead. The barrow turned into a s ide lane. A portly man,
ambushed among the grasses, raised his hat in homage.
The gravediggers touched their caps.
âJohn OâConnell, Mr Power said pleased. He never
forgets a friend.
Mr OâConnell shook all thei r hands in silence. Mr
Dedalus said:
âI am come to pay you another visit. âMy dear Simon, the caret aker answered in a low
voice. I donât want your custom at all.
Saluting Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton he
walked on at Martin Cunning hamâs side puzzling two
long keys at his back.
âDid you hear that one, he asked them, about
Mulcahy from the Coombe?
âI did not, Martin Cunningham said.
Ulysses
190 of 1305 They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes inclined
his ear. The caretaker hung his thumbs in the loops of his gold watchchain and spoke in a discreet tone to their vacant smiles.
âThey tell the story, he said, that two drunks came
out here one foggy evening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked for Mulcahy from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. After traipsing about in the fog they found the grave sure enough. One of the drunks sp elt out the name: Terence
Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinking up at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up.
The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they
passed. He resumed:
âAnd, after blinking up at the sacred figure, Not a
bloody bit like the man , says he. Thatâs not Mulcahy , says he,
whoever done it .
Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny
Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, turning them over and scanning them as he walked.
âThatâs all done with a purpose, Martin Cunningham
explained to Hynes.
âI know, Hynes said. I know that.
Ulysses
191 of 1305 âTo cheer a fellow up, Martin Cunningham said. Itâs
pure goodheartedness: damn the thing else.
Mr Bloom admired the caretakerâs prosperous bulk. All
want to be on good terms wit h him. Decent fellow, John
OâConnell, real good sort. Keys: like Keyesâs ad: no fear of
anyone getting out. No passout checks. Habeas corpus . I
must see about that ad after the funeral. Did I write Ballsbridge on the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha? Hope itâs not chucked in
the dead letter office. Be the better of a shave. Grey sprouting beard. Thatâs the first sign when the hairs come
out grey. And temper getting cross. Silver threads among
the grey. Fancy being his wife. Wonder he had the gumption to propose to any gi rl. Come out and live in the
graveyard. Dangle that before he r. It might thrill her first.
Courting death ... Shades of night hovering here with all the dead stretched about. The shadows of the tombs when churchyards yawn and Daniel OâConnell must be a descendant I suppose who is th is used to say he was a
queer breedy man great catholic all the same like a big giant in the dark. Will oâ the wisp. Gas of graves. Want to
keep her mind off it to concei ve at all. Women especially
are so touchy. Tell her a ghos t story in bed to make her
sleep. Have you ever seen a ghost? Well, I have. It was a
Ulysses
192 of 1305 pitchdark night. The clock was on the stroke of twelve.
Still theyâd kiss all right if pr operly keyed up. Whores in
Turkish graveyards. Learn any thing if taken young. You
might pick up a young widow here. Men like that. Love among the tombstones. Romeo. Spice of pleasure. In the
midst of death we are in life. Both ends meet. Tantalising for the poor dead. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the
starving. Gnawing their vitals. Desire to grig people. Molly wanting to do it at the window. Eight children he has anyway.
He has seen a fair share go under in his time, lying
around him field after field. Holy fields. More room if
they buried them standing. Sitting or kneeling you
Reflections on the Grave
- Bloom contemplates the physical reality of decomposition, imagining the soil enriched by 'corpsemanure' and the biological cycles of decay.
- The narrative explores the psychological defense of humor in the face of death, referencing the gravediggers in Hamlet and the necessity of joking to endure grief.
- Bloom observes the professional detachment of the cemetery caretaker and the logistical business of scheduling funerals.
- The appearance of a mysterious figure in a macintosh sparks Bloom's curiosity about the social rituals of mourning and the presence of strangers at burials.
- The text reflects on the human instinct to bury the dead, comparing it to the behavior of ants and the literary isolation of Robinson Crusoe.
- Bloom critiques the wastefulness of coffins and suggests more efficient burial methods, while acknowledging the sentimental desire for 'native earth'.
Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of them. Then dried up. Deathmoths.
couldnât. Standing? His head might come up some day above ground in a landslip with his hand pointing. All honeycombed the ground must be: oblong cells. And very neat he keeps it too: trim grass and edgings. His garden
Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome. Well, so it is. Ought to be flowers of sleep. Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies growing produce the best opium Mastiansky told me. The Botanic Gardens are just over there. Itâs the
blood sinking in the earth gives new life. Same idea those jews they said killed the christian boy. Every man his price. Well preserved fat co rpse, gentleman, epicure,
Ulysses
193 of 1305 invaluable for fruit garden. A bargain. By carcass of
William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six. With thanks.
I daresay the soil would be quite fat with
corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. Charnelhouses. Dreadful. Turning green and pink decomposing. Rot quick in damp earth. The lean old ones tougher. Then a kind of a tallowy kind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of them. Then dried up. Deathmoths. Of course the ce lls or whatever they are go
on living. Changing about. Live for ever practically. Nothing to feed on feed on themselves.
But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil
must be simply swirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty little seaside gurls. He looks cheerful enough over it. Gives him a sense of power seeing all the others go under first. Wonder how he looks at life. Cracking his jokes t oo: warms the cockles of his heart.
The one about the bulletin. Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning. 11 p.m. (closing time). Not arrived yet. Peter. The dead themselves the men anyhow would like to hear an odd joke or th e women to know whatâs in
fashion. A juicy pear or ladie sâ punch, hot, strong and
sweet. Keep out the damp. Y ou must laugh so metimes so
Ulysses
194 of 1305 better do it that way. Gravediggers in Hamlet . Shows the
profound knowledge of the human heart. Darenât joke
about the dead for two years at least. De mortuis nil nisi
prius. Go out of mourning first. Hard to imagine his
funeral. Seems a sort of a jo ke. Read your own obituary
notice they say you live longer. Gives you second wind. New lease of life.
âHow many have-you for tomorrow? the caretaker
asked.
âTwo, Corny Kelleher said. Half ten and eleven.
The caretaker put the papers in his pocket. The barrow
had ceased to trundle. The m ourners split and moved to
each side of the hole, stepping with care round the graves. The gravediggers bore the coffin and set its nose on the brink, looping the bands round it.
Burying him. We come to bury Caesar. His ides of
March or June. He doesnât know who is here nor care.
Now who is that lankylooking galoot over there in the macintosh? Now who is he Iâd like to know? Now Iâd give a trifle to know who he is. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. A fellow could live on his lonesome all his life. Yes, he could. Still heâd have to get someone to sod him after he died though he could dig his own grave.
We all do. Only man buries. No, ants too. First thing
Ulysses
195 of 1305 strikes anybody. Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was
true to life. Well then Frida y buried him. Every Friday
buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.
O, poor Robinson Crusoe!
How could you possibly do so?
Poor Dignam! His last lie on the earth in his box.
When you think of them all it does seem a waste of wood. All gnawed through. They could invent a handsome bier with a kind of panel sliding, let it down that way. Ay but they might object to be buried out of another fellowâs.
Theyâre so particular. Lay me in my native earth. Bit of
clay from the holy land. Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in the one c offin. I see what it means. I
see. To protect him as long as possible even in the earth.
The Irishmanâs house is his coffin. Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same idea.
The Grave's Edge
- Mr. Bloom observes the funeral proceedings, counting the mourners and noting a mysterious thirteenth man in a macintosh.
- The narrative follows Bloom's stream of consciousness as he shifts from mundane observations about clothing to visceral anxieties about the physical reality of death.
- Bloom reflects on the grim details of the death struggle, including the signs of bodily decay and the psychological terror of being buried alive.
- The ritual of burial prompts memories of Bloom's own lost family members, specifically his father, mother, and his infant son, Rudy.
- As the coffin is covered with clay, Bloom considers the inevitability of being forgotten and the practical, almost clinical, indifference of the cemetery caretaker.
- The scene concludes with the social formalities of the funeral as Hynes collects names for the newspaper report, including a favor for the absent M'Coy.
Out of the fryingpan of life into the fire of purgatory. Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself?
Mr Bloom stood far back, his hat in his hand, counting
the bared heads. Twelve. Iâm thirteen. No. The chap in the macintosh is thirteen . Deathâs number. Where the
deuce did he pop out of? He wasn ât in the chapel, that Iâll
swear. Silly superstition that about thirteen.
Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert has in that suit. Tinge of
purple. I had one like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Dressy fellow he was once. Used to change
Ulysses
196 of 1305 three suits in the day. Must get that grey suit of mine
turned by Mesias. Hello. Itâs dyed. His wife I forgot heâs
not married or his landlady ought to have picked out those threads for him.
The coffin dived out of sight, eased down by the men
straddled on the gravetrestles. They struggled up and out:
and all uncovered. Twenty.
Pause. If we were all suddenly somebody else. Far away a donkey brayed. Rain. No such ass. Never
see a dead one, they say. Shame of death. They hide. Also poor papa went away.
Gentle sweet air blew round the bared heads in a
whisper. Whisper. The boy by the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the black open space. Mr Bloom moved behind the portly kindly caretaker. Wellcut frockcoat. Weighing them up perhaps to see which will go next. Well, it is a long rest. Feel no more. Itâs the moment you feel. Must be damned unpleasant. Canât believe it at first. Mistake must be:
someone else. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I havenât yet. Then darkened deathchamber. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would you like to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you
Ulysses
197 of 1305 hid all your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not
natural. Press his lower eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the soles of his feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the floor since heâs doomed. Devil in that picture of sinnerâs death showing him a woman. Dying to embrace her in his shirt.
Last act of Lucia. Shall i nevermore behold thee ? Bam! He
expires. Gone at last. People talk about you a bit: forget you. Donât forget to pray for him. Remember him in your prayers. Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out. Then they follow: dropping into a hole, one after the other.
We are praying now for the repose of his soul. Hoping
youâre well and not in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the fryingpan of life into the fire of purgatory.
Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself?
They say you do when you shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboyâs warning. Near you. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma, poor mamma, and little Rudy.
The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy
clods of clay in on the coffin. Mr Bloom turned away his face. And if he was alive all the time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, of course. Of
course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have
Ulysses
198 of 1305 some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric
clock or a telephone in th e coffin and some kind of a
canvas airhole. Flag of distress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well to get shut of them as soon as you are sure thereâs no.
The clay fell softer. Begin to be forgotten. Out of sight,
out of mind.
The caretaker moved away a few paces and put on his
hat. Had enough of it. The mour ners took heart of grace,
one by one, covering themselves without show. Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly figure make its
way deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of his
ground, he traversed the dismal fields.
Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. Ah,
the names. But he knows them all. No: coming to me.
âI am just taking the names, Hynes said below his
breath. What is your christian name? Iâm not sure.
âL, Mr Bloom said. Leop old. And you might put
down MâCoyâs name too. He asked me to.
âCharley, Hynes said writing. I know. He was on the
Freeman once.
Graveyard Reflections and Mortal Ends
- The burial concludes as gravediggers fill the hole with damp clay and clean their tools with a practiced, mechanical indifference.
- A misunderstanding occurs between Hynes and Bloom regarding a mysterious figure in a mackintosh, leading Hynes to record the name 'M'Intosh' incorrectly.
- The mourners discuss the myth of Parnell, with some suggesting his grave is empty and he will return, while others insist on his finality.
- Bloom critiques the wastefulness of expensive funerals, suggesting the money would be better spent on the living rather than on 'stone hopes' and weeds.
- Bloom muses on the euphemisms of death, preferring honest epitaphs that describe a person's actual life and trade over religious platitudes.
- The scene captures the transition from the solemnity of the ritual to the mundane reality of the survivors moving on with their day.
Some say he is not in that grave at all. That the coffin was filled with stones. That one day he will come again.
So he was before he got the job in the morgue under
Louis Byrne. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Find out what they imagine they know. He died of a Tuesday.
Ulysses
199 of 1305 Got the run. Levanted with th e cash of a few ads. Charley,
youâre my darling. That was why he asked me to. O well,
does no harm. I saw to that, MâCoy. Thanks, old chap: much obliged. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing.
âAnd tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in
the, fellow was over there in the ...
He looked around. âMacintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is
he now?
âMâIntosh, Hynes said scribbling. I donât know who
he is. Is that his name?
He moved away, looking about him.
âNo, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say,
Hynes!
Didnât hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not
a sign. Well of all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good Lord, what became of
him?
A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take
up an idle spade.
âO, excuse me! He stepped aside nimbly.
Ulysses
200 of 1305 Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It
rose. Nearly over. A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and the gravediggers rested their spades. All uncovered again for a few insta nts. The boy propped his
wreath against a corner: the brother-in-law his on a lump. The gravediggers put on their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Then knocked the blades lightly on the turf: clean. One bent to pluck from the haft a long tuft of grass. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with shouldered weapon, its blade blueglancing. Silently at the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. His navelcord. The brother-in-law, turning away, placed
something in his free hand. Thanks in silence. Sorry, sir:
trouble. Headshake. I know that. For yourselves just.
The mourners moved away slowly without aim, by
devious paths, staying at whiles to read a name on a tomb.
âLet us go round by the ch iefâs grave, Hynes said. We
have time.
âLet us, Mr Power said. They turned to the right, following their slow
thoughts. With awe Mr Powerâs blank voice spoke:
âSome say he is not in that grave at all. That the
coffin was filled with stones. That one day he will come
again.
Ulysses
201 of 1305 Hynes shook his head.
âParnell will never come again, he said. Heâs there, all
that was mortal of him. Peace to his ashes.
Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by
saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Irelandâs hearts and hands. More sensible to spend the money on some charity for the living. Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does
anybody really? Plant him and have done with him. Like down a coalshoot. Then lump them together to save time.
All soulsâ day. Twentyseventh Iâll be at his grave. Ten shillings for the gardener. He keeps it free of weeds. Old
man himself. Bent down double with his shears clipping.
Near deathâs door. Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it of thei r own accord. Got the shove,
all of them. Who kicked the bucket. More interesting if
they told you what they were. So and So, wheelwright. I travelled for cork lino. I paid five shillings in the pound. Or a womanâs with her saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew. Eulogy in a country church yard it ought to be that
poem of whose is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell. Entered into rest the protestants put it. Old Dr Murrenâs. The great physician called him home. Well itâs Godâs acre for them. Nice country residence. Newly plastered and
Ulysses
202 of 1305 painted. Ideal spot to have a quiet smoke and read the
Church Times. Marriage ads they never try to beautify.
Rusty wreaths hung on k nobs, garlands of bronzefoil.
Better value that for the mone y. Still, the flowers are more
poetical. The other gets rath er tiresome, never withering.
Expresses nothing. Immortelles.
A bird sat tamely perched on a poplar branch. Like
Reflections on Mortality and Decay
- The narrator contemplates the physical reality of death, contrasting the sentimentality of memorials with the visceral decay of the body.
- A proposal is made for gramophones in graves to preserve the voices of the deceased, noting how quickly faces and identities are forgotten over time.
- The sight of a rat in the cemetery prompts a grim meditation on the cycle of consumption, where corpses are viewed as 'meat gone bad' and cheese as the 'corpse of milk.'
- Different methods of disposalâcremation, burial at sea, and towers of silenceâare weighed against the traditional burial favored by the church.
- The narrator rejects the morbid fascination with the 'other world' of the dead, choosing instead to embrace the warmth and vitality of the living.
A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and whatâs cheese? Corpse of milk.
stuffed. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Hoo! Not a budge out of him. Knows there are no catapults to let fly at him. Dead animal even sadder. Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the kitchen matchbox,
a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the grave.
The Sacred Heart that is: showing it. Heart on his
sleeve. Ought to be sideways and red it should be painted like a real heart. Ireland was dedicated to it or whatever that. Seems anything but pleased. Why this infliction? Would birds come then and peck like the boy with the basket of fruit but he said no because they ought to have been afraid of the boy. Apollo that was.
How many! All these here once walked round Dublin.
Faithful departed. As you are now so once were we.
Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes,
walk, voice. Well, the voice, yes: gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or ke ep it in the house. After
Ulysses
203 of 1305 dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old greatgrandfather.
Kraahraark! Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain hellohello amawf krpthsth. Remind you of the voice like the phot ograph reminds you of the
face. Otherwise you couldn ât remember the face after
fifteen years, say. For instance who? For instance some fellow that died when I was in Wisdom Helyâs.
Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop! He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some
animal. Wait. There he goes.
An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt,
moving the pebbles. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he
knows the ropes. The grey aliv e crushed itself in under the
plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Good hidingplace for treasure.
Who lives there? Are laid the remains of Robert
Emery. Robert Emmet was buried here by torchlight, wasnât he? Making his rounds.
Tail gone now. One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow.
Pick the bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and whatâs
cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that Voyages in China that
the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse.
Ulysses
204 of 1305 Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the
other firm. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklim e feverpits to eat them.
Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashe s. Or bury at sea. Where is
that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water. Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But being brought back to life no. Canât bury in the air however. Out of a flying machine. Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down. Underground communi cation. We learned that
from them. Wouldnât be su rprised. Regular square feed
for them. Flies come before heâs well dead. Got wind of
Dignam. They wouldnât care about the smell of it.
Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw
white turnips.
The gates glimmered in front: still open. Back to the
world again. Enough of this pla ce. Brings you a bit nearer
every time. Last time I was here was Mrs Sinicoâs funeral.
Poor papa too. The love t hat kills. And even scraping up
the earth at night with a lantern like that case I read of to
get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. Give you the creeps after a bit. I will appear to
you after death. You will see my ghost after death. My ghost will haunt you after death. There is another world
Ulysses
205 of 1305 after death named hell. I do not like that other world she
wrote. No more do I. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. They are not going to get me this innings. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life.
Martin Cunningham emerged from a sidepath, talking
gravely.
Solicitor, I think. I know his face. Menton, John
Dublin Streets and Press Offices
- Mr. Bloom attempts a polite gesture toward John Henry Menton, who responds with cold, dismissive arrogance.
- The narrative shifts to the bustling center of Dublin, detailing the rhythmic movements of the city's extensive tram system.
- The General Post Office serves as a hub of imperial communication, processing mail for local and international delivery.
- Bloom visits a newspaper office to handle an advertisement for Alexander Keyes, navigating the professional hierarchy of the press.
- The sensory environment is defined by the 'dullthudding' of Guinness barrels and the mechanical sounds of the printing works.
- The appearance of William Brayden, a figure of local importance, commands immediate silent respect from the office staff.
John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving.
Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits. Dignam used to be in his of fice. Mat Dillonâ s long ago.
Jolly Mat. Convivial evenings. Cold fowl, cigars, the Tantalus glasses. Heart of gold really. Yes, Menton. Got
his rag out that evening on the bowlinggreen because I
sailed inside him. Pure fluke of mine: the bias. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me . Hate at first sight. Molly
and Floey Dillon linked under the lilactree, laughing. Fellow always like that, mo rtified if women are by.
Got a dinge in the side of his hat. Carriage probably. âExcuse me, sir, Mr Bloom said beside them. They stopped. âYour hat is a little crushed, Mr Bloom said pointing. John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant
without moving.
Ulysses
206 of 1305 âThere, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing also.
John Henry Menton took off his hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his coatsleeve. He clapped the hat on his head again.
âItâs all right now, Martin Cunningham said. John Henry Menton jerked his head down in
acknowledgment.
âThank you, he said shortly. They walked on towards the gates. Mr Bloom,
chapfallen, drew behind a few paces so as not to overhear.
Martin laying down the law. Martin could wind a
sappyhead like that round his little finger, without his
seeing it.
Oyster eyes. Never mind. Be sorry after perhaps when
it dawns on him. Get the pull over him that way.
Thank you. How grand we are this morning!
* * * * *
IN THE HEART OF THE HIBERNIAN
METROPOLIS
Before Nelsonâs pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed
trolley, started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey,
Ulysses
207 of 1305 Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and
upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Haroldâs Cross. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Companyâs timekeeper bawled them off:
âRathgar and Terenure! âCome on, Sandymount Green! Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker
and a singledeck moved from their railheads, swerved to the down line, glided parallel.
âStart, Palmerston Park!
THE WEARER OF THE CROWN
Under the porch of the general post office shoeblacks
called and polished. Parked in North Princeâs street His Majestyâs vermilion mailcars, bearing on their sides the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters,
postcards, lettercards, parcels, insured and paid, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery.
GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS
Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of
Princeâs stores and bumped th em up on the brewery float.
Ulysses
208 of 1305 On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled
by grossbooted draymen out of Princeâs stores.
âThere it is, Red Murray said. Alexander Keyes. âJust cut it out, will you? Mr Bloom said, and Iâll take
it round to the Telegraph office.
The door of Ruttledgeâs office creaked again. Davy
Stephens, minute in a large capecoat, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a roll of papers under his cape, a kingâs courier.
Red Murrayâs long shears s liced out the advertisement
from the newspaper in four clean strokes. Scissors and
paste.
âIâll go through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said,
taking the cut square.
âOf course, if he wants a par, Red Murray said
earnestly, a pen behind his ear, we can do him one.
âRight, Mr Bloom said with a nod. Iâll rub that in. We.
WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, OF
OAKLANDS, SANDYMOUNT
Red Murray touched Mr Bloomâs arm with the shears
and whispered:
âBrayden.
Ulysses
209 of 1305 Mr Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his
lettered cap as a stately figure entered between the
newsboards of the Weekly Freeman and National Press and
the Freemanâs Journal and National Press . Dullthudding
Guinnessâs barrels. It passed statelily up the staircase,
The Crozier and the Pen
- Mr. Bloom navigates the bustling, mechanical environment of a Dublin newspaper office, observing the physical presence of his colleagues and the hierarchy of the press.
- A comparison is drawn between a passing figure and religious iconography, specifically 'Our Saviour,' which Bloom playfully conflates with the opera tenor Mario.
- The narrative highlights the overwhelming power of industrial machinery, which Bloom reflects could 'smash a man to atoms' or continue 'monkeydoodle' indefinitely if left unchecked.
- Bloom muses on the commercial nature of journalism, noting that advertisements, gossip, and 'the personal note' are what truly drive circulation rather than official news.
- The interaction between Bloom, Hynes, and the foreman illustrates the mundane professional transactions and social posturing within the Irish political and media landscape.
Machines. Smash a man to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today.
steered by an umbrella, a solemn beardframed face. The broadcloth back ascended each step: back. All his brains
are in the nape of his neck, Simon Dedalus says. Welts of flesh behind on him. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck.
âDonât you think his face is like Our Saviour? Red
Murray whispered.
The door of Ruttledgeâs office whispered: ee: cree.
They always build one door opposite another for the wind to. Way in. Way out.
Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the
dusk. Mary, Martha. Steered by an umbrella sword to the footlights: Mario the tenor.
âOr like Mario, Mr Bloom said. âYes, Red Murray agreed. But Mario was said to be
the picture of Our Saviour.
Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs.
Hand on his heart. In Martha.
Co-ome thou lost one,
Co-ome thou dear one!
Ulysses
210 of 1305 THE CROZIER AND THE PEN
âHis grace phoned down t wice this morning, Red
Murray said gravely.
They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. Neck. A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope
on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a word:
âFreeman!
Mr Bloom said slowly: âWell, he is one of our saviours also. A meek smile accompanied him as he lifted the
counterflap, as he passed in through a sidedoor and along
the warm dark stairs and passage, along the now reverberating boards. But will he save the circulation? Thumping. Thumping.
He pushed in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping
over strewn packing paper. Through a lane of clanking
drums he made his way towards Nannettiâs reading closet.
WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS
WE ANNOUNCE THE
DISSOLUTION
OF A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN
BURGESS
Ulysses
211 of 1305 Hynes here too: account of the funeral probably.
Thumping. Thump. This mornin g the remains of the late
Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash a man to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machineries are pegging away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting. Working away, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in.
HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS
TURNED OUT
Mr Bloom halted behind the foremanâs spare body,
admiring a glossy crown.
Strange he never saw his real country. Ireland my
country. Member for College green. He boomed that
workaday worker tack for all it was worth. Itâs the ads and side features sell a weekly, not the stale news in the official
gazette. Queen Anne is dea d. Published by authority in
the year one thousand and. Demesne situate in the townland of Rosenallis, ba rony of Tinnahinch. To all
whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported
from Ballina. Nature notes. Cartoons. Phil Blakeâs weekly
Pat and Bull story. Uncle Tobyâs page for tiny tots. Country bumpkinâs queries. Dear Mr Editor, what is a
Ulysses
212 of 1305 good cure for flatulence? Iâd like that part. Learn a lot
teaching others. The personal note. M. A. P. Mainly all
pictures. Shapely bathers on golden strand. Worldâs biggest balloon. Double marriage of sisters celebrated. Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other. Cuprani too,
printer. More Irish than the Irish.
The machines clanked in threefour time. Thump,
thump, thump. Now if he got paralysed there and no-one knew how to stop them theyâd clank on and on the same, print it over and over and up and back. Monkeydoodle the whole thing. Want a cool head.
âWell, get it into the evening edition, councillor,
Hynes said.
Soon be calling him my lord mayor. Long John is
backing him, they say.
The foreman, without answering, scribbled press on a
corner of the sheet and made a sign to a typesetter. He handed the sheet silently ov er the dirty glass screen.
âRight: thanks, Hynes said moving off. Mr Bloom stood in his way. âIf you want to draw the cashier is just going to
lunch, he said, pointing backward with his thumb.
âDid you? Hynes asked.
Ulysses
213 of 1305 âMm, Mr Bloom said. Look sharp and youâll catch
The House of Keys
- Leopold Bloom negotiates an advertisement layout with the foreman and councillor, Mr. Nannetti, in the noisy newspaper office.
- Bloom proposes a visual pun for Alexander Keyesâs business using crossed keys, referencing the Manx parliament to hint at 'home rule.'
- The rhythmic, industrial clanking of the printing presses dominates the sensory environment, which Bloom interprets as a form of speech.
- Bloom reflects on the ephemeral nature of the press, wondering about the fate of the miles of paper used for news and wrapping.
- The narrative captures Bloom's internal social anxieties, such as his hesitation to correct Nannetti's pronunciation or his missed opportunities for witty banter.
- The scene shifts to the technical precision of the printing floor, highlighting the 'proof fever' and orthographical challenges of the typesetters.
Everything speaks in its own way. Sllt.
him.
âThanks, old man, Hynes said. Iâll tap him too.
He hurried on eagerly towards the Freemanâs Journal .
Three bob I lent him in Meagherâs. Three weeks.
Third hint.
WE SEE THE CANVASSER AT WORK
Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannettiâs desk.
âExcuse me, councillor, he said. This ad, you see.
Keyes, you remember?
Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and
nodded.
âHe wants it in for July, Mr Bloom said. The foreman moved his pencil towards it. âBut wait, Mr Bloom said. He wants it changed.
Keyes, you see. He wants two keys at the top.
Hell of a racket they make. He doesnât hear it. Nannan.
Iron nerves. Maybe he understands what I.
The foreman turned round to hear patiently and, lifting
an elbow, began to scratch slowly in the armpit of his alpaca jacket.
Ulysses
214 of 1305 âLike that, Mr Bloom said, crossing his forefingers at
the top.
Let him take that in first. Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the cross he had
made, saw the foremanâs sallow face, think he has a touch
of jaundice, and beyond the ob edient reels feeding in huge
webs of paper. Clank it. Clank it. Miles of it unreeled. What becomes of it after? O, wrap up meat, parcels: various uses, thousand and one things.
Slipping his words deftly into the pauses of the clanking
he drew swiftly on the scarred woodwork.
HOUSE OF KEY(E)S
âLike that, see. Two crossed keys here. A circle. Then
here the name. Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. So on.
Better not teach him his own business. âYou know yourself, councillor, just what he wants.
Then round the top in leaded: the house of keys. You see? Do you think thatâs a good idea?
The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower
ribs and scratched there quietly.
Ulysses
215 of 1305 âThe idea, Mr Bloom said, is the house of keys. You
know, councillor, the Manx parliament. Innuendo of home rule. Tourists, you know , from the isle of Man.
Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?
I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that
voglio. But then if he didnât know only make it awkward
for him. Better not.
âWe can do that, the foreman said. Have you the
design?
âI can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny
paper. He has a house there too. Iâll just run out and ask
him. Well, you can do that and just a little par calling
attention. You know the usual. Highclass licensed premises. Longfelt want. So on.
The foreman thought for an instant. âWe can do that, he said. Let him give us a three
monthsâ renewal.
A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. He began
to check it silently. Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud
throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their
cases.
ORTHOGRAPHICAL
Ulysses
216 of 1305 Want to be sure of his spelling. Proof fever. Martin
Cunningham forgot to give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a harassed
pedlar while gauging au the sy mmetry with a y of a peeled
pear under a cemetery wall. Silly, isnât it? Cemetery put in of course on account of the symmetry.
I should have said when he clapped on his topper.
Thank you. I ought to have said something about an old hat or something. No. I could have said. Looks as good as new now. See his phiz then.
Sllt. The nethermost deck of the first machine jogged
forward its flyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded
papers. Sllt. Almost human the way it sllt to call attention.
Doing its level best to speak. T hat door too sllt creaking,
asking to be shut. Everything speaks in its own way. Sllt.
NOTED CHURCHMAN AN
OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR
The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly,
saying:
âWait. Whereâs the archbishopâs letter? Itâs to be
repeated in the Telegraph. Whereâs whatâs his name?
Ulysses
217 of 1305 He looked about him round his loud unanswering
Typesetters and Pensive Bosoms
- Leopold Bloom observes the aging 'dayfather' Monks, reflecting on the lifetime of mundane and tragic news the old man has processed.
- Watching a typesetter work backward triggers a memory of Bloomâs father reading the Haggadah, linking the printing process to Jewish ritual and heritage.
- Bloom muses on the Passover song 'Chad Gadya,' interpreting its cycle of violence as a metaphor for the universal struggle of life where 'everybody is eating everyone else.'
- While navigating the newspaper office, Bloom manages his personal belongings, specifically relocating a bar of lemon soap to his hip pocket.
- Bloom encounters Simon Dedalus and Ned Lambert, who are mockingly reciting overly florid, sentimental prose from a newspaper.
- The atmosphere shifts from the mechanical clatter of the press to the cynical, witty banter of Dublin's literary and journalistic circles.
Justice it means but itâs everybody eating everyone else. Thatâs what life is after all.
machines.
âMonks, sir? a voice asked from the castingbox. âAy. Whereâs Monks? âMonks! Mr Bloom took up his cutting. Time to get out. âThen Iâll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and
youâll give it a good place I know.
âMonks! âYes, sir. Three monthsâ renewal. Want to get some wind off my
chest first. Try it anyhow. Rub in August: good idea:
horseshow month. Ballsbridge. Tourists over for the show.
A DAYFATHER
He walked on through the caseroom passing an old
man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put through his hands in his time: obituary notices, pubsâ ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the end of his tether now. Sober serious man with a bit in the
savingsbank Iâd say. Wife a good cook and washer.
Ulysses
218 of 1305 Daughter working the machine in the parlour. Plain Jane,
no damn nonsense.
AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE
PASSOVER
He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly
distributing type. Reads it ba ckwards first. Quickly he
does it. Must require some pra ctice that. mangiD kcirtaP.
Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his finger to me. Pessach. Next year in Jerusalem. Dear, O
dear! All that long business ab out that brought us out of
the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage Alleluia.
Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu . No, thatâs the other. Then the
twelve brothers, Jacobâs sons. And then the lamb and the cat and the dog and the stick and the water and the butcher. And then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills the ox and the dog kills the cat. Sounds a bit silly till you come to look into it well. Justice it means but itâs everybody eating everyone else. Thatâs what life is after all.
How quickly he does that job. Practice makes perfect.
Seems to see with his fingers.
Mr Bloom passed on out of th e clanking noises through
the gallery on to the landing. Now am I going to tram it
out all the way and then catch him out perhaps. Better
Ulysses
219 of 1305 phone him up first. Number? Yes. Same as Citronâs house.
Twentyeight. Twentyeight double four.
ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP
He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce
scrawled all over those walls wi th matches? Looks as if
they did it for a bet. Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works. Lukewarm glue in Thomâs next door when I
was there.
He took out his handkerchief to dab his nose.
Citronlemon? Ah, the soap I put there. Lose it out of that
pocket. Putting back his handkerchief he took out the soap and stowed it away, butt oned, into the hip pocket of
his trousers.
What perfume does your wife use? I could go home
still: tram: something I forgot. Ju st to see: before: dressing.
No. Here. No.
A sudden screech of laughter came from the Evening
Telegraph office. Know who that is. Whatâs up? Pop in a
minute to phone. Ned Lambert it is.
He entered softly.
ERIN, GREEN GEM OF THE SILVER
SEA
Ulysses
220 of 1305 âThe ghost walks, professor MacHugh murmured
softly, biscuitfully to the dusty windowpane.
Mr Dedalus, staring from the empty fireplace at Ned
Lambertâs quizzing face, asked of it sourly:
âAgonising Christ, wouldnât it give you a heartburn
on your arse?
Ned Lambert, seated on the table, read on:
âOr again, note the meanderings of some purling rill as it
babbles on its way, thoâ quarrelling with the stony obstacles, to the tumbling waters of Ne ptuneâs blue domain, âmid mossy
banks, fanned by gentlest zephyrs, played on by the glorious
sunlight or âneath the shadows cast oâer its pensive bosom by the
overarching leafage of the giants of the forest . What about that,
Simon? he asked over the fringe of his newspaper. Howâs that for high?
âChanging his drink, Mr Dedalus said. Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper on his
knees, repeating:
âThe pensive bosom and the overarsing leafage . O boys! O
boys!
âAnd Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Dedalus
Bombast and Broken Men
- Professor MacHugh and Simon Dedalus mock the flowery, nationalistic rhetoric of Dan Dawsonâs speech, dismissing it as 'bladderbags' and 'inflated windbag' stuff.
- The group discusses the aging Vice-Chancellor Chatterton, noting the irony of journalists waiting for him to die so they can publish long-prepared obituaries.
- J. J. OâMolloy enters the office, appearing physically and professionally diminished; Bloom reflects on O'Molloy's decline from a clever lawyer to a man plagued by debt and ill health.
- Bloom observes the fickle nature of the newspaper business, where journalists publicly attack one another only to be 'hail fellow well met' in private.
- Ned Lambert persists in reading Dawson's purple prose aloud, describing Ireland's 'vernal green' and 'mysterious Irish twilight' to the increasing irritation of his audience.
- The scene highlights the contrast between the romanticized, 'translucent' image of Ireland in political speeches and the gritty, cynical reality of the men in the newspaper office.
O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent to a hopeless groan. Shite and onions! Thatâll do, Ned. Life is too short.
said, looking again on the fireplace and to the window, and Marathon looked on the sea.
Ulysses
221 of 1305 âThat will do, professor MacHugh cried from the
window. I donât want to hear any more of the stuff.
He ate off the crescent of wa ter biscuit he had been
nibbling and, hungered, made ready to nibble the biscuit in his other hand.
High falutin stuff. Bladderbags. Ned Lambert is taking a
day off I see. Rather upsets a manâs day, a funeral does. He has influence they say. Old Chatterton, the vicechancellor, is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle. Close on ninety they say. Subleader for his de ath written this long time
perhaps. Living to spite them. Might go first himself. Johnny, make room for your uncle. The right honourable
Hedges Eyre Chatterton. Daresay he writes him an odd
shaky cheque or two on gale days. Windfall when he kicks out. Alleluia.
âJust another spasm, Ned Lambert said. âWhat is it? Mr Bloom asked. âA recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor
MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. Our lovely land .
SHORT BUT TO THE POINT
âWhose land? Mr Bloom said simply.
Ulysses
222 of 1305 âMost pertinent question, the professor said between
his chews. With an accent on the whose.
âDan Dawsonâs land Mr Dedalus said. âIs it his speech last night? Mr Bloom asked. Ned Lambert nodded. âBut listen to this, he said. The doorknob hit Mr Bloom in the small of the back
as the door was pushed in.
âExcuse me, J. J. OâMolloy said, entering. Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. âI beg yours, he said. âGood day, Jack.
âCome in. Come in.
âGood day. âHow are you, Dedalus? âWell. And yourself? J. J. OâMolloy shook his head.
SAD
Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be.
Decline, poor chap. That hectic flush spells finis for a man.
Touch and go with him. Whatâs in the wind, I wonder. Money worry.
Ulysses
223 of 1305 âOr again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.
âYouâre looking extra. âIs the editor to be seen ? J. J. OâMolloy asked,
looking towards the inner door.
âVery much so, professor MacHugh said. To be seen
and heard. Heâs in his sanctum with Lenehan.
J. J. OâMolloy strolled to the sloping desk and began to
turn back the pink pages of the file.
Practice dwindling. A mighthavebeen. Losing heart.
Gambling. Debts of honour. Reaping the whirlwind. Used to get good retainers from D. and T. Fitzgerald.
Their wigs to show the grey ma tter. Brains on their sleeve
like the statue in Glasnevin. Be lieve he does some literary
work for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. Wellread
fellow. Myles Crawford began on the Independent. Funny
the way those newspaper men veer about when they get
wind of a new opening. Weathercocks. Hot and cold in the same breath. Wouldnât know which to believe. One story good till you hear the next. Go for one another baldheaded in the papers and then all blows over. Hail
fellow well met the next moment.
âAh, listen to this for Godâ sake, Ned Lambert
pleaded. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks ...
Ulysses
224 of 1305 âBombast! the professor brok e in testily. Enough of
the inflated windbag!
âPeaks, Ned Lambert went on, towering high on high, to
bathe our souls, as it were ...
âBathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said. Blessed and eternal
God! Yes? Is he taking anything for it?
âAs âtwere, in the peerless pan orama of Irelandâs portfolio,
unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for very beauty, of bosky grove and undulating
plain and luscious pastureland of vernal green, steeped in the
transcendent translucent glow of our mild mysterious Irish twilight ...
HIS NATIVE DORIC
âThe moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot
Hamlet.
âThat mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the
glowing orb of the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver
effulgence ...
âO! Mr Dedalus cried, givi ng vent to a hopeless
groan. Shite and onions! Thatâll do , Ned. Life is too short.
Ulysses
The Newspaper Office Chaos
- Professor MacHugh and Ned Lambert mock the success of a local figure nicknamed 'Doughy Daw' who rose from the bakery business.
- The editor, Myles Crawford, bursts into the room with a scarlet face and aggressive energy, trading insults with the professor.
- Mr. Dedalus and Ned Lambert depart for a drink, leaving the editor to reminisce loudly about the North Cork militia in Ohio.
- Mr. Bloom attempts to navigate the office's frantic atmosphere to handle a phone call regarding an advertisement.
- Lenehan enters with racing tips for the Gold Cup while newsboys cause a disturbance at the door.
- Professor MacHugh forcibly ejects a cringing newsboy to shut out the 'hurricane' of noise and wind from the hallway.
The inner door was opened violently and a scarlet beaked face, crested by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in.
225 of 1305 He took off his silk hat an d, blowing out impatiently
his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers.
Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling
with delight. An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHughâs unshaven blackspectacled face.
âDoughy Daw! he cried.
WHAT WETHERUP SAID
All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it goes
down like hot cake that stuff. He was in the bakery line
too, wasnât he? Why they call him Doughy Daw. Feathered his nest well anyhow. Daughter engaged to that chap in the inland revenue office with the motor. Hooked that nicely. Entertainments. Open house. Big blowout. Wetherup always said that. Get a grip of them by the stomach.
The inner door was opened violently and a scarlet
beaked face, crested by a comb of feathery hair, thrust
itself in. The bold blue eyes stared about them and the
harsh voice asked:
âWhat is it?
Ulysses
226 of 1305 âAnd here comes the sham squire himself! professor
MacHugh said grandly.
âGetonouthat, you bloody old pedagogue! the editor
said in recognition.
âCome, Ned, Mr Dedalus said, putting on his hat. I
must get a drink after that.
âDrink! the editor cried. No drinks served before
mass.
âQuite right too, Mr Deda lus said, going out. Come
on, Ned.
Ned Lambert sidled down from the table. The editorâs
blue eyes roved towards Mr Bloomâs face, shadowed by a
smile.
âWill you join us, Myles? Ned Lambert asked.
MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED
âNorth Cork militia! the editor cried, striding to the
mantelpiece. We won every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!
âWhere was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a
reflective glance at his toecaps.
âIn Ohio! the editor shouted. âSo it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.
Ulysses
227 of 1305 Passing out he whispered to J. J. OâMolloy:
âIncipient jigs. Sad case. âOhio! the editor crowed in high treble from his
uplifted scarlet face. My Ohio!
âA perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and
long.
O, HARP EOLIAN!
He took a reel of dental flos s from his waistcoat pocket
and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant unwashed teeth.
âBingbang, bangbang. Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the inner
door.
âJust a moment, Mr Crawfor d, he said. I just want to
phone about an ad.
He went in. âWhat about that leader this evening? professor
MacHugh asked, coming to the editor and laying a firm hand on his shoulder.
âThatâll be all right, Myles Crawford said more
calmly. Never you fret. Hello, Jack. Thatâs all right.
Ulysses
228 of 1305 âGood day, Myles, J. J. OâMolloy said, letting the
pages he held slip limply back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case on today?
The telephone whirred inside. âTwentyeight ... No, twenty ... Double four ... Yes.
SPOT THE WINNER
Lenehan came out of the inner office with SPORTâS
tissues.
âWho wants a dead cert for the Gold cup? he asked.
Sceptre with O. Madden up.
He tossed the tissues on to the table. Screams of newsboys barefoot in the hall rushed near
and the door was flung open.
âHush, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops. Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized
the cringing urchin by the collar as the others scampered out of the hall and down the steps. The tissues rustled up in the draught, floated softly in the air blue scrawls and under the table came to earth.
âIt wasnât me, sir. It was the big fellow shoved me,
sir.
Ulysses
229 of 1305 âThrow him out and shut the door, the editor said.
Thereâs a hurricane blowing.
Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor,
grunting as he stooped twice.
âWaiting for the racing special, sir, the newsboy said.
It was Pat Farrell shoved me, sir.
He pointed to two faces peering in round the
doorframe.
âHim, sir. âOut of this with you, professor MacHugh said
gruffly.
He hustled the boy out and banged the door to.
J. J. OâMolloy turned the files crackingly over,
murmuring, seeking:
Exit Bloom and the Roman Empire
- Leopold Bloom departs the newspaper office in a hurry to track down an advertiser at an auction room.
- A group of mocking newsboys follows Bloom into the street, mimicking his distinctive gait and physical appearance.
- Lenehan performs a cruel caricature of Bloom's walk for the amusement of the men remaining in the office.
- The editor, Myles Crawford, prepares to leave for a drink while displaying signs of intoxication and erratic behavior.
- The conversation shifts toward historical themes as the men compare the British Empire to the 'Imperium Romanum'.
- Lenehan attempts to command the room's attention with a 'brandnew riddle' as the group shares cigarettes.
Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloomâs wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.
âContinued on page six, column four.
âYes, Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom phoned from
the inner office. Is the boss ...? Yes, Telegraph ... To
where? Aha! Which auction rooms ?... Aha! I see ... Right. Iâll catch him.
A COLLISION ENSUES
Ulysses
230 of 1305 The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in
quickly and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling
up with the second tissue.
âPardon, monsieur , Lenehan said, clutching him for an
instant and making a grimace.
âMy fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you
hurt? Iâm in a hurry.
âKnee, Lenehan said. He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee:
âThe accumulation of the anno Domini .
âSorry, Mr Bloom said.
He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J.
OâMolloy slapped the heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill voices, a mouthorgan, echoed in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted on the doorsteps:
âWe are the boys of Wexford
Who fought with heart and hand.
EXIT BLOOM
âIâm just running round to Bachelorâs walk, Mr
Bloom said, about this ad of Keyesâs. Want to fix it up.
They tell me heâs round there in Dillonâs.
Ulysses
231 of 1305 He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. The
editor who, leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped
his head on his hand, sudde nly stretched forth an arm
amply.
âBegone! he said. The world is before you. âBack in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out. J. J. OâMolloy took the tissues from Lenehanâs hand
and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment.
âHeâll get that advertisement, the professor said,
staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him.
âShow. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the
window.
A STREET CORTEGE
Both smiled over the crossblin d at the file of capering
newsboys in Mr Bloomâs wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.
âLook at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and
cry, Lenehan said, and youâll kick. O, my rib risible! Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk. Small nines. Steal
upon larks.
Ulysses
232 of 1305 He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor
on sliding feet past the fireplace to J. J. OâMolloy who placed the tissues in his receiving hands.
âWhatâs that? Myles Crawford said with a start.
Where are the other two gone?
âWho? the professor said, turning. Theyâre gone
round to the Oval for a drink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night.
âCome on then, Myles Crawford said. Whereâs my
hat?
He walked jerkily into the office behind, parting the
vent of his jacket, jingling his keys in his back pocket.
They jingled then in the air and against the wood as he
locked his desk drawer.
âHeâs pretty well on, professor MacHugh said in a
low voice.
âSeems to be, J. J. Oâ Molloy said, taking out a
cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but it is not always as it seems. Who has the most matches?
THE CALUMET OF PEACE
He offered a cigarette to the professor and took one
himself. Lenehan promptly struc k a match for them and lit
Ulysses
233 of 1305 their cigarettes in turn. J. J. OâMolloy opened his case
again and offered it.
âThanky vous , Lenehan said, helping himself.
The editor came from the i nner office, a straw hat awry
on his brow. He declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh:
ââTwas rank and fame that tempted thee,
âTwas empire charmed thy heart.
The professor grinned, locking his long lips.
âEh? You bloody old Roman empire? Myles
Crawford said.
He took a cigarette from the open case. Lenehan,
lighting it for him with quick grace, said:
âSilence for my brandnew riddle!
âImperium romanum , J. J. OâMolloy said gently. It
sounds nobler than British or Brixton. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the fire.
Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards
The Cloacal Obsession
- Professor MacHugh critiques Roman civilization as a 'vile' culture obsessed with infrastructure and sewers rather than spiritual altars.
- The professor draws a direct parallel between the imperial Roman mindset and the contemporary British occupation of Ireland.
- Stephen Dedalus arrives at the newspaper office to deliver Garrett Deasy's letter regarding the foot-and-mouth disease outbreak.
- Editor Myles Crawford dismisses Deasy as an 'old pelters' and recounts a scandalous anecdote about Deasy's volatile wife.
- The conversation shifts to Irish loyalty toward 'lost causes,' suggesting that material success is the death of the intellect.
- The group discusses the historical 'Wild Geese' and Irishmen who served foreign empires, such as the Habsburgs in Vienna.
The Roman, like the Englishman who follows in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot only his cloacal obsession.
the ceiling.
âThatâs it, he said. We are the fat. You and I are the
fat in the fire. We havenât got the chance of a snowball in hell.
THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME
Ulysses
234 of 1305 âWait a moment, professor MacHugh said, raising
two quiet claws. We mustnât be led away by words, by
sounds of words. We think of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative.
He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained
shirtcuffs, pausing:
âWhat was their civilisation? Vast, I allow: but vile.
Cloacae: sewers. The Jews in the wilderness and on the
mountaintop said: It is meet to be here. Let us build an altar to
Jehovah . The Roman, like the En glishman who follows in
his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set
his foot (on our shore he ne ver set it) only his cloacal
obsession. He gazed about him in his toga and he said: It is
meet to be here. Let us construct a watercloset.
âWhich they accordingly did do, Lenehan said. Our
old ancient ancestors, as we read in the first chapter of
Guinnessâs, were partial to the running stream.
âThey were natureâs gentlemen, J. J. OâMolloy
murmured. But we have also Roman law.
âAnd Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh
responded.
âDo you know that story about chief baron Palles? J.
J. OâMolloy asked. It was at the royal university dinner. Everything was going swimmingly ...
Ulysses
235 of 1305 âFirst my riddle, Lenehan said. Are you ready?
Mr OâMadden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal
tweed, came in from the hallway. Stephen Dedalus, behind him, uncovered as he entered.
âEntrez, mes enfants! Lenehan cried.
âI escort a suppliant, Mr OâMadden Burke said
melodiously. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.
âHow do you do? the edit or said, holding out a hand.
Come in. Your governor is just gone.
? ? ?
Lenehan said to all:
âSilence! What opera resembles a railwayline? Reflect,
ponder, excogitate, reply.
Stephen handed over the type d sheets, pointing to the
title and signature.
âWho? the editor asked. Bit torn off. âMr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said. âThat old pelters, the edit or said. Who tore it? Was
he short taken?
On swift sail flaming
From storm and south
Ulysses
236 of 1305 He comes, pale vampire,
Mouth to my mouth.
âGood day, Stephen, the professor said, coming to
peer over their shoulders. Foot and mouth? Are you turned ...?
Bullockbefriending bard.
SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN
RESTAURANT
âGood day, sir, Stephen ans wered blushing. The letter
is not mine. Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to ...
âO, I know him, Myles Crawford said, and I knew
his wife too. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. By Jesus, she had the foot and mouth disease and no mistake! The night she threw the soup in the waiterâs face in the Star and Garter. Oho!
A woman brought sin into the world. For Helen, the
runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks. OâRourke, prince of Breffni.
âIs he a widower? Stephen asked.
âAy, a grass one, Myles Crawford said, his eye
running down the typescript. Emperorâs horses. Habsburg. An Irishman saved his life on the ramparts of Vienna. Donât you forget! Maximilian Karl OâDonnell, graf von
Ulysses
237 of 1305 Tirconnell in Ireland. Sent his heir over to make the king
an Austrian fieldmarshal now. Going to be trouble there
one day. Wild geese. O yes, every time. Donât you forget that!
âThe moot point is did he forget it, J. J. OâMolloy
said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight. Saving princes is a thank you job.
Professor MacHugh turned on him. âAnd if not? he said. âIâll tell you how it was, Myles Crawford began. A
Hungarian it was one day ...
LOST CAUSES
NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED
âWe were always loyal to lost causes, the professor
said. Success for us is the de ath of the intellect and of the
imagination. We were never loyal to the successful. We
serve them. I teach the blatant Latin language. I speak the
tongue of a race the acme of whose mentality is the
The Empire of the Spirit
- Professor MacHugh contrasts the material domination of the British Empire with the intellectual radiance of the Greek language and spirit.
- The group discusses the tragic history of lost causes, from the Athenian fleet at Aegospotami to the fallen chivalry of Europe.
- Lenehan provides a comedic counterpoint to the high-minded discourse with puns, limericks, and riddles about 'The Rose of Castile'.
- The conversation shifts to the diverse talents present in the room, ranging from law and the classics to the 'gentle art of advertisement' associated with Bloom.
- Editor Myles Crawford aggressively encourages Stephen to write for the press, demanding something 'with a bite in it' to challenge the public.
- The scene captures the chaotic, intellectual atmosphere of a Dublin newspaper office where high culture and low humor constantly collide.
The Greek! he said again. Kyrios! Shining word! The vowels the Semite and the Saxon know not. Kyrie! The radiance of the intellect.
maxim: time is money. Material domination. Dominus!
Lord! Where is the spirituality? Lord Jesus? Lord Salisbury?
A sofa in a westend club. But the Greek!
Ulysses
238 of 1305 KYRIE ELEISON!
A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes,
lengthened his long lips.
âThe Greek! he said again. Kyrios! Shining word! The
vowels the Semite and the Saxon know not. Kyrie! The
radiance of the intellect. I ought to profess Greek, the
language of the mind. Kyrie eleison! The closetmaker and
the cloacamaker will never be lords of our spirit. We are liege subjects of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of the empire of the spirit, not
an imperium, that went under with the Athenian fleets at
Aegospotami. Yes, yes. They went under. Pyrrhus, misled
by an oracle, made a last attemp t to retrieve the fortunes of
Greece. Loyal to a lost cause.
He strode away from them towards the window. âThey went forth to battle, Mr OâMadden Burke said
greyly, but they always fell.
âBoohoo! Lenehan wept with a little noise. Owing to
a brick received in the latter half of the matinĂŠe . Poor,
poor, poor Pyrrhus!
He whispered then near Stephenâs ear:
LENEHANâS LIMERICK
Ulysses
239 of 1305 Thereâs a ponderous pundit MacHugh
Who wears goggles of ebony hue. As he mostly sees double To wear them why trouble? I canât see the Joe Miller. Can you?
In mourning for Sallust, Mu lligan says. Whose mother
is beastly dead.
Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket.
âThatâll be all right, he said. Iâll read the rest after.
Thatâll be all right.
Lenehan extended his hands in protest. âBut my riddle! he said. What opera is like a
railwayline?
âOpera? Mr OâMadden Burkeâs sphinx face reriddled. Lenehan announced gladly:
âThe Rose of Castile . See the wheeze? Rows of cast
steel. Gee!
He poked Mr OâMadden Burke mildly in the spleen.
Mr OâMadden Burke fell back with grace on his umbrella, feigning a gasp.
âHelp! he sighed. I f eel a strong weakness.
Lenehan, rising to tiptoe , fanned his face rapidly with
the rustling tissues.
Ulysses
240 of 1305 The professor, returning by way of the files, swept his
hand across Stephenâs and Mr OâMadden Burkeâs loose ties.
âParis, past and present, he said. You look like
communards.
âLike fellows who had blown up the Bastile, J. J.
OâMolloy said in quiet mockery. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? You look as though you had done the deed. General Bobrikoff.
OMNIUM GATHERUM
âWe were only thinking about it, Stephen said.
âAll the talents, Myles Crawford said. Law, the classics
...
âThe turf, Lenehan put in. âLiterature, the press. âIf Bloom were here, the professor said. The gentle
art of advertisement.
âAnd Madam Bloom, Mr OâMadden Burke added.
The vocal muse. Dublinâs prime favourite.
Lenehan gave a loud cough. âAhem! he said very softly. O, for a fresh of breath
air! I caught a cold in the park. The gate was open.
Ulysses
241 of 1305 YOU CAN DO IT
!
The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephenâs shoulder.
âI want you to write something for me, he said.
Something with a bite in it. You can do it. I see it in your
face. In the lexicon of youth ...
See it in your face. See it in your eye. Lazy idle little
schemer.
âFoot and mouth disease! the editor cried in scornful
invective. Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. All balls! Bulldosing the pu blic! Give them something with
a bite in it. Put us all into it, damn its soul. Father, Son
and Holy Ghost and Jakes MâCarthy.
âWe can all supply mental pabulum, Mr OâMadden
Burke said.
Stephen raised his eyes to the bold unheeding stare. âHe wants you for the pressgang, J. J. OâMolloy said.
THE GREAT GALLAHER
âYou can do it, Myles Craw ford repeated, clenching
his hand in emphasis. Wait a minute. Weâll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher used to say when he was on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the Clarence.
Ulysses
The Genius of Ignatius Gallaher
- Editor Myles Crawford recounts the legendary journalistic feat of Ignatius Gallaher during the 1881 Phoenix Park murders.
- Gallaher bypassed censorship by cabling a coded map of the assassins' route to the New York World using a common newspaper advertisement as a grid.
- The narrative highlights the gritty, interconnected world of Dublin's press, mentioning figures like 'Skin-the-Goat' Fitzharris and the decline of former associates.
- The scene illustrates the high-energy, chaotic environment of a newspaper office, punctuated by ringing telephones and the dismissive treatment of Leopold Bloom.
- The characters reflect on the evolution of 'scare journalism' and the rare talent required to turn a national tragedy into a global scoop.
The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cockâs wattles.
242 of 1305 Gallaher, that was a pressman for you. That was a pen.
You know how he made his ma rk? Iâll tell you. That was
the smartest piece of journalism ever known. That was in eightyone, sixth of May, time of the invincibles, murder in the Phoenix park, before you were born, I suppose. Iâll show you.
He pushed past them to the files.
âLook at here, he said turning. The New York World
cabled for a special. Remember that time?
Professor MacHugh nodded.
âNew York World , the editor said, excitedly pushing
back his straw hat. Where it took place. Tim Kelly, or
Kavanagh I mean. Joe Brady and the rest of them. Where Skin-the-Goat drove the car. Whole route, see?
âSkin-the-Goat, Mr OâMadden Burke said. Fitzharris.
He has that cabmanâs shelter, they say, down there at Butt
bridge. Holohan told me. You know Holohan?
âHop and carry one, is it? Myles Crawford said. âAnd poor Gumley is down there too, so he told me,
minding stones for the corporation. A night watchman.
Stephen turned in surprise. âGumley? he said. You donât say so? A friend of my
fatherâs, is it?
Ulysses
243 of 1305 âNever mind Gumley, Myle s Crawford cried angrily.
Let Gumley mind the stones, see they donât run away. Look at here. What did Ignatius Gallaher do? Iâll tell you.
Inspiration of genius. Cabled right away. Have you Weekly
Freeman of 17 March? Right. Have you got that?
He flung back pages of the files and stuck his finger on
a point.
âTake page four, advertisem ent for Bransomeâs coffee,
let us say. Have you got that? Right.
The telephone whirred.
A DISTANT VOICE
âIâll answer it, the professor said, going.
âB is parkgate. Good. His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating. âT is viceregal lodge. C is where murder took place.
K is Knockmaroon gate.
The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cockâs wattles.
An illstarched dicky jutted up and with a rude gesture he
thrust it back into his waistcoat.
âHello? Evening Telegraph here ... Hello?... Whoâs
there? ... Yes ... Yes ... Yes.
Ulysses
244 of 1305 âF to P is the route Skin-the-Goat drove the car for
an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh. F.A.B.P. Got that? X is Davyâs publichouse in upper Leeson street.
The professor came to the inner door. âBloom is at the telephone, he said. âTell him go to hell, the editor said promptly. X is
Davyâs publichouse, see?
CLEVER, VERY
âClever, Lenehan said. Very.
âGave it to them on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said,
the whole bloody history.
Nightmare from which you will never awake. âI saw it, the editor said proudly. I was present. Dick
Adams, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life in, and myself.
Lenehan bowed to a shape of air, announcing: âMadam, Iâm Adam. And Able was I ere I saw Elba. âHistory! Myles Crawford cried. The Old Woman of
Princeâs street was there first. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that. Out of an advertisement. Gregor Grey made the design for it. That gave him the leg
Ulysses
245 of 1305 up. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him
on to the Star. Now heâs got in with Blumenfeld. Thatâs
press. Thatâs talent. Pyatt! He was all their daddies!
âThe father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed,
and the brother-in-law of Chris Callinan.
âHello? ... Are you there? ... Yes, heâs here still.
Come across yourself.
âWhere do you find a pressm an like that now, eh? the
editor cried. He flung the pages down.
âClamn dever, Lenehan said to Mr OâMadden Burke. âVery smart, Mr OâMadden Burke said.
Professor MacHugh came from the inner office.
âTalking about the invincibles, he said, did you see
that some hawkers were up before the recorder
âO yes, J. J. OâMolloy said eagerly. Lady Dudley was
walking home through the park to see all the trees that
Forensic Eloquence and Frozen Music
- Myles Crawford dismisses the modern press and bar as inferior to the 'silvertongued' Irish orators of the past.
- Stephen Dedalus drifts into a private linguistic reverie, rhyming 'mouth' with 'south' and 'tomb' with 'womb' while recalling Dante's Italian verses.
- J.J. OâMolloy defends the legal profession by citing the sophisticated rhetoric of Seymour Bushe during a famous fratricide trial.
- The conversation contrasts the 'lex talionis' of Mosaic law with the perceived justice of the Roman code.
- The group discusses Michelangeloâs statue of Moses, described as a 'stony effigy in frozen music' and a symbol of divine prophecy.
- The narrative style shifts through various headlines, mimicking the structure of a newspaper while blending high art with gritty Dublin reality.
He said of it: that stony effigy in frozen music, horned and terrible, of the human form divine, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of prophecy.
were blown down by that cyclone last year and thought sheâd buy a view of Dublin. And it turned out to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-Goat. Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine!
âTheyâre only in the hook and eye department, Myles
Crawford said. Psha! Press and the bar! Where have you a man now at the bar like thos e fellows, like Whiteside, like
Ulysses
246 of 1305 Isaac Butt, like silvertongued OâHagan. Eh? Ah, bloody
nonsense. Psha! Only in the halfpenny place.
His mouth continued to twit ch unspeaking in nervous
curls of disdain.
Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? How do
you know? Why did you write it then?
RHYMES AND REASONS
Mouth, south. Is the m outh south someway? Or the
south a mouth? Must be some. South, pout, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking the same, two by two.
⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠la tua pace
⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠che parlar ti piace âŚ. mentrechĂŠ il vento, come fa, si tace.
He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in
green, in rose, in russet, entwining, per lâaer perso , in
mauve, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma , gold of
oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti. But I old men, penitent,
leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south:
tomb womb.
âSpeak up for yourself, Mr OâMadden Burke said.
SUFFICIENT FOR THE DAY
Ulysses
247 of 1305 ...
J. J. OâMolloy, smiling palely, took up the gage.
âMy dear Myles, he said, f linging his cigarette aside,
you put a false construction on my words. I hold no brief,
as at present advised, for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with you.
Why not bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? Ignatius Gallaher we all
know and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the
farthing press, and his American cousin of the Bowery
guttersheet not to mention Paddy Kellyâs Budget, Pueâs
Occurrences and our watchful friend The Skibbereen Eagle .
Why bring in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside? Sufficient for the day is the newspaper thereof.
LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF
YORE
âGrattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the
editor cried in his face. Irish volunteers. Where are you now? Established 1763. Dr Luca s. Who have you now like
John Philpot Curran? Psha!
âWell, J. J. OâMolloy said, Bushe K.C., for example.
Ulysses
248 of 1305 âBushe? the editor said. Well, yes: Bushe, yes. He has
a strain of it in his blood. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.
âHe would have been on the bench long ago, the
professor said, only for ... But no matter.
J. J. OâMolloy turned to Stephen and said quietly and
slowly:
âOne of the most polished periods I think I ever
listened to in my life fell from the lips of Seymour Bushe.
It was in that case of fratricide, the Childs murder case. Bushe defended him.
And in the porches of mine ear did pour.
By the way how did he find that out? He died in his
sleep. Or the other story, beast with two backs?
âWhat was that? the professor asked.
ITALIA, MAGISTRA ARTIUM
âHe spoke on the law of evidence, J. J. OâMolloy
said, of Roman justice as contrasted with the earlier
Mosaic code, the lex talionis . And he cited the Moses of
Michelangelo in the vatican.
âHa.
Ulysses
249 of 1305 âA few wellchosen words, Lenehan prefaced. Silence!
Pause. J. J. OâMolloy took out his cigarettecase. False lull. Something quite ordinary. Messenger took out his matc hbox thoughtfully and lit
his cigar.
I have often thought since on looking back over that
strange time that it was that sma ll act, trivial in itself, that
striking of that match, that determined the whole aftercourse of both our lives.
A POLISHED PERIOD
J. J. OâMolloy resumed, moulding his words:
âHe said of it: that stony effigy in frozen music, horned
and terrible, of the human form divine, that eternal symbol of
wisdom and of prophecy which, if aught that the imagination or
Oratory and Ancient Echoes
- Stephen Dedalus reacts with a physical blush to the 'grace of language' and the performative nature of the Dublin literati.
- The conversation shifts to the Dublin mystical scene, mocking 'the opal hush poets' and the influence of Madame Blavatsky.
- Professor MacHugh introduces a legendary display of oratory by John F. Taylor regarding the revival of the Irish language.
- Taylor's speech is framed as a rebuttal to the 'courteous haughtiness' of the establishment, represented by Justice Fitzgibbon.
- The professor describes Taylor as a sickly, prophetic figure whose presence commanded the room despite his physical frailty.
- The narrative transitions into a formal recreation of Taylor's speech, using an Egyptian allegory to parallel the Irish struggle.
His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy beard round it. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he looked (though he was not) a dying man.
the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live.
His slim hand with a wave graced echo and fall. âFine! Myles Crawford said at once. âThe divine afflatus, Mr OâMadden Burke said.
âYou like it? J. J. OâMolloy asked Stephen.
Stephen, his blood wooed by grace of language and
gesture, blushed. He took a cigarette from the case. J. J.
Ulysses
250 of 1305 OâMolloy offered his case to Myles Crawford. Lenehan lit
their cigarettes as before and took his trophy, saying:
âMuchibus thankibus.
A MAN OF HIGH MORALE
âProfessor Magennis was speaking to me about you, J.
J. OâMolloy said to Stephen. What do you think really of
that hermetic crowd, the opal hush poets: A. E. the mastermystic? That Blavatsky woman started it. She was a nice old bag of tricks. A. E. has been telling some yankee interviewer that you came to him in the small hours of the morning to ask him about planes of consciousness.
Magennis thinks you must have been pulling A. E.âs leg.
He is a man of the very highest morale, Magennis.
Speaking about me. What did he say? What did he say?
What did he say about me? Donât ask.
âNo, thanks, professor MacHugh said, waving the
cigarettecase aside. Wait a mo ment. Let me say one thing.
The finest display of oratory I ever heard was a speech made by John F Taylor at the college historical society. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and the paper under debate was an essay (new for those days), advocating the revival of the Irish tongue.
Ulysses
251 of 1305 He turned towards Myles Crawford and said:
âYou know Gerald Fitzgibbon. Then you can
imagine the style of his discourse.
âHe is sitting with Tim Healy, J. J. OâMolloy said,
rumour has it, on the Trinity college estates commission.
âHe is sitting with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford
said, in a childâs frock. Go on. Well?
âIt was the speech, mark you, the professor said, of a
finished orator, full of courte ous haughtiness and pouring
in chastened diction I will not say the vials of his wrath but pouring the proud manâs contumely upon the new movement. It was then a new movement. We were weak,
therefore worthless.
He closed his long thin lips an instant but, eager to be
on, raised an outspanned hand to his spectacles and, with trembling thumb and ringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to a new focus.
IMPROMPTU
In ferial tone he addressed J. J. OâMolloy:
âTaylor had come there, you must know, from a
sickbed. That he had prepared his speech I do not believe for there was not even one shorthandwriter in the hall.
Ulysses
252 of 1305 His dark lean face had a grow th of shaggy beard round it.
He wore a loose white silk ne ckcloth and altogether he
looked (though he was not) a dying man.
His gaze turned at once but slowly from J. J.
OâMolloyâs towards Stephenâs face and then bent at once to the ground, seeking. His ung lazed linen collar appeared
behind his bent head, soiled by his withering hair. Still seeking, he said:
âWhen Fitzgibbonâs speech had ended John F Taylor
rose to reply. Briefly, as well as I can bring them to mind,
his words were these.
He raised his head firm ly. His eyes bethought
themselves once more. Witless shellfish swam in the gross
lenses to and fro, seeking outlet.
He began:
âMr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my
admiration in listening to the remarks addressed to the youth of Ireland a moment since by my learned friend. It seemed to me that I had been transported into a country far away from this country, into an age remote from this age, that I stood in ancient Egypt and that I was listening to the speech of some highpriest of that land addressed to the youthful Moses.
His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their
smokes ascending in frail sta lks that flowered with his
Ulysses
The Language of the Outlaw
- An oratorical performance reimagines the haughty confrontation between an Egyptian high priest and the Israelites, contrasting imperial might with nomadic poverty.
- The speech highlights the tension between established civilizationâwith its literature, wealth, and monumentsâand the 'primitive' conditions of a wandering people.
- The figure of Moses is invoked as a hero who rejected the 'arrogant admonition' of empire to lead his people toward spiritual and political liberation.
- The narrative shifts from the high-flown rhetoric of the 'tables of the law' to the cynical, witty banter of Dubliners in a newspaper office.
- The group ultimately adjourns their intellectual and professional business in favor of heading to a local pub, Mooney's, for drinks.
He would never have spoken with the Eternal amid lightnings on Sinaiâs mountaintop nor ever have come down with the light of inspiration shining in his countenance and bearing in his arms the tables of the law, graven in the language of the outlaw.
253 of 1305 speech. And let our crooked smokes. Noble words coming.
Look out. Could you try your hand at it yourself?
âAnd it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptian
highpriest raised in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heard his words and their me aning was revealed to me.
FROM THE FATHERS
It was revealed to me that those things are good which
yet are corrupted which neit her if they were supremely
good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! Thatâs saint Augustine.
âWhy will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and
our language? You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are a mighty people. You have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our galley s, trireme and quadrireme, laden
with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the known globe. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have a
literature, a priesthood, an agelong history and a polity.
Nile. Child, man, effigy. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of
bulrushes: a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone.
Ulysses
254 of 1305 âYou pray to a local and obscure idol: our temples, majestic
and mysterious, are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and
Ammon Ra. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas. Israel is weak and f ew are her children: Egypt is an
host and terrible are her arms. Vagrants and daylabourers are you called: the world trembles at our name.
A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. He lifted his
voice above it boldly:
âBut, ladies and gentlemen, had the youthful Moses listened
to and accepted that view of life, had he bowed his head and bowed his will and bowed his spirit before that arrogant admonition he would never have brought the chosen people out of
their house of bondage, nor followed the pillar of the cloud by day. He would never have sp oken with the Eternal amid
lightnings on Sinaiâs mountaintop nor ever have come down with the light of inspiration shining in his countenance and bearing in his arms the tables of the law, graven in the language of the outlaw.
He ceased and looked at them, enjoying a silence. OMINOUSâFOR HIM! J. J. OâMolloy said not without regret:
âAnd yet he died without having entered the land of
promise.
Ulysses
255 of 1305 âA suddenâatâtheâmomentâthoughâfromâ
lingeringâillnessâ oftenâpreviouslyâexpectoratedâdemise, Lenehan added. And wit h a great future behind
him.
The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the
hallway and pattering up the staircase.
âThat is oratory, the pr ofessor said uncontradicted.
Gone with the wind. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of
the kings. Miles of ears of porc hes. The tribuneâs words,
howled and scattered to the four winds. A people sheltered within his voice. Dead noise. Akasic records of all that ever anywhere wherever was. Love and laud him:
me no more.
I have money. âGentlemen, Stephen said. As the next motion on the
agenda paper may I suggest that the house do now adjourn?
âYou take my breath away. It is not perchance a
French compliment? Mr OâMadden Burke asked. âTis the hour, methinks, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.
âThat it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. All that
are in favour say ay, Lenehan announced. The contrary
Ulysses
256 of 1305 no. I declare it carried. To wh ich particular boosing shed?
... My casting vote is: Mooneyâs!
He led the way, admonishing: âWe will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters,
will we not? Yes, we will not. By no manner of means.
Mr OâMadden Burke, follo wing close, said with an
allyâs lunge of his umbrella:
âLay on, Macduff! âChip of the old block! the editor cried, clapping
Stephen on the shoulder. Let us go. Where are those blasted keys?
He fumbled in his pocket pulling out the crushed
typesheets.
âFoot and mouth. I know. Th atâll be all right. Thatâll
go in. Where are they? Thatâs all right.
Visions of Dublin Vestals
- Stephen Dedalus begins narrating a 'vision' to Professor MacHugh involving two elderly Dublin women.
- The narrative details the mundane lives and meager savings of Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe as they prepare for an outing.
- Professor MacHugh provides a scholarly commentary on Stephen's story, framing the women as 'vestal virgins' and 'wise virgins.'
- The group's progress through the streets is punctuated by the chaotic energy of newsboys shouting headlines about racing and tragedies.
- Leopold Bloom reappears, breathless and frantic, attempting to secure an advertising deal with the editor, Myles Crawford.
- The scene contrasts high-minded historical and prophetic talk with the gritty, 'raw' reality of working-class Dublin life.
Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.
He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner
office.
LET US HOPE
J. J. OâMolloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to
Stephen:
âI hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one
moment.
Ulysses
257 of 1305 He went into the inner office, closing the door behind
him.
âCome along, Stephen, the professor said. That is
fine, isnât it? It has the prophetic vision. Fuit Ilium! The
sack of windy Troy. Kingdoms of this world. The masters of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.
The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at
their heels and rushed out into the street, yelling:
âRacing special! Dublin. I have much, much to learn. They turned to the left along Abbey street.
âI have a vision too, Stephen said.
âYes? the professor said, s kipping to get into step.
Crawford will follow.
Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:
âRacing special!
DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN
Dubliners.
âTwo Dublin vestals, Step hen said, elderly and pious,
have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumballyâs lane.
âWhere is that? the professor asked. âOff Blackpitts, Stephen said.
Ulysses
258 of 1305 Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall.
Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. Frantic hearts. Akasic records. Quicker, darlint!
On now. Dare it. Let there be life. âThey want to see the views of Dublin from the top
of Nelsonâs pillar. They save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox. They shake out the threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the pennies with the blade of a knife. Two and three in silver and one and seven in coppers. They put on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrella s for fear it may come on to
rain.
âWise virgins, professor MacHugh said.
LIFE ON THE RAW
âThey buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and
four slices of panloaf at th e north city diningrooms in
Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress ... They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot of Nelsonâs pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. They give two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the
Ulysses
259 of 1305 dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn,
praising God and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They had no idea it was that high.
Their names are Anne Kearn s and Florence MacCabe.
Anne Kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a lady who got a bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.
âAntithesis, the professor said nodding twice. Vestal
virgins. I can see them. Whatâs keeping our friend?
He turned.
A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps,
scattering in all directions, yelling, their white papers fluttering. Hard after them Myles Crawford appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his sc arlet face, talking with J. J.
OâMolloy.
âCome along, the professor cried, waving his arm. He set off again to walk by Stephenâs side.
RETURN OF BLOOM
âYes, he said. I see them.
Ulysses
260 of 1305 Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild
newsboys near the offices of the Irish Catholic and Dublin
Penny Journal , called:
âMr Crawford! A moment!
âTelegraph ! Racing special!
âWhat is it? Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace. A newsboy cried in Mr Bloomâs face: âTerrible tragedy in Rath mines! A child bit by a
bellows!
INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR
âJust this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through
towards the steps, puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. Heâll give a renewal for two months, he says. After heâll see. But he
wants a par to call attention in the Telegraph too, the
Saturday pink. And he wants it copied if itâs not too late I
told councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny People . I can
The Onehandled Adulterer
- Myles Crawford aggressively rejects a business proposal from Mr. Bloom, using crude language to dismiss the potential advertisement renewal.
- The group observes Stephen Dedalus, noting his improved appearance and questioning his recent whereabouts in Dublin.
- Stephen narrates a vivid, slightly irreverent story about two elderly Dublin women visiting the top of Nelson's Pillar.
- The narrative highlights the physical discomfort and giddy perspective of the women as they peer at the statue of Lord Nelson.
- The professor compares Stephen's cynical storytelling style to the Greek sophist Antisthenes, noting a shared bitterness toward beauty.
- The scene concludes with the group moving through the busy Dublin streets toward a pub, amidst the backdrop of stationary tramcars.
And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue of the onehandled adulterer.
have access to it in the national library. House of keys, donât you see? His name is Key es. Itâs a play on the name.
But he practically promised heâd give the renewal. But he
wants just a little puff. What will I tell him, Mr Crawford?
K.M.A.
Ulysses
261 of 1305 âWill you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles
Crawford said throwing out his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable.
A bit nervy. Look out for squalls. All off for a drink.
Arm in arm. Lenehanâs yachti ng cap on the cadge beyond.
Usual blarney. Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of b oots on him today. Last time I
saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking in muck
somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?
âWell, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get
the design I suppose itâs worth a short par. Heâd give the
ad, I think. Iâll tell him ...
K.M.R.I.A.
âHe can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford
cried loudly over his shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him.
While Mr Bloom stood weig hing the point and about
to smile he strode on jerkily.
RAISING THE WIND
âNulla bona , Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin.
Iâm up to here. Iâve been through the hoop myself. I was
Ulysses
262 of 1305 looking for a fellow to back a bill for me no later than last
week. Sorry, Jack. You must take the will for the deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind anyhow.
J. J. OâMolloy pulled a long face and walked on
silently. They caught up on the others and walked abreast.
âWhen they have eaten the brawn and the bread and
wiped their twenty fingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the railings.
âSomething for you, the professor explained to Myles
Crawford. Two old Dublin women on the top of Nelsonâs pillar.
SOME COLUMN!âTHATâS WHAT
WADDLER ONE SAID
âThatâs new, Myles Crawford said. Thatâs copy. Out
for the waxies Dargle. Two old trickies, what?
âBut they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went
on. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rath minesâ blue dome, Adam and
Eveâs, saint Laurence OâTooleâ s. But it makes them giddy
to look so they pull up their skirts ...
THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS
FEMALES
Ulysses
263 of 1305 âEasy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence.
Weâre in the archdiocese here.
âAnd settle down on their striped petticoats, peering
up at the statue of the onehandled adulterer.
âOnehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that.
I see the idea. I see what you mean.
DAMES DONATE DUBLINâS CITS
SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS
AEROLITHS, BELIEF
âIt gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and
they are too tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between them and eat the plums out
of it, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.
He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan
and Mr OâMadden Burke, hear ing, turned, beckoned and
led on across towards Mooneyâs.
âFinished? Myles Crawford sa id. So long as they do
no worse.
Ulysses
264 of 1305 SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY
HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS.
SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS. ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP.
âYou remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a
disciple of Gorgias, the sophist. It is said of him that none
could tell if he were bitterer against others or against
himself. He was the son of a noble and a bondwoman. And he wrote a book in which he took away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope.
Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich. They made ready to cross OâConnell street.
HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!
At various points along the eight lines tramcars with
motionless trolleys stood in th eir tracks, bound for or from
Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and
The Parable of the Plums
- Stephen Dedalus presents his story title, 'A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Parable of The Plums,' evoking biblical imagery of Moses and the promised land.
- The group reflects on the statue of Nelson, whom the professor mockingly labels a 'onehandled adulterer' while standing on Sir John Grayâs pavement.
- Mr. Bloom wanders through the city, observing the sweet shops and receiving a religious handbill asking 'Are you saved?'
- Bloom contemplates the nature of religious sacrifice and the commercialization of faith, from 'blood victims' to 'luminous crucifixes.'
- The sight of Dedalusâ daughter prompts Bloom to reflect on the poverty and domestic decay caused by large families and the Catholic Church's mandates on procreation.
- Bloom contrasts the priests' comfortable lifestyles and dietary rules with the rigors of Jewish traditions like the Yom Kippur fast.
Home always breaks up when the mother goes. Fifteen children he had. Birth every year almost.
Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney
cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams,
Ulysses
265 of 1305 aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles,
rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.
WHAT?âAND LIKEWISEâWHERE?
âBut what do you call it ? Myles Crawford asked.
Where did they get the plums?
VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.
SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR OLD
MAN MOSES.
âCall it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips
wide to reflect. Call it, let me see. Call it: deus nobis haec
otia fecit.
âNo, Stephen said. I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or
the Parable of The Plums.
t
âI see, the professor said.
He laughed richly. âI see, he said again with new pleasure. Moses and the
promised land. We gave him that idea, he added to J. J. OâMolloy.
Ulysses
266 of 1305 HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR
JUNE DAY
J. J. OâMolloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the
statue and held his peace.
âI see, the professor said. He halted on sir John Grayâs pavement island and
peered aloft at Nelson through the meshes of his wry smile.
DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO
TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.
ANNE WIMBLES, FLO WANGLESâYET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?
âOnehandled adulterer, he said smiling grimly. That
tickles me, I must say.
âTickled the old ones too, My les Crawford said, if the
God Almightyâs truth was known.
* * * * *
Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A
sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a
christian brother. Some school treat. Bad for their
Ulysses
267 of 1305 tummies. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty
the King. God. Save. Our. Sitting on his throne sucking red jujubes white.
A sombre Y.M.C.A. young man, watchful among the
warm sweet fumes of Graham Lemonâs, placed a throwaway in a hand of Mr Bloom.
Heart to heart talks. Bloo ... Me? No. Blood of the Lamb. His slow feet walked him riverward, reading. Are you
saved? All are washed in the blood of the lamb. God wants blood victim. Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a
building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druidsâ altars.
Elijah is coming. Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the church in Zion is coming.
Is coming! Is coming!! Is coming!!!
All heartily welcome.
Paying game. Torry and Alexander last year. Polygamy.
His wife will put the stopper on that. Where was that ad
some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix. Our Saviour. Wake up in the dead of night and see him on the wall, hanging. Pepperâs ghost idea. Iron nails ran in.
Phosphorus it must be done with. If you leave a bit of
codfish for instance. I could see the bluey silver over it.
Ulysses
268 of 1305 Night I went down to the p antry in the kitchen. Donât
like all the smells in it waiting to rush out. What was it she wanted? The Malaga raisins. Thinking of Spain. Before Rudy was born. The phosphorescence, that bluey greeny. Very good for the brain.
From Butlerâs monument house corner he glanced
along Bachelorâs walk. Dedalusâ daughter there still outside Dillonâs auctionrooms. Must be selling off some old
furniture. Knew her eyes at once from the father. Lobbing about waiting for him. Home always breaks up when the mother goes. Fifteen children he had. Birth every year
almost. Thatâs in their theo logy or the priest wonât give
the poor woman the confession, the absolution. Increase
and multiply. Did you ever hear such an idea? Eat you out of house and home. No families themselves to feed. Living on the fat of the land. Their butteries and larders. Iâd like to see them do the black fast Yom Kippur. Crossbuns.
One meal and a collation for fear heâd collapse on the
altar. A housekeeper of one of those fellows if you could
Reflections on the Liffey
- Leopold Bloom observes the poverty of a young girl, noting the physical toll of a diet consisting only of potatoes and margarine.
- While crossing O'Connell Bridge, Bloom imagines the inner workings of the Guinness brewery, including gruesome imagery of rats drowning in vats of porter.
- Bloom experiments with feeding the gulls, first tossing a crumpled advertisement and then purchasing Banbury cakes to watch their predatory feeding frenzy.
- The narrative shifts into literary criticism as Bloom contemplates the mechanics of rhyme versus the solemnity of Shakespearean blank verse.
- The sight of a floating advertisement for trousers prompts a philosophical meditation on the impossibility of owning flowing water and the nature of life as a stream.
- Bloom recalls various forms of urban advertising, from dance masters to clandestine notices for venereal disease treatments in public toilets.
Rats get in too. Drink themselves bloated as big as a collie floating. Dead drunk on the porter. Drink till they puke again like christians.
pick it out of her. Never pick it out of her. Like getting
l.s.d. out of him. Does himself well. No guests. All for number one. Watching his water. Bring your own bread and butter. His reverence: mumâs the word.
Ulysses
269 of 1305 Good Lord, that poor childâs dress is in flitters.
Underfed she looks too. Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes. Itâs after they f eel it. Proof of the pudding.
Undermines the constitution.
As he set foot on OâConnell bridge a puffball of smoke
plumed up from the parapet. Brewery barge with export stout. England. Sea air sours it, I heard. Be interesting some day get a pass through Hancock to see the brewery. Regular world in itself. Vats of porter wonderful. Rats get in too. Drink themselves bloated as big as a collie floating. Dead drunk on the porter. Drink till they puke again like christians. Imagine drinking that! Rats: vats. Well, of
course, if we knew all the things.
Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling
between the gaunt quaywalls, gulls. Rough weather outside. If I threw myself down? Reuben Jâs son must
have swallowed a good bellyful of that sewage. One and eightpence too much. Hhhhm. Itâs the droll way he comes out with the things. Knows how to tell a story too.
They wheeled lower. L ooking for grub. Wait.
He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball.
Elijah thirtytwo feet per sec is com. Not a bit. The ball bobbed unheeded on the wake of swells, floated under by the bridgepiers. Not such damn fools. Also the day I threw
Ulysses
270 of 1305 that stale cake out of the Erin âs King picked it up in the
wake fifty yards astern. Live by their wits. They wheeled, flapping.
The hungry famished gull
Flaps oâer the waters dull.
That is how poets write, the similar sounds. But then
Shakespeare has no rhymes: blank verse. The flow of the
language it is. The thoughts. Solemn.
Hamlet, I am thy fatherâs spirit
Doomed for a certain time to walk the earth.
âTwo apples a penny! Two for a penny!
His gaze passed over the gl azed apples serried on her
stand. Australians they must be this time of year. Shiny peels: polishes them up with a rag or a handkerchief.
Wait. Those poor birds. He halted again and bought from the old applewoman
two Banbury cakes for a penny and broke the brittle paste
and threw its fragments down into the Liffey. See that?
The gulls swooped silently, two, then all from their heights, pouncing on prey. Gone. Every morsel.
Aware of their greed and cunning he shook the
powdery crumb from his hands. They never expected that. Manna. Live on fish, fishy flesh they have, all seabirds, gulls, seagoose. Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here
Ulysses
271 of 1305 sometimes to preen themselves . No accounting for tastes.
Wonder what kind is swanmeat. Robinson Crusoe had to live on them.
They wheeled flapping weakly. Iâm not going to throw
any more. Penny quite enough. Lot of thanks I get. Not even a caw. They spread foot and mouth disease too. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that. Eat pig like pig. But then why is it that saltwater fish are
not salty? How is that?
His eyes sought answer from the river and saw a
rowboat rock at anchor on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board.
Kinoâs 11/- Trousers
Good idea that. Wonder if he pays rent to the
corporation. How can you ow n water really? Itâs always
flowing in a stream, never the same, which in the stream of life we trace. Because life is a stream. All kinds of places are good for ads. That quack do ctor for the clap used to be
stuck up in all the greenhouses. Never see it now. Strictly confidential. Dr Hy Franks. Didnât cost him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. Got fellows to stick them up or sti ck them up himself for that
matter on the q. t. running in to loosen a button.
Ulysses
272 of 1305 Flybynight. Just the place too. POST NO BILLS. POST
Bloom's Urban Reflections
- Mr. Bloom wanders through Dublin, contemplating scientific concepts like parallax and the linguistic misunderstandings of his wife, Molly.
- He observes a line of sandwichmen advertising Helyâs, reflecting on his own past employment there and his rejected marketing ideas.
- Bloom analyzes the nature of advertising, suggesting that curiosity and 'smart girls' are more effective than traditional methods.
- He recalls his interactions with a nun at Tranquilla convent, musing on her beauty and the hidden lives of those in religious orders.
- The passage tracks Bloom's internal timeline, anchoring his memories to specific Dublin landmarks and historical events like the fire at Arnott's.
A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched slowly towards him along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards.
110 PILLS. Some chap with a dose burning him.
If he ...? O! Eh? No ... No. No, no. I donât believe it. He wouldnât surely? No, no. Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes.
Think no more about that. After one. Timeball on the ballastoffice is down. Dunsink time. Fascinating little book
that is of sir Robert Ballâs . Parallax. I never exactly
understood. Thereâs a priest. Could ask him. Par itâs
Greek: parallel, parallax. Met him pike hoses she called it till I told her about the transmigration. O rocks!
Mr Bloom smiled O rocks at two windows of the
ballastoffice. Sheâs right after all. Only big words for ordinary things on account of the sound. Sheâs not exactly
witty. Can be rude too. Blurt out what I was thinking. Still, I donât know. She used to say Ben Dollard had a base barreltone voice. He has legs like barrels and youâd think he was singing into a barrel. Now, isnât that wit. They used to call him big Ben. Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone. Appetite like an albatross. Get outside of a
Ulysses
273 of 1305 baron of beef. Powerful man he was at stowing away
number one Bass. Barrel of Bass. See? It all works out.
A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched
slowly towards him along the gutter, scarlet sashes across
their boards. Bargains. Like that priest they are this morning: we have sinned: we have suffered. He read the scarlet letters on their five tall white hats: H. E. L. Y. S. Wisdom Helyâs. Y lagging behind drew a chunk of bread from under his foreboard, crammed it into his mouth and munched as he walked. Our sta ple food. Three bob a day,
walking along the gutters, street after street. Just keep skin and bone together, bread and skilly. They are not Boyl:
no, M Gladeâs men. Doesnât bring in any business either. I
suggested to him about a transparent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper. I bet that would have caught on. Smart girls writing something catch the eye at once. Everyone dying to know what sheâs writing. Get twenty of them round you if you stare at nothing. Have a finger in the pie. Women too. Curiosity. Pillar of salt. Wouldnât have it of course because he didnât think of it himself first. Or the inkbottle I suggested with a false stain of black celluloid. His ideas for ads like Plumtreeâs potted under the obituaries, cold meat department. You canât lick âem.
Ulysses
274 of 1305 What? Our envelopes. Hello, Jones, where are you going?
Canât stop, Robinson, I am hastening to purchase the only
reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Helyâs Ltd, 85 Dame
street. Well out of that ruck I am. Devil of a job it was collecting accounts of those c onvents. Tranquilla convent.
That was a nice nun there, really sweet face. Wimple
suited her small head. Sister? Sister? I am sure she was
crossed in love by her eyes. Very hard to bargain with that
sort of a woman. I disturbed her at her devotions that
morning. But glad to communicate with the outside world. Our great day, she said. Feast of Our Lady of
Mount Carmel. Sweet name too: caramel. She knew I, I
think she knew by the way she. If she had married she would have changed. I suppose they really were short of money. Fried everything in the best butter all the same. No lard for them. My heartâ s broke eating dripping. They
like buttering themselves in and out. Molly tasting it, her veil up. Sister? Pat Claffey, the pawnbrokerâs daughter. It was a nun they say invented barbed wire.
He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S
had plodded by. Rover cycleshop. Those races are on today. How long ago is that? Year Phil Gilligan died. We
were in Lombard street west. Wait: was in Thomâs. Got the job in Wisdom Helyâs year we married. Six years. Ten
Ulysses
275 of 1305 years ago: ninetyfour he died ye s thatâs right the big fire at
Arnottâs. Val Dillon was lord mayor. The Glencree dinner. Alderman Robert OâReilly empt ying the port into his
Memories of Molly and Mrs. Breen
- Leopold Bloom indulges in a sensory-rich stream of consciousness, recalling domestic scenes of his wife Molly and daughter Milly from years past.
- He remembers specific details of Molly's clothing, the smell of elderflower soap, and a windy night after a concert that highlighted her youthful vitality.
- The narrative shifts from internal nostalgia to a chance social encounter on the street with an old acquaintance, Mrs. Breen.
- Bloom masks his internal melancholy with a gay demeanor, updating Mrs. Breen on Milly's new job in a photography studio.
- The conversation turns to the funeral of Paddy Dignam, forcing Bloom to navigate the social rituals of mourning and sympathy.
- Bloom's private thoughts reveal a weariness with the repetitive nature of death and the inevitable questions that follow a funeral.
Swish and soft flop her stays made on the bed. Always warm from her.
soup before the flag fell. Bo bbob lapping it for the inner
alderman. Couldnât hear what the band played. For what we have already received may the Lord make us. Milly
was a kiddy then. Molly had that elephantgrey dress with the braided frogs. Mantailored with selfcovered buttons. She didnât like it because I sprained my ankle first day she wore choir picnic at the Sugarloaf. As if that. Old Goodwinâs tall hat done up with some sticky stuff. Fliesâ picnic too. Never put a dress on her back like it. Fitted
her like a glove, shoulders and hips. Just beginning to
plump it out well. Rabbitpie we had that day. People looking after her.
Happy. Happier then. Snug little room that was with
the red wallpaper. Dockrellâs, one and ninepence a dozen. Millyâs tubbing night. American soap I bought: elderflower. Cosy smell of her bathwater. Funny she looked soaped all over. Shapely too. Now photography. Poor papaâs daguerreotype atelier he told me of. Hereditary taste.
He walked along the curbstone.
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276 of 1305 Stream of life. What wa s the name of that
priestylooking chap was always squinting in when he passed? Weak eyes, woman. Stopped in Citronâs saint Kevinâs parade. Pen something. Pendennis? My memory is getting. Pen ...? Of course itâs years ago. Noise of the trams probably. Well, if he couldnât remember the
dayfatherâs name that he sees every day.
Bartell dâArcy was the tenor, just coming out then.
Seeing her home after practice. Conceited fellow with his
waxedup moustache. Gave her that song Winds that blow
from the south .
Windy night that was I went to fetch her there was that
lodge meeting on about those lottery tickets after Goodwinâs concert in the su pperroom or oakroom of the
Mansion house. He and I behind. Sheet of her music blew out of my hand against the Hi gh school railings. Lucky it
didnât. Thing like that spoils the effect of a night for her.
Professor Goodwin linking her in front. Shaky on his pins, poor old sot. His farewell concerts. Positively last appearance on any stage. May be for months and may be for never. Remember her l aughing at the wind, her
blizzard collar up. Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. Brrfoo! Blew up all her skirts and her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin. She did get flushed in the wind.
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277 of 1305 Remember when we got home raking up the fire and
frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her supper with the Chutney sauce she liked. And the mulled rum. Could see her in the bedroom from the hearth unclamping the busk of her stays: white.
Swish and soft flop her stays made on the bed. Always
warm from her. Always liked to let her self out. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. Milly tucked up in beddyhouse. Happy. Happy. That was the night ...
âO, Mr Bloom, how do you do? âO, how do you do, Mrs Breen?
âNo use complaining. How is Molly those times?
Havenât seen her for ages.
âIn the pink, Mr Bloom said gaily. Milly has a
position down in Mullingar, you know.
âGo away! Isnât that grand for her? âYes. In a photographerâs there. Getting on like a
house on fire. How are all your charges?
âAll on the bakerâs list, Mrs Breen said. How many has she? No other in sight. âYouâre in black, I see. You have no ... âNo, Mr Bloom said. I have just come from a funeral.
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278 of 1305 Going to crop up all day, I foresee. Whoâs dead, when
and what did he die of? Turn up like a bad penny.
âO, dear me, Mrs Breen said. I hope it wasnât any
near relation.
May as well get her sympathy. âDignam, Mr Bloom said. An old friend of mine. He
died quite suddenly, poor fellow. Heart trouble, I believe. Funeral was this morning.
Your funeralâs tomorrow
While youâre coming through the rye.
Diddlediddle dumdum
Diddlediddle ...
âSad to lose the old friend s, Mrs Breenâs womaneyes
said melancholily.
Now thatâs quite enough ab out that. Just: quietly:
husband.
âAnd your lord and master? Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Hasnât lost
them anyhow.
Shabby Genteel and Superstition
- Mr. Bloom encounters Mrs. Breen, formerly Josie Powell, noting her faded appearance and the 'shabby genteel' state of her clothing.
- Mrs. Breen describes her husband's eccentric and paranoid behavior, including a nightmare about the ace of spades and his obsession with a libelous postcard.
- The mysterious postcard contains only the message 'U.P.', which has provoked Mr. Breen to seek legal action for ten thousand pounds.
- The conversation shifts to Mina Purefoy, who has been in difficult labor for three days at the Holles Street lying-in hospital.
- Bloom observes the sensory details of the Dublin streets, from the smell of mockturtle soup to the peculiar walking habits of a passing eccentric.
Heâs in there now with his lawbooks finding out the law of libel. He has me heartscalded.
âO, donât be talking! she said. Heâs a caution to
rattlesnakes. Heâs in there now with his lawbooks finding
out the law of libel. He has me heartscalded. Wait till I show you.
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279 of 1305 Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked
jampuffs rolypoly poured out from Harrisonâs. The heavy
noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloomâs gullet. Want to make good pastry, butter, best flour, Demerara sugar, or theyâd taste it with the hot tea. Or is it from her? A barefoot arab stood over the grating, breathing in the fumes. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way. Pleasure or pain is it? Penny dinner. Knife and fork chained to the table.
Opening her handbag, chipped leather. Hatpin: ought
to have a guard on those things. Stick it in a chapâs eye in
the tram. Rummaging. Open. Money. Please take one.
Devils if they lose sixpence. Raise Cain. Husband barging.
Whereâs the ten shillings I gave you on Monday? Are you feeding your little brotherâs family? Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle. Pastille that was fell. What is she? ...
âThere must be a new moon out, she said. Heâs
always bad then. Do you know what he did last night?
Her hand ceased to rummage. Her eyes fixed
themselves on him, wide in alarm, yet smiling.
âWhat? Mr Bloom asked. Let her speak. Look straight in her eyes. I believe you.
Trust me.
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280 of 1305 âWoke me up in the night, she said. Dream he had, a
nightmare.
Indiges. âSaid the ace of spades was walking up the stairs. âThe ace of spades! Mr Bloom said. She took a folded postcard from her handbag. âRead that, she said. He got it this morning. âWhat is it? Mr Bloom asked, taking the card. U.P.? âU.P.: up, she said. Someone taking a rise out of him.
Itâs a great shame for them whoever he is.
âIndeed it is, Mr Bloom said. She took back the card, sighing.
âAnd now heâs going round to Mr Mentonâs office.
Heâs going to take an action for ten thousand pounds, he
says.
She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped
the catch.
Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap
bleaching. Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel. She used to be a tasty dresser.
Lines round her mouth. Only a year or so older than Molly.
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281 of 1305 See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The
unfair sex.
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his
discontent. Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. Iâm hungry too. Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interi or. Josie Powell that was. In
Luke Doyleâs long ago. Dolphinâs Barn, the charades. U.P.: up.
Change the subject. âDo you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr
Bloom asked.
âMina Purefoy? she said.
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoersâ Club.
Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.
âYes. âI just called to ask on the way in is she over it. Sheâs
in the lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her
in. Sheâs three days bad now.
âO, Mr Bloom said. Iâm sorry to hear that. âYes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home.
Itâs a very stiff birth, the nurse told me.
â-O, Mr Bloom said.
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282 of 1305 His heavy pitying gaze abso rbed her news. His tongue
clacked in compassion. Dth! Dth!
âIâm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three
days! Thatâs terrible for her.
Mrs Breen nodded. âShe was taken bad on the Tuesday ... Mr Bloom touched her funnybone gently, warning her: âMind! Let this man pass. A bony form strode along the curbstone from the river
staring with a rapt gaze into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass. Tight as a skullpiece a tiny hat gripped
his head. From his arm a fo lded dustcoat, a stick and an
umbrella dangled to his stride.
âWatch him, Mr Bloom said. He always walks outside
the lampposts. Watch!
âWho is he if itâs a fair question? Mrs Breen asked. Is
Bloomâs Observations on Dublin Life
- Mr. Bloom observes the eccentric Denis Breen and his long-suffering wife, noting Breen's mental instability and odd attire.
- Bloom reflects on a mysterious postcard labeled 'U.P.' and suspects it was a prank played by local acquaintances like Alf Bergan.
- The narrative shifts to Bloom's management of his secret correspondence, recalling the strange and intimate questions asked by female respondents to his advertisement.
- Bloom analyzes the effectiveness of the Irish Times for advertising and the financial success of its management.
- A news item about Lady Mountcashel leads Bloom into a reverie about 'horsey' women and a sensual memory of Mrs. Miriam Dandrade.
- The passage concludes with a brief, sympathetic thought for Mrs. Purefoy and her difficult domestic situation.
I called you naughty darling because I do not like that other world.
he dotty?
âHis name is Cashel Boyle OâConnor Fitzmaurice
Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said smiling. Watch!
âHe has enough of them, she said. Denis will be like
that one of these days.
She broke off suddenly. âThere he is, she said. I must go after him. Goodbye.
Remember me to Molly, wonât you?
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283 of 1305 âI will, Mr Bloom said.
He watched her dodge through passers towards the
shopfronts. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of Harrisonâs hugging two heavy
tomes to his ribs. Blown in fr om the bay. Like old times.
He suffered her to overtak e him without surprise and
thrust his dull grey beard towards her, his loose jaw wagging as he spoke earnestly.
Meshuggah. Off his chump. Mr Bloom walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him
in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat. Going the two days. Watch him!
Out he goes again. One way of getting on in the world.
And that other old mosey lunatic in those duds. Hard time
she must have with him.
U.P.: up. Iâll take my oath thatâs Alf Bergan or Richie
Goulding. Wrote it for a lark in the Scotch house I bet anything. Round to Mentonâ s office. His oyster eyes
staring at the postcard. Be a feast for the gods.
He passed the Irish Times . There might be other
answers Iying there. Like to answer them all. Good system for criminals. Code. At their lunch now. Clerk with the glasses there doesnât know me. O, leave them there to simmer. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of
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284 of 1305 them. Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in
literary work. I called you naug hty darling because I do
not like that other world. Pl ease tell me what is the
meaning. Please tell me what perfume does your wife. Tell
me who made the world. The way they spring those questions on you. And the other one Lizzie Twigg. My literary efforts have had the good fortune to meet with the
approval of the eminent poet A. E. (Mr Geo. Russell). No time to do her hair drinking sloppy tea with a book of
poetry.
Best paper by long chalks for a small ad. Got the
provinces now. Cook and general, exc. cuisine,
housemaid kept. Wanted live man for spirit counter.
Resp. girl (R.C.) wishes to hear of post in fruit or pork shop. James Carlisle made t hat. Six and a half per cent
dividend. Made a big deal on Coatesâs shares. Caâ canny. Cunning old Scotch hunks. All the toady news. Our
gracious and popular vicereine. Bought the Irish Field now.
Lady Mountcashel has quite recovered after her confinement and rode out with the Ward Union staghounds at the enlargement yesterday at Rathoath. Uneatable fox. Pothunters too. Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them. Riding astride. Sit her horse like a man. Weightcarrying huntress. No sidesaddle or pillion
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285 of 1305 for her, not for Joe. First to the meet and in at the death.
Strong as a brood mare some of those horsey women. Swagger around livery stables. Toss off a glass of brandy neat while youâd say knife. That one at the Grosvenor this morning. Up with her on the ca r: wishswish. Stonewall or
fivebarred gate put her mount to it. Think that pugnosed
driver did it out of spite. Who is this she was like? O yes! Mrs Miriam Dandrade that sold me her old wraps and
black underclothes in the Shelbourne hotel. Divorced Spanish American. Didnât take a feather out of her my handling them. As if I was her clotheshorse. Saw her in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in
with Whelan of the Express. Scavenging what the quality
left. High tea. Mayonnaise I poured on the plums thinking it was custard. Her ears ought to have tingled for a few weeks after. Want to be a bull for her. Born courtesan. No
nursery work for her, thanks.
Poor Mrs Purefoy! Methodi st husband. Method in his
Dublin Midday Musings
- Bloom observes the eccentricities of Dubliners, including a man obsessed with health and a cousin in Dublin Castle.
- The narrative shifts to the physical and emotional toll of childbirth, contrasting Molly's experience with the agony of difficult labors.
- Bloom critiques the lack of medical progress in pain management for women, dismissing poetic sentimentality as 'flapdoodle.'
- He proposes a pragmatic economic scheme to provide every newborn with a government-funded savings account at compound interest.
- The scene transitions to the streets of Dublin, where Bloom watches a squad of well-fed constables marching to their beats after lunch.
- Bloom reflects on the lack of public facilities for women, noting the irony of a poet's statue placed above a urinal.
Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the way out.
madness. Saffron bun and milk and soda lunch in the educational dairy. Y. M. C. A. Eating with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the minut e. And still his muttonchop
whiskers grew. Supposed to be well connected. Theodoreâs cousin in Dublin Ca stle. One tony relative in
every family. Hardy annuals he presents her with. Saw him
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286 of 1305 out at the Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded
and his eldest boy carrying one in a marketnet. The squallers. Poor thing! Then having to give the breast year after year all hours of the night. Selfish those t.tâs are. Dog in the manger. Only one lump of sugar in my tea, if you
please.
He stood at Fleet street cr ossing. Luncheon interval. A
sixpenny at Roweâs? Must look up that ad in the national library. An eightpenny in the Burton. Better. On my way.
He walked on past Boltonâs Westmoreland house. Tea.
Tea. Tea. I forgot to tap Tom Kernan.
Sss. Dth, dth, dth! Three days imagine groaning on a
bed with a vinegared handkerc hief round her forehead,
her belly swollen out. Phew! Dreadful simply! Childâs head too big: forceps. Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the way out. Kill me that would. Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. They ought to invent something to stop that. Life with hard labour. Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given that. Nine she had. A good layer. Old woman that lived in a shoe she had so many children. Suppose he was consumptive. Time someone thought about it instead of gassing about the what was it the pensive boso m of the silver effulgence.
Flapdoodle to feed fools on. They could easily have big
Ulysses
287 of 1305 establishments whole thing qu ite painless out of all the
taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to twentyone five per cent is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put by money save hundred and ten and a bit twentyone years want to work it out on paper
come to a tidy sum more than you think.
Not stillborn of course. They are not even registered.
Trouble for nothing.
Funny sight two of them together, their bellies out.
Molly and Mrs Moisel. Mothersâ meeting. Phthisis retires
for the time being, then retur ns. How flat they look all of
a sudden after. Peaceful eyes . Weight off their mind. Old
Mrs Thornton was a jolly old soul. All my babies, she said. The spoon of pap in her mouth before she fed them. O, thatâs nyumnyum. Got her hand crushed by old Tom Wallâs son. His first bow to the public. Head like a prize pumpkin. Snuffy Dr Murren. Peo ple knocking them up at
all hours. For Godâ sake, doctor. Wife in her throes. Then keep them waiting months for their fee. To attendance on
your wife. No gratitude in people. Humane doctors, most
of them.
Before the huge high door of the Irish house of
parliament a flock of pigeons flew. Their little frolic after
Ulysses
288 of 1305 meals. Who will we do it on? I pick the fellow in black.
Here goes. Hereâs good luck. Must be thrilling from the
air. Apjohn, myself and Owen Goldberg up in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys. Mackerel they called me.
A squad of constables debouc hed from College street,
marching in Indian file. Goosestep. Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. After their feed with a good load of fat soup under their belts. Policemanâs lot is oft a happy one. They split up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats. Let out to graze. Best moment to attack one in pudding time. A punch in
his dinner. A squad of others, marching irregularly,
rounded Trinity railings making for the station. Bound for their troughs. Prepare to receive cavalry. Prepare to receive soup.
He crossed under Tommy Mooreâs roguish finger.
They did right to put him up over a urinal: meeting of the waters. Ought to be places for women. Running into
cakeshops. Settle my hat straight. There is not in this wide
Political Unrest and Secret Circles
- Bloom recalls a chaotic protest at Trinity College involving horse police and his narrow escape from injury.
- The narrative reflects on the hypocrisy of youth, noting that many radical students eventually become conservative magistrates or soldiers.
- The text explores the paranoia of surveillance, describing how plainclothes detectives use domestic servants to spy on households.
- Bloom considers the structure of revolutionary movements, specifically James Stephens's 'circles of ten' designed to prevent mass betrayal.
- The section critiques the effectiveness of Irish political leaders, contrasting Parnell's charisma with Arthur Griffith's lack of public appeal.
- The internal monologue ends with a cynical view of political idealism, dismissing lofty debates as 'gammon and spinach' fueled by free meals.
Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys. Easily twig a man used to uniform. Squarepushing up against a backdoor.
world a vallee . Great song of Julia Morkanâs. Kept her voice
up to the very last. Pupil of Michael Balfeâs, wasnât she?
He gazed after the last broad tunic. Nasty customers to
tackle. Jack Power could a tale unfold: father a G man. If a
Ulysses
289 of 1305 fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him have it
hot and heavy in the bridewell. Canât blame them after all with the job they have especially the young hornies. That horsepoliceman the day Joe Chamberlain was given his degree in Trinity he got a r un for his money. My word he
did! His horseâs hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street. Lucky I had the presence of mind to dive into Manningâs or I was souped. He did come a wallop, by George. Must have cracked his skull on the cobblestones. I
oughtnât to have got myself swept along with those medicals. And the Trinity jibs in their mortarboards. Looking for trouble. Still I got to know that young Dixon
who dressed that sting for me in the Mater and now heâs
in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. Wheels within wheels. Police whistle in my ears still. All skedaddled. Why he fixed on me. Give me in charge. Right here it began.
âUp the Boers! âThree cheers for De Wet! âWeâll hang Joe Chamberlain on a sourapple tree. Silly billies: mob of young cu bs yelling their guts out.
Vinegar hill. The Butter exchange band. Few yearsâ time half of them magistrates and civil servants. War comes on:
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290 of 1305 into the army helterskelter: sa me fellows used to. Whether
on the scaffold high.
Never know who youâre talking to. Corny Kelleher he
has Harvey Duff in his eye. Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the invincibles. Member of the corporation too. Egging raw youths on to get in the know all the time drawing secret service pay from the castle. Drop him like a hot potato. Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys. Easily twig a man used to uniform. Squarepushing up against a backdoor. Maul her a bit. Then the next thing on the menu. And who is the gentleman does be visiting there? Was the young master
saying anything? Peeping Tom through the keyhole.
Decoy duck. Hotblooded young student fooling round her fat arms ironing.
âAre those yours, Mary? âI donât wear such things ... Stop or Iâll tell the missus
on you. Out half the night.
âThere are great times coming, Mary. Wait till you
see.
âAh, gelong with your great times coming. Barmaids too. Tobaccoshopgirls. James Stephensâ idea was the best. He knew them.
Circles of ten so that a fellow couldnât round on more
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291 of 1305 than his own ring. Sinn Fein. Ba ck out you get the knife.
Hidden hand. Stay in. The firing squad. Turnkeyâs daughter got him out of Richmond, off from Lusk. Putting up in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their
very noses. Garibaldi.
You must have a certain fa scination: Parnell. Arthur
Griffith is a squareheaded fellow but he has no go in him for the mob. Or gas about our lovely land. Gammon and spinach. Dublin Bakery Co mpanyâs tearoom. Debating
societies. That republicanism is the best form of government. That the language question should take precedence of the economic question. Have your
daughters inveigling them to your house. Stuff them up
with meat and drink. Michaelm as goose. Hereâs a good
lump of thyme seasoning under the apron for you. Have another quart of goosegrease before it gets too cold. Halffed enthusiasts. Penny roll and a walk with the band. No grace for the carver. The thought that the other chap
pays best sauce in the world. Make themselves thoroughly at home. Show us over those apricots, meaning peaches.
The not far distant day. Homerule sun rising up in the northwest.
His smile faded as he walked, a heavy cloud hiding the
sun slowly, shadowing Trinityâs surly front. Trams passed
Ulysses
Cycles of the City
- Bloom reflects on the relentless cycle of birth and death, noting that hundreds are born and die in the mere minutes since he fed the birds.
- The urban landscape is viewed as a transient collection of bricks and stones that outlast their owners, who are merely temporary tenants.
- Bloom experiences a midday slump in vitality, describing a feeling of being 'eaten and spewed' while observing the gloomy atmosphere of the Provost's house.
- A chance sighting of John Howard Parnell, brother of the late political leader, prompts reflections on the family's eccentricities and fallen status.
- The appearance of George Russell (A.E.) and a female companion sparks Bloom's curiosity about occult symbolism and literary pretensions.
Cityful passing away, other cityful coming, passing away too: other coming on, passing on.
292 of 1305 one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. Useless words.
Things go on same, day after day: squads of police marching out, back: trams in, out. Those two loonies mooching about. Dignam carted off. Mina Purefoy swollen belly on a bed groaning to have a child tugged out of her. One born every sec ond somewhere. Other dying
every second. Since I fed the birds five minutes. Three hundred kicked the bucket. Other three hundred born, washing the blood off, all are washed in the blood of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa.
Cityful passing away, other cityful coming, passing
away too: other coming on, passing on. Houses, lines of
houses, streets, miles of paveme nts, piledup bricks, stones.
Changing hands. This owner, that. Landlord never dies
they say. Other steps into his shoes when he gets his notice to quit. They buy the place up with gold and still
they have all the gold. Swindle in it somewhere. Piled up in cities, worn away age after age. Pyramids in sand. Built on bread and onions. Slaves Chinese wall. Babylon. Big stones left. Round towers. Re st rubble, sprawling suburbs,
jerrybuilt. Kerwanâs mushroom houses built of breeze. Shelter, for the night.
No-one is anything.
Ulysses
293 of 1305 This is the very worst hour of the day. Vitality. Dull,
gloomy: hate this hour. Feel as if I had been eaten and spewed.
Provostâs house. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned
salmon. Well tinned in there. Like a mortuary chapel. Wouldnât live in it if they paid me. Hope they have liver and bacon today. Nature abhors a vacuum.
The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among
the silverware opposite in Walter Sextonâs window by which John Howard Parnell passed, unseeing.
There he is: the brother. Im age of him. Ha unting face.
Now thatâs a coincidence. Course hundreds of times you
think of a person and donât meet him. Like a man walking
in his sleep. No-one knows him. Must be a corporation meeting today. They say he never put on the city marshalâs uniform since he got the job. Charley Kavanagh
used to come out on his high horse, cocked hat, puffed, powdered and shaved. Look at the woebegone walk of him. Eaten a bad egg. Poac hed eyes on ghost. I have a
pain. Great manâs brother: his brotherâs brother. Heâd look
nice on the city charger. Dr op into the D.B.C. probably
for his coffee, play chess there. His brother used men as pawns. Let them all go to pot. Afraid to pass a remark on him. Freeze them up with t hat eye of his. Thatâs the
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294 of 1305 fascination: the name. All a bit touched. Mad Fanny and
his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Bolt upright lik surgeon MâArdle. Still David Sheehy beat him for south Me ath. Apply for the Chiltern
Hundreds and retire into public life. The patriotâs banquet.
Eating orangepeels in the park. Simon Dedalus said when they put him in parliament that Parnell would come back from the grave and lead him out of the house of commons
by the arm.
âOf the twoheaded octopus, one of whose heads is
the head upon which the ends of the world have forgotten to come while the other speaks with a Scotch accent. The
tentacles ...
They passed from behind Mr Bloom along the
curbstone. Beard and bicycle. Young woman.
And there he is too. Now thatâs really a coincidence:
second time. Coming events cast their shadows before. With the approval of the emin ent poet, Mr Geo. Russell.
That might be Lizzie Twigg with him. A. E.: what does that mean? Initials perhaps. Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. What was he saying? The ends of the world with a Scotch accent. Tentacles: octopus. Something occult: symbolism.
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295 of 1305 Holding forth. Sheâs taking it all in. Not saying a word.
To aid gentleman in literary work.
His eyes followed the high figure in homespun, beard
Bloom's Celestial and Earthly Musings
- Bloom reflects on the physical and mental effects of vegetarianism, associating 'nutarians' and 'fruitarians' with a dreamy, aesthetic temperament.
- He observes the commercial dominance of German optics and considers the strange human tendency to leave personal belongings behind in trains.
- A series of optical experiments leads Bloom to contemplate the scale of the universe, from blotting out the sun with a finger to the nature of sunspots.
- Bloom considers the social utility of flattery and the difficulty of understanding complex scientific concepts like parallax.
- The narrative shifts into a poignant memory of a moonlit walk, triggered by the lunar cycle and a shared song with a companion.
- The internal monologue transitions from cosmic 'gasballs' back to the immediate reality of the Dublin streets and the sight of Bob Doran.
Gas: then solid: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, like that pineapple rock.
and bicycle, a listening woman at his side. Coming from the vegetarian. Only weggebobbles and fruit. Donât eat a beefsteak. If you do the eyes of that cow will pursue you through all eternity. They say itâs healthier. Windandwatery though. Tried it. Keep you on the run all day. Bad as a bloater. Dreams all night. Why do they call that thing they gave me nut steak? Nutarians. Fruitarians.
To give you the idea you are eating rumpsteak. Absurd. Salty too. They cook in soda . Keep you sitting by the tap
all night.
Her stockings are loose over her ankles. I detest that: so
tasteless. Those literary eth erial people they are all.
Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Esthetes they are. I wouldnât be surprised if it was that kind of food you see produces the like waves of the brain the poetical. For example one of those policemen sweating Iri sh stew into their shirts
you couldnât squeeze a line of poetry out of him. Donât know what poetry is even. Must be in a certain mood.
The dreamy cloudy gull
Waves oâer the waters dull.
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296 of 1305 He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the
window of Yeates and Son, pricing the fieldglasses. Or will I drop into old Harrisâs and have a chat with young
Sinclair? Wellmannered fellow. Probably at his lunch.
Must get those old glasses of mine set right. Goerz lenses six guineas. Germans making their way everywhere. Sell on easy terms to capture trade. Undercutting. Might chance on a pair in the railway lost property office.
Astonishing the things people leave behind them in trains
and cloakrooms. What do they be thinking about? Women too. Incredible. Last ye ar travelling to Ennis had
to pick up that farmerâs daughterâs ba and hand it to her at Limerick junction. Unclaimed money too. Thereâs a little
watch up there on the roof of the bank to test those glasses
by.
His lids came down on the lower rims of his irides.
Canât see it. If you imagine it âs there you can almost see it.
Canât see it.
He faced about and, standing between the awnings,
held out his right hand at armâs length towards the sun. Wanted to try that often. Yes: completely. The tip of his little finger blotted out the sunâs disk. Must be the focus where the rays cross. If I had black glasses. Interesting. There was a lot of talk about those sunspots when we
were in Lombard street west. Looking up from the back
Ulysses
297 of 1305 garden. Terrific explosions they are. There will be a total
eclipse this year: autumn some time.
Now that I come to think of it that ball falls at
Greenwich time. Itâs the clock is worked by an electric wire from Dunsink. Must go out there some first Saturday of the month. If I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family. That would do to: man always feels com plimented. Flattery where least
expected. Nobleman proud to be descended from some
kingâs mistress. His foremother. Lay it on with a trowel. Cap in hand goes through the land. Not go in and blurt out what you know youâre not to: whatâs parallax? Show
this gentleman the door.
Ah. His hand fell to his side again. Never know anything about it. Waste of time. Gasballs
spinning about, crossing each other, passing. Same old dingdong always. Gas: then solid: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, like that pineapple rock. The moon. Must be a new moon out, she said. I believe there is.
He went on by la maison Claire. Wait. The full moon was the night we were Sunday
fortnight exactly there is a new moon. Walking down by
Ulysses
298 of 1305 the Tolka. Not bad for a Fairview moon. She was
humming. The young May moon sheâs beaming, love. He other side of her. Elbow, arm. He. Glowwormâs la-amp is gleaming, love. Touch. Fingers. Asking. Answer. Yes.
Stop. Stop. If it was it was. Must. Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed
Adam court.
With a keep quiet relief his eyes took note this is the
street here middle of the day of Bob Doranâs bottle
Sensory Desires and Sordid Realities
- Bloom wanders through Dublin, reflecting on the cyclical nature of alcoholism and the decline of local theatrical figures like Pat Kinsella.
- A profound sense of nostalgia and existential questioning haunts Bloom as he recalls his younger years and the shift in his marriage following the death of his son, Rudy.
- The vibrant commerce of Grafton Street, filled with silks and luxury goods, triggers a sensory overload of desire and historical associations with the Huguenots.
- Bloom contemplates the domestic habits of women and his own physical decay while planning a future gift for Molly's birthday.
- The narrative shifts from the romanticized 'perfume of embraces' to the visceral, repulsive reality of men eating like animals in the Burton restaurant.
Canât bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.
shoulders. On his annual bend, M Coy said. They drink in
order to say or do something or cherchez la femme . Up in
the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then
the rest of the year sober as a judge.
Yes. Thought so. Sloping into the Empire. Gone. Plain
soda would do him good. Where Pat Kinsella had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queenâs. Broth of a boy. Dion Boucicault busi ness with his harvestmoon face
in a poky bonnet. Three Purty Maids from School. How time flies, eh? Showing long red pantaloons under his skirts. Drinkers, drinking, l aughed spluttering, their drink
against their breath. More power, Pat. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. Take off that white hat. His parboiled eyes. Where is he now? Beggar somewhere. The
harp that once did starve us all.
Ulysses
299 of 1305 I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I?
Twentyeight I was. She twentythree. When we left Lombard street west something changed. Could never like it again after Rudy. Canât bring back time. Like holding water in your hand. Would y ou go back to then? Just
beginning then. Would you? Are you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Wants to sew on buttons for me. I must answer. Write it in the library.
Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his
senses. Muslin prints, sil kdames and dowagers, jingle of
harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the baking causeway. Thick feet that woman has in the white stockings. Hope
the rain mucks them up on h er. Countrybred chawbacon.
All the beef to the heels w ere in. Always gives a woman
clumsy feet. Molly looks out of plumb.
He passed, dallying, the windows of Brown Thomas,
silk mercers. Cascades of ribb ons. Flimsy China silks. A
tilted urn poured from its mouth a flood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood. The hug uenots brought that here.
La causa è santa ! Tara tara. Great chorus that. Taree tara.
Must be washed in rainwat er. Meyerbeer. Tara: bom bom
bom.
Ulysses
300 of 1305 Pincushions. Iâm a long time threatening to buy one.
Sticking them all over the place. Needles in window curtains.
He bared slightly his left forearm. Scrape: nearly gone.
Not today anyhow. Must go back for that lotion. For her birthday perhaps. Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Nearly three months off. Then she mightnât like it. Women wonât pick up pins. Say it cuts lo.
Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat
silk stockings.
Useless to go back. Had to be. Tell me all. High voices. Sunwarm silk. Jingling harnesses. All for a
woman, home and houses, silkwe bs, silver, rich fruits spicy
from Jaffa. Agendath Netaim. Wealth of the world.
A warm human plumpness sett led down on his brain.
His brain yielded. Perfume of embraces all him assailed.
With hungered flesh obscurely, he mutely craved to adore.
Duke street. Here we are. Must eat. The Burton. Feel
better then.
He turned Combridgeâs corner, still pursued. Jingling,
hoofthuds. Perfumed bodies, warm, full. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields , tangled pressed grass, in
trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas, creaking beds.
âJack, love!
Ulysses
301 of 1305 âDarling!
âKiss me, Reggy! âMy boy! âLove! His heart astir he pushed in the door of the Burton
restaurant. Stink gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens. See the animals feed.
Men, men, men. Perched on high stools by the bar, hats shoved back, at
the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. A pallid su etfaced young man polished
his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his napkin. New set
The Visceral Repulsion of Dining
- Leopold Bloom experiences intense physical disgust while observing the animalistic eating habits of men in a crowded Dublin eatery.
- The narrative captures the sensory overload of the pub atmosphere, blending smells of stale beer, sweat, and heavy food with the sounds of 'gobstuff' and 'gulping.'
- Bloom reflects on the Darwinian nature of consumption, viewing the act of eating as a violent, competitive struggle of 'tooth and nail.'
- He contemplates a future communal kitchen where social hierarchies dissolve into a single mass of people fighting for scraps from a giant soup pot.
- The section concludes with Bloom retreating from the 'dirty eaters' toward a lighter, cleaner vegetarian ideal or a simple snack at Davy Byrneâs.
Every fellow for his own, tooth and nail. Gulp. Grub. Gulp. Gobstuff.
of microbes. A man with an infantâs saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. A man spitting back on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it. Chump chop from the grill. Bolting to get it over. Sad booserâs eyes. Bitten off more than he can chew. Am I like that? See ourselves as others see us. Hungry man is an angry man.
Working tooth and jaw. Donât! O! A bone! That last
pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the schoolpoem choked
himself at Sletty southward of the Boyne. Wonder what he was eating. Something galoptious. Saint Patrick
Ulysses
302 of 1305 converted him to Christianity. Couldnât swallow it all
however.
âRoast beef and cabbage. âOne stew. Smells of men. His gorge rose. Spaton sawdust,
sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, menâs beery piss, the stale of ferment.
Couldnât eat a morsel here. Fellow sharpening knife
and fork to eat all before him, old chap picking his tootles. Slight spasm, full, chewing the cud. Before and after.
Grace after meals. Look on this picture then on that. Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread. Lick
it off the plate, man! Get out of this.
He gazed round the stool ed and tabled eaters,
tightening the wings of his nose.
âTwo stouts here. âOne corned and cabbage. That fellow ramming a knifeful of cabbage down as if
his life depended on it. Good stroke. Give me the fidgets to look. Safer to eat from his three hands. Tear it limb from limb. Second nature to him. Born with a silver knife in his mouth. Thatâs witty, I think. Or no. Silver means born rich. Born with a knife. But then the allusion is lost.
Ulysses
303 of 1305 An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. Rock,
the head bailiff, standing at the bar blew the foamy crown from his tankard. Well up: it splashed yellow near his
boot. A diner, knife and fork upright, elbows on table, ready for a second helping stared towards the foodlift
across his stained square of newspaper. Other chap telling him something with his mouth full. Sympathetic listener. Table talk. I munched hum un thu Unchster Bunk un Munchday. Ha? Did you, faith?
Mr Bloom raised two fingers doubtfully to his lips. His
eyes said:
âNot here. Donât see him.
Out. I hate dirty eaters.
He backed towards the door. Get a light snack in Davy
Byrneâs. Stopgap. Keep me going. Had a good breakfast.
âRoast and mashed here. âPint of stout. Every fellow for his own, tooth and nail. Gulp. Grub.
Gulp. Gobstuff.
He came out into clearer air and turned back towards
Grafton street. Eat or be eaten. Kill! Kill!
Suppose that communal kitchen years to come perhaps.
All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be filled. Devour contents in th e street. John Howard Parnell
Ulysses
304 of 1305 example the provost of Trinity every motherâs son donât
talk of your provosts and provost of Trinity women and children cabmen priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops. From Ailesbury road, Clyde road, artisansâ dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a bathchair. My plateâs empty. After you
with our incorporated drinkingcup. Like sir Philip Cramptonâs fountain. Rub off the microbes with your
handkerchief. Next chap rubs on a new batch with his. Father OâFlynn would make hares of them all. Have rows all the same. All for number one. Children fighting for the scrapings of the pot. Want a s ouppot as big as the Phoenix
park. Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of it. Hate
people all round you. City Arms hotel table dâhĂ´te she
called it. Soup, joint and sweet. Never know whose thoughts youâre chewing. Then whoâd wash up all the plates and forks? Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. Teeth getting worse and worse.
After all thereâs a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of
things from the earth garlic of course it stinks after Italian
organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. Pain to
Bloom's Hunger and Digestion
- Bloom observes the visceral and bloody reality of the meat market, reflecting on the cycle of slaughter and consumption.
- He enters Davy Byrneâs pub, navigating the social etiquette of the establishment while contemplating his lunch options.
- The narrative shifts into dark humor regarding cannibalism and the questionable ingredients found in commercial potted meats.
- Bloom reflects on the intersection of religion, hygiene, and dietary laws, noting how 'peace and war depend on some fellowâs digestion.'
- A conversation with Nosey Flynn about Mollyâs singing tour is interrupted by the mention of Blazes Boylan, causing Bloom physical distress.
- The passage concludes with Bloom attempting to soothe his sudden anxiety with the sensory experience of burgundy and a cheese sandwich.
Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust.
the animal too. Pluck and draw fowl. Wretched brutes there at the cattlemarket waiting for the poleaxe to split their skulls open. Moo. Poor trembling calves. Meh.
Ulysses
305 of 1305 Staggering bob. Bubble and squeak. Butchersâ buckets
wobbly lights. Give us that brisket off the hook. Plup. Rawhead and bloody bones. Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Top and lashers going out. Donât maul them pieces, young one.
Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. Blood
always needed. Insidious. Li ck it up smokinghot, thick
sugary. Famished ghosts.
Ah, Iâm hungry. He entered Davy Byrneâs. Mo ral pub. He doesnât chat.
Stands a drink now and then. But in leapyear once in four.
Cashed a cheque for me once.
What will I take now? He d rew his watch. Let me see
now. Shandygaff?
âHello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said from his nook. âHello, Flynn. âHowâs things? âTiptop ... Let me see. I âll take a glass of burgundy
and ... let me see.
Sardines on the shelves. Almost taste them by looking.
Sandwich? Ham and his desce ndants musterred and bred
there. Potted meats. What is home without Plumtreeâs potted meat? Incomplete. W hat a stupid ad! Under the
Ulysses
306 of 1305 obituary notices they stuck it . All up a plumtree. Dignamâs
potted meat. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. White missionary too salty. Like pic kled pork. Expect the chief
consumes the parts of honour. Ought to be tough from
exercise. His wives in a row to watch the effect. There was
a right royal old nigger. Who ate or something the somethings of
the reverend Mr MacTrigger . With it an abode of bliss. Lord
knows what concoction. C auls mouldy tripes windpipes
faked and minced up. Puzzle find the meat. Kosher. No
meat and milk together. Hygiene that was what they call
now. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Peace and war depend on some fellowâs digestion. Religions. Christmas turkeys and geese. Slaughter of innocents. Eat drink and be merry. Then casual wards full after. Heads bandaged. Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese.
âHave you a cheese sandwich? âYes, sir. Like a few olives too if they had them. Italian I prefer.
Good glass of burgundy take away that. Lubricate. A nice salad, cool as a cucumber, Tom Kernan can dress. Puts
gusto into it. Pure olive oil. Milly served me that cutlet with a sprig of parsley. Take one Spanish onion. God made food, the devil the cooks. Devilled crab.
âWife well?
Ulysses
307 of 1305 âQuite well, thanks ... A cheese sandwich, then.
Gorgonzola, have you?
âYes, sir. Nosey Flynn sipped his grog. âDoing any singing those times? Look at his mouth. Could whistle in his own ear. Flap
ears to match. Music. Know s as much about it as my
coachman. Still better tell him. Does no harm. Free ad.
âSheâs engaged for a big tour end of this month. You
may have heard perhaps.
âNo. O, thatâs the style. Whoâs getting it up? The curate served.
âHow much is that?
âSeven d., sir ... Thank you, sir.
Mr Bloom cut his sandwic h into slender strips. Mr
MacTrigger . Easier than the dreamy creamy stuff. His five
hundred wives. Had the time of their lives.
âMustard, sir? âThank you.
He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. Their
lives. I have it. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger .
âGetting it up? he said. Well, itâs like a company idea,
you see. Part shares and part profits.
Ulysses
308 of 1305 âAy, now I remember, Nosey Flynn said, putting his
hand in his pocket to scratch his groin. Who is this was telling me? Isnât Blazes Boylan mixed up in it?
A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr
Bloomâs heart. He raised his eyes and met the stare of a bilious clock. Two. Pub clock five minutes fast. Time going on. Hands moving. Two. Not yet.
His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him,
yearned more longly, longingly.
Wine. He smellsipped the cordial juice and, bidding his throat
Lunch at Davy Byrne's
- Nosey Flynn discusses Blazes Boylanâs role as a successful boxing organizer and his recent financial luck.
- Davy Byrne, the pub owner, maintains a professional distance from gambling, claiming he never bets on horses.
- The conversation shifts to the Gold Cup race, highlighting the pervasive culture of betting and 'inside' tips in Dublin.
- Leopold Bloom quietly enjoys his cheese sandwich and wine, reflecting on the sensory qualities of the food and the bar's woodwork.
- Bloom observes Nosey Flynn with mild disdain, contemplating the futility of gambling and the nature of those who lose money.
- The wine provides Bloom with a much-needed physical and emotional lift, though his thoughts remain anchored to the approaching hour of four o'clock.
Mr Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his sigh. Nosey numbskull.
strongly to speed it, set his wineglass delicately down.
âYes, he said. Heâs the or ganiser in point of fact.
No fear: no brains. Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Flea having a good
square meal.
âHe had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling
me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Portobello barracks. By God, he had the little kipper down in the county Carlow he was telling me ...
Hope that dewdrop doesnât come down into his glass.
No, snuffled it up.
Ulysses
309 of 1305 âFor near a month, man, before it came off. Sucking
duck eggs by God till further orders. Keep him off the boose, see? O, by God, Blazes is a hairy chap.
Davy Byrne came forward from the hindbar in
tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips with two wipes of his napkin. Herringâs blu sh. Whose smile upon each
feature plays with such and su ch replete. Too much fat on
the parsnips.
âAnd hereâs himself and pepper on him, Nosey Flynn
said. Can you give us a good one for the Gold cup?
âIâm off that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. I
never put anything on a horse.
âYouâre right there, Nosey Flynn said.
Mr Bloom ate his strips of s andwich, fresh clean bread,
with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the feety savour of
green cheese. Sips of his wine soothed his palate. Not logwood that. Tastes fuller this weather with the chill off.
Nice quiet bar. Nice piece of wood in that counter.
Nicely planed. Like the way it curves there.
âI wouldnât do anything at all in that line, Davy
Byrne said. It ruined many a man, the same horses.
Vintnersâ sweepstake. Licensed for the sale of beer,
wine and spirits for consumption on the premises. Heads I win tails you lose.
Ulysses
310 of 1305 âTrue for you, Nosey Flynn said. Unless youâre in the
know. Thereâs no straight sport going now. Lenehan gets some good ones. Heâs giving Sceptre today. Zinfandelâs the favourite, lord Howard de Waldenâs, won at Epsom.
Morny Cannon is riding him. I could have got seven to one against Saint Amant a fortnight before.
âThat so? Davy Byrne said ... He went towards the window and, taking up the
pettycash book, scanned its pages.
âI could, faith, Nosey Fly nn said, snuffling. That was
a rare bit of horseflesh. Saint Frusquin was her sire. She won in a thunderstorm, Rothschildâs filly, with wadding
in her ears. Blue jacket and yellow cap. Bad luck to big
Ben Dollard and his John OâGaunt. He put me off it. Ay.
He drank resignedly from his tumbler, running his
fingers down the flutes.
âAy, he said, sighing. Mr Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his sigh.
Nosey numbskull. Will I tell him that horse Lenehan? He
knows already. Better let him forget. Go and lose more.
Fool and his money. Dewdrop coming down again. Cold nose heâd have kissing a woman. Still they might like. Prickly beards they like. Dogsâ cold noses. Old Mrs Riordan with the rumbling stomachâs Skye terrier in the
Ulysses
311 of 1305 City Arms hotel. Molly fondling him in her lap. O, the
big doggybowwowsywowsy!
Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread mustard
a moment mawkish cheese. Nice wine it is. Taste it better
because Iâm not thirsty. Bath of course does that. Just a
bite or two. Then about six oâclock I can. Six. Six. Time
will be gone then. She ...
Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. I wanted that badly.
Felt so off colour. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobstersâ claws. All the odd things people
pick up for food. Out of shells, periwinkles with a pin, off trees, snails out of the ground the French eat, out of the
sea with bait on a hook. Silly fish learn nothing in a
thousand years. If you didnât know risky putting anything
Appetite, Aristocracy, and Memory
- The narrative explores the sensory and psychological nature of food, from the danger of poisonous berries to the acquired taste for 'high' or decaying delicacies like aged eggs and oysters.
- Bloom reflects on the social performance of dining, noting how the elite use expensive, exotic dishes and French terminology to maintain a sense of exclusivity and status.
- The text highlights the cruelty and artifice of gourmet cuisine, mentioning geese being force-fed and lobsters boiled alive to satisfy wealthy palates.
- A contrast is drawn between the illiterate but wealthy fishmonger and the refined atmosphere of high-end hotels where waiters serve 'half-naked ladies.'
- The sensory experience of drinking wine triggers a vivid, erotic memory of a day on Howth Head, shifting the tone from cynical observation to romantic nostalgia.
- The passage culminates in a visceral recollection of intimacy, specifically the sharing of chewed seedcake, symbolizing a raw and joyful connection to 'young life.'
Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed.
into your mouth. Poisonous berries. Johnny Magories. Roundness you think good. Gaudy colour warns you off. One fellow told another and so on. Try it on the dog first. Led on by the smell or the look. Tempting fruit. Ice cones. Cream. Instinct. Orangegroves for instance. Need artificial irrigation. Bleibtreustrasse. Yes but what about oysters. Unsightly like a clot of phlegm. Filthy shells. Devil to open them too. Who found them out? Garbage, sewage they feed on. Fizz and Red bank oysters. Effect on
the sexual. Aphrodis. He was in the Red Bank this
Ulysses
312 of 1305 morning. Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young
flesh in bed no June has no ar no oysters. But there are
people like things high. Tain ted game. Jugged hare. First
catch your hare. Chinese eati ng eggs fifty years old, blue
and green again. Dinner of thirty courses. Each dish harmless might mix inside. Idea for a poison mystery. That
archduke Leopold was it no yes or was it Otto one of those Habsburgs? Or who was it used to eat the scruff off his own head? Cheapest lunch in town. Of course aristocrats, then the others copy to be in the fashion. Milly too rock oil and flour. Raw pa stry I like myself. Half the
catch of oysters they throw back in the sea to keep up the
price. Cheap no-one would buy. Caviare. Do the grand.
Hock in green glasses. Swell blowout. Lady this.
Powdered bosom pearls. The Êlite. Crème de la crème . They
want special dishes to pret end theyâre. Hermit with a
platter of pulse keep down the stings of the flesh. Know me come eat with me. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the butcher, right to venisons of the forest from
his ex. Send him back the half of a cow. Spread I saw down in the Master of th e Rollsâ kitchen area.
Whitehatted chef like a rabbi. Combustible duck. Curly
cabbage Ă la duchesse de Parme . Just as well to write it on
the bill of fare so you can know what youâve eaten. Too
Ulysses
313 of 1305 many drugs spoil the broth. I know it myself. Dosing it
with Edwardsâ desiccated soup. Geese stuffed silly for them. Lobsters boiled alive. Do ptake some ptarmigan. Wouldnât mind being a waiter in a swell hotel. Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies. May I tempt you to a little
more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat? Yes, do bedad. And she did bedad. Huguenot name I expect that. A miss
Dubedat lived in Killiney, I remember. Du, de la French.
Still itâs the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of ma king money hand over fist
finger in fishesâ gills canât write his name on a cheque
think he was painting the landscape with his mouth
twisted. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds.
Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. Glowing wine on his palate lingered swallowed.
Crushing in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. Sunâs heat it is. Seems to a secret to uch telling me memory. Touched
his sense moistened remembered. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purple by the Lionâs head. Green by Drumleck. Yellowgreen towards Sutton. Fields of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. Pillowed on my coat she had her hair, earwigs in the heather scrub my hand
Ulysses
314 of 1305 under her nape, youâll toss me all. O wonder! Coolsoft
with ointments her hand touched me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away. Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft warm sticky gumjelly lips. Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Pebbles fell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Wildly I
lay on her, kissed her: eyes, her lips, her stretched neck
Goddesses and Secret Societies
- Bloom reflects on the aesthetic perfection of classical statues, contrasting the divine nectar of gods with the crude biological reality of human digestion.
- A physical urge prompts Bloom to leave the bar, leading him to contemplate the anatomy of museum goddesses and his plan to inspect them more closely.
- Davy Byrne and Nosey Flynn discuss Bloomâs current employment as a canvasser for the Freeman and his recent appearance in mourning clothes.
- Flynn reveals that Bloom is a member of the Freemasons, suggesting the 'ancient free and accepted order' provides him with social and financial support.
- The conversation shifts to the exclusivity of the Masons, including a legend about a woman who was forcibly initiated after being caught spying on their rituals.
- Flynn praises Bloomâs sobriety and disciplined nature, noting his habit of checking his watch to regulate his drinking.
And we stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an engine.
beating, womanâs breasts full in her blouse of nunâs veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed,
she kissed me.
Me. And me now. Stuck, the flies buzzed. His downcast eyes followed the silent veining of the
oaken slab. Beauty: it curves: curves are beauty. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world admires. Can see them library museum standing in the round hall, naked goddesses. Aids to digestion. They donât care what man
Ulysses
315 of 1305 looks. All to see. Never speaking. I mean to say to fellows
like Flynn. Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first? Mortal! Put you in your proper place. Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, all
ambrosial. Not like a tann er lunch we have, boiled
mutton, carrots and turnips, bottle of Allsop. Nectar imagine it drinking electricit y: godsâ food. Lovely forms of
women sculped Junonian. I mmortal lovely. And we
stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an engine. They have no. Never looked. Iâll look today. Keeper wonât see. Bend down let something drop see if
she.
Dribbling a quiet message from his bladder came to go
to do not to do there to do . A man and ready he drained
his glass to the lees and walked, to men too they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a youth
enjoyed her, to the yard.
When the sound of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne
said from his book:
âWhat is this he is? Isnât he in the insurance line? âHeâs out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. He does
canvassing for the Freeman.
Ulysses
316 of 1305 âI know him well to see, Davy Byrne said. Is he in
trouble?
âTrouble? Nosey Flynn said. Not that I heard of.
Why?
âI noticed he was in mourning. âWas he? Nosey Flynn said. So he was, faith. I asked
him how was all at home. Youâre right, by God. So he was.
âI never broach the subject, Davy Byrne said
humanely, if I see a gentleman is in trouble that way. It only brings it up fresh in their minds.
âItâs not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. I met
him the day before yesterday and he coming out of that
Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolanâs wife has in Henry street with a jar of cream in hi s hand taking it home to his
better half. Sheâs well nourishe d, I tell you. Plovers on
toast.
âAnd is he doing for the Freeman? Davy Byrne said.
Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. â-He doesnât buy cream on the ads he picks up. You
can make bacon of that.
âHow so? Davy Byrne asked, coming from his book. Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the air with juggling
fingers. He winked.
Ulysses
317 of 1305 âHeâs in the craft, he said.
â-Do you tell me so? Davy Byrne said. âVery much so, Nosey Flynn said. Ancient free and
accepted order. Heâs an excellent brother. Light, life and love, by God. They give him a leg up. I was told that by aâwell, I wonât say who.
âIs that a fact? âO, itâs a fine order, Nose y Flynn said. They stick to
you when youâre down. I know a fellow was trying to get into it. But theyâre as close as damn it. By God they did
right to keep the women out of it.
Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one:
âIiiiiichaaaaaaach!
âThere was one woman, Nosey Flynn said, hid herself
in a clock to find out what they do be doing. But be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in on the
spot a master mason. That was one of the saint Legers of Doneraile.
Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with tearwashed
eyes:
âAnd is that a fact? Decent quiet man he is. I often
saw him in here and I never once saw himâyou know, over the line.
Ulysses
318 of 1305 âGod Almighty couldnât make him drunk, Nosey
Flynn said firmly. Slips off when the fun gets too hot. Didnât you see him look at his watch? Ah, you werenât
there. If you ask him to have a drink first thing he does he outs with the watch to see what he ought to imbibe. Declare to God he does.
Gossip and Gastric Juices
- Patrons at Davy Byrneâs pub discuss Leopold Bloomâs character, noting his cautious nature and refusal to commit anything to writing.
- Bantam Lyons hints at a secret horse racing tip for the Gold Cup, mistakenly believing Bloom gave him a 'dead snip' for the race.
- The menâs drinking habits are mocked by Paddy Leonard, who is frustrated by their requests for ginger pop and water instead of whiskey.
- Bloom departs the pub and experiences a sensory shift, contemplating the digestion of a dog on the street and the mechanics of the human body.
- Bloomâs internal monologue wanders from the potential of scientific inventions to the lyrics of Mozartâs Don Giovanni.
- The narrative explores the intersection of physical health and scientific curiosity, as Bloom imagines a transparent view of the human digestive system.
A ravenous terrier choked up a sick knuckly cud on the cobblestones and lapped it with new zest.
âThere are some like that, Davy Byrne said. Heâs a
safe man, Iâd say.
âHeâs not too bad, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling it up.
Heâs been known to put his hand down too to help a fellow. Give the devil his due. O, Bloom has his good points. But thereâs one thing heâll never do.
His hand scrawled a dry pen si gnature beside his grog.
âI know, Davy Byrne said. âNothing in black and white, Nosey Flynn said. Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in. Tom
Rochford followed frowning, a plaining hand on his claret waistcoat.
âDay, Mr Byrne. âDay, gentlemen. They paused at the counter. âWhoâs standing? Paddy Leonard asked. âIâm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn answered. âWell, whatâll it be? Paddy Leonard asked.
Ulysses
319 of 1305 âIâll take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons said.
âHow much? Paddy Leonard cried. Since when, for
Godâ sake? Whatâs yours, Tom?
âHow is the main drainage? Nosey Flynn asked,
sipping.
For answer Tom Rochford pressed his hand to his
breastbone and hiccupped.
âWould I trouble you for a glass of fresh water, Mr
Byrne? he said.
âCertainly, sir. Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. âLord love a duck, he said. Look at what Iâm standing
drinks to! Cold water and gingerpop! Two fellows that
would suck whisky off a sore leg. He has some bloody horse up his sleeve for the Gold cup. A dead snip.
âZinfandel is it? Nosey Flynn asked. Tom Rochford spilt powder from a twisted paper into
the water set before him.
âThat cursed dyspepsia, he said before drinking. âBreadsoda is very good, Davy Byrne said. Tom Rochford nodded and drank. âIs it Zinfandel? âSay nothing! Bantam Lyons winked. Iâm going to
plunge five bob on my own.
Ulysses
320 of 1305 âTell us if youâre worth your salt and be damned to
you, Paddy Leonard said. Who gave it to you?
Mr Bloom on his way out raised three fingers in
greeting.
âSo long! Nosey Flynn said. The others turned. âThatâs the man now that gave it to me, Bantam
Lyons whispered.
âPrrwht! Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Mr Byrne,
sir, weâll take two of your sma ll Jamesons after that and a
...
âStone ginger, Davy Byrne added civilly.
âAy, Paddy Leonard said. A suckingbottle for the
baby.
Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, his tongue
brushing his teeth smooth. So mething green it would have
to be: spinach, say. Then with those Rontgen rays
searchlight you could.
At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a sick
knuckly cud on the cobblestones and lapped it with new zest. Surfeit. Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents. First sweet then savoury. Mr Bloom coasted warily. Ruminants. His second course. Their upper jaw they move. Wonder if Tom Rochford will do anything
Ulysses
321 of 1305 with that invention of his? Wa sting time explaining it to
Flynnâs mouth. Lean people long mouths. Ought to be a hall or a place where inventors could go in and invent free. Course then youâd hav e all the cranks pestering.
He hummed, prolonging in so lemn echo the closes of
the bars:
Don Giovanni, a cenar teco
Mâinvitasti.
Feel better. Burgundy. Good pick me up. Who
distilled first? Some chap in the blues. Dutch courage.
That Kilkenny People in the national library now I must.
Bare clean closestools waiting in the window of
William Miller, plumber, turned back his thoughts. They could: and watch it all the way down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of the ribs years after, tour round the
body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. But the poor buffer would have to stand all the time with his insides entrails on show. Science.
âA cenar teco.
What does that teco mean? Tonight perhaps.
Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited
To come to supper tonight, The rum the rumdum.
Ulysses
322 of 1305 Doesnât go properly.
Keyes: two months if I get Nannetti to. Thatâll be two
Bloom and the Blind Stripling
- Mr. Bloom calculates his meager finances and potential advertising commissions while contemplating a gift for Molly.
- Bloom encounters a blind young man attempting to cross a busy Dublin street and offers his assistance.
- The interaction prompts Bloom to reflect on the heightened sensory experiences of the blind, such as their perception of volume and smell.
- Bloom considers the social stigma and patronizing attitudes often directed toward those with disabilities.
- The passage explores the mechanics of memory and association, linking the blind boy's hand to Bloom's daughter, Milly.
- Bloom muses on the nature of pleasure and whether senses like taste or sexual attraction function differently in the dark.
Poor young fellow! How on earth did he know that van was there? Must have felt it. See things in their forehead perhaps: kind of sense of volume.
pounds ten about two pounds eight. Three Hynes owes me. Two eleven. Prescottâs dyeworks van over there. If I get Billy Prescottâs ad: two fift een. Five guineas about. On
the pigâs back.
Could buy one of those s ilk petticoats for Molly,
colour of her new garters.
Today. Today. Not think. Tour the south then. What about English
wateringplaces? Brighton, Ma rgate. Piers by moonlight.
Her voice floating out. Those lo vely seaside girls. Against
John Longâs a drowsing loaf er lounged in heavy thought,
gnawing a crusted knuckle. Handy man wants job. Small wages. Will eat anything.
Mr Bloom turned at Grayâs confectionerâs window of
unbought tarts and passe d the reverend Thomas
Connellanâs bookstore. Why I left the church of Rome? Birdsâ
Nest. Women run him. They say they used to give pauper
children soup to change to pr otestants in the time of the
potato blight. Society over the way papa went to for the conversion of poor jews. Same bait. Why we left the church of Rome.
Ulysses
323 of 1305 A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone with his
slender cane. No tram in sight. Wants to cross.
âDo you want to cross? Mr Bloom asked. The blind stripling did not answer. His wallface
frowned weakly. He moved his head uncertainly.
âYouâre in Dawson street, Mr Bloom said.
Molesworth street is opposite . Do you want to cross?
Thereâs nothing in the way.
The cane moved out trembling to the left. Mr Bloomâs
eye followed its line and saw again the dyeworksâ van drawn up before Dragoâs. Where I saw his brillantined hair just when I was. Horse drooping. Driver in John
Longâs. Slaking his drouth.
âThereâs a van there, Mr Bloom said, but itâs not
moving. Iâll see you across. Do you want to go to Molesworth street?
âYes, the stripling answered. South Frederick street. âCome, Mr Bloom said. He touched the thin elbow gently: then took the limp
seeing hand to guide it forward.
Say something to him. Better not do the
condescending. They mistrust what you tell them. Pass a common remark.
âThe rain kept off.
Ulysses
324 of 1305 No answer.
Stains on his coat. Slobbers his food, I suppose. Tastes
all different for him. Have to be spoonfed first. Like a childâs hand, his hand. Like M illyâs was. Sensitive. Sizing
me up I daresay from my hand. Wonder if he has a name. Van. Keep his cane clear of the horseâs legs: tired drudge get his doze. Thatâs right. Clear. Behind a bull: in front of a horse.
âThanks, sir. Knows Iâm a man. Voice. âRight now? First turn to the left. The blind stripling tapped the curbstone and went on
his way, drawing his cane back, feeling again.
Mr Bloom walked behind the ey eless feet, a flatcut suit
of herringbone tweed. Poor young fellow! How on earth did he know that van was there? Must have felt it. See things in their forehead per haps: kind of sense of volume.
Weight or size of it, something blacker than the dark. Wonder would he feel it if something was removed. Feel a gap. Queer idea of Dublin he must have, tapping his way round by the stones. Could he walk in a beeline if he hadnât that cane? Bloodless pious face like a fellow going
in to be a priest.
Penrose! That was that chapâs name.
Ulysses
325 of 1305 Look at all the things they can learn to do. Read with
their fingers. Tune pianos. Or we are surprised they have any brains. Why we think a deformed person or a hunchback clever if he says something we might say. Of course the other senses are mo re. Embroider. Plait baskets.
People ought to help. Workbask et I could buy for Mollyâs
birthday. Hates sewing. Might take an objection. Dark men they call them.
Sense of smell must be stronger t oo. Smells on all sides,
bunched together. Each street different smell. Each person
too. Then the spring, the summer: smells. Tastes? They say you canât taste wines with your eyes shut or a cold in
the head. Also smoke in the dark they say get no pleasure.
And with a woman, for instance. More shameless not
Bloom's Sensory Reflections and Flight
- Bloom contemplates the sensory world of a blind youth, imagining how touch and sound substitute for visual perception of color and form.
- The narrative shifts to Bloom's physical self-consciousness as he examines his own skin and clothing while navigating the Dublin streets.
- Bloom reflects on the nature of justice and tragedy, juxtaposing a recent maritime disaster with the local legal authority of Sir Frederick Falkiner.
- The sight of a specific individual triggers a sudden state of panic and physical agitation in Bloom, forcing him to change his route.
- Seeking refuge from a perceived social encounter, Bloom ducks toward the museum, using the study of architecture and statues as a mental shield.
- The passage concludes with Bloom's frantic internal search for misplaced items as his heart races from the tension of the near-encounter.
With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears. Again. Fibres of fine fine straw.
seeing. That girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the air. Look at me. I have them all on. Must be strange not to see her. Kind of a form in his mindâs eye. The voice, temperatures: when he touches her with his fingers
must almost see the lines, the curves. His hands on her hair, for instance. Say it was black, for instance. Good. We call it black. Then passing over her white skin. Different feel perhaps. Feeling of white.
Ulysses
326 of 1305 Postoffice. Must answer. Fag today. Send her a postal
order two shillings, half a crown. Accept my little present.
Stationerâs just here too. Wait. Think over it.
With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair
combed back above his ears. Again. Fibres of fine fine straw. Then gently his finger felt the skin of his right cheek. Downy hair there too. Not smooth enough. The
belly is the smoothest. No-one about. There he goes into Frederick street. Perhaps to Levenstonâs dancing academy piano. Might be settling my braces.
Walking by Doranâs publichouse he slid his hand
between his waistcoat and trousers and, pulling aside his
shirt gently, felt a slack fold of his belly. But I know itâs
whitey yellow. Want to try in the dark to see.
He withdrew his hand and pulled his dress to. Poor fellow! Quite a boy. Terrible. Really terrible.
What dreams would he have, not seeing? Life a dream for him. Where is the justice being born that way? All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York. Holocaust. Karma they call that transmigration for sins you did in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses . Dear, dear, dear. Pity,
of course: but somehow you canât cotton on to them someway.
Ulysses
327 of 1305 Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the freemasonsâ hall.
Solemn as Troy. After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace.
Old legal cronies cracking a magnum. Tales of the bench and assizes and annals of the bluecoat school. I sentenced him to ten years. I suppose he âd turn up his nose at that
stuff I drank. Vintage wine for them, the year marked on a dusty bottle. Has his own ideas of justice in the recorderâs court. Wellmeaning old man. Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime. Sends them to the rightabout. The devil on moneylenders. Gave Reuben J. a great strawcalling. Now heâs really what they call a dirty jew. Power those judges
have. Crusty old topers in wigs. Bear with a sore paw.
And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.
Hello, placard. Mirus bazaar. His Excellency the lord
lieutenant. Sixteenth. Today it is. In aid of funds for
Mercerâs hospital. The Messiah was first given for that. Yes.
Handel. What about going out there: Ballsbridge. Drop in on Keyes. No use sticking to him like a leech. Wear out my welcome. Sure to know someone on the gate.
Mr Bloom came to Kildare street. First I must. Library. Straw hat in sunlight. Tan shoes. Turnedup trousers. It
is. It is.
Ulysses
328 of 1305 His heart quopped softly. To the right. Museum.
Goddesses. He swerved to the right.
Is it? Almost certain. Wonât look. Wine in my face.
Why did I? Too heady. Yes, it is. The walk. Not see. Get on.
Making for the museum gate with long windy steps he
lifted his eyes. Handsome building. Sir Thomas Deane designed. Not following me?
Didnât see me perhaps. Light in his eyes. The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs.
Quick. Cold statues: quiet there. Safe in a minute.
No. Didnât see me. After two. Just at the gate.
My heart!
His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of
stone. Sir Thomas Deane was the Greek architecture.
Look for something I. His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out,
read unfolded Agendath Netaim. Where did I?
Busy looking. He thrust back quick Agendath. Afternoon she said. I am looking for that. Yes, that. Try all pockets.
Handker. Freeman. Where did I? Ah, yes. Trousers.
Potato. Purse. Where?
Ulysses
329 of 1305 Hurry. Walk quietly. Moment more. My heart.
The Library Debate
- A quaker librarian discusses Goethe's interpretation of Hamlet as a 'beautiful ineffectual dreamer' struggling against hard facts.
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a sharp-witted intellectual skirmish with John Eglinton and the mystic poet A.E. (George Russell).
- A.E. dismisses historical and biographical inquiries into Shakespeare, arguing that art should instead reveal 'formless spiritual essences.'
- The conversation shifts between high literary criticism, Irish nationalism, and the esoteric theories of the Theosophical 'Great White Lodge.'
- Stephen privately reflects on his personal debts and the influence of his peer Cranly while maintaining a 'superpolite' facade during the debate.
The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.
His hand looking for the where did I put found in his
hip pocket soap lotion have to call tepid paper stuck. Ah
soap there I yes. Gate.
Safe!
* * * * *
Urbane, to comfort them, the quaker librarian purred:
âAnd we have, have we not, those priceless pages of
Wilhelm Meister . A great poet on a great brother poet. A
hesitating soul taking arms agai nst a sea of troubles, torn by
conflicting doubts, as one sees in real life.
He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather
creaking and a step backward a sinkapace on the solemn floor.
A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly
made him a noiseless beck.
âDirectly, said he, creaking to go, albeit lingering.
The beautiful ineffectual d reamer who comes to grief
against hard facts. One always feels that Goetheâs judgments are so true. True in the larger analysis.
Ulysses
330 of 1305 Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Bald, most
zealous by the door he gave his large ear all to the attendantâs words: heard them: and was gone.
Two left. âMonsieur de la Palice, Stephen sneered, was alive
fifteen minutes before his death.
âHave you found those six brave medicals, John
Eglinton asked with elderâs gall, to write Paradise Lost at
your dictation? The Sorrows of Satan he calls it.
Smile. Smile Cranlyâs smile.
First he tickled her
Then he patted her Then he passed the female catheter. For he was a medical Jolly old medi ...
âI feel you would need one more for Hamlet. Seven is
dear to the mystic mind. The shining seven W.B. calls
them.
Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his greencapped
desklamp sought the face bearded amid darkgreener
shadow, an ollav, holyeyed. He laughed low: a sizarâs laugh of Trinity: unanswered.
Ulysses
331 of 1305 Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood
Tears such as angels weep. Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.
He holds my follies hostage. Cranlyâs eleven true Wicklowmen to free their sireland.
Gaptoothed Kathleen, her four beautiful green fields, the
stranger in her house. And one more to hail him: ave,
rabbi: the Tinahely twelve. In the shadow of the glen he
cooees for them. My soulâs youth I gave him, night by
night. God speed. Good hunting.
Mulligan has my telegram. Folly. Persist. âOur young Irish bards, John Eglinton censured, have
yet to create a figure whic h the world will set beside
Saxon Shakespeareâs Hamlet though I admire him, as old Ben did, on this side idolatry.
âAll these questions are purely academic, Russell
oracled out of his shadow. I mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or E ssex. Clergymenâs discussions
of the historicity of Jesus. Art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring. The painting of Gustave Moreau is the painting of ideas. The deepest poetry of Shelley, the words of Hamlet bring our
Ulysses
332 of 1305 minds into contact with the eternal wisdom, Platoâs world
of ideas. All the rest is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys.
A. E. has been telling some yankee interviewer. Wall,
tarnation strike me!
âThe schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said
superpolitely. Aristotle was once Platoâs schoolboy.
âAnd has remained so, one should hope, John
Eglinton sedately said. One can see him, a model schoolboy with his diploma under his arm.
He laughed again at the now smiling bearded face.
Formless spiritual. Father, Word and Holy Breath.
Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of
the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment. This verily is that. I am the fire upon the altar. I
am the sacrificial butter.
Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them all, A.E.,
Arval, the Name Ineffable, in heaven hight: K.H., their master, whose identity is no se cret to adepts. Brothers of
the great white lodge always watching to see if they can
The Book of Himself
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a dense intellectual debate within a library setting, contrasting the philosophical weight of Plato and Aristotle.
- The conversation shifts between esoteric occultism, Irish nationalism, and the aesthetic value of peasant 'lovesongs' versus academic literature.
- Stephen critiques the violent resolution of Hamlet, characterizing the play as a 'sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.'
- The group discusses MallarmĂŠâs French interpretation of Hamlet as 'Le Distrait,' or the absentminded man, reading the 'book of himself.'
- Stephen links Shakespeareâs bloody dramatic conclusions to modern warfare and the concept of the 'concentration camp.'
- The dialogue highlights the tension between the 'rarefied air' of the academy and the 'living mother' of the earth found in folk traditions.
He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-mĂŞme, donât you know, reading the book of himself.
help. The Christ with the bridesister, moisture of light, born of an ensouled virgin, rep entant sophia, departed to
the plane of buddhi. The life esoteric is not for ordinary person. O.P. must work off bad karma first. Mrs Cooper
Ulysses
333 of 1305 Oakley once glimpsed our very illustrious sister H.P.B.âs
elemental.
O, fie! Out onât! Pfuiteufel! You naughtnât to look,
missus, so you naughtnât when a ladyâs ashowing of her
elemental.
Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light. He bore in his
hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.
âThat model schoolboy, Stephen said, would find
Hamletâs musings about the afterlife of his princely soul, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue,
as shallow as Platoâs.
John Eglinton, frowning, said, waxing wroth:
âUpon my word it makes my blood boil to hear
anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.
âWhich of the two, Stephen asked, would have
banished me from his commonwealth?
Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the
whatness of allhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they
worship. God: noise in the street: very peripatetic. Space: what you damn well have to see. Through spaces smaller than red globules of manâs blood they creepycrawl after Blakeâs buttocks into etern ity of which this vegetable
world is but a shadow. Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
Ulysses
334 of 1305 Mr Best came forward, amia ble, towards his colleague.
âHaines is gone, he said. âIs he? âI was showing him Jubainvilleâs book. Heâs quite
enthusiastic, donât y ou know, about Hydeâs Lovesongs of
Connacht. I couldnât bring him in to hear the discussion.
Heâs gone to Gillâs to buy it.
Bound thee forth, my booklet, quick
To greet the callous public.
Writ, I ween, âtwas not my wish
In lean unlovely English.
âThe peatsmoke is going to his head, John Eglinton
opined.
We feel in England. Penitent thief. Gone. I smoked his
baccy. Green twinkling stone. An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
âPeople do not know how dangerous lovesongs can
be, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasantâs heart on the
hillside. For them the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. The rarefied air of the academy and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the musichall song. France produces the finest flower of corruption in
Ulysses
335 of 1305 Mallarme but the desirable life is revealed only to the poor
of heart, the life of Homerâs Phaeacians.
From these words Mr Best turned an unoffending face
to Stephen.
âMallarme, donât you know, he said, has written
those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to
read to me in Paris. The one about Hamlet. He says: il se
promène, lisant au livre de lui-mĂŞme , donât you know, reading
the book of himself . He describes Hamlet given in a French
town, donât you know, a provincial town. They
advertised it.
His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.
HAMLET
ou
LE DISTRAIT
Pièce de Shakespeare
He repeated to John Eglintonâs newgathered frown:
âPièce de Shakespeare , donât you know. Itâs so French.
The French point of view. Hamlet ou ...
âThe absentminded beggar, Stephen ended. John Eglinton laughed. âYes, I suppose it would be, he said. Excellent people,
no doubt, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters.
Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.
Ulysses
336 of 1305 âA deathsman of the soul Robert Greene called him,
Stephen said. Not for nothing was he a butcherâs son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his palms.
Nine lives are taken off for his fatherâs one. Our Father who art in purgatory. Khaki Hamlets donât hesitate to
shoot. The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a forecast
of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne.
Cranly, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.
Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom
none
The Ghost of Shakespeare
- Stephen Dedalus presents a provocative theory that Shakespeare played the ghost of King Hamlet in his own play.
- He argues that the play is a psychic bridge between the living author and his deceased son, Hamnet, and his estranged wife, Ann Hathaway.
- Stephen defines a ghost not just as the dead, but as one who has faded through absence or change of manners.
- The literary establishment, represented by Russell and Eglinton, dismisses this biographical 'prying' in favor of the pure immortality of the art.
- Stephen's internal monologue reveals a struggle with his own identity and debts, questioning if he is the same person who borrowed money months ago.
- The narrative blends historical 'composition of place' with Stephen's psychological 'agenbite of inwit' or remorse of conscience.
To a son he speaks, the son of his soul, the prince, young Hamlet and to the son of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare, who has died in Stratford that his namesake may live for ever.
But we had spared ...
Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. The devil
and the deep sea.
âHe will have it that Hamlet is a ghoststory, John
Eglinton said for Mr Bestâs behoof. Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to make our flesh creep.
List! List! O List!
My flesh hears him: creeping, hears.
If thou didst ever ...
âWhat is a ghost? Stephen said with tingling energy.
One who has faded into impalpability through death, through absence, through change of manners. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from
virgin Dublin. Who is the ghost from limbo patrum ,
Ulysses
337 of 1305 returning to the world that has forgotten him? Who is
King Hamlet?
John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to
judge.
Lifted. âIt is this hour of a day in mid June, Stephen said,
begging with a swift glance their hearing. The flag is up on the playhouse by the bankside. The bear Sackerson growls in the pit near it, Paris garden. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings.
Local colour. Work in all you know. Make them
accomplices.
âShakespeare has left the huguenotâs house in Silver
street and walks by the swanmews along the riverbank. But he does not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of
cygnets towards the rushes. The swan of Avon has other thoughts.
Composition of place. Ignatiu s Loyola, make haste to
help me!
âThe play begins. A player comes on under the
shadow, made up in the castoff mail of a court buck, a wellset man with a bass voice. It is the ghost, the king, a
king and no king, and the player is Shakespeare who has
Ulysses
338 of 1305 studied Hamlet all the years of his life which were not
vanity in order to play the part of the spectre. He speaks the words to Burbage, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a name:
Hamlet, I am thy fatherâs spirit,
bidding him list. To a son he speaks, the son of his soul,
the prince, young Hamlet and to the son of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare, who has died in Stratford that his
namesake may live for ever.
Is it possible that that pla yer Shakespeare, a ghost by
absence, and in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ghost by
death, speaking his own words to his own sonâs name (had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have been prince Hamletâs twin), is it possible, I want to know, or probable that he did not draw or fores ee the logical conclusion of
those premises: you are the dispossessed son: I am the
murdered father: your mother is the guilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, born Hathaway?
âBut this prying into the family life of a great man,
Russell began impatiently.
Art thou there, truepenny? âInteresting only to the parish clerk. I mean, we have
the plays. I mean when we read the poetry of King Lear
what is it to us how the poet lived? As for living our
Ulysses
339 of 1305 servants can do that for us, Villiers de lâIsle has said.
Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the day, the
poetâs drinking, the poetâs debts. We have King Lear : and
it is immortal.
Mr Bestâs face, appealed to, agreed.
Flow over them with your waves and with your waters,
Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir ...
How now, sirrah, that pound he lent you when you
were hungry?
Marry, I wanted it.
Take thou this noble. Go to! You spent most of it in Georgina Johnsonâs bed,
clergymanâs daughter. Agenbite of inwit.
Do you intend to pay it back? O, yes. When? Now? Well ... No. When, then? I paid my way. I paid my way. Steady on. Heâs from beyant Boyne water. The
northeast corner. You owe it.
Wait. Five months. Molecule s all change. I am other I
now. Other I got pound.
Buzz. Buzz.
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340 of 1305 But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory
because under everchanging forms.
I that sinned and prayed and fasted. A child Conmee saved from pandies. I, I and I. I. A.E.I.O.U. âDo you mean to fly in the face of the tradition of
three centuries? John Eglintonâ s carping voice asked. Her
Portals of Discovery
- Stephen Dedalus argues that a man of genius makes no mistakes, asserting that errors are actually 'volitional' and serve as 'portals of discovery.'
- The conversation shifts to the domestic life of Shakespeare, specifically his marriage to Ann Hathaway and the influence of women on great thinkers.
- Stephen suggests that Socrates learned dialectic from his shrewish wife and the art of bringing thoughts into the world from his mother.
- The group debates whether Shakespeare's choice of a wife was a mistake or if he was 'chosen' and seduced by a 'boldfaced Stratford wench' older than himself.
- Stephen posits that Shakespeare's female characters are 'boywomen' whose life and speech are merely lent to them by their male creator.
- The intellectual sparring is interrupted by the mundane realities of appointments and social invitations among the Dublin literati.
A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
ghost at least has been laid for ever. She died, for literature
at least, before she was born.
âShe died, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she
was born. She saw him into and out of the world. She
took his first embraces. She bore his children and she laid
pennies on his eyes to keep his eyelids closed when he lay on his deathbed.
Motherâs deathbed. Candle. The sheeted mirror. Who
brought me into this wo rld lies there, bronzelidded, under
few cheap flowers. Liliata rutilantium.
I wept alone. John Eglinton looked in the tangled glowworm of his
lamp.
âThe world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake,
he said, and got out of it as quickly and as best he could.
Ulysses
341 of 1305 âBosh! Stephen said rudely. A man of genius makes
no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
Portals of discovery opened to let in the quaker
librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.
âA shrew, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is not a useful
portal of discovery, one should imagine. What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe?
âDialectic, Stephen answered: and from his mother
how to bring thoughts into the world. What he learnt
from his other wife Myrto ( absit nomen! ), Socratididionâs
Epipsychidion, no man, not a woman, will ever know.
But neither the midwifeâs lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of
hemlock.
âBut Ann Hathaway? Mr Bestâs quiet voice said
forgetfully. Yes, we seem to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her.
His look went from brooderâs beard to carperâs skull, to
remind, to chide them not unkindly, then to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.
âHe had a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, and
no truant memory. He carried a memory in his wallet as
he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.
Ulysses
342 of 1305 If the earthquake did not time it we should know where
to place poor Wat, sitting in his form, the cry of hounds, the studded bridle and her blue windows. That memory,
Venus and Adonis , lay in the bedchamber of every light-of-
love in London. Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured? Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. Do you think the
writer of Antony and Cleopatra , a passionate pilgrim, had
his eyes in the back of his head that he chose the ugliest
doxy in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Good: he left her
and gained the world of men. But his boywomen are the
women of a boy. Their life, thought, speech are lent them
by males. He chose badly? He was chosen, it seems to me.
If others have their will Ann hath a way. By cock, she was to blame. She put the comether on him, sweet and twentysix. The greyeyed goddess who bends over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as prologue to the swelling act, is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a cornfield a lover younger than herself.
And my turn? When? Come! âRyefield, Mr Best said brightly, gladly, raising his
new book, gladly, brightly.
He murmured then with blond delight for all:
Ulysses
343 of 1305 Between the acres of the rye
These pretty countryfolk would lie.
Paris: the wellpleased pleaser. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow
and unveiled its cooperative watch.
âI am afraid I am due at the Homestead.
Whither away? Exploitable ground. âAre you going? John Eglintonâs active eyebrows
asked. Shall we see you at Mooreâs tonight? Piper is
coming.
âPiper! Mr Best piped. Is Piper back? Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled
pepper.
âI donât know if I can. Thursday. We have our
Literary Circles and Shakespearean Speculation
- Stephen Dedalus navigates a Dublin library setting filled with theosophical musings and literary gossip.
- The librarian and others discuss an upcoming anthology of young poets being gathered by George Russell (AE).
- The conversation shifts to the state of Irish literature, mentioning figures like Yeats, Colum, and the search for a national epic.
- Stephen uses Aristotelian logic and sensory experiments to ground himself amidst the high-flown intellectual chatter.
- The librarian privately questions Stephen on his provocative theory regarding Shakespeareâs marital infidelity.
- Stephen posits that any reconciliation in Shakespeare's life and work necessitates a prior 'sundering' or betrayal.
Where there is a reconciliation, Stephen said, there must have been first a sundering.
meeting. If I can get away in time.
Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. Isis Unveiled.
Their Pali book we tried to pawn. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their oversoul, mahamahatma.
The faithful hermetists await the light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. Louis H. Victory. T. Caulfield
Irwin. Lotus ladies tend them iâthe eyes, their pineal glands aglow. Filled with his god, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. Gulfer of souls, engulf er. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals
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344 of 1305 of souls. Engulfed with wa iling creecries, whirled,
whirling, they bewail.
In quintessential triviality
For years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.
âThey say we are to have a literary surprise, the
quaker librarian said, friendly and earnest. Mr Russell,
rumour has it, is gathering to gether a sheaf of our younger
poetsâ verses. We are all looking forward anxiously.
Anxiously he glanced in th e cone of lamplight where
three faces, lighted, shone.
See this. Remember.
Stephen looked down on a wide headless caubeen,
hung on his ashplanthandle over his knee. My casque and sword. Touch lightly with two index fingers. Aristotleâs experiment. One or two? Necessity is that in virtue of which it is impossible that one can be otherwise. Argal,
one hat is one hat.
Listen. Young Colum and Starkey. George Roberts is doing
the commercial part. Longworth will give it a good puff in
the Express. O, will he? I liked Columâs Drover. Yes, I
think he has that queer thing genius. Do you think he has
genius really? Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a
Grecian vase . Did he? I hope youâll be able to come
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345 of 1305 tonight. Malachi Mulligan is coming too. Moore asked
him to bring Haines. Did you hear Miss Mitchellâs joke about Moore and Martyn? That Moore is Martynâs wild
oats? Awfully clever, isnât it? They remind one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Our national epic has yet to be written, Dr Sigerson says. Moore is the man for it. A
knight of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. With a saffron kilt? OâNeill Russell? O, yes, he must speak the grand old tongue. And his Dulcinea? James Stephens is doing some clever sketches. We are becoming important, it seems.
Cordelia. Cordoglio. Lirâs loneliest daughter.
Nookshotten. Now your best French polish.
âThank you very much, Mr Russell, Stephen said,
rising. If you will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman ...
âO, yes. If he considers it important it will go in. We
have so much correspondence.
âI understand, Stephen said. Thanks. God ild you. The pigsâ paper. Bullockbefriending.
Synge has promised me an article for Dana too. Are we
going to be read? I feel we are. The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. I hope you will come round tonight.
Bring Starkey.
Ulysses
346 of 1305 Stephen sat down.
The quaker librarian came from the leavetakers.
Blushing, his mask said:
âMr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. He creaked to and fro, tipt oing up nearer heaven by
the altitude of a chopine, and, covered by the noise of outgoing, said low:
âIs it your view, then, that she was not faithful to the
poet?
Alarmed face asks me. Why did he come? Courtesy or
an inward light?
âWhere there is a reconciliation, Stephen said, there
must have been first a sundering.
âYes. Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a runaway in
blighted treeforks, from hue and cry. Knowing no vixen,
walking lonely in the chase. Women he won to him,
tender people, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapstersâ wives. Fox and geese. And in New Place a slack
dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all, bare, frighted of the narrow grave and unforgiven.
âYes. So you think ... The door closed behind the outgoer.
Ulysses
The Ghost of the Artist
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a scholarly debate within the library regarding the biographical identity of Shakespeare and his characters.
- The discussion explores the paradox of personal identity, comparing the physical regeneration of the body's molecules to the persistence of the self.
- Stephen posits that the artist 'weaves and unweaves' his own image into his work, bridging the gap between the past self and the future reflection.
- The group debates whether Hamlet represents the son or the father, and whether Shakespeare's later plays signal a spirit of reconciliation.
- Stephen argues that reconciliation is impossible without a prior 'sundering,' linking the creator's life trauma to the shadows cast over his tragedies.
As we, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, from day to day, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave his image.
347 of 1305 Rest suddenly possessed the di screet vaulted cell, rest of
warm and brooding air.
A vestalâs lamp. Here he ponders things th at were not: what Caesar
would have lived to do had he believed the soothsayer: what might have been: possibilities of the possible as possible: things not know n: what name Achilles bore
when he lived among women.
Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases,
embalmed in spice of words. Thoth, god of libraries, a birdgod, moonycrowned. And I heard the voice of that
Egyptian highpriest. In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.
They are still. Once quick in the brains of men. Still:
but an itch of death is in th em, to tell me in my ear a
maudlin tale, urge me to wreak their will.
âCertainly, John Eglinton mused, of all great men he
is the most enigmatic. We know nothing but that he lived and suffered. Not even so much. Others abide our
question. A shadow hangs over all the rest.
âBut Hamlet is so personal, isnâ t it? Mr Best pleaded. I
mean, a kind of private paper, donât you know, of his private life. I mean, I donât care a button, donât you know, who is killed or who is guilty ...
Ulysses
348 of 1305 He rested an innocent book on the edge of the desk,
smiling his defiance. His private papers in the original. Ta
an bad ar an tir. Taim in mo shagart . Put beurla on it,
littlejohn.
Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: âI was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi
Mulligan told us but I may as well warn you that if you
want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you
have a stern task before you.
Bear with me.
Stephen withstood the bane of miscreant eyes glinting
stern under wrinkled brows. A basilisk. E quando vede
lâuomo lâattosca . Messer Brunetto, I thank thee for the
word.
âAs we, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our
bodies, Stephen said, from da y to day, their molecules
shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave
his image. And as the mole on my right breast is where it
was when I was born, though all my body has been woven of new stuff time after time, so through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the unliving son looks forth. In the intense instant of imagination, when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to
Ulysses
349 of 1305 be. So in the future, the sist er of the past, I may see myself
as I sit here now but by refle ction from that which then I
shall be.
Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile. âYes, Mr Best said youngly. I feel Hamlet quite
young. The bitterness might be from the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the son.
Has the wrong sow by the lug. He is in my father. I am
in his son.
âThat mole is the last to go, Stephen said, laughing. John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow. âIf that were the birthmark of genius, he said, genius
would be a drug in the mark et. The plays of Shakespeareâs
later years which Renan admired so much breathe another
spirit.
âThe spirit of reconciliation, the quaker librarian
breathed.
âThere can be no reconciliation, Stephen said, if there
has not been a sundering.
Said that. âIf you want to know what are the events which cast
their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear, Othello,
Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see when and how the
shadow lifts. What softens the heart of a man, shipwrecked
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350 of 1305 in storms dire, Tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince
of Tyre?
Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. âA child, a girl, placed in his arms, Marina. âThe leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of
apocrypha is a constant q uantity, John Eglinton detected.
The highroads are dreary but they lead to the town.
Good Bacon: gone musty. Shakespeare Baconâs wild
oats. Cypherjugglers going the highroads. Seekers on the great quest. What town, good masters? Mummed in names: A. E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton. East of the sun,
The Ghost of Shakespeare's Genius
- Stephen Dedalus explores the theme of restoration in Shakespeare's late plays, where lost daughters like Marina and Perdita represent a return of what was once taken.
- The dialogue examines the 'art of being a grandfather' and how a man of genius views his offspring as a reflection of his own image and moral experience.
- The scholars discuss various contemporary critics of Shakespeare, including Frank Harris and George Bernard Shaw, touching on the identity of the 'dark lady' of the sonnets.
- Stephen posits that Shakespeare's creative drive was fueled by an early, 'untimely killed' belief in himself following a formative sexual defeat in a rye field.
- The narrative suggests that no later success or 'don giovannism' can undo the original psychic wound inflicted by a dominant woman.
- The discourse links the act of literary creation to the poisoning of King Hamlet, suggesting the creator endows the character with knowledge the living man could not possess.
The tusk of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding.
west of the moon: Tir na n-og . Booted the twain and
staved.
How many miles to Dublin?
Three score and ten, sir. Will we be there by candlelight?
âMr Brandes accepts it, Step hen said, as the first play
of the closing period.
âDoes he? What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon
Lazarus as some aver his name is, say of it?
âMarina, Stephen said, a child of storm, Miranda, a
wonder, Perdita, that which was lost. What was lost is
given back to him: his daughterâs child. My dearest wife ,
Ulysses
351 of 1305 Pericles says, was like this maid. Will any man love the
daughter if he has not loved the mother?
âThe art of being a grandfather, Mr Best gan murmur.
lâart dâĂŞtre grand ...
âWill he not see reborn in her, with the memory of
his own youth added, another image?
Do you know what you are talking about? Love, yes.
Word known to all men. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus ...
âHis own image to a m an with that queer thing
genius is the standard of all experience, material and moral.
Such an appeal will touch him. The images of other males of his blood will repel him. He will see in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat himself.
The benign forehead of the quaker librarian enkindled
rosily with hope.
âI hope Mr Dedalus will work out his theory for the
enlightenment of the public. And we ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr George Bernard Shaw. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. His articles on
Shakespeare in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.
Oddly enough he too draws for us an unhappy relation
with the dark lady of the sonnets. The favoured rival is William Herbert, earl of Pembroke. I own that if the poet
Ulysses
352 of 1305 must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in
harmony withâwhat shall I say?âour notions of what
ought not to have been.
Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among
them, aukâs egg, prize of their fray.
He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords. Dost
love, Miriam? Dost love thy man?
âThat may be too, Stephen said. Thereâs a saying of
Goetheâs which Mr Magee likes to quote. Beware of what you wish for in youth because you will get it in middle
life. Why does he send to one who is a buonaroba, a bay
where all men ride, a maid of honour with a scandalous
girlhood, a lordling to woo for him? He was himself a lord
of language and had made himself a coistrel gentleman and
he had written Romeo and Juliet . Why? Belief in himself
has been untimely killed. He wa s overborne in a cornfield
first (ryefield, I should say) and he will never be a victor in his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down. Assumed dong iovannism will not save him.
No later undoing will undo the first undoing. The tusk of the boar has wounded hi m there where love lies
ableeding. If the shrew is wo rsted yet there remains to her
womanâs invisible weapon. There is, I feel in the words, some goad of the flesh driving him into a new passion, a
Ulysses
353 of 1305 darker shadow of the first, darkening even his own
understanding of himself. A like fate awaits him and the two rages commingle in a whirlpool.
They list. And in the porches of their ears I pour. âThe soul has been before stricken mortally, a poison
poured in the porch of a sleeping ear. But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their quell unless their Creator en dow their souls with that
knowledge in the life to come. The poisoning and the beast with two backs that urge d it King Hamletâs ghost
could not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. That is why the speech (his lean unlovely
English) is always turned elsewhere, backward. Ravisher
and ravished, what he would but would not, go with him from Lucreceâs bluecircled ivor y globes to Imogenâs breast,
bare, with its mole cinquespo tted. He goes back, weary of
The Gaseous Vertebrate and Mockery
- Stephen Dedalus concludes his metaphysical theory of Shakespeare as a ghost-like creator who remains unchanged by his own artistic laws.
- Buck Mulligan interrupts the scholarly atmosphere with ribaldry, mocking the theological complexities of the Trinity as a 'gaseous vertebrate.'
- The group discusses various eccentric interpretations of Hamlet, including the theory that the prince was actually a woman.
- The conversation shifts to Oscar Wildeâs 'The Portrait of Mr. W. H.,' highlighting the aesthetic preference for paradox and wordplay over historical fact.
- Mulliganâs presence introduces a tension between Stephen's earnest intellectual labor and the performative, cynical wit of the Dublin elite.
He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was nailed like bat to barndoor.
the creation he has piled up to hide him from himself, an old dog licking an old sore. But, because loss is his gain, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality,
untaught by the wisdom he has written or by the laws he
has revealed. His beaver is up. He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinoreâs rocks or what you will, the seaâs voice, a voice heard only in the heart of him who is
Ulysses
354 of 1305 the substance of his shadow, the son consubstantial with
the father.
âAmen! was responded from the doorway. Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?
Entrâacte .
A ribald face, sullen as a deanâs, Buck Mulligan came
forward, then blithe in motley, towards the greeting of their smiles. My telegram.
âYou were speaking of the gaseous vertebrate, if I
mistake not? he asked of Stephen.
Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his doffed Panama
as with a bauble.
They make him welcome. Was Du verlachst wirst Du
noch dienen.
Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann
Most.
He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and
Himself sent Himself, Agenbu yer, between Himself and
others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and
whipped, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall
Ulysses
355 of 1305 come in the latter day to d oom the quick and dead when
all the quick shall be dead already.
Gloâoâriâa in exâcelâsis Deâo. He lifts his hands. Veils fall. O, flowers! Bells with bells
with bells aquiring.
âYes, indeed, the quaker librarian said. A most
instructive discussion. Mr Mu lligan, Iâll be bound, has his
theory too of the play and of Shakespeare. All sides of life should be represented.
He smiled on all sides equally. Buck Mulligan thought, puzzled: âShakespeare? he said. I seem to know the name.
A flying sunny smile rayed in his loose features.
âTo be sure, he said, rememb ering brightly. The chap
that writes like Synge.
Mr Best turned to him. âHaines missed you, he sa id. Did you meet him? Heâll
see you after at the D. B. C. Heâs gone to Gillâs to buy
Hydeâs Lovesongs of Connacht .
âI came through the museum, Buck Mulligan said.
Was he here?
âThe bardâs fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton
answered, are rather tired perhaps of our brilliancies of theorising. I hear that an actress played Hamlet for the
Ulysses
356 of 1305 fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Vining
held that the prince was a woman. Has no-one made him
out to be an Irishman? Judge Barton, I believe, is searching for some clues. He swears (His Highness not His Lordship)
by saint Patrick.
âThe most brilliant of all is that story of Wildeâs, Mr
Best said, lifting his brill iant notebook. That Portrait of Mr
W. H. where he proves that the sonnets were written by a
Willie Hughes, a man all hues.
âFor Willie Hughes, is it not? the quaker librarian
asked.
Or Hughie Wills? Mr William Himself. W. H.: who
am I?
âI mean, for Willie Hughes, Mr Best said, amending
his gloss easily. Of course it âs all paradox, donât you know,
Hughes and hews and hues, the colour, but itâs so typical
the way he works it out. It âs the very essence of Wilde,
donât you know. The light touch.
His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a
blond ephebe. Tame essence of Wilde.
Youâre darned witty. Three drams of usquebaugh you
drank with Dan Deasyâs ducats.
How much did I spend? O, a few shillings. For a plump of pressmen. Humour wet and dry.
Ulysses
357 of 1305 Wit. You would give your five wits for youthâs proud
livery he pranks in. Lineaments of gratified desire.
There be many mo. Take her for me. In pairing time.
Jove, a cool ruttime send them. Yea, turtledove her.
Eve. Naked wheatbellied sin. A snake coils her, fang
inâs kiss.
âDo you think it is only a paradox? the quaker
Mulligan's Mockery and Bloom's Arrival
- Buck Mulligan mockingly reads a telegram from Stephen Dedalus that defines a sentimentalist as one who enjoys without paying the 'immense debtorship' of action.
- Mulligan recounts his and Haines's long wait for drinks, lamenting Stephen's absence and his cryptic messaging in a parody of Irish brogue.
- A humorous conflict arises over a rumor that Synge is seeking to murder Stephen for an alleged insult, which Stephen attributes to Mulligan's own fabrication.
- The librarian, Mr. Lyster, is interrupted by an attendant announcing a visitor from the Freeman's Journal seeking old newspaper files.
- Leopold Bloom is identified as the visitor, prompting Mulligan to mock his Jewish heritage and describe a previous encounter with him at the museum.
- Mulligan characterizes Bloom as a 'Greeker than the Greeks' figure with 'pale Galilean eyes,' further establishing the tension between the characters.
The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a thing done.
librarian was asking. The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious.
They talked seriously of mockerâs seriousness. Buck Mulliganâs again heavy face eyed Stephen awhile.
Then, his head wagging, he came near, drew a folded
telegram from his pocket . His mobile lips read, smiling
with new delight.
âTelegram! he said. Wonderful inspiration! Telegram!
A papal bull!
He sat on a corner of the unlit desk, reading aloud
joyfully:
âThe sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring
the immense debtorship for a thing done. Signed: Dedalus.
Where did you launch it from? The kips? No. College Green. Have you drunk the four quid? The aunt is going to call on your unsubstantial father. Telegram! Malachi
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358 of 1305 Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbe y street. O, you peerless
mummer! O, you priestified Kinchite!
Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a pocket
but keened in a querulous brogue:
âItâs what Iâm telling you, mister honey, itâs queer and
sick we were, Haines and myself, the time himself brought it in. âTwas murmur we did for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, Iâm thinking, and he limp with leching. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Conneryâs
sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.
He wailed: âAnd we to be there, mavrone, and you to be
unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way
we to have our tongues out a yard long like the drouthy
clerics do be fainting for a pussful.
Stephen laughed. Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan bent down. âThe tramper Synge is looking for you, he said, to
murder you. He heard you pissed on his halldoor in Glasthule. Heâs out in pampooties to murder you.
âMe! Stephen exclaimed. That was your contribution
to literature.
Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing to the
dark eavesdropping ceiling.
Ulysses
359 of 1305 âMurder you! he laughed.
Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our
mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-AndrĂŠ-des-Arts. In words of words for words, palabras. Oisin with Patrick. Faunman he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a
winebottle. Câest vendredi saint! Murthering Irish. His
image, wandering, he met. I mine. I met a fool iâthe
forest.
âMr Lyster, an attendant said from the door ajar. â ... in which everyone can find his own. So Mr
Justice Madden in his Diary of Master William Silence has
found the hunting terms ... Yes? What is it?
âThereâs a gentleman here, sir, the attendant said,
coming forward and offering a card. From the Freeman.
He wants to see the files of the Kilkenny People for last
year.
âCertainly, certainly, certainly. Is the gentleman? ... He took the eager card, gl anced, not saw, laid down
unglanced, looked, asked, creaked, asked:
âIs he? ... O, there! Brisk in a galliard he was off, out. In the daylit corridor
he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in duty bound, most
fair, most kind, most honest broadbrim.
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360 of 1305 âThis gentleman? Freemanâs Journal? Kilkenny People?
To be sure. Good day, sir. Kilkenny ... We have certainly
...
A patient silhouette waited, listening.
âAll the leading provincial ... Northern Whig, Cork
Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 ... Will you please?
... Evans, conduct this gentleman ... If you just follow the atten ... Or, please allow me ... This way ... Please, sir ...
Voluble, dutiful, he led the way to all the provincial
papers, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.
The door closed. âThe sheeny! Buck Mulligan cried. He jumped up and snatched the card. âWhatâs his name? Ikey Moses? Bloom. He rattled on: âJehovah, collector of prepuces, is no more. I found
him over in the museum where I went to hail the
foamborn Aphrodite. The G reek mouth that has never
been twisted in prayer. Every day we must do homage to
her. Life of life, thy lips enkindle.
Suddenly he turned to Stephen: âHe knows you. He knows your old fellow. O, I fear
me, he is Greeker than the Greeks. His pale Galilean eyes
Ulysses
Shakespeare's London and Domestic Strife
- Stephen Dedalus contrasts the idealized Penelope with the historical reality of Shakespeare's wife, Ann Hathaway, and his life in London.
- The narrative explores the excess of the Elizabethan era, citing the luxury of Sir Walter Raleigh and the sexual scandals of the court.
- A famous anecdote is recounted involving Shakespeare preempting Richard Burbage in the bed of a burger's wife, claiming 'William the Conqueror came before Richard III.'
- Stephen suggests that while Shakespeare dallied with 'court wantons' and 'punks of the bankside,' his wife in Stratford was likely unfaithful as well.
- The argument posits that the 'broken vow' and the betrayal by a brother-in-law are central themes reflected in the ghost's mind in Hamlet.
- Stephen challenges his listeners to explain why Shakespeare's wife is omitted from his records for thirty-four years if she were not 'branded with infamy.'
William the conqueror came before Richard III.
361 of 1305 were upon her mesial groove. Venus Kallipyge. O, the
thunder of those loins! The god pursuing the maiden hid .
âWe want to hear more, John Eglinton decided with
Mr Bestâs approval. We begin to be interested in Mrs S.
Till now we had thought of her, if at all, as a patient Griselda, a Penelope stayathome.
âAntisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, took the
palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelausâ brooddam, Argive Helen, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and handed it to poor Penelope. Twenty years he lived in London and, during part of that time, he
drew a salary equal to that of the lord chancellor of
Ireland. His life was rich. His art, more than the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman calle d it, is the art of surfeit.
Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack, honeysauces, sugar of
roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies. Sir Walter Raleigh, when they arrested him, had half a million francs on his back inclu ding a pair of fancy stays.
The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to vie with her of Sheba. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its chaste delights and
scortatory love and its foul pleasures. You know Manninghamâs story of the bu rgherâs wife who bade Dick
Burbage to her bed after she had seen him in Richard III
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362 of 1305 and how Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado
about nothing, took the cow by the horns and, when Burbage came knocking at the gate, answered from the
caponâs blankets: William the conqueror came before Richard
III. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O,
and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a clean quality woman is suited for a player, and the punks of the bankside, a penny a time.
Cours la Reine. Encore vingt sous. Nous ferons de petites
cochonneries. Minette? Tu veux?
âThe height of fine society. And sir William Davenant
of oxfordâs mother with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.
Buck Mulligan, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: âBlessed Margaret Mary Anycock! âAnd Harry of six wivesâ daughter. And other lady
friends from neighbour se ats as Lawn Tennyson,
gentleman poet, sings. But all those twenty years what do you suppose poor Penelope in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?
Do and do. Thing done. In a rosery of Fetter lane of
Gerard, herbalist, he walks, greyedauburn. An azured harebell like her veins. Lids of Junoâs eyes, violets. He
Ulysses
363 of 1305 walks. One life is all. One body. Do. But do. Afar, in a
reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.
Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglintonâs desk sharply. âWhom do you suspect? he challenged. âSay that he is the spurned lover in the sonnets. Once
spurned twice spurned. But the court wanton spurned him for a lord, his dearmylove.
Love that dare not speak its name. âAs an Englishman, you me an, John sturdy Eglinton
put in, he loved a lord.
Old wall where sudden lizards flash. At Charenton I
watched them.
âIt seems so, Stephen said, when he wants to do for
him, and for all other and singular uneared wombs, the holy office an ostler does for the stallion. Maybe, like Socrates, he had a midwife to mother as he had a shrew to wife. But she, the giglot w anton, did not break a bedvow.
Two deeds are rank in that ghostâs mind: a broken vow and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husbandâs brother. Sweet Ann, I take it, was hot in the blood. Once a wooer, twice a wooer.
Stephen turned boldly in his chair. âThe burden of proof is with you not with me, he
said frowning. If you deny that in the fifth scene of Hamlet
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364 of 1305 he has branded her with infamy tell me why there is no
mention of her during the th irtyfour years between the
The Secondbest Bed Debate
- Stephen Dedalus and his companions debate the domestic life and character of William Shakespeare, focusing on his treatment of his wife.
- The discussion highlights the famous legal slight in Shakespeare's will, where he famously bequeathed his wife only his 'secondbest bed.'
- Stephen portrays Shakespeare not as a romantic figure, but as a shrewd, litigious capitalist and moneylender who hoarded grain during famines.
- The group contrasts Shakespeare's domestic coldness with the deathbed generosity of classical philosophers like Aristotle.
- The dialogue explores the tension between Shakespeare's high art and his mundane, often ruthless pursuit of property and social status.
He drew Shylock out of his own long pocket.
day she married him and the day she buried him. All those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her goodman John, Ann, her poor dear Willun, when he went
and died on her, raging that he was the first to go, Joan,
her four brothers, Judith, her husband and all her sons, Susan, her husband too, while Susanâs daughter, Elizabeth, to use granddaddyâs words, wed her second, having killed her first.
O, yes, mention there is. In the years when he was
living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had to
borrow forty shillings from her fatherâs shepherd. Explain
you then. Explain the swansong too wherein he has commended her to posterity.
He faced their silence. To whom thus Eglinton:
You mean the will.
But that has been explained, I believe, by
jurists.
She was entitled to her widowâs dower At common law. His legal knowledge was
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365 of 1305 great
Our judges tell us.
Him Satan fleers,
Mocker: And therefore he left out her name
From the first draft but he did not leave out
The presents for his granddaughter, for his daughters, For his sister, for his old cronies in Stratford And in London. And therefore when he
was urged,
As I believe, to name her He left her his Secondbest
Bed.
Punkt.
Leftherhis
Secondbest
Leftherhis Bestabed Secabest
Leftabed.
Woa!
Ulysses
366 of 1305 âPretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John
Eglinton observed, as they have still if our peasant plays are
true to type.
âHe was a rich country gent leman, Stephen said, with
a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a house in Ireland yard, a capitalist sha reholder, a bill promoter, a
tithefarmer. Why did he not leave her his best bed if he wished her to snore away the rest of her nights in peace?
âIt is clear that there w ere two beds, a best and a
secondbest, Mr Secon dbest Best said finely.
âSeparatio a mensa et a thalamo , bettered Buck Mulligan
and was smiled on.
âAntiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton
puckered, bedsmiling. Let me think.
âAntiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and
bald heathen sage, Stephen said, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his elders, wills to be laid in earth near the bones of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an old mistress (donât forget Nell
Gwynn Herpyllis) and let her live in his villa.
âDo you mean he died so? Mr Best asked with slight
concern. I mean ...
Ulysses
367 of 1305 âHe died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan capped. A quart
of ale is a dish for a king. O, I must tell you what Dowden said!
âWhat? asked Besteglinton. William Shakespeare and company, limited. The
peopleâs William. For terms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house ...
âLovely! Buck Mulligan suspired amorously. I asked
him what he thought of the charge of pederasty brought
against the bard. He lifted his hands and said: All we can say
is that life ran very high in those days. Lovely!
Catamite.
âThe sense of beauty leads us astray, said
beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.
Steadfast John replied severe: âThe doctor can tell us what those words mean. You
cannot eat your cake and have it.
Sayest thou so? Will they wre st from us, from me, the
palm of beauty?
âAnd the sense of property, Stephen said. He drew
Shylock out of his own long pocket. The son of a maltjobber and moneylender he was himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the famine riots. His borrowers are no doubt those divers of
Ulysses
368 of 1305 worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his
uprightness of dealing. He sued a fellowplayer for the price of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent . How else could Aubreyâs
ostler and callboy get rich quick? All events brought grist to his mill. Shylock chimes with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the queenâs leech Lopez, his jewâs heart bein g plucked forth while the
Shakespeare and the Avarice of Emotions
- Stephen Dedalus links Shakespeare's creative output to the political and social climate of the Elizabethan and Jacobean eras, including the influence of James I's obsession with witchcraft.
- The discussion shifts to the nature of incest, which Stephen, citing Saint Thomas Aquinas, defines as an 'avarice of the emotions' where love is withheld from strangers.
- Stephen argues that the historical persecution of Jews forced a tightening of both their financial hoards and their familial affections as a means of survival.
- The dialogue explores the domestic life of Shakespeare, specifically the 'secondbest bed' left to his wife, Ann Hathaway, and her supposed late-life turn to religious piety.
- The section concludes with a cynical view of aging and history, describing the transition from youthful passion to 'exhausted whoredom' seeking religious redemption.
Venus has twisted her lips in prayer. Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience. It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.
sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and Macbeth with the coming
to the throne of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn for
witchroasting. The lost armada is his jeer in Loveâs Labour
Lost. His pageants, the histories, sail fullbellied on a tide of
Mafeking enthusiasm. Warwicks hire jesuits are tried and
we have a porterâs theory of equivocation. The Sea
Venture comes home from Bermudas and the play Renan
admired is written with Pa tsy Caliban, our American
cousin. The sugared sonnets follow Sidneyâs. As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the gross virgin who
inspired The Merry Wives of Windsor , let some meinherr
from Almany grope his life long for deephid meanings in the depths of the buckbasket.
I think youâre getting on very nicely. Just mix up a
mixture of theolologicophilolological. Mingo, minxi,
mictum, mingere.
Ulysses
369 of 1305 âProve that he was a jew, John Eglinton
dared,âexpectantly. Your dean of studies holds he was a holy Roman.
Sufflaminandus sum.
âHe was made in Germany, Stephen replied, as the
champion French polisher of Italian scandals.
âA myriadminded man, Mr Best reminded. Coleridge
called him myriadminded.
Amplius. In societate humana hoc est maxime necessarium ut
sit amicitia inter multos.
âSaint Thomas, Stephen began ...
âOra pro nobis , Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a
chair.
There he keened a wailing rune.
âPogue mahone! Acushla machree! Itâs destroyed we are
from this day! Itâs destroyed we are surely!
All smiled their smiles. âSaint Thomas, Stephen smiling said, whose
gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the original, writing of incest from a standpoint diff erent from that of the new
Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in his wise and curious way to an avaric e of the emotions. He means
that the love so given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger w ho, it may be, hungers for
Ulysses
370 of 1305 it. Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are of all races
the most given to intermarriage. Accusations are made in anger. The christian laws which built up the hoards of the jews (for whom, as for the lollards, storm was shelter) bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at
doomsday leet. But a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his wife. No sir smile neighbour s hall covet his ox or his wife
or his manservant or his maidservant or his jackass.
âOr his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned.
âGentle Will is being roughl y handled, gentle Mr Best
said gently.
âWhich will? gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan. We are
getting mixed.
âThe will to live, John Eglinton philosophised, for
poor Ann, Willâs widow, is the will to die.
âRequiescat! Stephen prayed.
What of all the will to do?
It has vanished long ago ...
âShe lies laid out in stark sti ffness in that secondbest
bed, the mobled queen, even though you prove that a bed in those days was as rare as a motorcar is now and that its
Ulysses
371 of 1305 carvings were the wonder of seven parishes. In old age she
takes up with gospellers (one stayed with her at New Place
and drank a quart of sack the town council paid for but in which bed he slept it skills not to ask) and heard she had a
soul. She read or had read to her his chapbooks preferring
them to the Merry Wives and, loosing her nightly waters
on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for
Believersâ Breeches and The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make
the Most Devout Souls Sneeze . Venus has twisted her lips in
prayer. Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience. It is an
age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.
âHistory shows that to be true, inquit Eglintonus
Chronolologos . The ages succeed one another. But we have
The Mystery of Paternity
- Stephen Dedalus argues that fatherhood is a 'mystical estate' rather than a biological certainty, describing it as a legal fiction built upon the void.
- The text contrasts the physical reality of a mother's love with the intellectual uncertainty and 'blind rut' that defines the paternal link.
- Stephen posits that Shakespeare, in writing Hamlet, transitioned from being a son to becoming the symbolic father of his entire race.
- The relationship between father and son is depicted as inherently adversarial, where the son's growth necessitates the father's decline and envy.
- The narrative explores the theological implications of paternity, linking the structure of the Church to the 'incertitude' of the father-son bond.
Fatherhood, in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten.
it on high authority that a manâs worst enemies shall be those of his own house and fa mily. I feel that Russell is
right. What do we care for his wife or father? I should say that only family poets have family lives. Falstaff was not a
family man. I feel that the fat knight is his supreme
creation.
Lean, he lay back. Shy, deny thy kindred, the unco
guid. Shy, supping with the godless, he sneaks the cup. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. Visits him here on quarter days. Mr Magee, sir, thereâs a gentleman to see you. Me? Says heâs your father, sir. Give me my
Ulysses
372 of 1305 Wordsworth. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a rugged rough
rugheaded kern, in strossers with a buttoned codpiece, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a wand of wilding in his hand.
Your own? He knows your old fellow. The widower. Hurrying to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the
quayside I touched his han d. The voice, new warmth,
speaking. Dr Bob Kenny is a ttending her. The eyes that
wish me well. But do not know me.
âA father, Stephen said, ba ttling against hopelessness,
is a necessary evil. He wrote the play in the months that followed his fatherâs death. If you hold that he, a greying
man with two marriageable daughters, with thirtyfive
years of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita , with fifty of
experience, is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you must hold that his seventyyear old mother is the lustful queen . No. The corpse of John
Shakespeare does not walk the night. From hour to hour it rots and rots. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. Boccaccioâs
Calandrino was the first and la st man who felt himself with
child. Fatherhood, in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten. On that
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373 of 1305 mystery and not on the ma donna which the cunning
Italian intellect flung to the mob of Europe the church is
founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void. Upon
incertitude, upon unlikelihood. Amor matris , subjective and
objective genitive, may be the only true thing in life. Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son?
What the hell are you driving at? I know. Shut up. Blast you. I have reasons.
Amplius. Adhuc. Iterum. Postea.
Are you condemned to do this?
âThey are sundered by a bodily shame so steadfast that
the criminal annals of the world, stained with all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. Sons with
mothers, sires with daughters, les bic sisters, loves that dare
not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls. The son unborn mars beauty: born, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. He is a new male: his growth is
his fatherâs decline, his youth his fatherâs envy, his friend
his fatherâs enemy.
In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it. âWhat links them in nature? An instant of blind rut.
Ulysses
374 of 1305 Am I a father? If I were?
Shrunken uncertain hand. âSabellius, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all the
beasts of the field, held that the Father was Himself His Own Son. The bulldog of Aquin, with whom no word shall be impossible, refutes him. Well: if the father who has not a son be not a fath er can the son who has not a
father be a son? When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of
the same name in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he
was not the father of his own son merely but, being no
more a son, he was and felt himself the father of all his
race, the father of his own grandfather, the father of his unborn grandson who, by the same token, never was born, for nature, as Mr Magee understands her, abhors perfection.
Eglintoneyes, quick with pleasure, looked up
The Name and the Star
- Stephen Dedalus presents a biographical theory of Shakespeareâs works, linking family deaths to specific characters like Hamnet to Hamlet.
- The discussion explores the significance of names, noting that Shakespeare used his brothers' names, Edmund and Richard, for his most notorious villains.
- Stephen argues that Shakespeare hid his own identity within his plays like a painter's self-portrait in a dark corner of a canvas.
- The narrative weaves in the appearance of a 'daystar' or supernova in Cassiopeia that coincided with Shakespeare's life, serving as a celestial signature.
- The dialogue is punctuated by the arrival of the 'quaking' librarian and the playful, mocking interjections of Buck Mulligan and others.
- Stephen reflects on his own name and identity, connecting his personal history to the grander astronomical and literary patterns he describes.
He has hidden his own name, a fair name, William, in the plays, a super here, a clown there, as a painter of old Italy set his face in a dark corner of his canvas.
shybrightly. Gladly glancing, a merry puritan, through the twisted eglantine.
Flatter. Rarely. But flatter. âHimself his own father, Sonmulligan told himself.
Wait. I am big with child. I have an unborn child in my brain. Pallas Athena! A play! The playâs the thing! Let me
parturiate!
Ulysses
375 of 1305 He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding
hands.
âAs for his family, Stephen said, his motherâs name
lives in the forest of Arden. Her death brought from him
the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. His boysonâs death
is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John. Hamlet,
the black prince, is Hamnet Shakespeare. Who the girls in
The Tempest , in Pericles, in Winterâs Tale are we know.
Who Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and Cressid and Venus
are we may guess. But there is another member of his
family who is recorded.
âThe plot thickens, John Eglinton said. The quaker librarian, quaking, tiptoed in, quake, his
mask, quake, with haste, quake, quack.
Door closed. Cell. Day. They list. Three. They. I you he they. Come, mess. STEPHEN: He had three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund,
Richard. Gilbert in his old age told some cavaliers he got a
pass for nowt from Maister Ga therer one time mass he did
and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in Lunnon in a wrastling play wud a man onâs back. The
playhouse sausage filled Gilbertâs soul. He is nowhere: but
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376 of 1305 an Edmund and a Richard are recorded in the works of
sweet William.
MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Whatâs in a name? BEST: That is my name, Richard, donât you know. I
hope you are going to say a good word for Richard, donât you know, for my sake.
(Laughter)
BUCKMULLIGAN: ( Piano, diminuendo )
Then outspoke medical Dick
To his comrade medical Davy ...
STEPHEN: In his trinity of black Wills, the villain
shakebags, Iago, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King
Lear, two bear the wicked unclesâ names. Nay, that last
play was written or being written while his brother
Edmund lay dying in Southwark.
BEST: I hope Edmund is going to catch it. I donât
want Richard, my name ...
(Laughter)
QUAKERLYSTER: ( A tempo ) But he that filches from
me my good name ...
STEPHEN: (Stringendo) He has hidden his own name,
a fair name, William, in the plays, a super here, a clown
Ulysses
377 of 1305 there, as a painter of old Italy set his face in a dark corner
of his canvas. He has revealed it in the sonnets where there is Will in overplus. Like John oâGaunt his name is dear to him, as dear as the coat and crest he toadied for, on a bend sable a spear or steeled arge nt, honorificabilitudinitatibus,
dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the country.
Whatâs in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in
childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours. A star, a daystar, a fired rake, rose at his birth. It
shone by day in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the night, and by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the recumbent constellation which is the signature of his
initial among the stars. His eyes watched it, lowlying on
the horizon, eastward of the bear, as he walked by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning from Shottery and from her arms.
Both satisfied. I too. Donât tell them he was nine years old when it was
quenched.
And from her arms. Wait to be wooed and won. Ay, meacock. Who will
woo you?
Read the skies. Autontimorumenos. Bous Stephanoumenos.
Whereâs your configuration? Stephen, Stephen, cut the
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378 of 1305 bread even. S. D: sua donna. GiĂ : di lui. gelindo risolve di non
amare S. D.
âWhat is that, Mr Dedalus? the quaker librarian asked.
Was it a celestial phenomenon?
âA star by night, Stephen said. A pillar of the cloud by
day.
What moreâs to speak? Stephen looked on his hat, his stick, his boots.
Stephanos, my crown. My sword. His boots are spoiling
the shape of my feet. Buy a pair. Holes in my socks.
Handkerchief too.
âYou make good use of the name, John Eglinton
The Theme of the Usurping Brother
- Stephen Dedalus explores the recurring motif of the 'usurping' or 'adulterous' brother throughout Shakespeare's entire body of work.
- The discussion links Shakespearean plots to Irish myths and Grimm's fairytales, focusing on the significance of the third brother.
- Stephen argues that Shakespeare's choice of names like Richard and Edmund was a deliberate reflection of personal obsession rather than mere historical borrowing.
- The theme of banishment from heart and home is identified as a constant note from Shakespeare's earliest plays to his final retirement.
- Stephen suggests that Shakespeare's preoccupation with betrayal stems from an 'original sin' committed by another, which the poet then inhabited and repeated.
- The dialogue highlights the tension between artistic creation and the messy, often scandalous realities of Shakespeare's family life.
A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.
allowed. Your own name is strange enough. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.
Me, Magee and Mulligan. Fabulous artificer. The hawklike man. You flew.
Whereto? Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger. Paris
and back. Lapwing. Icarus. Pater, ait. Seabedabbled, fallen,
weltering. Lapwing you are. Lapwing be.
Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his book to say: âThatâs very interesting because that brother motive,
donât you know, we find also in the old Irish myths. Just what you say. The three brothers Shakespeare. In Grimm
Ulysses
379 of 1305 too, donât you know, the fairytales. The third brother that
always marries the sleeping beauty and wins the best prize.
Best of Best brothers. Good, better, best. The quaker librarian springhalted near. âI should like to know, he said, which brother you ...
I understand you to suggest there was misconduct with one of the brothers ... But perhaps I am anticipating?
He caught himself in the act: looked at all: refrained. An attendant from the doorway called: âMr Lyster! Father Dineen wants ... âO, Father Dineen! Directly. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was rectly gone.
John Eglinton touched the foil.
âCome, he said. Let us hear what you have to say of
Richard and Edmund. You kept them for the last, didnât
you?
âIn asking you to remember those two noble kinsmen
nuncle Richie and nuncle Edmund, Stephen answered, I feel I am asking too much perhaps. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.
Lapwing. Where is your brother? Apothecariesâ hall. My
whetstone. Him, then Cranl y, Mulligan: now these.
Ulysses
380 of 1305 Speech, speech. But act. Act speech. They mock to try
you. Act. Be acted on.
Lapwing. I am tired of my voice, th e voice of Esau. My kingdom
for a drink.
On. âYou 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? Richard, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, ma kes love to a widowed Ann
(whatâs in a name?), woos and wins her, a whoreson merry
widow. Richard the conqueror, third brother, came after
William the conquered. The oth er four acts of that play
hang limply from that first. Of all his kings Richard is the only king unshielded by Shakes peareâs reverence, the angel
of the world. Why is the underplot of King Lear in which
Edmund figures lifted out of Sidneyâs Arcadia and
spatchcocked on to a Celtic legend older than history?
âThat was Willâs way, John Eglinton defended. We
should not now combine a No rse saga with an excerpt
from a novel by George Meredith. Que voulez-vous?
Moore would say. He puts Bohemia on the seacoast and
makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.
Ulysses
381 of 1305 âWhy? Stephen answered himse lf. Because the theme
of the false or the usurping or the adulterous brother or all three in one is to Shakespeare, what the poor are not, always with him. The note of banishment, banishment from the heart, banishment from home, sounds
uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward
till Prospero breaks his staff, bu ries it certain fathoms in the
earth and drowns his book. It doubles itself in the middle of his life, reflects itself in anot her, repeats itself, protasis,
epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. It repeats itself again when he is near the grave, when his married daughter Susan,
chip of the old block, is accuse d of adultery. But it was the
original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will and left in him a strong inclination to evil. The words are those of my lords bishops of Maynooth. An original sin and, like original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned. It is between the lines of his last written
words, it is petrified on his tombstone under which her
four bones are not to be laid. Age has not withered it. Beauty and peace have not done it away. It is in infinite
variety everywhere in the wo rld he has created, in Much
The Mirror of Shakespeare
- Stephen Dedalus argues that Shakespeare is 'all in all' within his plays, embodying every character from the victim to the villain.
- The discussion posits that an artist's external creations are merely reflections of their internal world and personal history.
- Stephen suggests that life is a journey of 'meeting ourselves' through various archetypes and encounters.
- The concept of a 'hangman god' is introduced to describe a creator who is present in all aspects of a flawed world.
- In a surprising turn, Stephen admits he does not actually believe the complex literary theory he has just spent time defending.
- The group critiques Stephen's intellectual performance, comparing his style to the Platonic dialogues of Oscar Wilde.
We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.
Ado about Nothing , twice in As you like It , in The Tempest ,
in Hamlet, in Measure for Measure âand in all the other
plays which I have not read.
Ulysses
382 of 1305 He laughed to free his mind from his mindâs bondage.
Judge Eglinton summed up. âThe truth is midway, he affirmed. He is the ghost
and the prince. He is all in all.
âHe is, Stephen said. The boy of act one is the mature
man of act five. All in all. In Cymbeline, in Othello he is
bawd and cuckold. He acts and is acted on. Lover of an ideal or a perversion, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. His unremitting intellect is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly
willing that the moor in him shall suffer.
âCuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly. O
word of fear!
Dark dome received, reverbed. âAnd what a character is Iago! undaunted John
Eglinton exclaimed. When all is said Dumas fils (or is it
Dumas père?) is right. After God Shakespeare has created
most.
âMan delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen
said. He returns after a life of ab sence to that spot of earth
where he was born, where he has always been, man and
boy, a silent witness and there, his journey of life ended, he plants his mulberrytree in the earth. Then dies. The
motion is ended. Gravediggers bury Hamlet père?) and
Hamlet fils. A king and a prince at last in death, with
Ulysses
383 of 1305 incidental music. And, what though murdered and
betrayed, bewept by all fra il tender hearts for, Dane or
Dubliner, sorrow for the dead is the only husband from whom they refuse to be divor ced. If you like the epilogue
look long on it: prosperous Prospero, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpaâs lump of love, and nuncle Richie, the bad man taken off by poetic justice to the place where the bad niggers go. Strong curtain. He found in the world without as actual what was in his world
within as possible. Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his
house today he will find the sage seated on his doorstep. If Judas
go forth tonight it is to Judas his steps will tend. Every life is
many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves,
meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves. The playwright who wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly (He gave us light first and the sun two days later), the lord of things as they are whom
the most Roman of catholics call dio boia , hangman god, is
doubtless all in all in all of us, ostler and butcher, and would be bawd and cuckold too but that in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, there are no more marriages, glorified man, an androgynous angel, being a wife unto himself.
Ulysses
384 of 1305 âEureka! Buck Mulligan cried. Eureka!
Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached in a stride
John Eglintonâs desk.
âMay I? he said. The Lord has spoken to Malachi. He began to scribble on a slip of paper. Take some slips from the counter going out. âThose who are married, Mr Best, douce herald, said,
all save one, shall live. The re st shall keep as they are.
He laughed, unmarried, at Eglinton Johannes, of arts a
bachelor.
Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder
nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the
Shrew.
âYou are a delusion, said roundly John Eglinton to
Stephen. You have brought us all this way to show us a
French triangle. Do you believe your own theory?
âNo, Stephen said promptly. âAre you going to write it ? Mr Best asked. You ought
to make it a dialogue, donât you know, like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.
John Eclecticon doubly smiled. âWell, in that case, he said, I donât see why you
should expect payment for it since you donât believe it
yourself. Dowden believes there is some mystery in Hamlet
Ulysses
Mummers and Mockery in Dublin
- Stephen Dedalus seeks payment for his literary contributions while navigating the intellectual and social dynamics of the National Library.
- Buck Mulligan mocks Stephenâs lifestyle and scholarly pursuits, recounting a fictionalized visit to Stephen in the company of prostitutes.
- The group discusses the Abbey Theatre and contemporary Irish literary figures with a mixture of cynicism and ribald humor.
- Stephen reflects on his own identity and the influence of his peers as he follows the 'lubber jester' Mulligan out of the library.
- Mulligan composes and recites irreverent verses targeting John Eglinton and other members of the Dublin literary circle.
- The narrative captures the tension between Stephen's internal philosophical struggles and the performative, often cruel wit of his companions.
Stephen, greeting, then all amort, followed a lubber jester, a wellkempt head, newbarbered, out of the vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought.
385 of 1305 but will say no more. Herr Ble ibtreu, the man Piper met
in Berlin, who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the secret is hidden in the Stratford monument. He is
going to visit the present duke, Piper says, and prove to him that his ancestor wrote the plays. It will come as a surprise to his grace. But he believes his theory.
I believe, O Lord, help my unbelief. That is, help me
to believe or help me to unb elieve? Who helps to believe?
Egomen. Who to unbelieve? Other chap.
âYou are the only contributor to Dana who asks for
pieces of silver. Then I donât know about the next
number. Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics.
Fraidrine. Two pieces of silver he lent me. Tide you
over. Economics.
âFor a guinea, Stephen said, you can publish this
interview.
Buck Mulligan stood up from his laughing scribbling,
laughing: and then gravely said, honeying malice:
âI called upon the bard Kinch at his summer residence
in upper Mecklenburgh street and found him deep in the
study of the Summa contra Gentiles in the company of two
gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the coalquay whore.
Ulysses
386 of 1305 He broke away.
âCome, Kinch. Come, wandering Aengus of the
birds.
Come, Kinch. You have eaten all we left. Ay. I will
serve you your orts and offals.
Stephen rose. Life is many days. This will end.
âWe shall see you tonight, John Eglinton said. Notre
ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan must be there.
Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama.
âMonsieur Moore, he said, lecturer on French letters
to the youth of Ireland. Iâll be there. Come, Kinch, the bards must drink. Can you walk straight?
Laughing, he ... Swill till eleven. Irish nights entertainment. Lubber ... Stephen followed a lubber ... One day in the national library we had a discussion.
Shakes. After. His lub back: I followed. I gall his kibe.
Stephen, greeting, then a ll amort, followed a lubber
jester, a wellkempt head, newbarbered, out of the vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought.
What have I learned? Of them? Of me? Walk like Haines now.
Ulysses
387 of 1305 The constant readersâ room. In the readersâ book
Cashel Boyle OâConnor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Item: was Hamlet mad? The quakerâs pate godlily with a priesteen in booktalk.
âO please do, sir ... I shall be most pleased ... Amused Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur
with himself, selfnodding:
âA pleased bottom. The turnstile. Is that? ... Blueribboned hat ... Idly writing ... What?
Looked? ...
The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius.
Puck Mulligan, panamahelm eted, went step by step,
iambing, trolling:
John Eglinton, my jo, John,
Why wonât you wed a wife?
He spluttered to the air: âO, the chinless Chinaman! Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.
We went over to their playbox, Haines and I, the plumbersâ hall. Our players are creating a new art for Europe like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. Abbey Theatre! I smell the pubic sweat of monks.
He spat blank.
Ulysses
388 of 1305 Forgot: any more than he forgot the whipping lousy
Lucy gave him. And left the femme de trente ans. And why
no other children born? And his first child a girl?
Afterwit. Go back. The dour recluse still there (he has his cake) and the
douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedoâs toyable fair hair.
Eh ... I just eh ... wanted ... I forgot ... he ... âLongworth and MâCurdy Atkinson were there ... Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling:
I hardly hear the purlieu cry
Or a tommy talk as I pass one by
Before my thoughts begin to run On F. MâCurdy Atkinson,
The same that had the wooden leg
And that filibustering filibeg
That never dared to slake his drouth,
Magee that had the chinless mouth. Being afraid to marry on earth
They masturbated for all they were worth.
Jest on. Know thyself.
Halted, below me, a quizzer looks at me. I halt.
Ulysses
389 of 1305 âMournful mummer, Buck Mulligan moaned. Synge
Mulligan's Mockery and Conmee's Walk
- Buck Mulligan mocks Stephen for his harsh literary review of Lady Gregory, contrasting it with Yeats's sycophantic praise.
- Mulligan presents a lewd and satirical play title, 'Everyman His Own Wife,' parodying Irish national identity and morality.
- Stephen reflects on destiny and the ineluctable nature of time as he encounters a mysterious figure Mulligan calls the 'wandering jew.'
- The narrative shifts focus to Father John Conmee S.J. as he begins a journey to Artane to assist the family of the deceased Dignam.
- Father Conmee encounters a one-legged sailor seeking alms, offering a blessing instead of money to preserve his single silver crown.
O, the night in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!
has left off wearing black to be like nature. Only crows,
priests and English coal are black.
A laugh tripped over his lips. âLongworth is awfully sick, he said, after what you
wrote about that old hake G regory. O you inquisitional
drunken jewjesuit! She gets you a job on the paper and then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Couldnât you do the Yeats touch?
He went on and down, mopping, chanting with
waving graceful arms:
âThe most beautiful book that has come out of our
country in my time. One thinks of Homer.
He stopped at the stairfoot. âI have conceived a play for the mummers, he said
solemnly.
The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. Gone
the nine menâs morrice with caps of indices.
In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan read his tablet:
Everyman His own Wife
or
A Honeymoon in the Hand
(a national immorality in three orgasms)
Ulysses
390 of 1305 by
Ballocky Mulligan
He turned a happy patchâs smirk to Stephen, saying:
âThe disguise, I fear, is thin. But listen.
He read, marcato:
âCharacters:
TODY TOSTOFF (a ruined Pole)
CRAB (a bushranger)
MEDICAL DICK ) and ) (two birds with one stone) MEDICAL DAVY ) MOTHER GROGAN (a watercarrier)
FRESH NELLY
and
ROSALIE (the coalquay whore).
He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, walking on,
followed by Stephen: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of men:
âO, the night in the Camden hall when the daughters
of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!
Ulysses
391 of 1305 âThe most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said, for
whom they ever lifted them.
About to pass through th e doorway, feeling one
behind, he stood aside.
Part. The moment is now. Where then? If Socrates
leave his house today, if Judas go forth tonight. Why? That lies in space which I in time must come to, ineluctably.
My will: his will that fronts me. Seas between. A man passed out between them, bowing, greeting. âGood day again, Buck Mulligan said. The portico.
Here I watched the birds for augury. Aengus of the
birds. They go, they come. Last night I flew. Easily flew. Men wondered. Street of harlots after. A creamfruit melon he held to me. In. You will see.
âThe wandering jew, Buck Mulligan whispered with
clownâs awe. Did you see his eye? He looked upon you to lust after you. I fear thee, ancient mariner. O, Kinch, thou art in peril. Get thee a breechpad.
Manner of Oxenford. Day. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. A dark back went before them, step of a pard, down,
out by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.
Ulysses
392 of 1305 They followed.
Offend me still. Speak on. Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.
No birds. Frail from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and in a fl aw of softness softly were
blown.
Cease to strive. Peace of the druid priests of
Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar.
Laud we the gods
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blessâd altars.
* * * * *
The superior, the very reverend John Conmee S.J. reset
his smooth watch in his interior pocket as he came down
the presbytery steps. Five to three. Just nice time to walk to Artane. What was that boyâs name again? Dignam. Yes.
Vere dignum et iustum est. Brother Swan was the person to
see. Mr Cunninghamâs letter. Yes. Oblige him, if possible. Good practical catholic: useful at mission time.
A onelegged sailor, swinging himself onward by lazy
jerks of his crutches, growled some notes. He jerked short before the convent of the sisters of charity and held out a
Ulysses
393 of 1305 peaked cap for alms towards the very reverend John
Conmee S. J. Father Conmee blessed him in the sun for his purse held, he knew, one silver crown.
Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square. He
thought, but not for long, of soldiers and sailors, whose
legs had been shot off by canno nballs, ending their days in
Father Conmee's Dublin Walk
- Father Conmee navigates the streets of Dublin, engaging in polite, superficial social exchanges with parishioners like Mrs. David Sheehy.
- The narrative highlights the priest's preoccupation with social status, noting the 'good family' of fellow clergy and the 'queenly mien' of a local pawnbroker.
- Conmee interacts with schoolboys from Belvedere, using a playful but patronizing tone to task them with mailing a letter to the father provincial.
- The text reflects the religious tensions and hierarchies of the time, as Conmee muses on 'invincible ignorance' regarding a closed Protestant church.
- Conmeeâs internal monologue reveals a blend of genuine clerical duty and a self-satisfied concern for his own appearance and social standing.
Father Conmee doffed his silk hat and smiled, as he took leave, at the jet beads of her mantilla inkshining in the sun.
some pauper ward, and of cardinal Wolseyâs words: If I had
served my God as I have served my king He would not have abandoned me in my old days. He walked by the treeshade of
sunnywinking leaves: and towards him came the wife of
Mr David Sheehy M.P.
âVery well, indeed, father. And you, father? Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. He
would go to Buxton proba bly for the waters. And her
boys, were they getting on well at Belvedere? Was that so?
Father Conmee was very glad in deed to hear that. And Mr
Sheehy himself? Still in Lond on. The house was still
sitting, to be sure it was. Beautiful weather it was,
delightful indeed. Yes, it wa s very probable that Father
Bernard Vaughan would come ag ain to preach. O, yes: a
very great success. A wonderful man really.
Father Conmee was very glad to see the wife of Mr
David Sheehy M.P. Iooking so well and he begged to be
Ulysses
394 of 1305 remembered to Mr David Sh eehy M.P. Yes, he would
certainly call.
âGood afternoon, Mrs Sheehy. Father Conmee doffed his silk hat and smiled, as he
took leave, at the jet beads of her mantilla inkshining in
the sun. And smiled yet again, in going. He had cleaned
his teeth, he knew, with arecanut paste.
Father Conmee walked and, walking, smiled for he
thought on Father Bernard Vaughanâs droll eyes and cockney voice.
âPilate! Wy donât you old back that owlin mob? A zealous man, however. Rea lly he was. And really did
great good in. his way. Beyond a doubt. He loved Ireland,
he said, and he loved the Irish. Of good family too would one think it? Welsh, were they not?
O, lest he forget. That letter to father provincial. Father Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the
corner of Mountjoy square. Yes: they were from Belvedere. The little house. Aha. And were they good boys at school? O. That was very good now. And what was his name? Jack Sohan. An d his name? Ger. Gallaher.
And the other little man? His name was Brunny Lynam. O, that was a very nice name to have.
Ulysses
395 of 1305 Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast to Master
Brunny Lynam and pointed to the red pillarbox at the corner of Fitzgibbon street.
âBut mind you donât post yourself into the box, little
man, he said.
The boys sixeyed Father Conmee and laughed: âO, sir. âWell, let me see if you can post a letter, Father
Conmee said.
Master Brunny Lynam ran across the road and put
Father Conmeeâs letter to father provincial into the mouth
of the bright red letterbox. Father Conmee smiled and
nodded and smiled and walked along Mountjoy square
east.
Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing &c, in silk
hat, slate frockcoat with silk fac ings, white kerchief tie,
tight lavender trousers, canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he passed lady Maxwell at the corner of Dignamâs court.
Was that not Mrs MâGuinness? Mrs MâGuinness, stately, s ilverhaired, bowed to Father
Conmee from the farther footpath along which she sailed. And Father Conmee smiled and saluted. How did she do?
Ulysses
396 of 1305 A fine carriage she had. Like Mary, queen of Scots,
something. And to think that she was a pawnbroker! Well, now! Such a ... what should he say? ... such a queenly mien.
Father Conmee walked down Great Charles street and
glanced at the shutup free c hurch on his left. The reverend
T. R. Greene B.A. will(D.V.) speak. The incumbent they called him. He felt it incumbent on him to say a few words. But one should be charitable. Invincible ignorance. They acted according to their lights.
Father Conmee turned the corner and walked along
the North Circular road. It was a wonder that there was
not a tramline in such an important thoroughfare. Surely,
there ought to be.
A band of satchelled schoolboys crossed from
Richmond street. All raised untidy caps. Father Conmee
greeted them more than once benignly. Christian brother boys.
Father Conmee smelt incense on his right hand as he
Father Conmeeâs Urban Pilgrimage
- Father Conmee traverses the streets of Dublin, observing the local commerce of porkbutchers, tobacconists, and public houses.
- The priest reflects on a 'dreadful catastrophe' in New York, musing on the spiritual state of those who die suddenly without preparation.
- While observing a turfbarge, Conmee finds an 'idyllic' proof of divine providence in the natural cycle of fuel provided for the poor.
- Boarding a tram to avoid walking through the 'dingy' area of Mud Island, he meticulously manages his small change and travel ticket.
- Conmee observes his fellow passengers with a critical but polite eye, noting their excessive solemnity and the delicate manners of a yawning woman.
- The narrative highlights the priest's internal paternalism as he equates a forgetful elderly passenger with the 'good souls' who struggle to follow liturgical instructions.
Father Conmee reflected on the providence of the Creator who had made turf to be in bogs whence men might dig it out and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in the houses of poor people.
walked. Saint Josephâs church, Portland row. For aged and virtuous females. Father Conm ee raised his hat to the
Blessed Sacrament. Virtuous: but occasionally they were also badtempered.
Ulysses
397 of 1305 Near Aldborough house Father Conmee thought of
that spendthrift nobleman. An d now it was an office or
something.
Father Conmee began to walk along the North Strand
road and was saluted by Mr William Gallagher who stood in the doorway of his shop. Father Conmee saluted Mr William Gallagher and perceived the odours that came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. He passed Groganâs the Tobacconist against which newsboards leaned and told of a dreadful catastrophe in New York. In America those things were continually happening. Unfortunate people to die like that, unprepared. Still, an
act of perfect contrition.
Father Conmee went by Daniel Berginâs publichouse
against the window of which two unlabouring men lounged. They saluted him and were saluted.
Father Conmee passed H. J. OâNeillâs funeral
establishment where Corny Kelleher totted figures in the daybook while he chewed a blade of hay. A constable on
his beat saluted Father Conmee and Father Conmee saluted the constable. In Youk stetterâs, the porkbutcherâs,
Father Conmee observed pigâs puddings, white and black and red, lie neatly curled in tubes.
Ulysses
398 of 1305 Moored under the trees of Charleville Mall Father
Conmee saw a turfbarge, a towhorse with pendent head, a bargeman with a hat of dirty straw seated amidships, smoking and staring at a branch of poplar above him. It was idyllic: and Father Conmee reflected on the providence of the Creator who had made turf to be in
bogs whence men might dig it out and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in the houses of poor people.
On Newcomen bridge the very reverend John
Conmee S.J. of saint Francis Xavierâs church, upper Gardiner street, stepped on to an outward bound tram.
Off an inward bound tram stepped the reverend
Nicholas Dudley C. C. of saint Agathaâs church, north
William street, on to Newcomen bridge.
At Newcomen bridge Father Conmee stepped into an
outward bound tram for he dis liked to traverse on foot the
dingy way past Mud Island.
Father Conmee sat in a corner of the tramcar, a blue
ticket tucked with care in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a sixpence and five pennies chuted from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. Passing the ivy church he reflected that the ticket inspector usually made his visit when one had carelessly thrown away the ticket. The solemnity of the occupants of the car seemed
Ulysses
399 of 1305 to Father Conmee excessive for a journey so short and
cheap. Father Conmee liked cheerful decorum.
It was a peaceful day. The gentleman with the glasses
opposite Father Conmee had finished explaining and looked down. His wife, Father Conmee supposed. A tiny yawn opened the mouth of the wife of the gentleman with the glasses. She raised her small gloved fist, yawned ever so gently, tiptapping her small gloved fist on her opening mouth and smiled tinily, sweetly.
Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the car. He
perceived also that the awkward man at the other side of her was sitting on the edge of the seat.
Father Conmee at the alta rrails placed the host with
difficulty in the mouth of the awkward old man who had the shaky head.
At Annesley bridge the tram halted and, when it was
about to go, an old woman ro se suddenly from her place
to alight. The conductor pulled the bellstrap to stay the car for her. She passed out with her basket and a marketnet: and Father Conmee saw the c onductor help her and net
and basket down: and Father Conmee thought that, as she had nearly passed the end of the penny fare, she was one
of those good souls who had always to be told twice bless
you, my child, that they have been absolved, pray for me.
Ulysses
400 of 1305 But they had so many worries in life, so many cares, poor
creatures.
The Meditations of Father Conmee
- Father Conmee reflects on the theological fate of unbaptized souls, finding it a 'pity' and a 'waste' that millions might be lost.
- The priest drifts into historical reveries of the Malahide nobility and the scandalous mystery of Mary Rochfort, the first countess of Belvedere.
- Conmee contemplates the 'tyrannous incontinence' of human nature, viewing it as a necessary but messy element of God's design for the race.
- While walking and reading his office, Conmee experiences a nostalgic sensory connection to his past tenure as rector at Clongowes.
- The narrative juxtaposes the priest's formal religious duties with the sudden appearance of a flushed young couple emerging from a hedge.
The lychgate of a field showed Father Conmee breadths of cabbages, curtseying to him with ample underleaves.
From the hoardings Mr Euge ne Stratton grimaced with
thick niggerlips at Father Conmee.
Father Conmee thought of the souls of black and
brown and yellow men and of his sermon on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the African mission and of the propagation of the faith and of the millions of black and brown and yellow souls that had not received the baptism of water when their last hour came like a thief in the night. That
book by the Belgian jesuit, Le Nombre des Ălus, seemed to
Father Conmee a reasonable plea. Those were millions of
human souls created by God in His Own likeness to whom the faith had not (D.V.) been brought. But they were Godâs souls, created by God. It seemed to Father
Conmee a pity that they should all be lost, a waste, if one might say.
At the Howth road stop Father Conmee alighted, was
saluted by the conductor and saluted in his turn.
The Malahide road was qu iet. It pleased Father
Conmee, road and name. The joybells were ringing in gay Malahide. Lord Talbot de Ma lahide, immediate hereditary
lord admiral of Malahide and the seas adjoining. Then came the call to arms and she was maid, wife and widow
Ulysses
401 of 1305 in one day. Those were old wo rldish days, loyal times in
joyous townlands, old times in the barony.
Father Conmee, walking, thought of his little book Old
Times in the Barony and of the book that might be written
about jesuit houses and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere.
A listless lady, no more young, walked alone the shore
of lough Ennel, Mary, first coun tess of Belvedere, listlessly
walking in the evening, not startled when an otter plunged. Who could know the truth? Not the jealous lord
Belvedere and not her confessor if she had not committed
adultery fully, eiaculatio seminis inter vas naturale mulieris,
with her husbandâs brother? Sh e would half confess if she
had not all sinned as women did. Only God knew and she
and he, her husbandâs brother.
Father Conmee thought of that tyrannous
incontinence, needed however for manâs race on earth, and of the ways of God which were not our ways.
Don John Conmee walked and moved in times of
yore. He was humane and honoured there. He bore in mind secrets confessed and he smiled at smiling noble faces
in a beeswaxed drawingroom, ceiled with full fruit clusters. And the hands of a bride and of a bridegroom, noble to noble, were impalmed by Don John Conmee.
Ulysses
402 of 1305 It was a charming day.
The lychgate of a field showed Father Conmee
breadths of cabbages, curtseying to him with ample underleaves. The sky showed him a flock of small white
clouds going slowly down the wind. Moutonner, the
French said. A just and homely word.
Father Conmee, reading his office, watched a flock of
muttoning clouds over Rathcoffe y. His thinsocked ankles
were tickled by the stubble of Clongowes field. He walked there, reading in the evening, and heard the cries of the boysâ lines at their play, young cries in the quiet
evening. He was their rector: his reign was mild.
Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his
rededged breviary out. An ivory bookmark told him the page.
Nones. He should have read that before lunch. But
lady Maxwell had come.
Father Conmee read in secret Pater and Ave and crossed
his breast. Deus in adiutorium.
He walked calmly and read mutely the nones, walking
and reading till he came to Res in Beati immaculati:
Principium verborum tuorum veritas: in eternum omnia indicia iustitiae tuae.
Ulysses
403 of 1305 A flushed young man came from a gap of a hedge and
after him came a young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand. The young man raised his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig.
Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin
page of his breviary. Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et
a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum.
* * * * *
Street Scenes and Domestic Strife
- Corny Kelleher idly inspects a coffin and converses with a constable about a mysterious 'particular party.'
- A one-legged sailor navigates the streets, growling patriotic slogans while begging for coins from passersby.
- Molly Bloom's 'generous white arm' appears from a window to toss a coin to the begging sailor.
- The Dedalus sisters return to a destitute home where their sister Maggy is boiling shirts in a pot.
- The family's poverty is highlighted as they eat donated pea soup while their father remains absent.
- Boody Dedalus offers a cynical, blasphemous twist on the Lord's Prayer, reflecting the family's resentment toward their father.
Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow soup, added: âOur father who art not in heaven.
Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced
with his drooping eye at a pine coffinlid sentried in a corner. He pulled himself erect, went to it and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass furnishings. Chewing his blade of hay he laid the coffinlid by and came to the doorway. There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade
to his eyes and leaned against the doorcase, looking idly out.
Father John Conmee stepped into the Dollymount
tram on Newcomen bridge.
Corny Kelleher locked his largefooted boots and gazed,
his hat downtilted, chewing his blade of hay.
Ulysses
404 of 1305 Constable 57C, on his beat, stood to pass the time of
day.
âThatâs a fine day, Mr Kelleher. âAy, Corny Kelleher said. âItâs very close, the constable said. Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching
from his mouth while a generous white arm from a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin.
âWhatâs the best news? he asked. âI seen that particular party last evening, the constable
said with bated breath.
* * * * *
A onelegged sailor crutched himself round
MacConnellâs corner, skirting Rabaiottiâs icecream car, and jerked himself up Eccles street. Towards Larry OâRourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he growled
unamiably:
âFor England ...
He swung himself violently forward past Katey and
Boody Dedalus, halted and growled:
âhome and beauty.
Ulysses
405 of 1305 J. J. OâMolloyâs white careworn face was told that Mr
Lambert was in the warehouse with a visitor.
A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her
purse and dropped it into th e cap held out to her. The
sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the unheeding windows, sank his head and swung himself forward four strides.
He halted and growled angrily:
âFor England ...
Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces,
halted near him, gaping at his stump with their
yellowslobbered mouths.
He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted,
lifted his head towards a window and bayed deeply:
âhome and beauty.
The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar
or two, ceased. The blind of the window was drawn aside.
A card Unfurnished Apartments slipped from the sash and
fell. A plump bare generous arm shone, was seen, held forth from a white petticoatbodi ce and taut shiftstraps. A
womanâs hand flung forth a coin over the area railings. It fell on the path.
One of the urchins ran to it, picked it up and dropped
it into the minstrelâs cap, saying:
Ulysses
406 of 1305 âThere, sir.
* * * * *
Katey and Boody Dedalus shoved in the door of the
closesteaming kitchen.
âDid you put in the books? Boody asked.
Maggy at the range rammed down a greyish mass
beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.
âThey wouldnât give anything on them, she said. Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his
thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble.
âWhere did you try? Boody asked. âMâGuinnessâs. Boody stamped her foot and threw her satchel on the
table.
âBad cess to her big face! she cried. Katey went to the range and peered with squinting
eyes.
âWhatâs in the pot? she asked. âShirts, Maggy said. Boody cried angrily: âCrickey, is there nothing for us to eat?
Ulysses
407 of 1305 Katey, lifting the kettlelid in a pad of her stained skirt,
asked:
âAnd whatâs in this? A heavy fume gushed in answer. âPeasoup, Maggy said. âWhere did you get it? Katey asked. âSister Mary Patrick, Maggy said. The lacquey rang his bell. âBarang! Boody sat down at the table and said hungrily: âGive us it here. Maggy poured yellow thick soup from the kettle into a
bowl. Katey, sitting opposite Boody, said quietly, as her
fingertip lifted to her mouth random crumbs:
âA good job we have that much. Whereâs Dilly? âGone to meet father, Maggy said. Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow
soup, added:
âOur father who art not in heaven. Maggy, pouring yellow soup in Kateyâs bowl,
exclaimed:
Dublin Encounters and Fruitful Flirtations
- Blazes Boylan visits Thorntonâs fruit shop to assemble a gift basket of pears, peaches, and spirits for an 'invalid.'
- Boylan exhibits his predatory charm, flirting overtly with the shopgirl by staring down her blouse and taking a carnation for himself.
- The narrative shifts to Almidano Artifoni advising Stephen Dedalus to pursue a professional singing career rather than sacrificing his talent.
- Artifoni warns Stephen that the world is a 'beast' and that his voice could be a significant source of income.
- The scene concludes with Artifoni unsuccessfully chasing a tram while Stephen remains detached and reflective.
- The passage captures the bustling, fragmented energy of Dublin life through simultaneous movements of characters and public transport.
Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour, the stalk of the red flower between his smiling teeth.
âBoody! For shame! A skiff, a crumpled throwawa y, Elijah is coming, rode
lightly down the Liffey, under Loopline bridge, shooting
Ulysses
408 of 1305 the rapids where water chafe d around the bridgepiers,
sailing eastward past hulls and anchorchains, between the Customhouse old dock and Georgeâs quay.
* * * * *
The blond girl in Thorntonâs bedded the wicker basket
with rustling fibre. Blazes Boylan handed her the bottle swathed in pink tissue paper and a small jar.
âPut these in first, will you? he said. âYes, sir, the blond girl said. And the fruit on top. âThatâll do, game ball, Blazes Boylan said. She bestowed fat pears neatly , head by tail, and among
them ripe shamefaced peaches.
Blazes Boylan walked here and there in new tan shoes
about the fruitsmelling shop, li fting fruits, young juicy
crinkled and plump red tomatoes, sniffing smells.
H. E. L. Y.âS filed before him, tallwhitehatted, past
Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.
He turned suddenly from a chip of strawberries, drew a
gold watch from his fob and held it at its chainâs length.
âCan you send them by tram? Now? A darkbacked figure under Merchantsâ arch scanned
books on the hawkerâs cart.
Ulysses
409 of 1305 âCertainly, sir. Is it in the city?
âO, yes, Blazes Boylan said. Ten minutes. The blond girl handed him a docket and pencil. âWill you write the address, sir? Blazes Boylan at the counter wrote and pushed the
docket to her.
âSend it at once, will you? he said. Itâs for an invalid.
âYes, sir. I will, sir. Blazes Boylan rattled merry money in his trousersâ
pocket.
âWhatâs the damage? he asked. The blond girlâs slim fingers reckoned the fruits.
Blazes Boylan looked into the cut of her blouse. A
young pullet. He took a red carnation from the tall stemglass.
âThis for me? he asked gallantly. The blond girl glanced sideways at him, got up
regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.
âYes, sir, she said. Bending archly she reckoned again fat pears and
blushing peaches.
Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour,
the stalk of the red flower between his smiling teeth.
Ulysses
410 of 1305 âMay I say a word to your telephone, missy? he asked
roguishly.
* * * * *
âMa! Almidano Artifoni said.
He gazed over Stephenâs shoulder at Goldsmithâs
knobby poll.
Two carfuls of tourists passed slowly, their women
sitting fore, gripping the handre sts. Palefaces. Menâs arms
frankly round their stunted forms. They looked from Trinity to the blind columned porch of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed.
âAnchâio ho avuto di queste idee, ALMIDANO
ARTIFONI SAID, quandâ ero giovine come Lei. Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia. Ă peccato. Perchè la sua
voce ... sarebbe un cespite di rendita , via. Invece, Lei si sacrifica.
âSacrifizio incruento, Stephen said smiling, swaying his
ashplant in slow swingswong from its midpoint, lightly.
âSperiamo, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly.
Ma, dia retta a me. Ci rifletta .
By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an
Inchicore tram unloaded stra ggling Highland soldiers of a
band.
Ulysses
411 of 1305 âCi rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the solid
trouserleg.
âMa, sul serio, eh? Almidano Artifoni said.
His heavy hand took Stephenâs firmly. Human eyes.
They gazed curiously an instant and turned quickly towards a Dalkey tram.
âEccolo, Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste.
Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi. Addio, caro.
âArrivederla, maestro, Stephen said, raising his hat when
his hand was freed. E grazie.
âDi che? Almidano Artifoni said. Scusi, eh? Tante belle
cose!
Almidano Artifoni, holding up a baton of rolled music
as a signal, trotted on stout trousers after the Dalkey tram.
In vain he trotted, signalling in vain among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling implements of music through Trinity gates.
* * * * *
Miss Dunne hid the Capel street library copy of The
Woman in White far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet
Office Drudgery and Abbey Ruins
- Miss Dunne manages clerical tasks and phone calls for Blazes Boylan while daydreaming about fashion and social encounters.
- The narrative shifts to Ned Lambert giving a tour of the historic Saint Maryâs Abbey to a clergyman and a man named Jack.
- Lambert highlights the site's significance as the location where 'Silken Thomas' rebelled in 1534.
- The abbey's layers of history are revealed, including its past uses as a bank and a Jewish synagogue.
- The clergyman expresses interest in returning to photograph the site, noting its architectural and historical importance.
The vesta in the clergymanâs uplifted hand consumed itself in a long soft flame and was let fall. At their feet its red speck died: and mouldy air closed round them.
of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter.
Ulysses
412 of 1305 Too much mystery business in it. Is he in love with
that one, Marion? Change it and get another by Mary
Cecil Haye.
The disk shot down the groove, wobbled a while,
ceased and ogled them: six.
Miss Dunne clicked on the keyboard: â16 June 1904. Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between
Monypenyâs corner and the slab where Wolfe Toneâs
statue was not, eeled themselves turning H. E. L. Y.âS and plodded back as they had come.
Then she stared at the la rge poster of Marie Kendall,
charming soubrette, and, listl essly lolling, scribbled on the
jotter sixteens and capital esses. Mustard hair and dauby cheeks. Sheâs not nicelooking, is she? The way sheâs holding up her bit of a skirt. Wonder will that fellow be at the band tonight. If I could get that dressmaker to make a concertina skirt like Susy Na gleâs. They kick out grand.
Shannon and all the boatclub swe lls never took his eyes off
her. Hope to goodness he wonât keep me here till seven.
The telephone rang rudely by her ear. âHello. Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, sir. Iâll ring them up
after five. Only those two, sir, for Belfast and Liverpool. All right, sir. Then I can go after six if youâre not back. A
Ulysses
413 of 1305 quarter after. Yes, sir. Twenty seven and six. Iâll tell him.
Yes: one, seven, six.
She scribbled three figures on an envelope. âMr Boylan! Hello! That gentleman from SPORT
was in looking for you. Mr Lenehan, yes. He said heâll be
in the Ormond at four. No, sir. Yes, sir. Iâll ring them up after five.
* * * * *
Two pink faces turned in the flare of the tiny torch.
âWhoâs that? Ned Lambert asked. Is that Crotty? âRingabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping
for foothold.
âHello, Jack, is that yourself? Ned Lambert said,
raising in salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches. Come on. Mind your steps there.
The vesta in the clergymanâs uplifted hand consumed
itself in a long soft flame and was let fall. At their feet its red speck died: and mouldy air closed round them.
âHow interesting! a refined accent said in the gloom. âYes, sir, Ned Lambert said heartily. We are standing
in the historic council chamber of saint Maryâs abbey where silken Thomas proclaimed himself a rebel in 1534.
Ulysses
414 of 1305 This is the most historic sp ot in all Dublin. OâMadden
Burke is going to write something about it one of these days. The old bank of Ireland was over the way till the time of the union and the original jewsâ temple was here too before they built their synagogue over in Adelaide road. You were never here before, Jack, were you?
âNo, Ned. âHe rode down through Dame walk, the refined
accent said, if my memory s erves me. The mansion of the
Kildares was in Thomas court.
âThatâs right, Ned Lambert said. Thatâs quite right,
sir.
âIf you will be so kind then, the clergyman said, the
next time to allow me perhaps ...
âCertainly, Ned Lambert said. Bring the camera
whenever you like. Iâll get t hose bags cleared away from
the windows. You can take it from here or from here.
In the still faint light he moved about, tapping with his
lath the piled seedbags and points of vantage on the floor.
From a long face a beard and gaze hung on a
chessboard.
âIâm deeply obliged, Mr Lambert, the clergyman said.
I wonât trespass on your valuable time ...
Ulysses
415 of 1305 âYouâre welcome, sir, Ned Lambert said. Drop in
whenever you like. Next week, say. Can you see?
âYes, yes. Good afternoon, Mr Lambert. Very pleased
Dublin Encounters and Mechanical Marvels
- Ned Lambert discusses the historical research of Hugh C. Love regarding the Fitzgerald family and recounts a humorous anecdote about the Earl of Kildare.
- Lambert suffers from a violent sneezing fit, which he attributes to a cold caught at a funeral in Glasnevin rather than the dust from nearby grain sacks.
- Tom Rochford demonstrates a mechanical disk-based display system designed to track the progress of turns or acts for latecomers.
- Lenehan and M'Coy discuss Rochford's bravery, recounting a heroic incident where he descended into a manhole to save someone from sewer gas.
- The narrative captures the sensory details of Dublin life, from the smell of carob meal to the visual clutter of music hall posters.
Iâm bloody sorry I did it, says he, but I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside.
to have met you.
âPleasure is mine, sir, Ned Lambert answered. He followed his guest to the outlet and then whirled
his lath away among the pillars. With J. J. OâMolloy he came forth slowly into Mary âs abbey where draymen were
loading floats with sacks of carob and palmnut meal, OâConnor, Wexford.
He stood to read the card in his hand. âThe reverend Hugh C. Lo ve, Rathcoffey. Present
address: Saint Michaelâs, Sallin s. Nice young chap he is.
Heâs writing a book about the Fitzgeralds he told me. Heâs well up in history, faith.
The young woman with slow care detached from her
light skirt a clinging twig.
âI thought you were at a new gunpowder plot, J. J.
OâMolloy said.
Ned Lambert cracked his fingers in the air. âGod! he cried. I forgot to te ll him that one about the
earl of Kildare after he set fire to Cashel cathedral. You
know that one? Iâm bloody sorry I did it, says he, but I declare
to God I thought the archbishop was inside. He mightnât like
Ulysses
416 of 1305 it, though. What? God, Iâll tell him anyhow. That was the
great earl, the Fitzgerald Mor. Hot members they were all of them, the Geraldines.
The horses he passed started nervously under their slack
harness. He slapped a pieba ld haunch quivering near him
and cried:
âWoa, sonny! He turned to J. J. OâMolloy and asked: âWell, Jack. What is it? Whatâs the trouble? Wait
awhile. Hold hard.
With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still
and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.
âChow! he said. Blast you!
âThe dust from those sacks, J. J. OâMolloy said
politely.
âNo, Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a ... cold night
before ... blast your soul ... night before last ... and there was a hell of a lot of draught ...
He held his handkerchief ready for the coming ... âI was ... Glasnevin this morn ing ... poor little ... what
do you call him ... Chow! ... Mother of Moses!
* * * * *
Ulysses
417 of 1305 Tom Rochford took the top disk from the pile he
clasped against his claret waistcoat.
âSee? he said. Say itâs turn six. In here, see. Turn
Now On.
He slid it into the left slot for them. It shot down the
groove, wobbled a while, ceased, ogling them: six.
Lawyers of the past, haught y, pleading, beheld pass
from the consolidated taxing of fice to Nisi Prius court
Richie Goulding carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from the admiralty division of kingâs bench to the court of appeal an elderly female
with false teeth smiling incredulously and a black silk skirt
of great amplitude.
âSee? he said. See now the last one I put in is over
here: Turns Over. The impact. Leverage, see?
He showed them the rising column of disks on the
right.
âSmart idea, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling. So a fellow
coming in late can see what turn is on and what turns are over.
âSee? Tom Rochford said. He slid in a disk for himse lf: and watched it shoot,
wobble, ogle, stop: four. Turn Now On.
Ulysses
418 of 1305 âIâll see him now in the Ormond, Lenehan said, and
sound him. One good tu rn deserves another.
âDo, Tom Rochford said. Tell him Iâm Boylan with
impatience.
âGoodnight, MâCoy said abruptly. When you two
begin
Nosey Flynn stooped towards the lever, snuffling at it. âBut how does it work here, Tommy? he asked. âTooraloo, Lenehan said. See you later. He followed MâCoy out across the tiny square of
Crampton court.
âHeâs a hero, he said simply.
âI know, MâCoy said. The drain, you mean.
âDrain? Lenehan said. It was down a manhole. They passed Dan Lowryâs musichall where Marie
Kendall, charming soubrette, smiled on them from a poster a dauby smile.
Going down the path of Sy camore street beside the
Empire musichall Lenehan showed MâCoy how the whole thing was. One of those m anholes like a bloody gaspipe
and there was the poor devil stuck down in it, half choked with sewer gas. Down went Tom Rochford anyhow, bookyâs vest and all, with the rope round him. And be
Ulysses
Gossip and Celestial Observations
- Lenehan and MâCoy wander through Dublin, checking horse racing odds and observing Leopold Bloom browsing a bookstall.
- MâCoy recalls Bloomâs interest in astronomy and his penchant for finding valuable books at bargain prices.
- Lenehan recounts a rowdy, alcohol-fueled trip back from a dinner at Glencree reformatory involving Bloom and his wife, Molly.
- The narrative highlights the contrast between Bloomâs intellectual focus on the stars and Lenehanâs physical attraction to Molly.
- The passage captures the social dynamics of Dublin, blending mundane errands with ribald anecdotes and local reputations.
Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules
419 of 1305 damned but he got the rope round the poor devil and the
two were hauled up.
âThe act of a hero, he said. At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car
to gallop past them for Jervis street.
âThis way, he said, walking to the right. I want to
pop into Lynamâs to see Scep treâs starting price. Whatâs
the time by your gold watch and chain?
MâCoy peered into Marcus Tertius Mosesâ sombre
office, then at OâNeillâs clock.
âAfter three, he said. Whoâs riding her? âO. Madden, Lenehan said. And a game filly she is.
While he waited in Temple bar MâCoy dodged a
banana peel with gentle pushes of his toe from the path to
the gutter. Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in the dark.
The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to
the viceregal cavalcade.
âEven money, Lenehan said returning. I knocked
against Bantam Lyons in there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him that hasnât an earthly. Through
here.
They went up the steps and under Merchantsâ arch. A
darkbacked figure scanned books on the hawkerâs cart.
Ulysses
420 of 1305 âThere he is, Lenehan said.
âWonder what heâs buying, MâCoy said, glancing
behind.
âLeopoldo or the Bloom is on the Rye, Lenehan said.
âHeâs dead nuts on sales, MâCoy said. I was with him
one day and he bought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob. There were fine plates in it worth double the money, the stars and the moon and comets with long tails. Astronomy it was about.
Lenehan laughed. âIâll tell you a damn good one about cometsâ tails, he
said. Come over in the sun.
They crossed to the metal bridge and went along
Wellington quay by the riverwall.
Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of Manganâs,
late Fehrenbachâs, carrying a pound and a half of porksteaks.
âThere was a long spread out at Glencree
reformatory, Lenehan said eagerly. The annual dinner, you know. Boiled shirt affair. The lord mayor was there, Val Dillon it was, and sir Charles Cameron and Dan Dawson spoke and there was music. Bartell dâArcy sang and Benjamin Dollard ...
Ulysses
421 of 1305 âI know, MâCoy broke in. My missus sang there
once.
âDid she? Lenehan said.
A card Unfurnished Apartments reappeared on the
windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.
He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a
wheezy laugh.
âBut wait till I tell you, he said. Delahunt of Camden
street had the catering and yours truly was chief
bottlewasher. Bloom and the wife were there. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and curacao to
which we did ample justice. Fast and furious it was. After
liquids came solids. Cold joints galore and mince pies ...
âI know, MâCoy said. The year the missus was there
...
Lenehan linked his arm warmly. âBut wait till I tell you, he said. We had a midnight
lunch too after all the jollif ication and when we sallied
forth it was blue oâclock the morning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous winterâs night on the Featherbed Mountain. Bloom and Chris Callinan were on one side of the car and I was with the wife on the
other. We started singing glees and duets: Lo, the early
beam of morning . She was well primed with a good load of
Ulysses
422 of 1305 Delahuntâs port under her be llyband. Every jolt the
bloody car gave I had her bumping up against me. Hellâs delights! She has a fine pair, God bless her. Like that.
He held his caved hands a cu bit from him, frowning:
âI was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa
all the time. Know what I mean?
His hands moulded ample curves of air. He shut his
eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and blew a sweet chirp from his lips.
âThe lad stood to attent ion anyhow, he said with a
sigh. Sheâs a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to
Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules
Bloom's Literary Pursuits
- Lenehan and MâCoy discuss Leopold Bloomâs character, with Lenehan praising him as a 'cultured allroundman' with the 'touch of the artist.'
- Bloom browses a bookshop, examining medical illustrations of fetal development and reflecting on the constant cycle of birth.
- The shopkeeper, characterized by his 'ruined mouth' and onion breath, offers Bloom various titles from behind a dingy curtain.
- Bloom sifts through erotic and sensationalist literature, searching for a book that would suit his wife Molly's specific tastes.
- While reading a passage from 'Sweets of Sin,' Bloom experiences a visceral, sensory reaction to the purple prose and its descriptions of infidelity.
- The scene shifts abruptly from Bloomâs internal arousal to the mundane legal proceedings of Dublin and the shopkeeperâs crude physical ailments.
Her mouth glued on his in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his hands felt for the opulent curves inside her deshabillĂŠ.
and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotte d a weeny weeshy one miles
away. And what star is that, Poldy? says she. By God, she
had Bloom cornered. That one, is it? says Chris Callinan,
sure thatâs only what yo u might call a pinprick. By God, he
wasnât far wide of the mark.
Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting
with soft laughter.
âIâm weak, he gasped.
Ulysses
423 of 1305 MâCoyâs white face smiled about it at instants and grew
grave. Lenehan walked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap
and scratched his hindhead rapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at MâCoy.
âHeâs a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said
seriously. Heâs not one of your common or garden ... you know ... Thereâs a touch of the artist about old Bloom.
* * * * *
Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful
Disclosures of Maria Monk, then of Aristotleâs Masterpiece.
Crooked botched print. Plates : infants cuddled in a ball in
bloodred wombs like livers of slaughtered cows. Lots of them like that at this mo ment all over the world. All
butting with their skulls to get out of it. Child born every
minute somewhere. Mrs Purefoy.
He laid both books aside and glanced at the third: Tales
of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch.
âThat I had, he said, pushing it by. The shopman let two volumes fall on the counter. âThem are two good ones, he said. Onions of his breath came across the counter out of his
ruined mouth. He bent to make a bundle of the other
Ulysses
424 of 1305 books, hugged them against his unbuttoned waistcoat and
bore them off behind the dingy curtain.
On OâConnell bridge many persons observed the grave
deportment and gay apparel of Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing &c.
Mr Bloom, alone, looked at the titles. Fair Tyrants by
James Lovebirch. Know the kind that is. Had it? Yes.
He opened it. Thought so. A womanâs voice behind the dingy curtain. Listen: the
man.
No: she wouldnât like that much. Got her it once. He read the other title: Sweets of Sin . More in her line.
Let us see.
He read where his finger opened.
âAll the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the
stores on wondrous gowns and costliest frillies. For him! For raoul!
Yes. This. Here. Try.
âHer mouth glued on his in a luscious voluptuous kiss while
his hands felt for the opulent curves inside her deshabillĂŠ.
Yes. Take this. The end.
âYou are late, he spoke hoarsely, eying her with a suspicious
glare. The beautiful woman thr ew off her sabletrimmed wrap,
displaying her queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint. An
Ulysses
425 of 1305 imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she turned to
him calmly.
Mr Bloom read again: The beautiful woman.
Warmth showered gently over him, cowing his flesh.
Flesh yielded amply amid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up. His nostrils arched themselves for prey.
Melting breast ointments ( for Him! For Raoul! ). Armpitsâ
oniony sweat. Fishgluey slime ( her heaving embonpoint! ).
Feel! Press! Crushed! Sulphur dung of lions!
Young! Young! An elderly female, no more young, left the building of
the courts of chancery, kingâs bench, exchequer and common pleas, having heard in the lord chancellorâs court the case in lunacy of Potterton, in the admiralty division the summons, exparte motion, of the owners of the Lady Cairns versus the owners of the barque Mona, in the court of appeal reservation of judg ment in the case of Harvey
versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation.
Phlegmy coughs shook the air of the bookshop,
bulging out the dingy curtains. The shopmanâs uncombed grey head came out and his unshaven reddened face,
coughing. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on
the floor. He put his boot on what he had spat, wiping his
Ulysses
426 of 1305 sole along it, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown,
The Dedalus Family Debt
- Mr. Bloom selects a suggestive book titled 'Sweets of Sin' from a shopkeeper.
- Dilly Dedalus lingers outside an auction room, listening to the cheap sale of household goods she cannot afford.
- Simon Dedalus encounters his daughter Dilly and mocks her posture with a cruel, physical imitation.
- Dilly confronts her father about his hidden money, suspecting he has spent it on drink while the family starves.
- Mr. Dedalus expresses bitter resentment toward his children, calling them an 'insolent pack' and threatening to abandon them.
- After a tense negotiation, Simon gives Dilly a shilling and two pennies, telling her to buy a bun while he keeps the rest.
âCurse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus cried, turning on him.
scantily haired.
Mr Bloom beheld it. Mastering his troubled breath, he said: âIâll take this one. The shopman lifted eyes bleared with old rheum.
âSweets of Sin, he said, tapping on it. Thatâs a good
one.
* * * * *
The lacquey by the door of Dillonâs auctionrooms
shook his handbell twice again and viewed himself in the chalked mirror of the cabinet.
Dilly Dedalus, loitering by the curbstone, heard the
beats of the bell, the cries of the auctioneer within. Four and nine. Those lovely curtains. Five shillings. Cosy curtains. Selling new at two guineas. Any advance on five shillings? Going for five shillings.
The lacquey lifted his handbell and shook it: âBarang! Bang of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen
to their sprint. J. A. Jackson, W. E. Wylie, A. Munro and
Ulysses
427 of 1305 H. T. Gahan, their stretched necks wagging, negotiated
the curve by the College library.
Mr Dedalus, tugging a long moustache, came round
from Williamsâs row. He halted near his daughter.
âItâs time for you, she said. âStand up straight for the love of the lord Jesus, Mr
Dedalus said. Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cornetplayer, head upon shoulder? Melancholy God!
Dilly shrugged her shoulders. Mr Dedalus placed his
hands on them and held them back.
âStand up straight, girl, he said. Youâll get curvature
of the spine. Do you know what you look like?
He let his head sink su ddenly down and forward,
hunching his shoulders and dropping his underjaw.
âGive it up, father, Dilly said. All the people are
looking at you.
Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at
his moustache.
âDid you get any money? Dilly asked. âWhere would I get money? Mr Dedalus said. There
is no-one in Dublin would lend me fourpence.
âYou got some, Dilly said, looking in his eyes. âHow do you know that? Mr Dedalus asked, his
tongue in his cheek.
Ulysses
428 of 1305 Mr Kernan, pleased with the order he had booked,
walked boldly along Jamesâs street.
âI know you did, Dilly answered. Were you in the
Scotch house now?
âI was not, then, Mr Dedalu s said, smiling. Was it the
little nuns taught you to be so saucy? Here.
He handed her a shilling. âSee if you can do anything with that, he said. âI suppose you got five, Dilly said. Give me more
than that.
âWait awhile, Mr Dedalus said threateningly. Youâre
like the rest of them, are you? An insolent pack of little
bitches since your poor mother died. But wait awhile.
Youâll all get a short shrift and a long day from me. Low
blackguardism! Iâm going to ge t rid of you. Wouldnât care
if I was stretched out stiff. He âs dead. The man upstairs is
dead.
He left her and walked on. Dilly followed quickly and
pulled his coat.
âWell, what is it? he said, stopping. The lacquey rang his bell behind their backs. âBarang! âCurse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus cried,
turning on him.
Ulysses
429 of 1305 The lacquey, aware of comment, shook the lolling
clapper of his bell but feebly:
âBang! Mr Dedalus stared at him. âWatch him, he said. Itâs instructive. I wonder will he
allow us to talk.
âYou got more than that, father, Dilly said. âIâm going to show you a little trick, Mr Dedalus said.
Iâll leave you all where Jesus le ft the jews. Look, thereâs all
I have. I got two shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a shave for the funeral.
He drew forth a handful of copper coins, nervously.
âCanât you look for some money somewhere? Dilly
said.
Mr Dedalus thought and nodded. âI will, he said gravely. I look ed all along the gutter in
OâConnell street. Iâll try this one now.
âYouâre very funny, Dilly said, grinning. âHere, Mr Dedalus said, handing her two pennies.
Get a glass of milk for yourself and a bun or a something. Iâll be home shortly.
He put the other coins in his pocket and started to walk
on.
Ulysses
430 of 1305 The viceregal cavalcade passed, greeted by obsequious
The Knight of the Road
- Mr Dedalus dismisses his daughter Dilly's plea for money with mocking remarks about nuns.
- Mr Kernan celebrates a successful business order by drinking gin and discussing the General Slocum disaster with Mr Crimmins.
- The conversation shifts to political corruption, with Kernan critiquing American graft and the 'sweepings' of various nations.
- Kernan takes great pride in his second-hand frockcoat, believing a 'dressy appearance' is essential for maintaining his social status.
- The narrative reflects on Dublin's violent history, specifically the execution of Robert Emmet and the grim imagery of the past.
- Kernan's internal monologue connects the recent death of Dignam to the historical burials of Irish revolutionaries.
Bravely he bore his stumpy body forward on spatted feet, squaring his shoulders.
policemen, out of Parkgate.
âIâm sure you have another shilling, Dilly said. The lacquey banged loudly. Mr Dedalus amid the din walked off, murmuring to
himself with a pursing mincing mouth gently:
âThe little nuns! Nice little things! O, sure they
wouldnât do anything! O, sure they wouldnât really! Is it
little sister Monica!
* * * * *
From the sundial towards Jamesâs gate walked Mr
Kernan, pleased with the order he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along Jamesâs street, past
Shackletonâs offices. Got round him all right. How do you do, Mr Crimmins? First rate, si r. I was afraid you might be
up in your other establishment in Pimlico. How are things
going? Just keeping alive. Lo vely weather weâre having.
Yes, indeed. Good for the country. Those farmers are always grumbling. Iâll just take a thimbleful of your best gin, Mr Crimmins. A small gin, sir. Yes, sir. Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Terrible, terrible! A thousand casualties. And heartrending scenes. Men
Ulysses
431 of 1305 trampling down women and children. Most brutal thing.
What do they say was the cause? Spontaneous combustion. Most scandalous revelation. Not a single lifeboat would float and the fire hose all burst. What I canât
understand is how the inspectors ever allowed a boat like that ... Now, youâre talking straight, Mr Crimmins. You know why? Palm oil. Is that a fact? Without a doubt. Well now, look at that. And America they say is the land of the free. I thought we were bad here.
I smiled at him. America, I said quietly, just like that.
What is it? The sweepings of every country including our own.
Isnât that true? Thatâs a fact.
Graft, my dear sir. Well, of course, where thereâs
money going thereâs always someone to pick it up.
Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Dress does it.
Nothing like a dressy appearance. Bowls them over.
âHello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things? âHello, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus answered,
stopping.
Mr Kernan halted and preened himself before the
sloping mirror of Peter Kennedy, hairdresser. Stylish coat, beyond a doubt. Scott of Da wson street. Well worth the
half sovereign I gave Neary for it. Never built under three guineas. Fits me down to the ground. Some Kildare street
Ulysses
432 of 1305 club toff had it probably. John Mulligan, the manager of
the Hibernian bank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he remembered me.
Aham! Must dress the char acter for those fellows.
Knight of the road. Gentleman. And now, Mr Crimmins, may we have the honour of your custom again, sir. The cup that cheers but not inebriat es, as the old saying has it.
North wall and sir John Rogersonâs quay, with hulls
and anchorchains, sailing westw ard, sailed by a skiff, a
crumpled throwaway, rocked on the ferrywash, Elijah is coming.
Mr Kernan glanced in farewell at his image. High
colour, of course. Grizzled moustache. Returned Indian
officer. Bravely he bore his stumpy body forward on spatted feet, squaring his shoulders. Is that Ned Lambertâs brother over the way, Sam? Wh at? Yes. Heâs as like it as
damn it. No. The windscreen of that motorcar in the sun there. Just a flash like that. Damn like him.
Aham! Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and
his breath. Good drop of gin, that was. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his fat strut.
Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered.
Greasy black rope. Dogs lic king the blood off the street
when the lord lieutenantâs wife drove by in her noddy.
Ulysses
433 of 1305 Bad times those were. Well, well. Over and done with.
Great topers too. Fourbottle men.
Let me see. Is he buried in saint Michanâs? Or no, there
was a midnight burial in Glasnevin. Corpse brought in through a secret door in the wall. Dignam is there now. Went out in a puff. Well, well. Better turn down here. Make a detour.
Mr Kernan turned and walked down the slope of
Watling street by the corn er of Guinnessâs visitorsâ
Dublin Streets and Shifting Memories
- Mr. Kernan wanders through Dublin, reflecting on Irish history, the 1798 rebellion, and the romanticized 'gentlemen' of the past.
- The narrative captures the missed encounter with the Viceregal cavalcade, highlighting the social hierarchy and Kernan's desire for status.
- Stephen Dedalus observes a lapidary at work, viewing the gems as 'cold specks of fire' born from the dark, wormy earth.
- Stephen's internal monologue shifts into a philosophical meditation on existence, being caught between 'two roaring worlds' of internal and external reality.
- The scene transitions through various urban vignettes, including two old women carrying cockles and a faded print of a historic boxing match.
- The passage concludes with Stephen browsing a tattered bookcart, emphasizing the decay and fragmentation of knowledge and history.
Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails.
waitingroom. Outside the Dublin Distillers Companyâs stores an outside car without fare or jarvey stood, the reins knotted to the wheel. Damn dangerous thing. Some
Tipperary bosthoon endangering the lives of the citizens.
Runaway horse.
Denis Breen with his tomes, weary of having waited an
hour in John Henry Mentonâs office, led his wife over
OâConnell bridge, bound for the office of Messrs Collis
and Ward.
Mr Kernan approached Island street. Times of the troubles. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend
me those reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. When you look back on it all now in a kind of retrospective arrangement. Gaming at Dalyâs. No cardsharping then. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the table by a
Ulysses
434 of 1305 dagger. Somewhere here lord Edward Fitzgerald escaped
from major Sirr. Stables behind Moira house.
Damn good gin that was. Fine dashing young nobleman. Good stock, of course.
That ruffian, that sham squire, with his violet gloves gave him away. Course they were on the wrong side. They rose in dark and evil days. Fine poem that is: Ingram.
They were gentlemen. Ben Do llard does sing that ballad
touchingly. Masterly rendition.
At the siege of Ross did my father fall.
A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembroke quay passed,
outriders leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles.
Frockcoats. Cream sunshades.
Mr Kernan hurried forward, blowing pursily. His Excellency! Too bad! Just missed that by a hair.
Damn it! What a pity!
* * * * *
Stephen Dedalus watched th rough the webbed window
the lapidaryâs fingers prove a timedulled chain. Dust webbed the window and the showtrays. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Dust slept on
Ulysses
435 of 1305 dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on
rubies, leprous and winedark stones.
Born all in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire,
evil, lights shining in the darkness. Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them.
She dances in a foul gloom where gum bums with
garlic. A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. A long and seafed silent rut. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.
Old Russell with a smeared shammy rag burnished
again his gem, turned it and held it at the point of his
Mosesâ beard. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard.
And you who wrest old images from the burial earth?
The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs. Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.
Two old women fresh from their whiff of the briny
trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a midwifeâs bag in which eleven cockles rolled.
The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of
dynamos from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be on.
Ulysses
436 of 1305 Beingless beings. Stop! Throb always without you and the
throb always within. Your heart you sing of. I between them. Where? Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too in the blow. Shatter me you who can. Bawd and butcher were the words. I say! Not yet awhile. A look around.
Yes, quite true. Very large and wonderful and keeps
famous time. You say right, sir. A Monday morning, âtwas so, indeed.
Stephen went down Bedford row, the handle of the ash
clacking against his shoulder blade. In Clohisseyâs window
a faded 186O print of Heenan bo xing Sayers held his eye.
Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped
prizering. The heavyweights in tight loincloths proposed
gently each to other his bulbous fists. And they are throbbing: heroesâ hearts.
He turned and halted by the slanted bookcart. âTwopence each, the huckster said. Four for
sixpence.
Tattered pages. The Irish Beekeeper. Life and Miracles of
Agenbite of Inwit
- Stephen Dedalus encounters his sister Dilly at a bookstall, where she has purchased a French primer for a penny.
- The interaction highlights the family's extreme poverty, as Dilly admits to pawning Stephen's old books to survive.
- Stephen experiences a profound sense of guilt and 'agenbite of inwit' (remorse of conscience), feeling that his sister's drowning misery will pull him down too.
- The narrative shifts to Simon Dedalus and Father Cowley, who are evading creditors and 'gombeen men' in the streets of Dublin.
- The group waits for Ben Dollard, a local character known for his help and his ill-fitting, oversized clothes.
- The scene juxtaposes the internal psychological torment of the Dedalus children with the performative, cynical camaraderie of their father.
She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair.
the CurĂŠ of Ars. Pocket Guide to Killarney.
I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes.
Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti.
Ulysses
437 of 1305 Father Conmee, having read his little hours, walked
through the hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring vespers.
Binding too good probably. What is this? Eighth and
ninth book of Moses. Secret of all secrets. Seal of King
David. Thumbed pages: read and read. Who has passed here before me? How to soften chapped hands. Recipe for
white wine vinegar. How to win a womanâs love. For me
this. Say the following talisman three times with hands folded:
âSe el yilo nebrakada femini num! Amor me solo! Sanktus!
Amen.
Who wrote this? Charms and invocations of the most
blessed abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. As good as any other abbo tâs charms, as mumbling
Joachimâs. Down, baldynoddle, or weâll wool your wool.
âWhat are you doing here, Stephen? Dillyâs high shoulders and shabby dress. Shut the book quick. Donât let see. âWhat are you doing? Stephen said. A Stuart face of nonesuch Char les, lank locks falling at
its sides. It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. I told her of Paris. Late lieabed under a quilt of old overcoats, fingering a pinchbeck bracelet, Dan
Kellyâs token. Nebrakada femininum.
Ulysses
438 of 1305 âWhat have you there? Stephen asked.
âI bought it from the ot her cart for a penny, Dilly
said, laughing nervously. Is it any good?
My eyes they say she has. Do others see me so? Quick,
far and daring. Shadow of my mind.
He took the coverless book from her hand. Chardenalâs
French primer.
âWhat did you buy that for? he asked. To learn
French?
She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. Show no surprise. Quite natural. âHere, Stephen said. Itâs all right. Mind Maggy
doesnât pawn it on you. I suppose all my books are gone.
âSome, Dilly said. We had to. She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All
against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair.
Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death.
We. Agenbite of inwit. Inwitâs agenbite. Misery! Misery!
* * * * *
Ulysses
439 of 1305 âHello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things?
âHello, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus answered,
stopping.
They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and
Daughterâs. Father Cowley brushed his moustache often downward with a scooping hand.
âWhatâs the best news? Mr Dedalus said. âWhy then not much, Father Cowley said. Iâm
barricaded up, Simon, with two men prowling around the house trying to effect an entrance.
âJolly, Mr Dedalus said. Who is it? âO, Father Cowley said. A certain gombeen man of
our acquaintance.
âWith a broken back, is it? Mr Dedalus asked. âThe same, Simon, Father Cowley answered. Reuben
of that ilk. Iâm just waiting for Ben Dollard. Heâs going to say a word to long John to get him to take those two men off. All I want is a little time.
He looked with vague hope up and down the quay, a
big apple bulging in his neck.
âI know, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Poor old
bockedy Ben! Heâs always doing a good turn for someone. Hold hard!
Ulysses
440 of 1305 He put on his glasses and gazed towards the metal
bridge an instant.
âThere he is, by God, he said, arse and pockets.
Ben Dollardâs loose blue cutaway and square hat above
large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the metal bridge. He came towards th em at an amble, scratching
actively behind his coattails.
As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted: âHold that fellow with the bad trousers. âHold him now, Ben Dollard said. Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various
points of Ben Dollardâs figu re. Then, turning to Father
Cowley with a nod, he muttered sneeringly:
âThatâs a pretty garment, isnât it, for a summerâs day? âWhy, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard
growled furiously, I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.
He stood beside them beam ing, on them first and on
Legal Writs and Charitable Acts
- Ben Dollard provides boisterous legal reassurance to Father Cowley regarding a landlord's prior claim over a debt writ.
- The group discusses the physical appearance of a new bailiff, described colorfully as a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun.
- Martin Cunningham and his companions review a subscription list for a charitable cause, noting Leopold Bloom's contribution.
- The men acknowledge Bloom's unexpected generosity, with John Wyse Nolan quoting Shakespeare to remark on the 'kindness in the jew.'
- The narrative shifts through the Dublin streets, capturing brief glimpses of local figures like Blazes Boylan and the barmaids at the Ormond hotel.
Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a dangling button of his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.
his roomy clothes from points of which Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying:
âThey were made for a man in his health, Ben,
anyhow.
âBad luck to the jewman that made them, Ben
Dollard said. Thanks be to God heâs not paid yet.
Ulysses
441 of 1305 âAnd how is that basso profondo , Benjamin? Father
Cowley asked.
Cashel Boyle OâConnor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell,
murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club.
Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanterâs
mouth, gave forth a deep note.
âAw! he said. âThatâs the style, Mr De dalus said, nodding to its
drone.
âWhat about that? Ben Dollard said. Not too dusty?
What?
He turned to both.
âThatâll do, Father Cowley said, nodding also. The reverend Hugh C. Love walked from the old
chapterhouse of saint Maryâs abbey past James and Charles
Kennedyâs, rectifiers, attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.
Ben Dollard with a heavy list towards the shopfronts
led them forward, his joyful fingers in the air.
âCome along with me to the subsheriffâs office, he
said. I want to show you the new beauty Rock has for a bailiff. Heâs a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun.
Heâs well worth seeing, mind you. Come along. I saw
Ulysses
442 of 1305 John Henry Menton casually in the Bodega just now and
it will cost me a fall if I donât ... Wait awhile ... Weâre on the right lay, Bob, believe you me.
âFor a few days tell him, Father Cowley said
anxiously.
Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a
dangling button of his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.
âWhat few days? he boomed. Hasnât your landlord
distrained for rent?
âHe has, Father Cowley said.
âThen our friendâs writ is not worth the paper itâs
printed on, Ben Dollard said. The landlord has the prior claim. I gave him all the pa rticulars. 29 Windsor avenue.
Love is the name?
âThatâs right, Father Co wley said. The reverend Mr
Love. Heâs a minister in the country somewhere. But are you sure of that?
âYou can tell Barabbas from me, Ben Dollard said,
that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.
He led Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his
bulk.
Ulysses
443 of 1305 âFilberts I believe they were, Mr Dedalus said, as he
dropped his glasses on his coatfront, following them.
* * * * *
âThe youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham
said, as they passed out of the Castleyard gate.
The policeman touched his forehead. âGod bless you, Martin Cunningham said, cheerily. He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the
reins and set on towards Lord Edward street.
Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedyâs head by Miss Douceâs
head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.
âYes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard. I
wrote to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.
âYou could try our friend, Mr Power suggested
backward.
âBoyd? Martin Cunningham said shortly. Touch me
not.
John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list,
came after them quickly down Cork hill.
Ulysses
444 of 1305 On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti,
descending, hailed Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending.
The castle car wheeled em pty into upper Exchange
street.
âLook here, Martin, John Wyse Nolan said,
overtaking them at the Mail office. I see Bloom put his
name down for five shillings.
âQuite right, Martin Cunningham said, taking the list.
And put down the five shillings too.
âWithout a second word either, Mr Power said.
âStrange but true, Martin Cunningham added.
John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes. âIâll say there is much kindness in the jew, he quoted,
elegantly.
They went down Parliament street. âThereâs Jimmy Henry, Mr Power said, just heading
for Kavanaghâs.
âRighto, Martin Cunnin gham said. Here goes.
Outside la Maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack
Mooneyâs brother-in-law, hum py, tight, making for the
Civic Disorder and Silent Chess
- A group of Dublin officials and citizens, including Martin Cunningham and John Wyse Nolan, navigate the city streets while discussing local administrative chaos.
- Jimmy Henry, the assistant town clerk, complains bitterly about the lack of order in the council chamber and the 'damned' Irish language debates.
- The group encounters the imposing subsheriff, Long John Fanning, and discusses the late Paddy Dignam, whom Fanning cannot recall.
- The viceregal cavalcade of the Lord Lieutenant-General passes by, observed with 'cool unfriendly eyes' by John Wyse Nolan.
- Buck Mulligan and Haines enter a cafĂŠ and observe John Howard Parnell, brother of the famous political leader, lost in a game of chess.
- The scene highlights the contrast between the noisy, disorganized civic life of Dublin and the quiet, ghostly intensity of the city marshal's chess match.
An instant after, under its screen, his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner.
liberties.
John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while
Martin Cunningham took th e elbow of a dapper little man
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445 of 1305 in a shower of hail suit, who walked uncertainly, with
hasty steps past Micky Andersonâs watches.
âThe assistant town clerkâs corns are giving him some
trouble, John Wyse Nolan told Mr Power.
They followed round the corner towards James
Kavanaghâs winerooms. The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate. Martin Cunningham, speaking always, showed often the list at which Jimmy Henry did not glance.
âAnd long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse
Nolan said, as large as life.
The tall form of long John Fanning filled the doorway
where he stood.
âGood day, Mr Subsheriff, Martin Cunningham said,
as all halted and greeted.
Long John Fanning made no way for them. He
removed his large Henry Clay decisively and his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces.
âAre the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful
deliberations? he said with rich acrid utterance to the assistant town clerk.
Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry
said pettishly, about their damned Irish language. Where was the marshal, he wanted to know, to keep order in the
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446 of 1305 council chamber. And old Barlow the macebearer laid up
with asthma, no mace on the table, nothing in order, no
quorum even, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in
Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens
for him. Damned Irish language, language of our forefathers.
Long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his
lips.
Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak
of his beard, to the assistant town clerk and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan held his peace.
âWhat Dignam was that? long John Fanning asked.
Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. âO, my corns! he said plain tively. Come upstairs for
goodnessâ sake till I sit do wn somewhere. Uff! Ooo!
Mind!
Testily he made room for himself beside long John
Fanningâs flank and passed in and up the stairs.
âCome on up, Martin Cunningham said to the
subsheriff. I donât think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.
With John Wyse Nolan Mr Power followed them in.
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447 of 1305 âDecent little soul he was, Mr Power said to the
stalwart back of long John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning in the mirror.
âRather lowsized. Dignam of Mentonâs office that
was, Martin Cunningham said.
Long John Fanning could not remember him. Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air. âWhatâs that? Martin Cunningham said. All turned where they stood. John Wyse Nolan came
down again. From the cool shadow of the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy
pasterns in sunlight shimm ering. Gaily they went past
before his cool unfriendly eyes, not quickly. In saddles of
the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.
âWhat was it? Martin C unningham asked, as they
went on up the staircase.
âThe lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of
Ireland, John Wyse Nolan answered from the stairfoot.
* * * * *
As they trod across the th ick carpet Buck Mulligan
whispered behind his Panama to Haines:
âParnellâs brother. There in the corner.
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448 of 1305 They chose a small table near the window, opposite a
longfaced man whose beard and gaze hung intently down on a chessboard.
âIs that he? Haines asked, twisting round in his seat. âYes, Mulligan said. Thatâs J ohn Howard, his brother,
our city marshal.
John Howard Parnell translated a white bishop quietly
and his grey claw went up again to his forehead whereat it rested. An instant after, under its screen, his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner.
âIâll take a mĂŠlange, Haines said to the waitress.
âTwo mĂŠlanges, Buck Mulligan said. And bring us
Fixed Ideas and Blind Strides
- Buck Mulligan and Haines discuss Stephen Dedalus's mental state over tea, mocking his obsession with Hamlet and theological visions of hell.
- Haines observes that Stephen possesses an 'idĂŠe fixe' regarding eternal punishment, a concept notably absent from ancient Irish mythology.
- Mulligan dismisses Stephen's poetic potential, claiming his wits were driven astray by religious trauma and that he lacks the 'Attic note' of true creation.
- The narrative shifts to a series of disjointed movements across Dublin, tracking various eccentric characters through the city streets.
- The eccentric Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell rudely collides with a blind stripling, prompting a bitter curse from the latter.
- Young Patrick Aloysius Dignam is introduced carrying porksteaks, grounding the high-minded literary talk in the mundane reality of domestic errands.
Shakespeare is the happy huntingground of all minds that have lost their balance.
some scones and butter and some cakes as well.
When she had gone he said, laughing: âWe call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad
cakes. O, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet.
Haines opened his newbought book. âIâm sorry, he said. Shakespeare is the happy
huntingground of all minds that have lost their balance.
The onelegged sailor growled at the area of 14 Nelson
street:
âEngland expects ...
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449 of 1305 Buck Mulliganâs primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his
laughter.
âYou should see him, he said, when his body loses its
balance. Wandering Aengus I call him.
âI am sure he has an idĂŠe fixe, Haines said, pinching
his chin thoughtfully with thumb and forefinger. Now I
am speculating what it would be likely to be. Such persons always have.
Buck Mulligan bent across the table gravely. âThey drove his wits astray, he said, by visions of hell.
He will never capture the Attic note. The note of
Swinburne, of all poets, the white death and the ruddy
birth. That is his tragedy. He can never be a poet. The joy of creation ...
âEternal punishment, Hain es said, nodding curtly. I
see. I tackled him this morning on belief. There was something on his mind, I saw. Itâs rather interesting because professor Pokorny of Vienna makes an interesting point out of that.
Buck Mulliganâs watchful eyes saw the waitress come.
He helped her to unload her tray.
âHe can find no trace of hell in ancient Irish myth,
Haines said, amid the cheerful cups. The moral idea seems
lacking, the sense of destiny, of retribution. Rather strange
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450 of 1305 he should have just that fixed idea. Does he write anything
for your movement?
He sank two lumps of sugar deftly longwise through
the whipped cream. Buck Mulligan slit a steaming scone in two and plastered butter over its smoking pith. He bit off a soft piece hungrily.
âTen years, he said, chewing and laughing. He is
going to write something in ten years.
âSeems a long way off, Haines said, thoughtfully
lifting his spoon. Still, I shouldnât wonder if he did after all.
He tasted a spoonful from the creamy cone of his cup.
âThis is real Irish cream I take it, he said with
forbearance. I donât want to be imposed on.
Elijah, skiff, light crumpled throwaway, sailed eastward
by flanks of ships and trawlers, amid an archipelago of corks, beyond new Wapping street past Bensonâs ferry,
and by the threemasted schooner Rosevean from
Bridgwater with bricks.
* * * * *
Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, past
Sewellâs yard. Behind him Cashel Boyle OâConnor
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451 of 1305 Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, with stickumbrelladustcoat
dangling, shunned the lamp be fore Mr Law Smithâs house
and, crossing, walked along Merrion square. Distantly behind him a blind stripling tapped his way by the wall of College park.
Cashel Boyle OâConnor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell
walked as far as Mr Lewis Wernerâs cheerful windows, then turned and strode back along Merrion square, his stickumbrelladustcoat dangling.
At the corner of Wildeâs house he halted, frowned at
Elijahâs name announced on the Metropolitan hall,
frowned at the distant ple asance of dukeâs lawn. His
eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun. With ratsteeth bared
he muttered:
âCoactus volui.
He strode on for Clare street, grinding his fierce word. As he strode past Mr Bloomâs dental windows the sway
of his dustcoat brushed rudely from its angle a slender tapping cane and swept onwards, having buffeted a thewless body. The blind stripling turned his sickly face after the striding form.
âGodâs curse on you, he said sourly, whoever you are!
Youâre blinder nor I am, you bitchâs bastard!
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452 of 1305
* * * * *
Opposite Ruggy OâDonohoeâs Master Patrick Aloysius
Dignam, pawing the pound and a half of Manganâs, late
Fehrenbachâs, porksteaks he had been sent for, went along
Master Dignam's Mourning Walk
- Young Master Dignam escapes the stifling atmosphere of his home, where his mother and neighbors mourn his father over sherry and cake.
- While wandering through Dublin, he is distracted by shop windows featuring boxing posters and images of popular actresses.
- He experiences a moment of self-consciousness regarding his mourning clothes, noticing his reflection and wondering if other schoolboys recognize his loss.
- The boy vividly recalls the physical details of his father's funeral, including the sound of screws entering the coffin and the difficulty of moving it downstairs.
- He reflects on his father's final drunken night and his dying struggle to speak, ultimately hoping his father is in purgatory rather than a worse fate.
- The narrative shifts abruptly from the boy's internal grief to the formal, public procession of the Earl and Lady Dudley through Dublin.
The scrunch that was when they were screwing the screws into the coffin: and the bumps when they were bringing it downstairs.
warm Wicklow street dawdling. It was too blooming dull sitting in the parlour with Mrs Stoer and Mrs Quigley and Mrs MacDowell and the blind down and they all at their sniffles and sipping sups of the superior tawny sherry uncle Barney brought from Tunneyâs. And they eating crumbs
of the cottage fruitcake, jawing the whole blooming time and sighing.
After Wicklow lane the window of Madame Doyle,
courtdress milliner, stopped him. He stood looking in at
the two puckers stripped to their pelts and putting up their props. From the sidemirrors two mourning Masters Dignam gaped silently. Myler Keogh, Dublinâs pet lamb,
will meet sergeantmajor Bennett, the Portobello bruiser, for a purse of fifty sovereigns. Gob, thatâd be a good pucking match to see. Myler Keogh, thatâs the chap
sparring out to him with the green sash. Two bar
entrance, soldiers half price. I could easy do a bunk on ma. Master Dignam on his left turned as he turned. Thatâs me
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453 of 1305 in mourning. When is it? May the twentysecond. Sure,
the blooming thing is all over. He turned to the right and
on his right Master Dignam turned, his cap awry, his collar sticking up. Buttoning it down, his chin lifted, he saw the image of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, beside the two puckers. One of them mots that do be in the packets of fags Stoer smokes that his o ld fellow welted hell out of
him for one time he found out.
Master Dignam got his collar down and dawdled on.
The best pucker going for strength was Fitzsimons. One puck in the wind from that fellow would knock you into the middle of next week, man. But the best pucker for
science was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the
stuffings out of him, dodging and all.
In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red flower in a
toffâs mouth and a swell pair of kicks on him and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and grinning all the time.
No Sandymount tram. Master Dignam walked along Nassau street, shifted the
porksteaks to his other hand. His collar sprang up again and he tugged it down. The blooming stud was too small for the buttonhole of the shirt, blooming end to it. He met schoolboys with satchels . Iâm not going tomorrow
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454 of 1305 either, stay away till Monday. He met other schoolboys.
Do they notice Iâm in mourning? Uncle Barney said heâd get it into the paper tonight. Then theyâll all see it in the paper and read my name printed and paâs name.
His face got all grey instead of being red like it was and
there was a fly walking over it up to his eye. The scrunch that was when they were screwing the screws into the coffin: and the bumps when they were bringing it downstairs.
Pa was inside it and ma crying in the parlour and uncle
Barney telling the men how to get it round the bend. A big coffin it was, and high and heavylooking. How was
that? The last night pa was boosed he was standing on the
landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to
Tunneyâs for to boose more and he looked butty and short in his shirt. Never see him again. Death, that is. Pa is dead.
My father is dead. He told me to be a good son to ma. I
couldnât hear the other things he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth trying to say it better. Poor pa. That was Mr Dignam, my father. I hope heâs in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday
night.
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455 of 1305
* * * * *
William Humble, earl of Dudley, and lady Dudley,
accompanied by lieutenantcol onel Heseltine, drove out
after luncheon from the vicereg al lodge. In the following
carriage were the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss de Courcy and the honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C. in attendance.
The cavalcade passed out by the lower gate of Phoenix
The Viceregal Cavalcade
- The Earl of Dudley, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, travels through the streets of Dublin in a formal viceregal procession.
- The passage captures a diverse cross-section of Dublin society, from solicitors and pawnbrokers to socialites and beggars, as they react to the passing carriages.
- Reactions to the representative of the British Crown vary from obsequious salutes and hat-tipping to 'unseen coldness' and total indifference.
- The physical city itself seems to participate in the event, described through landmarks like the Four Courts and even the 'liquid sewage' of the Poddle river.
- The narrative weaves together numerous characters from the novel, showing their simultaneous existence and varying social status through their proximity to the cavalcade.
From its sluice in Wood quay wall under Tom Devanâs office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue of liquid sewage.
park saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the northern quays. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his way through the metropolis. At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the river greeted him vainly from afar Between Queenâs and Whitworth bridges lord Dudleyâs viceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B. L., M. A., who stood on Arran quay outside Mrs M. E. Whiteâs, the pawnbrokerâs, at the corner of Arran street west stroking
his nose with his forefinger, undecided whether he should arrive at Phibsborough more quickly by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on foot through Smithfield,
Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. In the porch of
Four Courts Richie Goulding with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with surprise. Past
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456 of 1305 Richmond bridge at the doorste p of the office of Reuben
J Dodd, solicitor, agent for the Patriotic Insurance Company, an elderly female about to enter changed her plan and retracing her steps by Kingâs windows smiled
credulously on the representativ e of His Majesty. From its
sluice in Wood quay wall under Tom Devanâs office Poddle river hung out in feal ty a tongue of liquid sewage.
Above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel, gold by bronze, Miss Kennedyâs head by Miss Douceâs head watched and admired. On Ormond quay Mr Simon Dedalus, steering his way from the greenhouse for the subsheriffâs office, stood still in midstreet and brought his
hat low. His Excellency graci ously returned Mr Dedalusâ
greeting. From Cahillâs co rner the reverend Hugh C.
Love, M.A., made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands benignant had held of yore rich advowsons. On Grattan bridge Lenehan and MâCoy, taking leave of each other, watched the carriages go by. Passing by Roger Greeneâs office and Dollardâs big red
printinghouse Gerty MacDowell, carrying the Catesbyâs cork lino letters for her father who was laid up, knew by the style it was the lord and lady lieutenant but she
couldnât see what Her Excelle ncy had on because the tram
and Springâs big yellow furnitu re van had to stop in front
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457 of 1305 of her on account of its being the lord lieutenant. Beyond
Lundy Footâs from the shaded door of Kavanaghâs winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland. The Right Honourable William Humble, earl of Dudley, G. C. V. O., passed Micky Andersonâs all times ticking watches and Henry and Jamesâs wax smartsuited
freshcheeked models, the gentleman Henry, dernier cri
James. Over against Dame ga te Tom Rochford and Nosey
Flynn watched the approach of the cavalcade. Tom Rochford, seeing the eyes of lady Dudley fixed on him,
took his thumbs quickly out of the pockets of his claret
waistcoat and doffed his ca p to her. A charming soubrette,
great Marie Kendall, with dauby cheeks and lifted skirt smiled daubily from her poster upon William Humble, earl of Dudley, and upon lieutenantcolonel H. G. Heseltine, and also upon the honourable Gerald Ward A. D. C. From the window of the D. B. C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and Haines gravely, gazed down on the viceregal equipage over the shoulders of eager guests, whose mass of forms darkened the chessboard whereon John Howard Parnell looked intently. In Fownesâs street Dilly Dedalus, straining her sight upward from Chardenalâs first French primer, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning
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The Viceregal Cavalcade
- The Lord Lieutenant of Irelandâs procession moves through the streets of Dublin, eliciting varied reactions from the city's diverse inhabitants.
- Prominent figures like Blazes Boylan display a rakish indifference, offering bold stares and a red flower rather than a formal salute.
- The urban landscape is populated by a mix of social classes, from the 'jaded' commercial workers to the elite athletes and loyalist officials.
- Young Patrick Dignam, mourning his father, offers a greasy-fingered salute to the cavalcade, highlighting the intersection of personal grief and civic ritual.
- The passage concludes with the procession heading toward a charity bazaar, passing unnoticed by a blind stripling and a mysterious man in a brown macintosh.
Blazes Boylan presented to the leadersâ skyblue frontlets and high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle and a suit of indigo serge.
458 of 1305 in the glare. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of
Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his fat left hand not feeling it. Where the foreleg of King Billyâs horse pawed the air Mrs B reen plucked her hastening
husband back from under the hoofs of the outriders. She shouted in his ear the tidings. Understanding, he shifted his tomes to his left breast and saluted the second carriage. The honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C., agreeably surprised, made haste to reply. At Ponsonbyâs corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, E.L.YâS, while outriders pranced past and
carriages. Opposite Pigottâs music warerooms Mr Denis J
Maginni, professor of dancing &c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a viceroy and unobserved. By the provostâs wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan, stepping in tan
shoes and socks with skyblue clocks to the refrain of My
girlâs a Yorkshire girl.
Blazes Boylan presented to the leadersâ skyblue frontlets
and high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at
a rakish angle and a suit of indigo serge. His hands in his jacket pockets forgot to salute but he offered to the three ladies the bold admiration of his eyes and the red flower between his lips. As they drove along Nassau street His
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459 of 1305 Excellency drew the attention of his bowing consort to
the programme of music which was being discoursed in College park. Unseen brazen highland laddies blared and
drumthumped after the cortège :
But though sheâs a factory lass
And wears no fancy clothes. Baraabum. Yet Iâve a sort of a
Yorkshire relish for
My little Yorkshire rose. Baraabum.
Thither of the wall the quartermile flat handicappers,
M. C. Green, H. Shrift, T. M. Patey, C. Scaife, J. B. Jeffs, G. N. Morphy, F. Stevenson, C. Adderly and W. C. Huggard, started in pursuit. Striding past Finnâs hotel
Cashel Boyle OâConnor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell stared through a fierce eyeglass across the carriages at the head of Mr M. E. Solomons in the window of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. Deep in Leinster street by Trinityâs postern a loyal kingâ s man, Hornblower, touched
his tallyho cap. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw salutes being given to the gent with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak
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460 of 1305 paper. His collar too sprang up. The viceroy, on his way
to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercerâs hospital, drove with his following towards Lower Mount street. He passed a blind stripling opposite Broadbentâs. In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a brown macintosh, eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed across the viceroyâs path. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembrok e township. At Haddington
road corner two sanded women halted themselves, an umbrella and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder the lord mayor and lady mayoress without
his golden chain. On Northumberland and Lansdowne
roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the salute of two small schoolboys at the garden gate of the house said to have been admired by the late queen when visiting the Irish capital with her husband, the prince consort, in 1849 and the salute of Almidano Artifoniâs sturdy trous ers swallowed by a closing
door.
* * * * *
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461 of 1305 Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing
Bronze by Gold at the Ormond
- The narrative shifts into a highly musical, onomatopoeic style known as the 'Sirens' episode, blending ambient sounds with internal monologue.
- Barmaids Miss Douce (bronze) and Miss Kennedy (gold) observe a viceregal procession passing outside the Ormond hotel bar.
- Leopold Bloom passes by the establishment, preoccupied by thoughts of 'the sweets of sin' and a letter from Martha.
- The text mimics musical forms through repetitive phrasing, rhythmic 'jingling' of coins, and the 'clack' of clocks to create a sensory soundscape.
- Social friction is depicted through the 'unmannerly' interruptions of the boots (Pat) against the haughty, performative dignity of the barmaids.
- Themes of loneliness and betrayal surface through fragments of the song 'The Last Rose of Summer' and Bloom's internal sadness.
Bronze by gold, miss Douceâs head by miss Kennedyâs head, over the crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.
Imperthnthn thnthnthn.
Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Horrid! And gold flushed more. A husky fifenote blew. Blew. Blue bloom is on the. Goldpinnacled hair. A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, rose of Castile. Trilling, trilling: Idolores. Peep! Whoâs in the ... peepofgold? Tink cried to bronze in pity. And a call, pure, long and throbbing. Longindying call.
Decoy. Soft word. But look: the bright stars fade.
Notes chirruping answer.
O rose! Castile. The morn is breaking. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. Coin rang. Clock clacked.
Avowal. Sonnez. I could. Rebound of garter. Not leave
thee. Smack. La cloche! Thigh smack. Avowal. Warm.
Sweetheart, goodbye!
Jingle. Bloo. Boomed crashing chords. When love absorbs. War!
War! The tympanum.
A sail! A veil awave upon the waves.
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462 of 1305 Lost. Throstle fluted. All is lost now.
Horn. Hawhorn. When first he saw. Alas! Full tup. Full throb. Warbling. Ah, lure! Alluring. Martha! Come! Clapclap. Clipclap. Clappyclap. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Deaf bald Pat brought pad knife took up. A moonlit nightcall: far, far. I feel so sad. P. S. So lonely blooming. Listen!
The spiked and winding cold seahorn. Have you the?
Each, and for other, plash and silent roar.
Pearls: when she. Lisztâs rhapsodies. Hissss. You donât? Did not: no, no: believe: Lidlyd. With a cock with a
carra.
Black. Deepsounding. Do, Ben, do. Wait while you wait. Hee hee. Wait while you hee. But wait! Low in dark middle earth. Embedded ore. Naminedamine. Preacher is he: All gone. All fallen.
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463 of 1305 Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair.
Amen! He gnashed in fury. Fro. To, fro. A baton cool protruding. Bronzelydia by Minagold. By bronze, by gold, in oceangreen of shadow. Bloom.
Old Bloom.
One rapped, one tapped, with a carra, with a cock. Pray for him! Pray, good people! His gouty fingers nakkering. Big Benaben. Big Benben. Last rose Castile of summer left bloom I feel so sad
alone.
Pwee! Little wind piped wee.
True men. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Ay, ay. Like
you men. Will lift your tschink with tschunk.
Fff! Oo! Where bronze from anear? Where gold from afar?
Where hoofs?
Rrrpr. Kraa. Kraandl. Then not till then. My eppripfftaph. Be pfrwritt. Done. Begin!
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464 of 1305 Bronze by gold, miss Douceâs head by miss Kennedyâs
head, over the crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.
âIs that her? asked miss Kennedy. Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pe arl grey and
eau de Nil.
âExquisite contrast, miss Kennedy said. When all agog miss Douce said eagerly: âLook at the fellow in the tall silk. âWho? Where? gold asked more eagerly. âIn the second carriage, miss Douceâs wet lips said,
laughing in the sun.
Heâs looking. Mind till I see. She darted, bronze, to the ba ckmost corner, flattening
her face against the pane in a halo of hurried breath.
Her wet lips tittered: âHeâs killed looking back. She laughed: âO wept! Arenât men frightful idiots? With sadness. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light,
twining a loose hair behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair.
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465 of 1305 Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a
curving ear.
âItâs them has the fine times, sadly then she said. A man. Bloowho went by by Moulangâs pipes bearing in his
breast the sweets of sin, by Wineâs antiques, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by Carrollâs dusky battered plate, for Raoul.
The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids
came. For them unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And
âThereâs your teas, he said.
Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray
down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, low.
âWhat is it? loud boots unmannerly asked. âFind out, miss Douce retorted, leaving her
spyingpoint.
âYour beau, is it?
A haughty bronze replied: âIâll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any
more of your impertinent insolence.
Sirens of the Bar
- Miss Douce and Miss Kennedy, the barmaids of the Ormond Hotel, share a private moment of tea and gossip behind the counter.
- The women discuss beauty regimens, including the use of borax, cherry laurel water, and glycerine to treat sunburn and skin texture.
- They mock a 'hideous old wretch' from a chemist shop, imitating his snorting mannerisms and 'goggle eye' with cruel delight.
- Leopold Bloom passes by their field of vision, his dark eyes observing the religious iconography and the 'sweets of sin' as he wanders.
- The barmaids dissolve into fits of hysterical laughter, specifically ridiculing the idea of being married to a man with a 'greasy nose' and 'bit of beard.'
- The narrative style mimics musicality, using repetition and onomatopoeia like 'hufa' and 'gigglegold' to reflect the rhythmic atmosphere of the scene.
Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a snout in quest.
âImperthnthn thnthnthn, boot ssnout sniffed rudely, as
he retreated as she threatened as he had come.
Bloom.
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466 of 1305 On her flower frowning miss Douce said:
âMost aggravating that young brat is. If he doesnât
conduct himself Iâll wring his ear for him a yard long.
Ladylike in exquisite contrast. âTake no notice, miss Kennedy rejoined. She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea.
They cowered under their re ef of counter, waiting on
footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and seven.
Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel
from anear, hoofs ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs
ringhoof ringsteel.
âAm I awfully sunburnt? Miss bronze unbloused her neck. âNo, said miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you
try the borax with the cherry laurel water?
Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the
barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses
shimmered and in their midst a shell.
âAnd leave it to my hands, she said. âTry it with the glycerine, miss Kennedy advised. Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce
Ulysses
467 of 1305 âThose things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated.
I asked that old fogey in Boy dâs for something for my skin.
Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced
and prayed:
âO, donât remind me of him for mercyâ sake! âBut wait till I tell you, miss Douce entreated. Sweet tea miss Kennedy having poured with milk
plugged both two ears with little fingers.
âNo, donât, she cried. âI wonât listen, she cried. But Bloom? Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogeyâs tone:
âFor your what? says he.
Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but
said, but prayed again:
âDonât let me think of him or Iâll expire. The hideous
old wretch! That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.
She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip, sipped,
sweet tea.
âHere he was, miss Douc e said, cocking her bronze
head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Hufa! Hufa!
Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedyâs
throat. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a snout in quest.
Ulysses
468 of 1305 âO! shrieking, miss Kennedy cried. Will you ever
forget his goggle eye?
Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter,
shouting:
âAnd your other eye! Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatnerâs name. Why
do I always think Figather? Gathering figs, I think. And Prosper Loreâs huguenot name. By Bassiâs blessed virgins Bloomâs dark eyes went by. Bluerobed, white under, come to me. God they believe she is: or goddess. Those
today. I could not see. That fellow spoke. A student. After with Dedalusâ son. He migh t be Mulligan. All comely
virgins. That brings those ra kes of fellows in: her white.
By went his eyes. The sweets of sin. Sweet are the
sweets.
Of sin. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended,
Douce with Kennedy your other eye. They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each other, high piercing notes.
Ah, panting, sighing, sighin g, ah, fordone, their mirth
died down.
Ulysses
469 of 1305 Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip
and gigglegiggled. Miss Douce, bending over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying:
âO greasy eyes! Imagine being married to a man like
that! she cried. With his bit of beard!
Douce gave full vent to a s plendid yell, a full yell of full
woman, delight, joy, indignation.
âMarried to the greasy nose! she yelled.
Shrill, with deep laughter, after, gold after bronze, they
Sirens at the Bar
- The barmaids Miss Douce and Miss Kennedy recover from a fit of hysterical laughter as Bloom wanders nearby, preoccupied by financial ads and the 'sweets of sin'.
- Mr. Dedalus enters the bar, engaging in flirtatious, suggestive banter with Miss Douce about her recent holiday and sun-bronzed skin.
- The narrative style mimics musicality and repetition, using wordplay like 'Greaseabloom' and 'bridge of Yessex' to reflect Bloom's internal state.
- Lenehan arrives searching for Blazes Boylan, adding a layer of tension regarding the upcoming meeting between Boylan and Bloom's wife.
- Miss Kennedy remains aloof and absorbed in her reading, ignoring Lenehan's attempts at humor and attention.
- The scene establishes a rhythmic atmosphere of 'jingle' and 'chips', blending the mundane actions of the pub with the characters' private desires.
Married to Bloom, to greaseabloom. âO saints above! miss Douce said, sighed above her jumping rose.
urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to laughter after laughter. And then laughed more. Greasy I knows. Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the counterledge. All flushed (O!), panting, sweating (O!), all breathless.
Married to Bloom, to greaseabloom. âO saints above! miss Douce said, sighed above her
jumping rose. I wished
I hadnât laughed so much. I feel all wet.
Ulysses
470 of 1305 âO, miss Douce! miss Kennedy protested. You horrid
thing!
And flushed yet more (you horrid!), more goldenly. By Cantwellâs offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppiâs
virgins, bright of their oils . Nannettiâs father hawked those
things about, wheedling at doors as I. Religion pays. Must see him for that par. Eat first. I want. Not yet. At four, she
said. Time ever passing. Clockhands turning. On. Where eat? The Clarence, Dolphin. On. For Raoul. Eat. If I net five guineas with those ads. The violet silk petticoats. Not yet. The sweets of sin.
Flushed less, still less, goldenly paled.
Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus. Chips, picking chips
off one of his rocky thumbnails. Chips. He strolled.
âO, welcome back, miss Douce. He held her hand. Enjoyed her holidays? âTiptop. He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. âGorgeous, she said. Look at the holy show I am.
Lying out on the strand all day.
Bronze whiteness. âThat was exceedingly naughty of you, Mr Dedalus
told her and pressed her hand in dulgently. Tempting poor
simple males.
Ulysses
471 of 1305 Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away.
âO go away! she said. Y ouâre very simple, I donât
think.
He was. âWell now I am, he mused. I looked so simple in the
cradle they christened me simple Simon.
âYou must have been a doaty, miss Douce made
answer. And what did the doctor order today?
âWell now, he mused, whatever you say yourself. I
think Iâll trouble you for some fresh water and a half glass of whisky.
Jingle.
âWith the greatest alacrity, miss Douce agreed.
With grace of alacrity toward s the mirror gilt Cantrell
and Cochraneâs she turned herself. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. Forth from the skirt of his coat Mr De dalus brought pouch and pipe.
Alacrity she served. He blew through the flue two husky fifenotes.
âBy Jove, he mused, I often wanted to see the
Mourne mountains. Must be a g reat tonic in the air down
there. But a long threatening comes at last, they say. Yes. Yes.
Ulysses
472 of 1305 Yes. He fingered shreds of hair, her maidenhair, her
mermaidâs, into the bowl. Chips. Shreds. Musing. Mute.
None nought said nothing. Yes. Gaily miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling:
âO, Idolores, queen of the eastern seas!
âWas Mr Lidwell in today? In came Lenehan. Round him peered Lenehan. Mr
Bloom reached Essex bridge. Yes, Mr Bloom crossed
bridge of Yessex. To Martha I must write. Buy paper. Dalyâs. Girl there civil. Bloom. Old Bloom. Blue bloom is on the rye.
âHe was in at lunchtime, miss Douce said.
Lenehan came forward. âWas Mr Boylan looking for me? He asked. She answered: âMiss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was
upstairs?
She asked. Miss voice of Kennedy answered, a second
teacup poised, her gaze upon a page:
âNo. He was not. Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard, not seen, read on.
Lenehan round the sandwichbell wound his round body round.
âPeep! Whoâs in the corner?
Ulysses
473 of 1305 No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made
overtures. To mind her stops. To read only the black ones: round o and crooked ess.
Jingle jaunty jingle. Girlgold she read and did not glance. Take no notice.
She took no notice while he read by rote a solfa fable for her, plappering flatly:
âAh fox met ah stork. Said thee fox too thee stork:
Echoes in the Ormond Bar
- Lenehan attempts to flatter Simon Dedalus by praising his son Stephen's poetic success and elite social circle.
- Simon Dedalus reacts with detached irony and skepticism toward his son's activities and the 'famous' reputation Lenehan describes.
- The barmaids, Miss Douce and Miss Kennedy, discuss a young, blind piano tuner whose talent deeply moved them earlier that day.
- Leopold Bloom observes the scene while preoccupied with his own secret correspondence and the symbolic 'language of flowers.'
- The narrative captures a sensory shift as a forgotten tuning fork is struck, creating a long, throbbing note that haunts the room.
- Blazes Boylan's arrival is anticipated with nervous energy, signaling the start of the afternoon's romantic and musical tensions.
A call again. That he now poised that it now throbbed. You hear? It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs.
Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?
He droned in vain. Miss Douce turned to her tea aside. He sighed aside:
âAh me! O my!
He greeted Mr Dedalus and got a nod. âGreetings from the famous son of a famous father. âWho may he be? Mr Dedalus asked. Lenehan opened most genial arms. Who? âWho may he be? he asked. Can you ask? Stephen,
the youthful bard.
Dry. Mr Dedalus, famous father, laid by his dry filled pipe.
âI see, he said. I didnât rec ognise him for the moment.
I hear he is keeping very select company. Have you seen
him lately?
Ulysses
474 of 1305 He had.
âI quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, said
Lenehan. In Mooneyâs en ville and in Mooneyâs sur mer.
He had received the rhino for the labour of his muse.
He smiled at bronzeâs teabat hed lips, at listening lips
and eyes:
âThe ĂŠlite of Erin hung upon his lips. The ponderous
pundit, Hugh
MacHugh, Dublinâs most brilli ant scribe and editor and
that minstrel boy of the wild wet west who is known by
the euphonious appellation of the OâMadden Burke.
After an interval Mr Dedalus raised his grog and âThat must have been highly diverting, said he. I see. He see. He drank. With far away mourning mountain
eye. Set down his glass.
He looked towards the saloon door. âI see you have moved the piano. âThe tuner was in today, miss Douce replied, tuning
it for the smoking concert and I never heard such an
exquisite player.
âIs that a fact? âDidnât he, miss Kennedy? The real classical, you
know. And blind too, poor fellow. Not twenty Iâm sure he was.
Ulysses
475 of 1305 âIs that a fact? Mr Dedalus said.
He drank and strayed away. âSo sad to look at his face, miss Douce condoled. Godâs curse on bitchâs bastard. Tink to her pity cried a dinerâs bell. To the door of the
bar and diningroom came bald Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond. Lager for diner. Lager without alacrity she served.
With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with
impatience, for jinglejaunty blazes boy.
Upholding the lid he (who?) gazed in the coffin
(coffin?) at the oblique triple (piano!) wires. He pressed
(the same who pressed indulgently her hand), soft
pedalling, a triple of keys to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to hear the muffled hammerfall in action.
Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two
envelopes when I was in Wisdom Helyâs wise Bloom in Dalyâs Henry Flower bought. Are you not happy in your home? Flower to console me and a pin cuts lo. Means something, language of flow. Was it a daisy? Innocence that is. Respectable girl m eet after mass. Thanks awfully
muchly. Wise Bloom eyed on the door a poster, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all. Hair streaming: lovelorn. For some
Ulysses
476 of 1305 man. For Raoul. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a
gay hat riding on a jaunting car. It is. Again. Third time. Coincidence.
Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the bridge to
Ormond quay. Follow. Risk it. Go quick. At four. Near now. Out.
âTwopence, sir, the shopgirl dared to say. âAha ... I was forgetting ... Excuse ... âAnd four. At four she. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled.
Bloo smi qui go. Ternoon. Think youâre the only pebble on the beach? Does that to all.
For men.
In drowsy silence gold bent on her page. From the saloon a call came, l ong in dying. That was a
tuningfork the tuner had that he forgot that he now struck. A call again. That he now poised that it now throbbed. You hear? It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Longer in dying call.
Pat paid for dinerâs popcorked bottle: and over
tumbler, tray and popcorke d bottle ere he went he
whispered, bald and bothered, with miss
Douce.
âThe bright stars fade ...
Ulysses
477 of 1305 A voiceless song sang from within, singing:
â ... the morn is breaking.
A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer
The Ormond Bar Overture
- The scene unfolds in the Ormond Hotel bar, where the barmaids Miss Douce and Miss Kennedy flirt with patrons amidst a sensory backdrop of music and clinking glasses.
- Blazes Boylan, the flamboyant suitor of Molly Bloom, arrives with a confident air, ordering drinks and discussing a horse racing bet on Sceptre.
- Leopold Bloom, the 'unconquered hero,' cautiously observes Boylan from a distance, attempting to remain unseen while following Richie Goulding into the dining room.
- The narrative emphasizes the passage of time and the anticipation of four o'clock, a significant hour for Bloom regarding his wife's impending infidelity.
- Lenehan acts as a sycophantic companion to Boylan, encouraging the barmaids' displays and marveling at the physical presence of Miss Douce.
- The prose utilizes onomatopoeia and rhythmic repetition, such as the 'clack' of the clock and the 'jingle' of the car, to mirror the musical themes of the 'Sirens' episode.
Yes, gold from anear by bronze from afar. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him: âSee the conquering hero comes.
under sensitive hands. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of loveâs leavetaking, lifeâs,
loveâs morn.
âThe dewdrops pearl ...
Lenehanâs lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of
decoy.
âBut look this way, he said, rose of Castile.
Jingle jaunted by the curb and stopped. She rose and closed her reading, rose of Castile: fretted,
forlorn, dreamily rose.
âDid she fall or was she pushed? he asked her. She answered, slighting: âAsk no questions and youâll hear no lies. Like lady, ladylike. Blazes Boylanâs smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor
where he strode. Yes, gold from anear by bronze from afar. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him:
âSee the conquering hero comes. Between the car and window, warily walking, went
Bloom, unconquered hero. See me he might. The seat he
Ulysses
478 of 1305 sat on: warm. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie
Gouldingâs legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting.
âAnd I from thee ...
âI heard you were round, said Blazes Boylan. He touched to fair miss Kennedy a rim of his slanted
straw. She smiled on him. But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening for him her richer hair, a bosom and a rose.
Smart Boylan bespoke potions. âWhatâs your cry? Glass of bitter? Glass of bitter,
please, and a sloegin for me. Wire in yet?
Not yet. At four she. Who said four?
Cowleyâs red lugs and bulging apple in the door of the
sheriffâs office.
Avoid. Goulding a chance. What is he doing in the
Ormond? Car waiting.
Wait. Hello. Where off to? Something to eat? I too was just.
In here. What, Ormond? Best value in Dublin. Is that so? Diningroom. Sit tight there. See, not be seen. I think Iâll
join you. Come on. Richie led on. Bloom followed bag.
Dinner fit for a prince.
Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching
her satin arm, her bust, that all but burst, so high.
âO! O! jerked Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. O!
Ulysses
479 of 1305 But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph.
âWhy donât you grow? asked Blazes Boylan. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy
liquor for his lips, looked as it flowed (flower in his coat:
who gave him?), and syrupped with her voice:
âFine goods in small parcels. That is to say she. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. âHereâs fortune, Blazes said. He pitched a broad coin down. Coin rang. âHold on, said Lenehan, till I ... âFortune, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. âSceptre will win in a canter, he said.
âI plunged a bit, said Boylan winking and drinking.
Not on my own, you know. Fancy of a friend of mine.
Lenehan still drank and grinned at his tilted ale and at
miss Douceâs lips that all but hummed, not shut, the oceansong her lips had trilled.
Idolores. The eastern seas. Clock whirred. Miss Kennedy passed their way (flower,
wonder who gave), bearing away teatray. Clock clacked.
Miss Douce took Boylanâs coin, struck boldly the
cashregister. It clanged. Clock clacked. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the till and hummed and handed coins
in change. Look to the west. A clack. For me.
Ulysses
480 of 1305 âWhat time is that? asked Blazes Boylan. Four?
Oâclock. Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust
ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylanâs elbowsleeve.
âLetâs hear the time, he said. The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by
ryebloom flowered tables. Aiml ess he chose with agitated
aim, bald Pat attending, a table near the door. Be near. At
four. Has he forgotten? Perhaps a trick. Not come: whet appetite. I couldnât do. Wait , wait. Pat, waiter, waited.
Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazureâs skyblue bow and
eyes.
âGo on, pressed Lenehan. Thereâs no-one. He never
heard.
â ... to Floraâs lips did hie.
High, a high note pealed in the treble clear. Bronzedouce communing with h er rose that sank and
rose sought
Bronze, Gold, and Jingling Departures
- Miss Douce performs a flirtatious 'sonnez la cloche' by snapping her garter for Lenehan and Boylan.
- Blazes Boylan departs the bar in a hurry, leaving a pensive Miss Douce to watch him go through the window.
- Simon Dedalus, Ben Dollard, and Father Cowley gather around the piano to reminisce and prepare for a song.
- Leopold Bloom observes the scene quietly, ordering a cider and feeling the heat of his black clothing.
- The atmosphere shifts from the vulgar energy of Boylan to a nostalgic, musical melancholy among the older men.
Smack. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a womanâs warmhosed thigh.
Blazes Boylanâs flower and eyes. âPlease, please. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.
âI could not leave thee ...
âAfterwits, miss Douce promised coyly.
Ulysses
481 of 1305 âNo, now, urged Lenehan. Sonnezlacloche! O do!
Thereâs no-one.
She looked. Quick. Miss Kenn out of earshot. Sudden
bent. Two kindling faces watched her bend.
Quavering the chords strayed from the air, found it
again, lost chord, and lost and found it, faltering.
âGo on! Do! Sonnez!
Bending, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee.
Delayed. Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with wilful eyes.
âSonnez!
Smack. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped
elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a womanâs warmhosed thigh.
âLa Cloche! cried gleeful Lenehan. Trained by owner.
No sawdust there.
She smilesmirked supercilious (w ept! arenât men?), but,
lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan.
âYouâre the essence of vulgarity, she in gliding said. Boylan, eyed, eyed. Tossed to fat lips his chalice, drank
off his chalice tiny, sucking the last fat violet syrupy drops. His spellbound eyes went after, after her gliding head as it went down the bar by mirrors , gilded arch for ginger ale,
Ulysses
482 of 1305 hock and claret glasses shimmering, a spiky shell, where it
concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze.
Yes, bronze from anearby.
â ... Sweetheart, goodbye!
âIâm off, said Boylan with impatience. He slid his chalice brisk away, grasped his change. âWait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly. I
wanted to tell you.
Tom Rochford ... âCome on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan, going. Lenehan gulped to go.
âGot the horn or what? he said. Wait. Iâm coming.
He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by
nimbly by the threshold, salu ting forms, a bulky with a
slender.
âHow do you do, Mr Dollard? âEh? How do? How do? Ben Dollardâs vague bass
answered, turning an instant from Father Cowleyâs woe.
He wonât give you any trouble, Bob. Alf Bergan will speak to the long fellow. Weâll put a barleystraw in that Judas Iscariotâs ear this time.
Sighing Mr Dedalus came th rough the saloon, a finger
soothing an eyelid.
Ulysses
483 of 1305 âHoho, we will, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. Come
on, Simon. Give us a ditty. We heard the piano.
Bald Pat, bothered waiter, waited for drink orders.
Power for Richie. And Bloom? Let me see. Not make him walk twice. His corns. Four now. How warm this black is. Course nerves a bit. Refracts (is it?) heat. Let me
see. Cider. Yes, bottle of cider.
âWhatâs that? Mr Dedalus said. I was only vamping,
man.
âCome on, come on, Ben Do llard called. Begone dull
care. Come, Bob.
He ambled Dollard, bulky slops, before them (hold that
fellow with the: hold him now) into the saloon. He
plumped him Dollard on the stool. His gouty paws plumped chords. Plumped, stopped abrupt.
Bald Pat in the doorway met tealess gold returning.
Bothered, he wanted Power and cider. Bronze by the window, watched, bronze from afar.
Jingle a tinkle jaunted. Bloom heard a jing, a little sound. Heâs off. Light sob
of breath Bloom sighed on the silent bluehued flowers. Jingling. Heâs gone. Jingle. Hear.
âLove and War, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. God be with
old times.
Ulysses
484 of 1305 Miss Douceâs brave eyes, unregarded, turned from the
crossblind, smitten by sunlight. Gone. Pensive (who knows?), smitten (the smiting light), she lowered the
dropblind with a sliding cord. She drew down pensive (why did he go so quick when I?) about her bronze, over the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim
seagreen sliding depth of shadow, eau de Nil.
âPoor old Goodwin was the pianist that night, Father
Cowley reminded them. There was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the Collard grand.
There was.
âA symposium all his own, Mr Dedalus said. The
devil wouldnât stop him. He was a crotchety old fellow in
the primary stage of drink.
Memories and Melodies at the Bar
- Ben Dollard, Simon Dedalus, and Father Cowley reminisce about a past financial crisis where Bloom helped Dollard by lending him clothes.
- The men discuss Molly Bloom's history, her career as a singer, and her origins as the daughter of a major in Gibraltar.
- Leopold Bloom eats a meal of liver and bacon in silence with Richie Goulding while Blazes Boylan travels impatiently through the city.
- The atmosphere is thick with sensory details of food, tobacco smoke, and the booming bass vocals of Ben Dollard at the piano.
- The conversation shifts between bawdy humor regarding Dollard's physical size and the aesthetic qualities of the music being performed.
Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes.
âGod, do you remember? Ben bulky Dollard said,
turning from the punished keyboard. And by Japers I had no wedding garment.
They laughed all three. He had no wed. All trio
laughed. No wedding garment.
âOur friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Mr
Dedalus said. Whereâs my pipe, by the way?
Ulysses
485 of 1305 He wandered back to the bar to the lost chord pipe.
Bald Pat carried two dinersâ drinks, Richie and Poldy. And Father Cowley laughed again.
âI saved the situation, Ben, I think. âYou did, averred Ben Dollard. I remember those
tight trousers too. That was a brilliant idea, Bob.
Father Cowley blushed to his brilliant purply lobes. He
saved the situa. Tight trou. Brilliant ide.
âI knew he was on the rocks, he said. The wife was
playing the piano in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a very trifling consideration and who was it gave me the
wheeze she was doing the other business? Do you
remember? We had to search all Holles street to find them
till the chap in Keoghâs gave us the number. Remember?
Ben remembered, his broad visage wondering.
âBy God, she had some luxurious operacloaks and
things there.
Mr Dedalus wandered back, pipe in hand. âMerrion square style. Balldresses, by God, and court
dresses. He wouldnât take any money either. What? Any Godâs quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. What?
âAy, ay, Mr Dedalus nodded. Mrs Marion Bloom has
left off clothes of all descriptions.
Ulysses
486 of 1305 Jingle jaunted down the quays. Blazes sprawled on
bounding tyres.
Liver and bacon. Steak and kidney pie. Right, sir.
Right, Pat.
Mrs Marion. Met him pike hoses. Smell of burn. Of
Paul de Kock. Nice name he.
âWhatâs this her name was? A buxom lassy. Marion ... âTweedy. âYes. Is she alive? âAnd kicking. âShe was a daughter of ... âDaughter of the regiment.
âYes, begad. I remember the old drummajor.
Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff
after
âIrish? I donât know, faith. Is she, Simon? Puff after stiff, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. âBuccinator muscle is ... What? ... Bit rusty ... O, she
is ... My Irish Molly, O.
He puffed a pungent plumy blast. âFrom the rock of Gibraltar... all the way. They pined in depth of ocean shadow, gold by the
beerpull, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. Mina
Ulysses
487 of 1305 Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Dr umcondra with Idolores, a
queen, Dolores, silent.
Pat served, uncovered dishes. Leopold cut liverslices. As
said before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried codsâ roes while Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward ate steak and kidney, steak then kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate.
Bloom with Goulding, married in silence, ate. Dinners
fit for princes.
By Bachelorâs walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan,
bachelor, in sun in heat, mareâs glossy rump atrot, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated,
Boylan impatience, ardentbold. Horn. Have you the?
Horn. Have you the? Haw haw horn.
Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming
over bombarding chords:
âWhen love absorbs my ardent soul ...
Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the quivery
loveshivery roofpanes.
âWar! War! cried Father Cowley. Youâre the warrior. âSo I am, Ben Warrior laughed. I was thinking of
your landlord. Love or money.
He stopped. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his
blunder huge.
Ulysses
488 of 1305 âSure, youâd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr
Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with an organ like
yours.
In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the
keyboard. He would.
âNot to mention another membrane, Father Cowley
added. Half time, Ben. Amoroso ma non troppo. Let me
there.
Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of
cool stout. She passed a remark. It was indeed, first gentleman said, beautiful weather. They drank cool stout.
Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going? And
heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. No , she couldnât say. But it
Musical Echoes and Dining Princes
- Leopold Bloom dines on liver and mashed potatoes at a clean establishment, contrasting it with the gristle and grime of previous locations.
- The narrative weaves through Bloom's memories, specifically a humorous anecdote about Ben Dollard borrowing a tight dress suit that caused Molly to collapse in laughter.
- The atmosphere of the Ormond Hotel bar is established through the interactions of Miss Douce, George Lidwell, and the arrival of various Dublin characters.
- Father Cowley and Simon Dedalus prepare for a musical performance, debating the key and style of the aria 'Mâappari' from the opera Martha.
- Bloom and Richie Goulding are described as 'princes at meat,' elevated by the high-culture surroundings of the music despite their modest meal.
- The text explores the sensory connection between music, memory, and physical sensation, from the 'toothache' of scraping fiddles to the 'cool hands' of a harpist.
Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. With all his belongings on show. O saints above, Iâm drenched!
would be in the paper. O, she need not trouble. No
trouble. She waved about her outspread Independent,
searching, the lord lieutenant, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Too much trouble, first gentleman said. O, not in the least. Way he looked that. Lord lieutenant. Gold by bronze heard iron steel.
â ............ my ardent soul
I care not foror the morrow.
In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Love
and War someone is. Ben Dolla rdâs famous. Night he ran
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489 of 1305 round to us to borrow a d ress suit for that concert.
Trousers tight as a drum on him. Musical porkers. Molly did laugh when he went out. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. With all his belongings on show. O saints above, Iâm drenched! O, the women in the front row! O, I never laughe d so many! Well, of course
thatâs what gives him the base barreltone. For instance
eunuchs. Wonder whoâs playing. Nice touch. Must be Cowley. Musical. Knows whatever note you play. Bad breath he has, poor chap. Stopped.
Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave
solicitor, George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Good
afternoon. She gave her moist (a ladyâs) hand to his firm
clasp. Afternoon. Yes, she was back. To the old dingdong again.
âYour friends are inside, Mr Lidwell. George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a lydiahand. Bloom ate liv as said before. Clean here at least. That
chap in the Burton, gummy with gristle. No-one here: Goulding and I. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins.
Pat to and fro. Bald Pat. No thing to do. Best value in
Dub.
Piano again. Cowley it is. Way he sits in to it, like one
together, mutual understanding. Tiresome shapers scraping
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490 of 1305 fiddles, eye on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you
of toothache. Her high long snore. Night we were in the box. Trombone under blowing like a grampus, between
the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Conductorâs legs too, bag strousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Do
right to hide them.
Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty. Only the harp. Lovely. Gold glowering light. Girl
touched it. Poop of a lovely. Gr avyâs rather good fit for a.
Golden ship. Erin. The harp that once or twice. Cool hands. Ben Howth, the rhododendrons. We are their harps. I. He. Old. Young.
âAh, I couldnât, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy, listless.
Strongly. âGo on, blast you! Ben Dolla rd growled. Get it out in
bits.
âMâappari, Simon, Father Cowley said.
Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in
affliction, his long arms outhe ld. Hoarsely the apple of his
throat hoarsed softly. Softly he sang to a dusty seascape
there: A Last Farewell. A headland, a ship, a sail upon the
billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.
Cowley sang:
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491 of 1305 âMâappari tuttâamor:
Il mio sguardo lâincontr ...
She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil, to one
departing, dear one, to wind, love, speeding sail, return.
âGo on, Simon. âAh, sure, my dancing days are done, Ben ... Well ... Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork
and, sitting, touched the obedient keys.
âNo, Simon, Father Cowley turned. Play it in the
original. One flat.
The keys, obedient, rose higher, told, faltered,
confessed, confused.
Up stage strode Father Cowley. âHere, Simon, Iâll accompany you, he said. Get up. By Graham Lemonâs pineapple rock, by Elveryâs
elephant jingly jogged. Stea k, kidney, liver, mashed, at
meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider.
Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said:
Sonnambula. He heard Joe Maas sing that one night. Ah,
what MâGuckin! Yes. In his way. Choirboy style. Maas was the boy. Massboy. A lyrical tenor if you like. Never forget it. Never.
Ulysses
492 of 1305 Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened
The Mercy of Beauty
- Leopold Bloom and Richie Goulding share a moment of musical appreciation in a Dublin pub, reflecting on the power of song to evoke memory.
- Richie Goulding is characterized as a man of contradictions: a 'wonderful liar' who squanders money yet remains deeply moved by operatic airs.
- The narrative captures the performance of Simon Dedalus, whose voice is described as a fluid, transformative force that affects the listeners' physical and emotional states.
- Bloom observes the social dynamics of the bar, including the barmaids Lydia and Mina, while contemplating the inevitability of loss and the nature of women.
- The act of listening becomes a communal experience that temporarily alleviates the personal sorrows of the men gathered in the room.
Through the hush of air a voice sang to them, low, not rain, not leaves in murmur, like no voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, still hearts of their each his remembered lives.
features strain. Backache he. Brightâs bright eye. Next item on the programme. Paying the piper. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. St ave it off awhile. Sings too:
Down among the dead men. Appropriate. Kidney pie. Sweets
to the. Not making much hand of it. Best value in. Characteristic of him. Power. Particular about his drink. Flaw in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Fecking matches from counters to save. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. And when heâs wa nted not a farthing. Screwed
refusing to pay his fare. Curious types.
Never would Richie forget t hat night. As long as he
lived: never. In the gods of the old Royal with little Peake. And when the first note.
Speech paused on Richieâs lips. Coming out with a whopper now. Rhapsodies about
damn all.
Believes his own lies. Does really. Wonderful liar. But
want a good memory.
âWhich air is that? asked Leopold Bloom.
âAll is lost now .
Richie cocked his lips apout. A low incipient note
sweet banshee murmured: all. A thrush. A throstle. His breath, birdsweet, good teeth heâs proud of, fluted with
Ulysses
493 of 1305 plaintive woe. Is lost. Rich sound. Two notes in one
there. Blackbird I heard in the hawthorn valley. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. All most too new call is lost in all. Echo. How sweet the answer. How is that done? All lost now. Mournful he whistled. Fall, surrender, lost.
Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe of doyley
down under the vase. Order. Yes, I remember. Lovely air.
In sleep she went to him. Innocence in the moon. Brave. Donât know their danger. Still hold her back. Call name. Touch water. Jingle jaunty. Too late. She longed to go. Thatâs why. Woman. As easy stop the sea. Yes: all is lost.
âA beautiful air, said Bl oom lost Leopold. I know it
well.
Never in all his life had Richie Goulding. He knows it well too. Or he feels. Still harping on his
daughter. Wise child that knows her father, Dedalus said. Me?
Bloom askance over liverless sa w. Face of the all is lost.
Rollicking Richie once. Jokes old stale now. Wagging his ear. Napkinring in his eye. Now begging letters he sends his son with. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Wouldnât trouble only I was expecting some money. Apologise.
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494 of 1305 Piano again. Sounds better than last time I heard.
Tuned probably. Stopped again.
Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out
with it.
âWith it, Simon. âIt, Simon. âLadies and gentlemen, I am most deeply obliged by
your kind solicitations.
âIt, Simon. âI have no money but if you will lend me your
attention I shall endeavour to sing to you of a heart bowed
down.
By the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, her
bronze and rose, a ladyâs grac e, gave and withheld: as in
cool glaucous eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her
pinnacles of gold.
The harping chords of prelude closed. A chord,
longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice away.
âWhen first I saw that form endearing ...
Richie turned. âSi Dedalusâ voice, he said. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they listened
feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Bloom signed to Pat, bald Pat is a waiter
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495 of 1305 hard of hearing, to set ajar th e door of the bar. The door
of the bar. So. That will do. Pa t, waiter, waited, waiting to
hear, for he was hard of hear by the door.
âSorrow from me seemed to depart.
Through the hush of air a voic e sang to them, low, not
rain, not leaves in murmur, like no voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, still hearts of their each his remembered
lives. Good, good to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to from both depart when fir st they heard. When first they
saw, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard from a
person wouldnât expect it in th e least, her first merciful
lovesoft oftloved word.
Love that is singing: loveâs old sweet song. Bloom
unwound slowly the elastic band of his packet. Loveâs old
The Song of Lionel
- Bloom experiences a visceral, physical reaction to the music, winding a piece of elastic around his fingers in a rhythmic, obsessive motion.
- The narrative explores the connection between vocal performance and sexual allure, noting how tenors attract women through 'creamy dreamy' tones.
- Bloom reflects on the technical requirements of singing, including the 'Jenny Lind soup' diet and the necessity of steady nerves.
- The performance of 'Martha' triggers a flood of memories for Bloom, specifically the first time he met Molly at Mat Dillonâs in Terenure.
- The music dissolves into a stream of sensory impressions, blending the 'language of love' with rhythmic, pulsing descriptions of desire.
- Bloom contemplates the 'fate' of his initial attraction to Molly, recalling her yellow dress and the tension of a game of musical chairs.
Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in desire, dark to lick flow invading.
sweet sonnez la gold. Bloom wound a skein round four
forkfingers, stretched it, relax ed, and wound it round his
troubled double, fourfold, in octave, gyved them fast.
âFull of hope and all delighted ...
Tenors get women by the score. Increase their flow.
Throw flower at his feet. When will we meet? My head it simply. Jingle all delighted. He canât sing for tall hats.
Your head it simply swurls. Perfumed for him. What perfume does your wife? I want to know. Jing. Stop.
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496 of 1305 Knock. Last look at mirror always before she answers the
door. The hall. There? How do you? I do well. There? What? Or? Phial of cachous, kissing comfits, in her satchel. Yes? Hands felt for the opulent.
Alas the voice rose, sighing, changed: loud, full,
shining, proud.
âBut alas, âtwas idle dreaming ...
Glorious tone he has still. Cork air softer also their
brogue. Silly man! Could have made oceans of money. Singing wrong words. Wore out his wife: now sings. But hard to tell. Only the two themselves. If he doesnât break
down. Keep a trot for the ave nue. His hands and feet sing
too. Drink. Nerves overstr ung. Must be ab stemious to
sing. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. For creamy dreamy.
Tenderness it welled: slow, swelling, full it throbbed.
Thatâs the chat. Ha, give! Take! Throb, a throb, a pulsing proud erect.
Words? Music? No: itâs whatâs behind. Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded. Bloom. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness
flowed to flow in music out, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. Tipping her teppin g her tapping her topping
her. Tup. Pores to dilate dila ting. Tup. The joy the feel
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497 of 1305 the warm the. Tup. To pour oâer sluices pouring gushes.
Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Now! Language of love.
â ... ray of hope is ...
Beaming. Lydia for Lidwell squeak scarcely hear so
ladylike the muse unsqueaked a ray of hopk.
Martha it is. Coincidence. Just going to write. Lionelâs
song. Lovely name you have. C anât write. Accept my little
pres. Play on her heartstrings pursestrings too. Sheâs a. I called you naughty boy. Still the name: Martha. How
strange! Today.
The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. It
sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to wait. How first he saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to part, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, won Pat Bloomâs heart.
Wish I could see his face, though. Explain better. Why
the barber in Dragoâs always looked my face when I spoke his face in the glass. Still hear it better here than in the bar though farther.
âEach graceful look ...
Ulysses
498 of 1305 First night when first I saw her at Mat Dillonâs in
Terenure. Yellow, black lace she wore. Musical chairs.
We two the last. Fate. After her. Fate.
Round and round slow. Quick round. We two. All
looked. Halt. Down she sat. All ousted looked. Lips laughing. Yellow knees.
âCharmed my eye ...
Singing. Waiting she sang. I turned her music. Full
voice of perfume of what p erfume does your lilactrees.
Bosom I saw, both full, throat warbling. First I saw. She
thanked me. Why did she me? Fate. Spanishy eyes. Under
a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in
shadow Dolores shedolores. At me. Luring. Ah, alluring.
âMartha! Ah, Martha!
Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in cry of
passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. In cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, must ma rtha feel. For only her he
waited. Where? Here there tr y there here all try where.
Somewhere.
âCo-ome, thou lost one!
Co-ome, thou dear one!
Alone. One love. One hope. One comfort me. Martha,
chestnote, return!
Ulysses
The Echo of Song
- Simon Dedalus finishes a powerful vocal performance that leaves the listeners in the bar mesmerized by the 'etherial' quality of his voice.
- Blazes Boylan grows increasingly impatient as his carriage moves slowly through Dublin toward his rendezvous with Molly Bloom.
- Richie Goulding reminisces to Leopold Bloom about a legendary past performance by Simon, highlighting the deep emotional impact of the human voice.
- Bloom reflects on the fragility of human connections and the inevitability of loss, symbolized by the 'rift in the lute' between brothers-in-law.
- The atmosphere in the pub shifts from the high tension of the music to a communal scene of drinking, smoking, and idle conversation.
- Bloom experiences a moment of morbid introspection, connecting the themes of the songs to the reality of death and the recent funeral of Paddy Dignam.
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, donât spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the etherial bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, th e endlessnessnessness ...
499 of 1305 âCome!
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar
silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, donât spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the etherial bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, th e endlessnessnessness ...
âTo me!
Siopold!
Consumed.
Come. Well sung. All clapped. She ought to. Come.
To me, to him, to her, you too, me, us.
âBravo! Clapclap. Good man, Simon. Clappyclapclap.
Encore! Clapclipclap clap. Sound as a bell. Bravo, Simon! Clapclopclap. Encore, enclap, said, cried, clapped all, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, Pat, Mina Kennedy, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina.
Blazes Boylanâs smart tan s hoes creaked on the barfloor,
said before. Jingle by m onuments of sir John Gray,
Horatio onehandled Nelson, reverend father Theobald Mathew, jaunted, as said before just now. Atrot, in heat,
Ulysses
500 of 1305 heatseated. Cloche. Sonnez la. Cloche. Sonnez la. Slower the
mare went up the hill by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Too slow for Boylan, blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, joggled the mare.
An afterclang of Cowleyâs chords closed, died on the
air made richer.
And Richie Goulding drank his Power and Leopold
Bloom his cider drank, Lidwe ll his Guinness, second
gentleman said they would part ake of two more tankards if
she did not mind. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at first, at second. She did not mind.
âSeven days in jail, Ben Dollard said, on bread and
water. Then youâd sing, Simon, like a garden thrush.
Lionel Simon, singer, laughed. Father Bob Cowley
played. Mina Kennedy served. Second gentleman paid. Tom Kernan strutted in. Lydia, admired, admired. But Bloom sang dumb.
Admiring. Richie, admiring, descanted on that manâs glorious
voice. He remembered one night long ago. Never forget
that night. Si sang âTwas rank and fame : in Ned Lambertâs
âtwas. Good God he never heard in all his life a note like
that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so
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501 of 1305 God he never heard since love lives not a clinking voice lives
not ask Lambert he can tell you too.
Goulding, a flush struggling in his pale, told Mr Bloom,
face of the night, Si in Ned Lambertâs, Dedalus house,
sang âTwas rank and fame.
He, Mr Bloom, listened while he, Richie Goulding,
told him, Mr Bloom, of the night he, Richie, heard him, Si Dedalus, sing âTWAS RANK AND FAME in his, Ned Lambertâs, house.
Brothers-in-law: relations. We never speak as we pass
by. Rift in the lute I think. Treats him with scorn. See.
He admires him all the mo re. The night Si sang. The
human voice, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more than
all others.
That voice was a lamentati on. Calmer now. Itâs in the
silence after you feel you hear. Vibrations. Now silent air.
Bloom ungyved his crisscros sed hands and with slack
fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. He drew and plucked. It buzz, it twanged. While Goulding talked of Barracloughâs voice production, while Tom Kernan, harking back in a retrospective sort of arrangement talked
to listening Father Cowley, who played a voluntary, who nodded as he played. While big Ben Dollard talked with
Ulysses
502 of 1305 Simon Dedalus, lighting, who nodded as he smoked, who
smoked.
Thou lost one. All songs on that theme. Yet more
Bloom stretched his string. Crue l it seems. Let people get
fond of each other: lure them on. Then tear asunder. Death. Explos. Knock on th e head. Outtohelloutofthat.
Human life. Dignam. Ugh, that ratâs tail wriggling! Five
bob I gave. Corpus paradisum. Corncrake croaker: belly like
Musemathematics and Melodic Memories
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the mathematical nature of music, reducing ethereal sounds to vibrations, chords, and numerical juggling.
- The narrative captures the flirtatious banter between the barmaids, Miss Douce and Miss Kennedy, and their patrons in the Ormond Hotel.
- Bloom begins a clandestine letter to Martha under the pseudonym Henry, carefully disguising his handwriting with 'Greek ees'.
- Simon Dedalus reminisces about hearing Italian sailors singing barcaroles in Queenstown harbour during his youth.
- The text explores the subjectivity of music, noting how the emotional impact depends heavily on the listener's mood and the accompanying lyrics.
Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus two plus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling.
a poisoned pup. Gone. They sing. Forgotten. I too; And one day she with. Leave her: get tired. Suffer then. Snivel. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. Her
wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb:âd.
Yet too much happy bores. He stretched more, more.
Are you not happy in yo ur? Twang. It snapped.
Jingle into Dorset street. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful,
pleased.
âDonât make half so free, sa id she, till we are better
acquainted.
George Lidwell told her really and truly: but she did
not believe.
First gentleman told Mina that was so. She asked him
was that so. And second tankar d told her so. That that was
so.
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503 of 1305 Miss Douce, miss Lydia, did not believe: miss Kennedy,
Mina, did not believe: George Lidwell, no: miss Dou did
not: the first, the first: gent with the tank: believe, no, no: did not, miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the tank.
Better write it here. Quills in the postoffice chewed
and twisted.
Bald Pat at a sign drew ni gh. A pen and ink. He went.
A pad. He went. A pad to blot. He heard, deaf Pat.
âYes, Mr Bloom said, teasing the curling catgut line.
It certainly is. Few lines will do. My present. All that
Italian florid music is. Who is this wrote? Know the name you know better. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope:
unconcerned. Itâs so characteristic.
âGrandest number in the whole opera, Goulding said. âIt is, Bloom said. Numbers it is. All music when you come to think.
Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus two plus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling. Always find out this equal to that. Symmetry under a cemetery wall. He doesnât see my mourning. Callous: all for his own gut. Musemathematics. And you think youâre listening to the etherial. Bu t suppose you said it like:
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504 of 1305 Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand.
Fall quite flat. Itâs on account of the sounds it is.
Instance heâs playing now. Improvising. Might be what
you like, till you hear the words. Want to listen sharp. Hard. Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit. In and out of sacks, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Time makes the tune. Question of mood youâre in. Still always nice to hear. Except scales up and
down, girls learning. Two together nextdoor neighbours.
Ought to invent dummy pianos for that. Blumenlied I
bought for her. The name. Playing it slow, a girl, night I
came home, the girl. Door of the stables near Cecilia
street. Milly no taste. Queer because we both, I mean.
Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Pat set with
ink pen quite flat pad. Pat took plate dish knife fork. Pat went.
It was the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben. He
heard them as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships. Walking, you know, Ben, in the moonlight with those earthquake hats. Blending their voices. God, such music, Ben. Heard as a boy. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole.
Ulysses
505 of 1305 Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his
lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a call from afar, replying.
Down the edge of his Freeman baton ranged Bloomâs,
your other eye, scanning for where did I see that. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Heigho! Heigho! Fawcett. Aha! Just I was looking ...
Hope heâs not looking, cute as a rat. He held unfurled
his Freeman. Canât see now. Remember write Greek ees.
Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear sir. Dear Henry wrote:
dear Mady. Got your lett and flow. Hell did I put? Some
pock or oth. It is u tterl imposs. Underline imposs. To write
today.
Bore this. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am
just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought.
On. Know what I mean. No, change that ee. Accep
Secret Correspondence and Musical Echoes
- Leopold Bloom composes a clandestine letter to Martha Clifford under the pseudonym Henry, balancing desire with the mundane logistics of postal orders.
- The narrative explores the internal conflict of infidelity, as Bloom justifies his secrecy to avoid 'useless pain' while acknowledging the double standards of marriage.
- A detailed, catalog-like description of a passing carriage provides a sharp contrast between the external Dublin reality and Bloom's internal stream of consciousness.
- Bloom reflects on the power of music and poetry to influence mood, noting how a minor key shift in a nearby performance colors his own emotional state.
- The scene shifts to the bar where the barmaids, Lydia Douce and Miss Kennedy, interact with patrons through flirtation and the sharing of a seashell.
- The text concludes with a violent anecdote about a husband throttling a singer, reinforcing themes of jealousy and the consequences of romantic entanglement.
A waiter is he. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. While you wait if you wait he will wait while you wait.
my poor litt pres enclos. Ask her no answ. Hold on. Five Dig. Two about here. Penny the gulls. Elijah is com.
Seven Davy Byrneâs. Is eight about. Say half a crown. My poor little pres: p. o. two and six. Write me a long. Do you despise? Jingle, have you the? So excited. Why do you call me naught? You naughty too? O, Mairy lost the string of her. Bye for today. Yes, yes, will tell you. Want
to. To keep it up. Call me that other. Other world she
Ulysses
506 of 1305 wrote. My patience are exhaust. To keep it up. You must
believe. Believe. The tank. It. Is. True.
Folly am I writing? Husbands donât. Thatâs marriage
does, their wives. Because Iâm away from. Suppose. But how? She must. Keep young. If she found out. Card in my high grade ha. No, not te ll all. Useless pain. If they
donât see. Woman. Sauce for the gander.
A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour,
driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on which sat a fare, a young gentleman, stylishly dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five
Eden quay, and wearing a stra w hat very dressy, bought of
John Plasto of number one G reat Brunswick street, hatter.
Eh? This is the jingle that jo ggled and jingled. By Dlugaczâ
porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.
âAnswering an ad? keen Richieâs eyes asked Bloom. âYes, Mr Bloom said. Town traveller. Nothing doing,
I expect.
Bloom mur: best references. But Henry wrote: it will
excite me. You know how. In haste. Henry. Greek ee.
Better add postscript. What is he playing now? Improvising. Intermezzo. P. S. The rum tum tum. How
Ulysses
507 of 1305 will you pun? You punish me ? Crooked skirt swinging,
whack by. Tell me I want to. Know. O. Course if I didnât I wouldnât ask. La la la ree. Trails off there sad in minor. Why minor sad? Sign H. They like sad tail at end. P. P. S. La la la ree. I feel so sad to day. La ree. So lonely. Dee.
He blotted quick on pad of Pa t. Envel. Address. Just
copy out of paper. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Henry wrote:
Miss Martha Clifford
c/o P. O.
Dolphinâs Barn Lane Dublin
Blot over the other so he canât read. There. Right. Idea
prize titbit. Something detective read off blottingpad.
Payment at the rate of guinea per col. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. P oor Mrs Purefoy. U. P: up.
Too poetical that about the sad. Music did that. Music
hath charms. Shakespeare said. Quotations every day in
the year. To be or not to be. Wisdom while you wait.
In Gerardâs rosery of Fetter lane he walks,
greyedauburn. One life is all. One body. Do. But do.
Ulysses
508 of 1305 Done anyhow. Postal order, stamp. Postoffice lower
down. Walk now. Enough. Barney Kiernanâs I promised to meet them. Dislike that job.
House of mourning. Walk. Pa t! Doesnât hear. Deaf
beetle he is.
Car near there now. Talk. Talk. Pat! Doesnât. Settling
those napkins. Lot of ground he must cover in the day. Paint face behind on him then heâd be two. Wish theyâd sing more. Keep my mind off.
Bald Pat who is bothered mit red the napkins. Pat is a
waiter hard of his hearing. Pat is a waiter who waits while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. Hee
hee. A waiter is he. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you
wait. While you wait if you wait he will wait while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. H oh. Wait while you wait.
Douce now. Douce Lydia. Bronze and rose. She had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. And look
at the lovely shell she brought.
To the end of the bar to him she bore lightly the spiked
and winding seahorn that he, George Lidwell, solicitor,
might hear.
âListen! she bade him. Under Tom Kernanâs ginhot words the accompanist
wove music slow. Authentic fact. How Walter Bapty lost
Ulysses
509 of 1305 his voice. Well, sir, the husband took him by the throat.
Scoundrel, said he, Youâll sing no more lovesongs. He did,
The Music of the Shell
- Characters in the Ormond bar listen to the 'silent roar' of the sea within a seashell, a phenomenon Bloom identifies as the sound of one's own blood.
- Leopold Bloom observes the flirtations between George Lidwell and the barmaids, Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy, amidst the atmospheric music.
- The narrative explores the sensory connection between sound and memory, linking the shell's murmur to seaside girls and tanned skin.
- Bob Cowley plays a light, tinkling measure on the piano, prompting Bloom to reflect on the nature of joy, misery, and the technicalities of music.
- Bloom considers the differences between male and female voices and recalls Mollyâs singing, specifically her performance of Mercadante.
- The passage concludes with the arrival of Blazes Boylan and Bloom's internal puns regarding 'chamber music' and the physics of acoustics.
The sea they think they hear. Singing. A roar. The blood it is. Souse in the ear sometimes. Well, itâs a sea. Corpuscle islands.
faith, sir Tom. Bob Cowley wove. Tenors get wom. Cowley lay back.
Ah, now he heard, she holding it to his ear. Hear! He
heard.
Wonderful. She held it to her own. And through the
sifted light pale gold in contrast glided. To hear.
Tap. Bloom through the bardoor saw a shell held at their
ears. He heard more faintly that that they heard, each for
herself alone, then each for other, hearing the plash of
waves, loudly, a silent roar.
Bronze by a weary gold, ane ar, afar, they listened.
Her ear too is a shell, the p eeping lobe there. Been to
the seaside. Lovely seaside girls. Skin tanned raw. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Buttered toast. O and that lotion mustnât forge t. Fever near her mouth.
Your head it simply. Hair braided over: shell with
seaweed. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair? And Turks the mouth, why? Her eyes over the sheet.
Yashmak. Find the way in. A cave. No admittance except on business.
Ulysses
510 of 1305 The sea they think they hear. Singing. A roar. The
blood it is. Souse in the ear sometimes. Well, itâs a sea.
Corpuscle islands.
Wonderful really. So distinc t. Again. George Lidwell
held its murmur, hearing: then laid it by, gently.
âWhat are the wild waves saying? he asked her,
smiled.
Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on
Lidwell smiled.
Tap. By Larry OâRourkeâs, by Larry, bold Larry Oâ, Boylan
swayed and Boylan turned.
From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her
tankards waiting. No, she was not so lonely archly miss Douceâs head let Mr Lidwell know. Walks in the moonlight by the sea. No, not alone. With whom? She nobly answered: with a gentleman friend.
Bob Cowleyâs twinkling fingers in the treble played
again. The landlord has the prior. A little time. Long John. Big Ben. Lightly he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and sm iling, and for their gallants,
gentlemen friends. One: one, one, one, one, one: two,
one, three, four.
Ulysses
511 of 1305 Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the
cattlemarket, cocks, hens donât crow, snakes hissss. Thereâs
music everywhere. Ruttledgeâs door: ee creaking. No,
thatâs noise. Minuet of Don Giovanni heâs playing now.
Court dresses of all descript ions in castle chambers
dancing. Misery. Peasants outside. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Nice that is. Look: look, look, look, look, look: you look at us.
Thatâs joyful I can feel. Never have written it. Why?
My joy is other joy. But both are joys. Yes, joy it must be.
Mere fact of music shows you are. Often thought she was
in the dumps till she began to lilt. Then know.
MâCoy valise. My wife and your wife. Squealing cat.
Like tearing silk. Tongue when she talks like the clapper
of a bellows. They canât manag e menâs intervals. Gap in
their voices too. Fill me. Iâ m warm, dark, open. Molly in
quis est homo : Mercadante. My ear against the wall to hear.
Want a woman who can deliver the goods.
Jog jig jogged stopped. Dandy tan shoe of dandy
Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth.
O, look we are so! Chamb er music. Could make a kind
of pun on that. It is a kind of music I often thought when she. Acoustics that is. Tinkling. Empty vessels make most
noise. Because the acoustics, the resonance changes
Ulysses
512 of 1305 according as the weight of the water is equal to the law of
falling water. Like those rhapsodies of Lisztâs, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Pearls. Drops. Rain. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Hissss. Now. Maybe now. Before.
One rapped on a door, one tapped with a knock, did
The Song of the Croppy Boy
- Ben Dollard prepares to sing the patriotic ballad 'The Croppy Boy' in F sharp major, accompanied by Father Cowley on the piano.
- Bloom observes the scene while contemplating the financial ruin of Dollard, a former ship's chandler who lost ten thousand pounds.
- The music evokes a somber, 'lugugugubrious' atmosphere, described as the voice of earth's fatigue and ancient grief.
- The lyrics of the song detail a youth's confession to a priest who is actually a traitor in disguise.
- Bloom reflects on the power of religious ritual and Latin, comparing their hold on people to 'birdlime.'
- The barmaids and patrons of the Ormond bar are transfixed by the performance, lost in a collective moment of soulful listening.
The voice of dark age, of unlove, earthâs fatigue made grave approach and painful, come from afar, from hoary mountains, called on good men and true.
he knock Paul de Kock with a loud proud knocker with a cock carracarracarra cock. Cockcock.
Tap.
âQui sdegno, Ben, said Father Cowley.
âNo, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered. The Croppy Boy.
Our native Doric.
âAy do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true. âDo, do, they begged in one. Iâll go. Here, Pat, return. Co me. He came, he came, he
did not stay. To me. How much?
âWhat key? Six sharps? âF sharp major, Ben Dollard said. Bob Cowleyâs outstretched talons griped the black
deepsounding chords.
Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. No, Richie
said. Yes, must. Got money somewhere. Heâs on for a
razzle backache spree. Much? He seehears lipspeech. One
and nine. Penny for yourself. Here. Give him twopence tip. Deaf, bothered. But perhaps he has wife and family
Ulysses
513 of 1305 waiting, waiting Patty come home. Hee hee hee hee. Deaf
wait while they wait.
But wait. But hear. Chords dark. Lugugugubrious.
Low. In a cave of the dark middle earth. Embedded ore.
Lumpmusic.
The voice of dark age, of unlove, earthâs fatigue made
grave approach and painful, come from afar, from hoary mountains, called on good me n and true. The priest he
sought. With him would he speak a word.
Tap. Ben Dollardâs voice. Base barreltone. Doing his level
best to say it. Croak of va st manless moonless womoonless
marsh. Other comedown. Big sh ipsâ chandlerâs business he
did once. Remember: rosiny ro pes, shipsâ lanterns. Failed
to the tune of ten thousand pounds. Now in the Iveagh home. Cubicle number so and so. Number one Bass did that for him.
The priestâs at home. A false priestâs servant bade him
welcome. Step in. The holy father. With bows a traitor servant. Curlycues of chords.
Ruin them. Wreck their lives. Then build them
cubicles to end their days in. Hushaby. Lullaby. Die, dog. Little dog, die.
Ulysses
514 of 1305 The voice of warning, solemn warning, told them the
youth had entered a lonely hall, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, told th em the gloomy chamber, the
vested priest sitting to shrive.
Decent soul. Bit addled now. Thinks heâll win in
Answers, poetsâ picture puzzle. We hand you crisp five
pound note. Bird sitting hatchin g in a nest. Lay of the last
minstrel he thought it was. See blank tee what domestic
animal? Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Good voice he has still. No eunuch yet with all his belongings.
Listen. Bloom listened. Richie Goulding listened. And
by the door deaf Pat, bald Pat, tipped Pat, listened. The
chords harped slower.
The voice of penance and of grief came slow,
embellished, tremulous. Benâs contrite beard confessed. in
nomine Domini, in Godâs name he knelt. He beat his hand
upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa.
Latin again. That holds th em like birdlime. Priest with
the communion corpus for those women. Chap in the
mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Wonder where
that rat is by now. Scrape.
Tap.
Ulysses
515 of 1305 They listened. Tankards and miss Kennedy. George
Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Kernan. Si.
The sighing voice of sorrow s ang. His sins. Since Easter
he had cursed three times. You bitchâs bast. And once at masstime he had gone to play. Once by the churchyard he
had passed and for his motherâ s rest he had not prayed. A
boy. A croppy boy.
Bronze, listening, by the beerpull gazed far away.
Soulfully. Doesnât half know Iâm. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking.
Bronze gazed far sideways. Mirror there. Is that best
side of her face? They always know. Knock at the door.
Last tip to titivate.
Cockcarracarra. What do they think when they hear music? Way to
catch rattlesnakes. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. Tuning up. Shah of Persia liked that best. Remind him of home sweet home. Wiped his nos e in curtain too. Custom
his country perhaps. Thatâs mu sic too. Not as bad as it
Music, Memory, and Mortal Desires
- Bloom observes the sensory environment of the bar, equating musical instruments to animal sounds and human anatomy.
- The narrative shifts into a somber reflection on lineage and loss, as Bloom mourns his dead son Rudy and his status as the last of his race.
- The text explores the voyeuristic nature of attraction, watching women listen to music and contemplating the power of performance to evoke sympathy.
- Bloom muses on the biological and emotional nature of women, linking their physical responses to the rhythm of music and the cycle of life.
- The scene concludes with a focus on the physical presence of the barmaids and the social atmosphere of the pub amidst the fading music.
I too. Last of my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps. No son. Rudy. Too late now.
sounds. Tootling. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwinâs name.
Ulysses
516 of 1305 She looked fine. Her croc us dress she wore lowcut,
belongings on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent to as k a question. Told her what
Spinoza says in that book of poor papaâs. Hypnotised,
listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his operaglass for all he was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at
Gorey all his brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of
Wexford, he would. Last of his name and race.
I too. Last of my race. Milly young student. Well, my
fault perhaps. No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?
He bore no hate. Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice Richie Goulding said, a flush struggling in his pale, to Bloom soon old. But when was young?
Ireland comes now. My country above the king. She
listens. Who fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked enough.
Ulysses
517 of 1305 âBless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me
and let me go.
Tap. Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on
eighteen bob a week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye open. T hose girls, those lovely. By
the sad sea waves. Chorusgirlâs romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chickabiddyâs owny Mumpsypum. Laughter in court. Henry. I never signed it. The lovely name you.
Low sank the music, air and words. Then hastened.
The false priest rustling soldier from his cassock. A yeoman captain. They know it all by heart. The thrill they itch for. Yeoman cap.
Tap. Tap. Thrilled she listened, bendin g in sympathy to hear.
Blank face. Virgin should sa y: or fingered only. Write
something on it: page. If not what becomes of them? Decline, despair. Keeps them young. Even admire themselves. See. Play on her. Lip blow. Body of white woman, a flute alive. Blow gentle. Loud. Three holes, all women. Goddess I didnât see. They want it. Not too much polite. Thatâs why he gets them. Gold in your
pocket, brass in your face. Sa y something. Make her hear.
Ulysses
518 of 1305 With look to look. Songs without words. Molly, that
hurdygurdy boy. She knew he meant the monkey was sick. Or because so like the Spanish. Understand animals too that way. Solomon did. Gift of nature.
Ventriloquise. My lips clos ed. Think in my stom.
What?
Will? You? I. Want. You. To. With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling in
apoplectic bitchâs bastard. A g ood thought, boy, to come.
One hourâs your time to live, your last.
Tap. Tap. Thrill now. Pity they feel. To wipe away a tear for
martyrs that want to, dying to, die. For all things dying,
for all things born. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Hope sheâs over. Because their wombs.
A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a
fence of lashes, calmly, hearing. See real beauty of the eye when she not speaks. On yonder river. At each slow satiny
heaving bosomâs wave (her heav ing embon) red rose rose
slowly sank red rose. Heartbeats: her breath: breath that is
life. And all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair.
But look. The bright stars fade. O rose! Castile. The
morn. Ha. Lidwell. For him then not for. Infatuated. I like
Ulysses
519 of 1305 that? See her from here though. Popped corks, splashes of
beerfroth, stacks of empties.
On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, lightly,
The Echoes of the Song
- Leopold Bloom departs the Ormond Hotel as Ben Dollard finishes a moving rendition of 'The Croppy Boy.'
- The performance leaves the audience in a state of emotional resonance, with Simon Dedalus and others praising Dollard's powerful bass voice.
- Bloom experiences physical discomfort and internal restlessness, attributing his state to the music, the cider, and the sticky soap in his pocket.
- The narrative weaves together the sensory details of the barâclinking glasses, tapping sounds, and the barmaids' reactionsâwith Bloom's stream-of-consciousness.
- Bloom continues his journey through Dublin, preoccupied by a secret letter and his complex domestic thoughts as he heads toward the quay.
By rose, by satiny bosom, by the fondling hand, by slops, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, soft Bloom, I feel so lonely Bloom.
plumply, leave it to my hands. All lost in pity for croppy.
Fro, to: to, fro: over the polished knob (she knows his eyes, my eyes, her eyes) her thumb and finger passed in pity: passed, reposed and, gent ly touching, then slid so
smoothly, slowly down, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring.
With a cock with a carra. Tap. Tap. Tap. I hold this house. Amen. He gnashed in fury. Traitors
swing.
The chords consented. Very sa d thing. But had to be.
Get out before the end. Thanks, that was heavenly. Whereâs my hat. Pass by her. Can leave that Freeman. Letter I have. Suppose she were the? No. Walk, walk, walk. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Waaaaaaalk.
Well, I must be. Are you off? Yrfmstbyes. Blmstup.
Oâer ryehigh blue. Ow. Bloom stood up. Soap feeling
rather sticky behind. Must have sweated: music. That lotion, remember. Well, so long. High grade. Card inside. Yes.
Ulysses
520 of 1305 By deaf Pat in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed.
At Geneva barrack that young man died. At Passage
was his body laid. Dolor! O, he dolores! The voice of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer.
By rose, by satiny bosom, by the fondling hand, by
slops, by empties, by popped co rks, greeting in going, past
eyes and maidenhair, bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, soft Bloom, I feel so lonely
Bloom.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Pray for him, prayed the ba ss of Dollard. You who hear
in peace. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men, good
people. He was the croppy boy.
Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom
in the Ormond hallway heard the growls and roars of
bravo, fat backslapping, their boots all treading, boots not
the boots the boy. General chorus off for a swill to wash it down. Glad I avoided.
âCome on, Ben, Simon Dedalus cried. By God,
youâre as good as ever you were.
âBetter, said Tomgin Kernan. Most trenchant
rendition of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is.
âLablache, said Father Cowley.
Ulysses
521 of 1305 Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar,
mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the air.
Big Benaben Dollard. Big Benben. Big Benben. Rrr. And deepmoved all, Simon tr umping compassion from
foghorn nose, all laughing th ey brought him forth, Ben
Dollard, in right good cheer.
âYouâre looking rubicund, George Lidwell said. Miss Douce composed her rose to wait. âBen machree, said Mr Dedalus, clapping Benâs fat
back shoulderblade. Fit as a fiddle only he has a lot of
adipose tissue concealed about his person.
Rrrrrrrsss. âFat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled. Richie rift in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis,
Ward. Uncertainly he waited. Unpaid Pat too.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of
tankard one.
âMr Dollard, they murmured low. âDollard, murmured tankard. Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she: that doll he
was: she doll: the tank.
Ulysses
522 of 1305 He murmured that he knew the name. The name was
familiar to him, that is to say. That was to say he had heard
the name of. Dollard, was it? Dollard, yes.
Yes, her lips said more loudly, Mr Dollard. He sang
that song lovely, murmured Mina. Mr Dollard. And The
last rose of summer was a lovely song. Mina loved that song.
Tankard loved the song that Mina.
âTis the last rose of summer do llard left bloom felt wind
wound round inside.
Gassy thing that cider: binding too. Wait. Postoffice
near Reuben Jâs one and eightp ence too. Get shut of it.
Dodge round by Greek street. Wish I hadnât promised to
meet. Freer in air. Music. Gets on your nerves. Beerpull.
Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the. Ben Howth. That rules the world.
Far. Far. Far. Far. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with
letter for Mady, with sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on.
Rhythms of the Blind Tuner
- The rhythmic tapping of a blind piano tuner's cane serves as a percussive backdrop to the internal and external dialogue.
- Bloom reflects on the nature of musical obsession, noting how enthusiasts become 'dotty' and lose themselves in the technicality of notes.
- The narrative explores the sensory world of the blind, contrasting their exquisite musical skill with their inability to see physical beauty.
- Bloom muses on the 'vocation' of noise-making, from the drummer's fate to the specific sounds associated with different trades.
- The scene shifts between the lively, drinking atmosphere of the bar and Bloom's isolated, wandering thoughts on mortality and Dignam's funeral.
- The passage concludes with a transition from the structured sounds of music and trade to the sudden appearance of a 'frowsy whore' in the street.
Under the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, last sardine of summer.
Tap blind walked tapping by the tap the curbstone
tapping, tap by tap.
Cowley, he stuns himself with it: kind of drunkenness.
Better give way only half way the way of a man with a
Ulysses
523 of 1305 maid. Instance enthusiasts. All ears. Not lose a
demisemiquaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty. You darenât budge. Thinking strictly prohibited. Always talking shop. Fiddlefaddle about notes.
All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops
because you never know exac. Organ in Gardiner street. Old Glynn fifty quid a year. Queer up there in the cockloft, alone, with stops and locks and keys. Seated all day at the organ. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the other fellow blowing the bellows. Growl angry, then shriek cursing (want to have wadding or something in his no donât she cried), then all of a soft sudden wee
little wee little pipy wind.
Pwee! A wee little wind piped eeee. In Bloomâs little
wee.
âWas he? Mr Dedalus said, returning with fetched
pipe. I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignamâs ...
âAy, the Lord have mercy on him. âBy the bye thereâs a tuningfork in there on the ... Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. âThe wife has a fine voice. Or had. What? Lidwell
asked.
Ulysses
524 of 1305 âO, that must be the tuner, Lydia said to Simonlionel
first I saw, forgot it when he was here.
Blind he was she told George Lidwell second I saw.
And played so exquisitely, trea t to hear. Exquisite contrast:
bronzelid, minagold.
âShout! Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Sing out! ââlldo! cried Father Cowley. Rrrrrr. I feel I want ... Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap âVery, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless
sardine.
Under the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last,
one lonely, last sardine of summer. Bloom alone.
âVery, he stared. The lower register, for choice. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Bloom went by Barryâs. Wish I could. Wait. That
wonderworker if I had. Twentyfour solicitors in that one house. Counted them. Litigation. Love one another. Piles of parchment. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. Goulding, Collis, Ward.
But for example the chap that wallops the big drum.
His vocation: Mickey Rooneyâs band. Wonder how it first struck him. Sitting at home after pigâs cheek and cabbage
Ulysses
525 of 1305 nursing it in the armchair. Rehearsing his band part. Pom.
Pompedy. Jolly for the wife. Assesâ skins. Welt them through life, then wallop aft er death. Pom. Wallop. Seems
to be what you call yashmak or I mean kismet. Fate.
Tap. Tap. A stripling, blind, with a tapping cane came
taptaptapping by Dalyâs window where a mermaid hair all streaming (but he couldnât see) blew whiffs of a mermaid (blind couldnât), mermaid, coolest whiff of all.
Instruments. A blade of grass, shell of her hands, then
blow. Even comb and tissuepaper you can knock a tune out of. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. I suppose each kind of trade made its own, donât you see? Hunter with a hor n. Haw. Have you the? Cloche.
Sonnez la. Shepherd his pipe. Pwee little wee. Policeman a
whistle. Locks and keys! Sweep! Four oâclockâs allâs well! Sleep! All is lost now. Drum? Pompedy. Wait. I know. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Long John. Waken the dead. Pom.
Dignam. Poor little nominedomine. Pom. It is music. I
mean of course itâs all pom pom pom very much what
they call da capo. Still you can hear. As we march, we
march along, march along. Pom.
I must really. Fff. Now if I did that at a banquet. Just a
question of custom shah of Persia. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. All the same he must have been a bit of a natural not
Ulysses
526 of 1305 to see it was a yeoman cap. Muffled up. Wonder who was
that chap at the grave in th e brown macin. O, the whore
of the lane!
A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came
Echoes of the Street
- Leopold Bloom observes a woman on the street, reflecting on past acquaintances and the transactional nature of social encounters.
- Bloom lingers at an antique shop window, contemplating the value of objects and the persuasive power of a good salesman.
- A musical and rhythmic interlude at the Ormond hotel captures a group of men raising glasses amidst fragments of patriotic sentiment.
- Bloom experiences physical discomfort from his meal, timing his flatulence to the rhythmic noise of a passing tram.
- The narrative shifts to a gritty, colloquial dialogue between two men discussing local characters, debts, and a 'foxy thief' named Geraghty.
Near bronze from anear near gold from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant.
glazily in the day along the quay towards Mr Bloom. When first he saw that form en dearing? Yes, it is. I feel so
lonely. Wet night in the lane. Horn. Who had the? Heehaw shesaw. Off her beat here. What is she? Hope she. Psst! Any chance of your wash. Knew Molly. Had me decked. Stout lady does be with you in the brown costume. Put you off your stroke, that. Appointment we made knowing weâd never, well hardly ever. Too dear too
near to home sweet home. Sees me, does she? Looks a
fright in the day. Face like dip. Damn her. O, well, she has
to live like the rest. Look in here.
In Lionel Marksâs antique saleshop window haughty
Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr
Leopold Bloom envisaged ba ttered candlesticks melodeon
oozing maggoty blowbags. Bargain: six bob. Might learn to play. Cheap. Let her pass. Co urse everything is dear if
you donât want it. Thatâs what good salesman is. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. Wanted to charge me for the edge he gave it. Sheâs passing now. Six bob.
Ulysses
527 of 1305 Must be the cider or perhaps the burgund.
Near bronze from anear near gold from afar they
chinked their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydiaâs tempting last rose of summer, rose of Castile. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a fifth: Lidwell, Si Dedalus, Bob Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard.
Tap. A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall. Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marksâs
window. Robert Emmetâs last words. Seven last words. Of Meyerbeer that is.
âTrue men like you men. âAy, ay, Ben.
âWill lift your glass with us.
They lifted. Tschink. Tschunk. Tip. An unseeing stripling stood in the door. He saw
not bronze. He saw not gold. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom
nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Hee hee hee hee. He did not see.
Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Softly.
When my country takes her place among.
Prrprr. Must be the bur. Fff! Oo. Rrpr.
Ulysses
528 of 1305 Nations of the earth. No-one behind. Sheâs passed. Then
and not till then. Tram kran kran kran. Good oppor.
Coming. Krandlkrankran. Iâm sure itâs the burgund. Yes.
One, two. Let my epitaph be. Kraaaaaa. Written. I have.
Pprrpffrrppffff.
Done.
* * * * *
I was just passing the time of day with old Troy of the
D. M. P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes.
âLo, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see
that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his
brush?
âSootâs luck, says Joe. Whoâs the old ballocks you
were talking to?
âOld Troy, says I, was in the force. Iâm on two minds
not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.
âWhat are you doing round those parts? says Joe.
Ulysses
529 of 1305 âDevil a much, says I. Thereâ s a bloody big foxy thief
beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken laneâold Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about himâ
lifted any Godâs quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there
near Heytesbury street.
âCircumcised? says Joe. âAy, says I. A bit off the top. An old plumber named
Geraghty. Iâm hanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I canât get a penny out of him.
âThat the lay youâre on now? says Joe.
âAy, says I. How are the mighty fallen! Collector of
bad and doubtful debts. But thatâs the most notorious bloody robber youâd meet in a dayâs walk and the face on
him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Tell him,
Debts and Dublin Drifts
- The narrator recounts a dispute between a merchant named Moses Herzog and a customer, Geraghty, who refuses to pay for tea and sugar.
- A formal legalistic contract is presented detailing the terms of the debt and the ownership of the nonperishable goods.
- The narrator and Joe Hynes discuss an acquaintance suffering from 'whisky and water on the brain' before heading to Barney Kiernanâs pub.
- Joe mentions a meeting of cattle traders regarding an outbreak of foot and mouth disease, which he intends to discuss with 'the citizen.'
- The narrative shifts into a highly stylized, mock-heroic description of the land of Inisfail, characterized by its abundance of fish and trees.
Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. He drink me my teas. He eat me my sugars. Be cause he no pay me my moneys?
says he, I dare him, says he, and I doubledare him to send you
round here again or if he does, says he, Iâll have him summonsed
up before the court, so I will, for trading without a licence. And
he after stuffing himself till heâs fit to burst. Jesus, I had to
laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. He drink me my
teas. He eat me my sugars. Be cause he no pay me my moneys?
For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of
13 Saint Kevinâs parade in the city of Dublin, Wood quay
Ulysses
530 of 1305 ward, merchant, hereinafter called the vendor, and sold
and delivered to Michael E. Geraghty, esquire, of 29 Arbour hill in the city of Dublin, Arran quay ward,
gentleman, hereinafter called th e purchaser, videlicet, five
pounds avoirdupois of first choi ce tea at three shillings and
no pence per pound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and
the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or
pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said
amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to
the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assign s of the one part and the said
purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.
âAre you a strict t.t.? says Joe.
Ulysses
531 of 1305 âNot taking anything between drinks, says I.
âWhat about paying our respects to our friend? says
Joe.
âWho? says I. Sure, heâs out in John of Godâs off his
head, poor man.
âDrinking his own stuff? says Joe. âAy, says I. Whisky and water on the brain. âCome around to Barney Kiernanâs, says Joe. I want
to see the citizen.
âBarney mavourneenâs be it, says I. Anything strange
or wonderful, Joe?
âNot a word, says Joe. I was up at that meeting in the
City Arms.
â-What was that, Joe? says I. âCattle traders, says Joe, about the foot and mouth
disease. I want to give the citizen the hard word about it.
So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the
back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. Jesus, I couldnât get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight ro bber. For trading without a
licence, says he.
In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of holy
Michan. There rises a watch tower beheld of men afar.
Ulysses
532 of 1305 There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors
and princes of high renown. A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens
of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. In the mild breezes of the west and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly
well supplied. Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the
Abundance and the Citizen
- The narrative employs a mock-heroic style, listing an exhaustive and fantastical catalog of Ireland's agricultural bounty, from exotic vegetables to pedigreed livestock.
- A shining, crystal-roofed palace serves as a symbolic hub where the 'firstfruits of the land' are collected as toll by a chieftain figure.
- The prose shifts abruptly from high-flown, rhythmic descriptions of nature and commerce to the gritty, colloquial atmosphere of Barney Kiernanâs pub.
- The 'citizen' is introduced as a nationalist figure holding court in a corner, accompanied by his intimidating and mangy dog, Garryowen.
- The dialogue captures a tense but familiar social exchange, blending political posturing with mundane talk of market prices and drink.
The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps.
roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of lovely objects as for
example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects. And heroes voyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievema rgy, the peerless princes of
unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smooth sleek Leinster and of Cruahanâs land and of Armagh the splendid and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of kings.
Ulysses
533 of 1305 And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering
roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in
barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for OâConnell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from
chieftains. Thither the extrem ely large wains bring foison
of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and
custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red
green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated
apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.
I dare him, says he, and I doubledare him. Come out
here, Geraghty, you notorious bloody hill and dale robber!
And by that way wend the herds innumerable of
bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffeâs prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly
Ulysses
534 of 1305 distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks
of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, ble ating, bellowing, rumbling,
grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the MâGillicuddyâs reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomabl e, and from the gentle
declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farm erâs firkins and targets of
lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great
hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun.
So we turned into Barney Kiernanâs and there, sure
enough, was the citizen up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink.
âThere he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his
cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.
The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would
give you the creeps. Be a corporal work of mercy if
Ulysses
535 of 1305 someone would take the life of that bloody dog. Iâm told
for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time
with a blue paper about a licence.
âStand and deliver, says he. âThatâs all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here. âPass, friends, says he. Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: âWhatâs your opinion of the times? Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. But, begob,
Joe was equal to the occasion.
âI think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his
hand down his fork.
So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he
says:
The Gigantic Irish Hero
- The scene opens in a pub where characters discuss foreign wars and Russian tyranny over pints of 'wine of the country.'
- The narrative shifts into a hyperbolic, mock-heroic description of 'the citizen,' depicted as a mythological giant seated at the foot of a round tower.
- The giant's physical features are described with extreme exaggeration, including nostrils large enough for a bird's nest and eyes the size of cauliflowers.
- His clothing is a primitive assembly of oxhide, deerskin, and buskins laced with the windpipes of beasts, emphasizing a raw, ancient Irish identity.
- A girdle of seastones hangs from his waist, engraved with an absurdly long and anachronistic list of Irish heroes, historical figures, and pop-culture icons.
- The passage satirizes extreme nationalism by inflating the 'Irish hero' to impossible, comical proportions while blending genuine myth with triviality.
The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.
âForeign wars is the cause of it. And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: âItâs the Russians wish to tyrannise. âArrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I.
Iâve a thirst on me I wouldnât sell for half a crown.
âGive it a name, citizen, says Joe. âWine of the country, says he. âWhatâs yours? says Joe. âDitto MacAnaspey, says I.
Ulysses
536 of 1305 âThree pints, Terry, says Joe. And howâs the old
heart, citizen? says he.
âNever better, a chara , says he. What Garry? Are we
going to win? Eh?
And with that he took the bloody old towser by the
scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he near throttled him.
The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a
round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested
stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged
ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. From shoulder to shoulder
he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse
(Ulex Europeus ). The widewinged nostrils, from which
bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. The eyes in which a tear and a smile str ove ever for the mastery were
of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance
Ulysses
537 of 1305 the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart
thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble.
He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed
oxhide reaching to the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle by a girdle of plaited straw and rushes. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. His nether extremities were encased in high Balbriggan buskins dyed in lichen purple, the feet being shod with brogues of salted cowhide laced with the windpipe of the same beast. From his girdle hung a row of
seastones which jangled at every movement of his
portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet
striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and
heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane OâNeill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh OâDonnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eo ghan OâGrowney, Michael
Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy MâCracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S.
Ulysses
538 of 1305 Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald
Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Cast ile, the Man for Galway, The
Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in
the Gap, The Woman Who Didn’t, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonapar te, John L. Sullivan,
Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelis h, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus,
sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nem o, Tristan and Isolde, the
first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold
The Citizen and the Sovereign
- A sprawling list of historical and mythical figures introduces a scene of mock-heroic grandeur in a Dublin pub.
- Joe Hynes displays a gold sovereign, sparking curiosity about his sudden wealth and its origins.
- The 'citizen' rants against the Irish Independent, mocking its English-centric birth and death notices as a betrayal of Irish nationalism.
- The narrative shifts between gritty pub dialogue and high-flown, epic descriptions of mundane arrivals.
- Alf Bergan enters the pub in fits of laughter, mocking the eccentric Denis Breen who is seen wandering in slippers with his wife in pursuit.
- The atmosphere is defined by the physical relief of drinking and the sharp, cynical wit of the Dublin working class.
Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.
Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah OâDonovan Rossa, Don Philip OâSullivan Beare. A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he
Ulysses
539 of 1305 was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by
hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a
mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone.
So anyhow Terry brough t the three pints Joe was
standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw him land out a quid O, as true as Iâm telling you. A goodlooking sovereign.
âAnd thereâs more where that came from, says he. âWere you robbing the poorbox, Joe? says I. âSweat of my brow, says Joe. âTwas the prudent
member gave me the wheeze.
âI saw him before I met you, says I, sloping around by
Pill lane and Greek street with his codâs eye counting up all the guts of the fish.
Who comes through Michanâs land, bedight in sable
armour? OâBloom, the son of Ro ry: it is he. Impervious
to fear is Roryâs son: he of the prudent soul.
âFor the old woman of Princeâs street, says the
citizen, the subsidised organ. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house. And look at this blasted rag, says
he. Look at this, says he. The Irish Independent, if you
please, founded by Parnell to be the workingmanâs friend.
Ulysses
540 of 1305 Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland
Independent, and Iâll thank you and the marriages.
And he starts reading them out: âGordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of
Iffley, Saint Anneâs on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. Howâs that, eh? Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rot ha Marion daughter of Rosa
and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Judeâs, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of
Worcester. Eh? Deaths. Bristow, at Whitehall lane,
London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow ...
âI know that fellow, says Joe, from bitter experience. âCockburn. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of
the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. Howâs that for a national press, eh, my brown son! Howâs that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber?
âAh, well, says Joe, handing round the boose. Thanks
be to God they had the start of us. Drink that, citizen.
âI will, says he, honourable person. âHealth, Joe, says I. And all down the form.
Ulysses
541 of 1305 Ah! Ow! Donât be talking! I was blue mouldy for the
want of that pint. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.
And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike
messenger came swiftly in, radi ant as the eye of heaven, a
comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, be aring the sacred scrolls of
law and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race.
Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door and hid
behind Barneyâs snug, squeezed up with the laughing. And who was sitting up there in the corner that I hadnât seen
snoring drunk blind to the wo rld only Bob Doran. I didnât
know what was up and Alf ke pt making signs out of the
door. And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretch ed woman, trotting like a
poodle. I thought Alf would split.
The Ghost of Paddy Dignam
- Alf Bergan regales the pub patrons with the story of Breen, who is obsessively seeking legal action over a mocking postcard containing the cryptic message 'U. p: up.'
- The narrative shifts into a mock-heroic, epic style to describe the simple act of Terence OâRyan serving a glass of ale to Bergan.
- The conversation turns toward the macabre as Bergan produces a collection of letters written by hangmen, sparking curiosity and tension among the drinkers.
- A moment of supernatural confusion arises when Bergan claims to have seen Paddy Dignam walking the streets just minutes prior.
- The atmosphere shifts to shock and unease as the company informs Bergan that Dignam is actually dead, leading to talk of ghosts and divine protection.
âSure Iâm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.
âLook at him, says he. Breen . Heâs traipsing all round
Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U. p: up
on it to take a li ...
And he doubled up. âTake a what? says I.
Ulysses
542 of 1305 âLibel action, says he, for ten thousand pounds.
âO hell! says I. The bloody mongrel began to growl thatâd put the fear
of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.
âBi i dho husht, says he.
âWho? says Joe. âBreen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Mentonâs and
then he went round to Collis and Wardâs and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriffâs for a lark. O God, Iâve a pain laughing. U. p: up. The
long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now
the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man.
âWhen is long John going to hang that fellow in
Mountjoy? says Joe.
âBergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf
Bergan?
âYes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here,
Terry, give us a pony. That bloody old fool! Ten thousand
pounds. You should have seen long Johnâs eye. U. p ...
And he started laughing. âWho are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that
Bergan?
Ulysses
543 of 1305 âHurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.
Terence OâRyan heard him and straightway brought
him a crystal cup full of the foamy ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and brui se and brew them and they
mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.
Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the
manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the
crystal cup to him that thirste d, the soul of chivalry, in
beauty akin to the immortals.
But he, the young chief of the OâBerganâs, could ill
brook to be outdone in gen erous deeds but gave therefor
with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British dominions beyond
the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the
Ulysses
544 of 1305 wellbeloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising
of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark,
the ruddy and the ethiop.
âWhatâs that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen,
prowling up and down outside?
âWhatâs that? says Joe. âHere you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.
Talking about hanging, Iâll show you something you never saw. Hangmenâs letters. Look at here.
So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes
out of his pocket.
âAre you codding? says I.
âHonest injun, says Alf. Read them.
So Joe took up the letters. âWho are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. So I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bobâs a
queer chap when the porterâs up in him so says I just to
make talk:
âHowâs Willy Murray those times, Alf? âI donât know, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel
street with Paddy Dignam. Only I was running after that ...
âYou what? says Joe, throwing down the letters. With
who?
Ulysses
545 of 1305 âWith Dignam, says Alf.
âIs it Paddy? says Joe. âYes, says Alf. Why? âDonât you know heâs dead? says Joe. âPaddy Dignam dead! says Alf. âAy, says Joe. âSure Iâm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says
Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.
âWhoâs dead? says Bob Doran. âYou saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us
and harm.
âWhat? says Alf. Good Christ, only five ... What? ...
And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near
whatdoyoucallhimâs ... What? Dignam dead?
âWhat about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Whoâs talking
The Spirit of Paddy Dignam
- The characters react with shock and disbelief to the news of Paddy Dignam's sudden death and burial.
- A satirical seance is described where Dignam's 'etheric double' communicates through mystical rays and tantras.
- The deceased reports that the afterlife is equipped with modern comforts and that he is currently navigating astral trials.
- Dignam's spirit expresses earthly concern over a missing boot located under a commode, insisting it only needs to be soled.
- The narrative shifts back to a Dublin pub where Bob Doran, in a drunken stupor, blasphemously laments the cruelty of Dignam's passing.
- The scene concludes with the characters observing Leopold Bloom pacing outside, contrasting the spiritual absurdity with mundane reality.
He requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room.
about ...?
âDead! says Alf. Heâs no more dead than you are. âMaybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying
him this morning anyhow.
âPaddy? says Alf. âAy, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, God be
merciful to him.
âGood Christ! says Alf. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.
Ulysses
546 of 1305 In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and
when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper
quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus.
Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the
heavenworld he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of
certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. In
reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that p reviously he had seen as in a
glass darkly but that t hose who had passed over had
summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Interrogated as to wh ether life there resembled our
experience in the flesh he sta ted that he had heard from
more favoured beings now in th e spirit that their abodes
were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was
Ulysses
547 of 1305 brought and evidently afforded relief. Asked if he had any
message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to ackno wledge the true path for it
was reported in devanic circle s that Mars and Jupiter were
out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. It was then queried whether there were any special
desires on the part of the defunct and the reply was: We
greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Mind C. K. doesnât pile it on. It was ascertained t hat the reference was
to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H. J.
OâNeillâs popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the interment arrang ements. Before departing he
requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Culle nâs to be soled only as the
heels were still good. He sta ted that this had greatly
perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.
Assurances were given that the matter would be
attended to and it was inti mated that this had given
satisfaction.
Ulysses
548 of 1305 He is gone from mortal haunts: OâDignam, sun of our
morning. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.
âThere he is again, says the citizen, staring out. âWho? says I. âBloom, says he. Heâs on po int duty up and down
there for the last ten minutes.
And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then
slidder off again.
Little Alf was knocked bawways. Faith, he was. âGood Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him.
And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his
poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when heâs under the
influence:
âWho said Christ is good? âI beg your parsnips, says Alf. âIs that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away
poor little Willy Dignam?
âAh, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. Heâs over all
his troubles.
But Bob Doran shouts out of him. âHeâs a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little
Willy Dignam.
Ulysses
Barbers, Nooses, and Scientific Codology
- Bob Doran drunkenly mourns Paddy Dignam, prompting a cynical narrator to disparage Doran's wife and her scandalous past.
- Leopold Bloom enters the pub looking for Martin Cunningham, cautiously avoiding the citizen's growling dog, Garryowen.
- The company reads a gruesome letter from H. Rumbold, a 'Master Barber' offering his professional services as a hangman for five guineas.
- The conversation shifts to the macabre details of executions, including the practice of selling pieces of the hanging rope as souvenirs.
- Bloom attempts to engage in a 'scientific' discussion about the deterrent effects of capital punishment, which the others dismiss as 'codology.'
- Alf Bergan shares a graphic anatomical detail about the physical state of a hanged man's body, which Bloom immediately tries to explain through science.
He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.
549 of 1305 Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep
quiet, that they didnât want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as youâre there.
âThe finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest
character.
The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his
bloody hat. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiffâs daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at tw o in the morning without a
stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair
field and no favour.
âThe noblest, the truest, says he. And heâs gone, poor
little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam.
And mournful and with a he avy heart he bewept the
extinction of that beam of heaven.
Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that
was skeezing round the door.
âCome in, come on, he wonât eat you, says the
citizen.
So Bloom slopes in with his codâs eye on the dog and
he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.
Ulysses
550 of 1305 âO, Christ MâKeown, says Joe, reading one of the
letters. Listen to this, will you?
And he starts reading out one.
7 Hunter Street, Liverpool.
To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Dublin.
Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned
painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged ...
âShow us, Joe, says I.
â ... private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in
Pentonville prison and i was assistant when ...
âJesus, says I.
â ... Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith ...
The citizen made a grab at the letter.
âHold hard, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the
noose once in he canât get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees.
H. RUMBOLD,
MASTER BARBER.
âAnd a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the
citizen.
âAnd the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Here,
says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Hello,
Bloom, says he, what will you have?
Ulysses
551 of 1305 So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying
he wouldnât and he couldnât and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well heâd just take a cigar. Gob, heâs a prudent member and no mistake.
âGive us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe. And Alf was telling us there was one chap sent in a
mourning card with a black border round it.
âTheyâre all barbers, says he , from the black country
that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.
And he was telling us thereâs two fellows waiting below
to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke
him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell
the bits for a few bob a skull.
In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the
razor. Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord.
So they started talking about capital punishment and of
course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the codology of the business and the old dog smelling him all the time Iâm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I
Ulysses
552 of 1305 donât know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so
on.
âThereâs one thing it hasnât a deterrent effect on, says
Alf.
âWhatâs that? says Joe. âThe poor buggerâs tool thatâs being hanged, says Alf. âThat so? says Joe. âGodâs truth, says Alf. I heard that from the head
warder that was in
Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the
invincible. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.
âRuling passion strong in deat h, says Joe, as someone
said.
âThat can be explained by science, says Bloom. Itâs
Phenomena and Political Drivel
- Professor Blumenduft provides a pseudo-scientific medical explanation for the physiological phenomenon of a post-mortem erection during a hanging.
- The Citizen uses the discussion of execution to pivot into a nationalist rant about Irish martyrs and the revolutionary history of 1798 and 1867.
- The narrator expresses deep contempt for a mangy, scabby dog in the pub and the drunken antics of Bob Doran, who attempts to play with the beast.
- Bloom is mocked by the narrator for his perceived pretension, his 'lardy face,' and his habit of using intellectual language like 'phenomenon.'
- A humorous anecdote is shared regarding Bloomâs failed attempt to 'teach the evils of alcohol' to a widow's nephew by getting him 'drunk as a boiled owl.'
- The narrator dismisses Bloomâs cautious, balanced rhetorical styleâcharacterized by phrases like 'but on the other hand'âas mere 'mollycoddle' behavior.
Phenomenon! The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley.
only a natural phenomenon, donât you see, because on account of the ...
And then he starts with his jawbreakers about
phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the
other phenomenon.
The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold
Blumenduft tendered medical ev idence to the effect that
the instantaneous fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the s pinal cord would, according to
Ulysses
553 of 1305 the best approved tradition of medical science, be
calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby caus ing the elastic pores of the
corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to
instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ
resulting in the phenomenon which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and
outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per
diminutionem capitis.
So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink
of the word and he starts gassing out of him about the invincibles and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a
new Ireland and new this, that and the other. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratchin g his scabs. And round he
goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him:
Ulysses
554 of 1305 âGive us the paw! Give the paw, doggy! Good old
doggy! Give the paw here! Give us the paw!
Arrah, bloody end to the pa w heâd paw and Alf trying
to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of th e bottom of a Jacobsâ tin he
told Terry to bring. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him a yard long for more. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.
And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about
the point, the brothers Shea res and Wolfe Tone beyond
on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your
country, the Tommy Moore t ouch about Sara Curran and
sheâs far from the land. And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Phenomenon! The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. Time
they were stopping up in the City Arms pisser Burke told
me there was an old one there with a cracked
loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get the
soft side of her doing the mo llycoddle playing bĂŠzique to
come in for a bit of the wa mpum in her will and not
Ulysses
555 of 1305 eating meat of a Friday because the old one was always
thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk.
And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by
the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didnât near ro ast him, itâs a queer story, the old
one, Bloomâs wife and Mrs OâDowd that kept the hotel. Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off
chewing the fat. And Bloom with his but donât you see? and
but on the other hand . And sure, more be token, the lout
Iâm told was in Powerâs after, the blenderâs, round in
Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the
week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody establishment. Phenomenon!
âThe memory of the dead, says the citizen taking up
A Gruesome Spectacle
- The scene depicts a massive public execution or funeral attended by over five hundred thousand people in Dublin.
- The atmosphere is heightened by supernatural elements, including torrential rain and thunder described as the 'artillery of heaven.'
- The event is treated as a bizarre social occasion, complete with special excursion trains, grandstands for the elite, and musical entertainment.
- Street singers provide comic relief with macabre songs, while orphans are brought to watch the event as an 'instructive treat.'
- A diverse and absurdly named international delegation, the 'Friends of the Emerald Isle,' attends to witness the proceedings.
- The narrative shifts between somber funereal descriptions and a satirical, hyperbolic list of foreign dignitaries.
The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle.
his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.
âAy, ay, says Joe. âYou donât grasp my point, says Bloom. What I mean
is ...
âSinn Fein! says the citizen. Sinn Fein amhain! The
friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.
Ulysses
556 of 1305 The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. From the
belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow b ooming of pieces of ordnance.
The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the gha stly scene testified that the
artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. A
posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the
Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the
vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranzaâs plaintive muse. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provide d for the comfort of our
country cousins of whom th ere were large contingents.
Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite
Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The
Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-
Ulysses
557 of 1305 provoking fashion. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring
trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. The children of the Male and Female
Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the da yâs entertainment and a
word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. The
viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown
ladies was chaperoned by Thei r Excellencies to the most
favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone (the
semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to
his seat by the aid of a pow erful steam crane), Monsieur
Pierrepaul PetitĂŠpatant, th e Grandjoker Vladinmire
Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha VirĂĄga KisĂĄszony PutrĂĄpesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count
Ulysses
558 of 1305 Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat
Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria,
Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent- generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible
heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity
The Executioner's Grand Entrance
- A violent dispute over the date of Saint Patrick's birth is settled by a nine-foot-tall policeman who suggests the seventeenth as a compromise.
- A chaotic brawl involving an absurd array of weapons and the theft of hundreds of watches ends in sudden, forced harmony.
- The world-renowned headsman, Rumbold, arrives at the scaffold dressed in formal morning attire and sporting a gladiolus.
- The international crowd reacts with a cacophony of multilingual cheers and religious fervor as the execution ritual begins.
- The executioner prepares his tools, including specialized disembowelling appliances, while testing his blade on a flock of sheep.
Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously.
which they had been called upon to witness. An animated altercation (in which all took part) ensued among the F.
O. T. E. I. as to whether th e eighth or the ninth of March
was the correct date of the bir th of Irelandâs patron saint.
In the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed
Ulysses
559 of 1305 the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally
honourable for both contendin g parties. The readywitted
ninefooterâs suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. Constable MacFadden was heartily
congratulated by all the F.O. T.E.I., several of whom were
bleeding profusely. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from undernea th the presidential armchair,
it was explained by his lega l adviser Avvocato Pagamimi
that the various articles sec reted in his thirtytwo pockets
had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleag ues in the hope of bringing
them to their senses. The objects (which included several
hundred ladiesâ and gentlemenâs gold and silver watches)
were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.
Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the
scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite
flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus . He announced his presence
by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so many have
tried (unsuccessfully) to imitateâshort, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman wa s greeted by a roar of
acclamation from the huge c oncourse, the viceregal ladies
waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the
Ulysses
560 of 1305 even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously
in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla
kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah , amid which the ringing evviva of
the delegate of the land of song (a high double F recalling
those piercingly lovely not es with which the eunuch
Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers) was easily distinguishable. It was exactly seventeen oâclock. The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatoreâs patriarchal sombrero, which has been in
the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi,
being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to th e hero martyr when about
to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his casso ck above his hoary head, and
offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. As he awaited the fatal signal
he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep wh ich had been provided by
Ulysses
561 of 1305 the admirers of his fell but necessary office. On a
handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged
the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances (specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield), a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of
the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc
A Melodramatic Execution Scene
- The condemned man displays noble self-sacrifice by donating his final, lavish breakfast to a local charity for the sick and indigent.
- A highly emotional reunion occurs between the prisoner and his lover, Sheila, characterized by exaggerated romantic tropes and public displays of affection.
- The crowd and officials, including hardened military men and police, are moved to collective, performative weeping by the spectacle.
- In a surreal turn of events, a wealthy Oxford graduate proposes marriage to the prisoner's lover on the spot, and she accepts immediately.
- The authorities distribute macabre souvenirs in the form of skull and crossbones brooches to the ladies in the audience.
- The scene satirizes the sensationalism of public executions and the sentimentalism of popular romantic literature.
The hero folded her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring fondly Sheila, my own.
when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of
the most precious victim. The housesteward of the amalgamated catsâ and dogsâ home was in attendance to convey these vessels when reple nished to that beneficent
institution. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers
and eggs, fried steak and oni ons, done to a nicety,
delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been
considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central fi gure of the tragedy who was
in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish (immediately acceded to) that the meal should be divided
in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepersâ associat ion as a token of his regard
Ulysses
562 of 1305 and esteem. The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were
reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung
herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. The hero folded
her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring fondly
Sheila, my own . Encouraged by this use of her christian
name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencie s of prison garb permitted
her ardour to reach. She swore to him as they mingled the
salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his
memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. She brought back to his recollection th e happy days of blissful
childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators, in cluding the venerable pastor,
joining in the general merri ment. That monster audience
simply rocked with delight. But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hand s for the last time. A fresh
torrent of tears burst from th eir lachrymal ducts and the
vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core,
Ulysses
563 of 1305 broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being
the aged prebendary himself. Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. A most romantic incident occurred when a
handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the
occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a
timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian (the bearer, by the way, of one of the most timehonoured
names in Albionâs history) placed on the finger of his
blushing fiancĂŠe an expensive engagement ring with
emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the
excitement knew no bounds. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmout h without flinching, could
Ulysses
564 of 1305 not now restrain his natural emotion. With his mailed
gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in his
immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering
undertone:
âGod blimey if she aint a c linker, that there bleeding
Nationalism and the Cynanthropic Dog
- The narrator mockingly observes a gathering of Irish nationalists discussing the Gaelic League and the 'curse' of drink.
- A satirical contrast is drawn between the ideal of 'Ireland sober is Ireland free' and the reality of the drab temperance entertainment provided.
- The citizen interacts with his dog, Garryowen, in Irish, leading to a surreal description of their 'duet' of growls.
- The narrative shifts into a parodic journalistic style, elevating the dog's growling to a 'marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy.'
- The dog's vocalizations are humorously compared to the ancient ranns of Celtic bards and the works of famous Irish satirists.
Such growling you never heard as they let off between them.
tart. Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it
does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub
whatâs waiting for me down Limehouse way.
So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish
language and the corporation meeting and all to that and
the shoneens that canât speak their own language and Joe
chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic
league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Antitreating is about the size of it. Gob, heâd let you pour all manner of drink do wn his throat till the Lord
would call him before youâd ever see the froth of his pint. And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and d ance about she could get up
on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was
a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about
Ulysses
565 of 1305 with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges
and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, donât be talking. Ireland sober is Ireland free. And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt.
So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the
tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Iâd
train him by kindness, so I would, if he was my dog. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldnât
blind him.
âAfraid heâll bite you? says the citizen, jeering. âNo, says I. But he might take my leg for a lamppost. So he calls the old dog over. âWhatâs on you, Garry? says he. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him
in Irish and the old towser growling, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Such growling you never heard as
they let off between them. Someone that has nothing
better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the
papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of that. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the
Ulysses
566 of 1305 drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his
jaws.
All those who are intereste d in the spread of human
culture among the lower animals (and their name is legion) should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the
sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his
large circle of friends and ac quaintances Owen Garry. The
exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and a carefully t houghtout dietary system,
comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of
verse. Our greatest living phonetic expert (wild horses shall not drag it from us!) has left no stone unturned in his
efforts to delucidate and comp are the verse recited and has
found it bears a striking resemblance (the italics are ours) to
the ranns of ancient Celtic bards. We are not speaking so much of those delightful lo vesongs with which the writer
who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather (as a contribu tor D. O. C. points out in
an interesting communication published by an evening
contemporary) of the harsh er and more personal note
which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous
Ulysses
567 of 1305 Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a
more modern lyrist at presen t very much in the public
Pub Talk and Legal Addlement
- The narrative transitions from a mock-scholarly translation of a dog's 'curse' into a gritty, colloquial pub scene.
- Leopold Bloom attempts to explain the complex legal and insurance technicalities surrounding the late Mr. Dignam's policy.
- The narrator expresses deep skepticism and anti-Semitic prejudice toward Bloom, mocking his 'Hungarian' connections and legal jargon.
- Bob Doran, in a state of drunken sentimentality, accosts Bloom to offer clumsy condolences for the Dignam family.
- The prose shifts styles abruptly, parodying high-flown, formal Victorian sentimentality during a simple handshake between drunks.
The curse of my curses / Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowryâs lights.
eye. We subjoin a specimen which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. The metrical system of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and
isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the
spirit has been well caught. Per haps it should be added that
the effect is greatly increased if Owenâs verse be spoken
somewhat slowly and indistinctl y in a tone suggestive of
suppressed rancour.
The curse of my curses
Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowryâs lights.
Ulysses
568 of 1305 So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and,
gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. And Joe
asked him would he have another.
âI will, says he, a chara , to show thereâs no ill feeling.
Gob, heâs not as green as he âs cabbagelooking. Arsing
around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrapâs dog and getting fed up by the
ratepayers and corporators. Entertainment for man and beast. And says Joe:
âCould you make a hole in another pint? âCould a swim duck? says I.
âSame again, Terry, says Joe. Are you sure you wonât
have anything in the way of liquid refreshment? says he.
âThank you, no, says Bloom. As a matter of fact I just
wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, donât you see, about this insurance of poor Dignamâs . Martin asked me to go to
the house. You see, he, Dignam , I mean, didnât serve any
notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act th e mortgagee canât recover on
the policy.
âHoly Wars, says Joe, laughing, thatâs a good one if
old Shylock is landed. So the wife comes out top dog,
what?
Ulysses
569 of 1305 âWell, thatâs a point, says Bloom, for the wifeâs
admirers.
âWhose admirers? says Joe. âThe wifeâs advisers, I mean, says Bloom. Then he starts all confus ed mucking it up about
mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the benefit of the wife and that a
trust is created but on the other hand that Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgageeâs right till he near had the head of
me addled with his mortgago r under the act. He was
bloody safe he wasnât run in himself under the act that
time as a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in
court. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. True as youâre there. O, commend me to an israe lite! Royal and privileged
Hungarian robbery.
So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to
tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy thatâs dead to tell her. Choking with bloody foolery. And shaking Bloomâs hand
Ulysses
570 of 1305 doing the tragic to tell her that. Shake hands, brother.
Youâre a rogue and Iâm another.
âLet me, said he, so far presume upon our
acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if
judged by the standard of m ere time, is founded, as I hope
and believe, on a sentiment of mu tual esteem as to request
of you this favour. But, sh ould I have overstepped the
limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness.
âNo, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the
motives which actuate your c onduct and I shall discharge
the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection
that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of
your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness
of the cup.
âThen suffer me to take your hand, said he. The
Pub Talk and Public Affairs
- The narrator recounts a scandalous anecdote about a man caught in a shebeen, pretending to be French while behaving sacrilegiously and being robbed by prostitutes.
- The dialogue shifts to local Dublin politics, mentioning figures like Nannetti and William Field who are heading to the House of Commons.
- The 'Citizen' and Joe mock Leopold Bloom, deriding him as 'Mister Knowall' for his unsolicited advice on livestock diseases and animal husbandry.
- Bloom's past employment in a knacker's yard is ridiculed, specifically his tendency to lecture experienced graziers on their own trade.
- The narrative includes a satirical, nursery-rhyme-style mockery of Bloom's 'humane methods' and his gentle disposition toward animals.
- Bloom enters the conversation urgently seeking Councillor Nannetti, only to find he is likely departing for London by the mailboat.
Blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.
goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech.
And off with him and out trying to walk straight.
Boosed at five oâclock. Nigh t he was near being lagged
only Paddy Leonard knew the bobby, 14A. Blind to the
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571 of 1305 world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time,
fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups. And ca lling himself a Frenchy for
the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he serving mass in Adam and Eveâs when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the old te stament, and hugging and
smugging. And the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls screeching
laughing at one another. How is your testament? Have you
got an old testament? Only Paddy was passing there, I tell
you what. Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the little lady. Jack Mooneyâs sister. And the old prostitute of a mother procuring rooms to street couples. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. Told him if he didnât patch up the pot, Jesus, heâd kick the shite
out of him.
So Terry brought the three pints. âHere, says Joe, doing the honours. Here, citizen.
âSlan leat , says he.
âFortune, Joe, says I. Good health, citizen.
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572 of 1305 Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler
already. Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks.
âWho is the long fellow running for the mayoralty,
Alf? says Joe.
âFriend of yours, says Alf. âNannan? says Joe. The mimber? âI wonât mention any names, says Alf. âI thought so, says Joe. I saw him up at that meeting
now with William Field, M. P., the cattle traders.
âHairy Iopas, says the citi zen, that exploded volcano,
the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.
So Joe starts telling the ci tizen about the foot and
mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in
the matter and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Because he was up one time in a knackerâs yard. Walking about with his book and pencil hereâs my head and my heels are coming
till Joe Cuffe gave him the or der of the boot for giving lip
to a grazier. Mister Knowall. Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. Pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs OâDowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of
Ulysses
573 of 1305 fat all over her. Couldnât loosen her farting strings but old
codâs eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Whatâs your programme today? Ay. Humane methods. Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best known remedy that doesnât cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Gob, heâd have a soft hand under a hen.
Ga Ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Black Liz is our hen.
She lays eggs for us. When she lays her egg she is so glad.
Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Then comes good uncle Leo. He puts his hand under black Li z and takes her fresh egg.
Ga ga ga ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook.
âAnyhow, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over
tonight to London to ask ab out it on the floor of the
house of commons.
âAre you sure, says Bloom, the councillor is going? I
wanted to see him, as it happens.
âWell, heâs going off by the mailboat, says Joe,
tonight.
âThatâs too bad, says Bloom. I wanted particularly.
Perhaps only Mr Field is going. I couldnât phone. No. Youâre sure?
âNannanâs going too, says Joe. The league told him to
Gaelic Sports and National Identity
- A satirical parliamentary debate highlights the tension between British colonial authority and Irish cultural practices, specifically regarding the use of Phoenix Park.
- The 'citizen' is celebrated as a legendary figure in the Gaelic sports revival and a former champion of the sixteen-pound shot.
- The conversation shifts to the importance of traditional Irish sports like hurling and stone-putting as essential tools for nation-building.
- Leopold Bloom intervenes with a pedantic medical warning about 'rower's heart,' illustrating his tendency to over-explain any subject.
- The narrative adopts a mock-heroic journalistic style to describe a meeting of the Sluagh na h-Eireann, framing the sports revival in the context of ancient Greek and Roman physical culture.
I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. Do you see that straw? Thatâs a straw. Declare to my aunt heâd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady.
ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police
Ulysses
574 of 1305 forbidding Irish games in the park. What do you think of
that, citizen? The Sluagh na h-Eireann .
Mr Cowe Conacre (Multifarnha m. Nat.): Arising out
of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the ri ght honourable gentleman
whether the government has issued orders that these
animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?
Mr Allfours (Tamoshant. Con.): Honourable members
are already in possession of th e evidence produced before a
committee of the whole house. I feel I cannot usefully add
anything to that. The answer to the honourable memberâs
question is in the affirmative.
Mr Orelli OâReilly (Montenotte. Nat.): Have similar
orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who
dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix park?
Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable
gentlemanâs famous Mitchelstow n telegram inspired the
policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? (O! O!)
Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. Mr Staylewit (Buncombe. In d.): Donât hesitate to
shoot.
(Ironical opposition cheers.)
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575 of 1305 The speaker: Order! Order!
(The house rises. Cheers.) âThereâs the man, says Joe, that made the Gaelic
sports revival. There he is sitting there. The man that got away James Stephens. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. What was your best throw, citizen?
âNa bacleis , says the citizen, le tting on to be modest.
There was a time I was as good as the next fellow anyhow.
âPut it there, citizen, says Joe. You were and a bloody
sight better.
âIs that really a fact? says Alf. âYes, says Bloom. Thatâs well known. Did you not
know that?
So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games
the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that. And of course Bloom had to have his
say too about if a fellow had a rowerâs heart violent
exercise was bad. I declare to my antimacassar if you took
up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom:
Look at, Bloom. Do you see that straw? Thatâs a straw .
Ulysses
576 of 1305 Declare to my aunt heâd talk about it for an hour so he
would and talk steady.
A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient
hall of Brian Oâciarnainâs in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag , under
the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann , on the revival of
ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical
culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the
race. The venerable president of the noble order was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. After
an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent
oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient game s and sports of our ancient
Panceltic forefathers. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph
MâCarthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the
resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength
and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. L.
Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the ne gative the vocalist chairman
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577 of 1305 brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated
requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davisâ evergreen verses
(happily too familiar to need recalling here) A nation once
again in the execution of which the veteran patriot
The Irish Gladiator's Victory
- A grand performance by a singer dubbed the Irish Caruso-Garibaldi concludes with a long list of distinguished clergy and laity in attendance.
- The conversation shifts to a recent boxing match between Keogh and Bennett, involving rumors of betting manipulation by Blazes Boylan.
- Bloom attempts to steer the discussion toward the health benefits of tennis and physical agility, but is largely ignored by the group.
- The narrative transitions into a highly stylized, hyperbolic account of the Keogh-Bennett fight, framing it as a nationalistic struggle.
- Myler Keogh, the smaller Irish fighter, overcomes the larger English sergeant-major through superior ringcraft and a punishing left hook.
- The account emphasizes the physical brutality of the match, describing the 'claret' drawn and the final moments of the 'fistic Eblanite's' triumph.
God, he gave him one last puck in the wind, Queensberry rules and all, made him puke what he never ate.
champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured
anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. His superb
highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed m any prominent members of
the clergy as well as representat ives of the press and the bar
and the other learned professi ons. The proceedings then
terminated.
Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. William
Delany, S. J., L. L. D.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D. D.; the rev. P. J. Kavanagh, C. S. Sp.; the rev. T. Waters, C. C.; the rev. John M. Ivers, P. P.; the rev. P. J. Cleary, O.
S. F.; the rev. L. J. Hickey, O. P.; the very rev. Fr. Nicholas, O. S. F. C.; the v ery rev. B. Gorman, O. D. C.;
Ulysses
578 of 1305 the rev. T. Maher, S. J.; the very rev. James Murphy, S. J.;
the rev. John Lavery, V. F.; the very rev. William Doherty, D. D.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O. M.; the rev. T.
Brangan, O. S. A.; the rev. J. Flavin, C. C.; the rev. M. A. Hackett, C. C.; the rev. W. Hurley, C. C.; the rt rev. Mgr MâManus, V. G.; the rev. B. R. Slattery, O. M. I.; the very rev. M. D. Scally, P. P.; the rev. F. T. Purcell, O. P.;
the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P. P.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C. C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.
âTalking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at
that Keogh-Bennett match?
âNo, says Joe.
âI heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it,
says Alf.
âWho? Blazes? says Joe. And says Bloom: âWhat I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility
and training the eye.
âAy, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on
the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time.
âWe know him, says the citizen. The traitorâs son.
We know what put English gold in his pocket.
â-True for you, says Joe.
Ulysses
579 of 1305 And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the
circulation of the blood, asking Alf:
âNow, donât you think, Bergan? âMyler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan
and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. God, he gave him one last puck in the wind, Queensberry rules and all, made him puke what he never ate.
It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and
Percy were scheduled to don th e gloves for the purse of
fifty sovereigns. Handicapped as he was by lack of
poundage, Dublinâs pet lamb made up for it by superlative
skill in ringcraft. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and le fts, the artilleryman putting
in some neat work on the petâs nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a sti ff one flush to the point of
Bennettâs jaw. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.
Ulysses
580 of 1305 The men came to handigrips. Myler quickly became busy
and got his man under, the bout ending with the bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brim ful of pluck, confident of
knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a t reat to watch. After a brisk
Barroom Gossip and Legal Libels
- A boxing match concludes with a sudden knockout, sparking a discussion about the victor's career and the nature of success.
- Bloom attempts to defend his wife's upcoming concert tour, while the narrator cynically notes the involvement of Blazes Boylan.
- The conversation shifts to the financial instability of local figures who maintain a high-class facade despite being buried in debt and legal writs.
- The group mocks the eccentric Denis Breen, who is obsessively seeking legal recourse for a libelous postcard reading 'U.p: up.'
- Legal experts in the pub debate the technicalities of libel law, noting that even a truthful statement can be considered an indictment.
- The dialogue captures the sharp, judgmental atmosphere of a Dublin pub where reputations are dissected with casual cruelty.
That explains the milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animalâs chest.
exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of
the military man brought blood freely from his opponentâs
mouth the lamb suddenly wade d in all over his man and
landed a terrific left to Batt ling Bennettâs stomach, flooring
him flat. It was a knockout clean and clever. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennettâs second Ole P fotts Wettstein threw in the
towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight.
âHe knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. I
hear heâs running a concert tour now up in the north.
âHe is, says Joe. Isnât he?
Ulysses
581 of 1305 âWho? says Bloom. Ah, yes. Thatâs quite true. Yes, a
kind of summer tour, you see. Just a holiday.
âMrs B. is the bright particular star, isnât she? says Joe.
âMy wife? says Bloom. Sheâs singing, yes. I think it
will be a success too.
Heâs an excellent man to organise. Excellent. Hoho begob says I to myself says I. That explains the
milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animalâs chest. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Concert tour. Dirty Dan the dodgerâs son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Old Whatwhat. I called about the poor and water
rate, Mr Boylan. You what? The water rate, Mr Boylan.
You whatwhat? Thatâs the buck o thatâll organise her, take
my tip. âTwixt me and you Caddareesh.
Pride of Calpeâs rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter
of Tweedy. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. The
chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful
bosoms.
And lo, there entered one of the clan of the
OâMolloyâs, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majestyâs counsel learned in the law,
Ulysses
582 of 1305 and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of
Lambert.
âHello, Ned. âHello, Alf. âHello, Jack. âHello, Joe. âGod save you, says the citizen. âSave you kindly, says J. J. Whatâll it be, Ned? âHalf one, says Ned. So J. J. ordered the drinks. âWere you round at the court? says Joe. âYes, says J. J. Heâll square that, Ned, says he.
âHope so, says Ned.
Now what were those two at? J. J. getting him off the
grand jury list and the other give him a leg over the stile. With his name in Stubbsâs. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the pop. Whatâs your name, sir? Dunne, says he. Ay, and done
says I. Gob, heâll come home by weeping cross one of those days, Iâm thinking.
Ulysses
583 of 1305 âDid you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there?
says Alf. U. p: up.
âYes, says J. J. Looking for a private detective. âAy, says Ned. And he wanted right go wrong to
address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examined first.
âTen thousand pounds, says Alf, laughing. God, Iâd
give anything to hear him before a judge and jury.
âWas it you did it, Alf? says Joe. The truth, the whole
truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.
âMe? says Alf. Donât cast your nasturtiums on my
character.
âWhatever statement you ma ke, says Joe, will be
taken down in evidence against you.
âOf course an action would lie , says J. J. It implies
that he is not compos mentis . U. p: up.
âCompos your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know
that heâs balmy? Look at hi s head. Do you know that
some mornings he has to get his hat on with a shoehorn.
âYes, says J. J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to
an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law.
âHa ha, Alf, says Joe.
Ulysses
Legal Squabbles and Barroom Gossip
- The citizen and Joe mock Bloom's concern for Mrs. Breen, using xenophobic and emasculating language to describe her husband as 'neither fish nor flesh.'
- J. J. O'Molloy provides a legal opinion on a libelous postcard, citing the case of Sadgrove v. Hole to argue that such a communication constitutes publication.
- The group observes the eccentric Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell passing by with his wife while Corny Kelleher attempts to sell him a coffin.
- A discussion ensues regarding a fraudulent emigration scheme to Canada orchestrated by a man with multiple aliases who swindled both locals and his own community.
- The men mock the leniency of Sir Frederick Falkiner, the Recorder, by imitating his sentimental reactions to sob stories in court.
Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half and half.
584 of 1305 âStill, says Bloom, on accoun t of the poor woman, I
mean his wife.
âPity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman
marries a half and half.
âHow half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he ... âHalf and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow thatâs
neither fish nor flesh.
âNor good red herring, says Joe. âThat whatâs I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if
you know what that is.
Begob I saw there was trouble coming. And Bloom
explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the
wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool.
Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out
tripping him, bringing down the rain. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of
his old fellowâs was pewopener to the pope. Picture of him on the wall with his Smas hall Sweeneyâs moustaches,
the signior Brini from Summ erhill, the eyetallyano, papal
Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. And who was he, te ll us? A nobody, two pair
back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he
Ulysses
585 of 1305 covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to
the world.
âAnd moreover, says J. J., a postcard is publication. It
was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Hole. In my opinion an action might lie.
Six and eightpence, please. Who wants your opinion?
Let us drink our pints in peace. Gob, we wonât be let even
do that much itself.
âWell, good health, Jack, says Ned. âGood health, Ned, says J. J. â-There he is again, says Joe. âWhere? says Alf.
And begob there he was passing the door with his
books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.
âHow did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe. âRemanded, says J. J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the
name of James Wought alias Sa phiro alias Spark and Spiro,
put an ad in the papers saying heâd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. What? Do you see any green in the white of my eye? Course it was a bloody barney.
Ulysses
586 of 1305 What? Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the
county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. J. J. was telling us there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.
âWho tried the case? says Joe. âRecorder, says Ned. âPoor old sir Frederick, says Alf, you can cod him up
to the two eyes.
âHeart as big as a lion, says Ned. Tell him a tale of
woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, heâll dissolve in tears on the bench.
âAy, says Alf. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didnât
clap him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley thatâs minding stone s, for the corporation there
near Butt bridge.
And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to
cry:
âA most scandalous thing! This poor hardworking
man! How many children? Ten, did you say?
âYes, your worship. And my wife has the typhoid. âAnd the wife with typhoid fever! Scandalous! Leave
the court immediately, sir. No, sir, Iâll make no order for
payment. How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask
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587 of 1305 me to make an order! A poor hardworking industrious
man! I dismiss the case.
And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month of the
Justice and Xenophobia
- The narrative shifts into a mock-heroic legal register, describing the formal proceedings of judges and a jury of the twelve tribes of Iar in Dublin.
- A prisoner, described as a malefactor apprehended by 'sleuthhounds of justice,' is brought forth in shackles to face the court.
- In the pub, the citizen launches a xenophobic attack, accusing immigrants of 'filling the country with bugs' and swindling the Irish peasantry.
- Leopold Bloom attempts to ignore the citizen's provocations by focusing on a mundane business conversation with Joe Hynes regarding an advertisement.
- The citizen blames Ireland's historical misfortunes and the presence of 'Saxon robbers' on the infidelity of a 'dishonoured wife.'
- The atmosphere in the bar remains tense as Bloom feigns interest in a spider's web while the citizen scowls and his dog waits for a signal to attack.
And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spiderâs web in the corner behind the barrel, and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when.
oxeyed goddess and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. There master Courtenay, sitt ing in his own chamber,
gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first chargeant upon the property in the
matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late
lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir
Frederick the Falconer. And he sat him there about the hour of five oâclock to admi nister the law of the brehons
at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the county of the city of Dublin. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar,
for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Patrick and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Fergus
Ulysses
588 of 1305 and of the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Dermot and of
the tribe of Cormac and of th e tribe of Kevin and of the
tribe of Caolte and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar
and true verdict give according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. And straightway the minions of the law led
forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds
of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne main prise but preferred a charge
against him for he was a malefactor.
âThose are nice things, says the citizen, coming over
here to Ireland filling the country with bugs.
So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking
with Joe, telling him he neednât trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that heâd do the devil and all.
Ulysses
589 of 1305 âBecause, you see, says Bloom, for an advertisement
you must have repetition. Thatâs the whole secret.
âRely on me, says Joe. âSwindling the peasants, says th e citizen, and the poor
of Ireland. We want no more strangers in our house.
âO, Iâm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom.
Itâs just that Keyes, you see.
âConsider that done, says Joe. âVery kind of you, says Bloom. âThe strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We
let them come in. We brought them in. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here.
âDecree nisi, says J. J.
And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested
in nothing, a spiderâs web in the corner behind the barrel, and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when.
âA dishonoured wife, says the citizen, thatâs whatâs
the cause of all our misfortunes.
âAnd here she is, says Alf, that was giggling over the
Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her
warpaint.
âGive us a squint at her, says I.
Ulysses
590 of 1305 And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures
Terry borrows off of Corny Kelle her. Secrets for enlarging
your private parts. Miscond uct of society belle. Norman
The Citizen and the Outsider
- The narrative shifts between crude gossip about a cuckolded contractor and a high-stakes political debate in a Dublin pub.
- The 'citizen' expresses violent Irish nationalism, dismissing English culture as 'syphilisation' and advocating for the revival of the Gaelic language.
- Bloom attempts to interject with moderate views on civilization and universal law, only to be met with hostility and mockery from the nationalist group.
- Lenehan arrives with news of the Gold Cup horse race, revealing that the rank outsider 'Throwaway' won at twenty-to-one odds.
- The dialogue blends mock-heroic epic prose with gritty Dublin slang to highlight the tension between romanticized history and mundane reality.
Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. To hell with them! The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whoresâ gets!
W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Ta ylor. Belle in her bloomers
misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.
âO jakers, Jenny, says Joe, how short your shirt is!
âThereâs hair, Joe, says I. Get a queer old tailend of
corned beef off of that one, what?
So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan
with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast.
âWell, says the citizen, whatâs the latest from the
scene of action? What did those tinkers in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language?
OâNolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made
obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of th at which had befallen, how
that the grave elders of the mo st obedient city, second of
the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby th ey might, if so be it
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591 of 1305 might be, bring once more into honour among mortal
men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael.
âItâs on the march, says the citizen. To hell with the
bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois.
So J. J. puts in a word, doing the toff about one story
was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attaind er to impeach a nation, and
Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation.
âTheir syphilisation, you me an, says the citizen. To
hell with them! The curse of a goodfornothing God light
sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whoresâ gets! No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Tonguetied sons of bastardsâ ghosts.
âThe European family, says J. J. ... âTheyâre not European, says the citizen. I was in
Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris. You wouldnât see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe
except in a cabinet dâaisance.
And says John Wyse: âFull many a flower is born to blush unseen. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo:
Ulysses
592 of 1305 âConspuez les Anglais! Perfide Albion!
He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny
strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and,
uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu , he drank to the
undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as
the deathless gods.
âWhatâs up with you, says I to Lenehan. You look
like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner.
âGold cup, says he.
âWho won, Mr Lenehan? says Terry.
âThrowaway, says he, at twenty to one. A rank
outsider. And the rest nowhere.
âAnd Bassâs mare? says Terry. âStill running, says he. Weâre all in a cart. Boylan
plunged two quid on my tip Sceptre for himself and a lady
friend.
âI had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel
that Mr Flynn gave me. Lord Howard de Waldenâs.
âTwenty to one, says Lenehan. Such is life in an
outhouse. Throwaway, says he. Takes the biscuit, and
talking about bunions. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.
So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see
if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old cur
Ulysses
593 of 1305 after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Old
Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.
âNot there, my child, says he. âKeep your pecker up, says Joe. Sheâd have won the
money only for the other dog.
And J. J. and the citizen arguing about law and history
with Bloom sticking in an odd word.
âSome people, says Bloom, can see the mote in
othersâ eyes but they canât see the beam in their own.
âRaimeis , says the citizen. Thereâs no-one as blind as
Irish Industry and Arboreal Fantasy
- A nationalist speaker laments the decline of Irish industry, citing lost potential in textiles, glass, and natural resources.
- The dialogue criticizes British economic policy for ruining Irish trade and failing to manage the landscape's bogs and marshes.
- A call to action is made for the reforestation of Ireland to preserve native trees like the Galway ash and Kildare elm.
- The narrative shifts into a satirical, mock-heroic description of a wedding between Jean Wyse de Neaulan and Miss Fir Conifer.
- The wedding guests and attire are described through elaborate botanical puns, transforming a social event into a forest allegory.
Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.
the fellow that wonât see, if you know what that means.
Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be
here today instead of four, our lost tribes? And our potteries and textiles, the finest in the whole world! And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim
and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk
and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ro ss, nothing like it in the
whole wide world. Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of man kind, with gold and Tyrian
Ulysses
594 of 1305 purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Read
Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. Wine, peltries, Connemara marble, s ilver from Tipperary, second
to none, our farfamed horses even today, the Irish hobbies, with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they wonât deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption?
âAs treeless as Portugal weâll be soon, says John Wyse,
or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to
reafforest the land. Larches, firs, all the trees of the conifer
family are going fast. I was reading a report of lord Castletownâs ...
âSave them, says the citize n, the giant ash of Galway
and the chieftain elm of K ildare with a fortyfoot bole and
an acre of foliage. Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.
âEurope has its eyes on you, says Lenehan. The fashionable international world attended EN
MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley.
Ulysses
595 of 1305 Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll
Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the
ceremony by their presence. The bride who was given
away by her father, the MâConifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very
becoming costumes in the same tone, a dainty motif of
plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form
Ulysses
596 of 1305 of heron feathers of paletinted coral. Senhor Enrique Flor
presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass,
played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare
that tree at the conclusion of the service. On leaving the
church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the
happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Mr and
Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon
Nationalist Rhetoric and Imperial Brutality
- The Citizen expresses a fervent desire for the restoration of Irish maritime trade and the return of a sovereign Irish navy.
- A cynical narrator undercuts the Citizen's grandiosity, labeling him a hypocrite who fears local retribution for land-grabbing.
- The conversation shifts to the violence of the British Empire, specifically the brutal corporal punishment of young sailors on training ships.
- The group critiques the hypocrisy of British 'liberty,' describing the empire as a collection of 'drudges and whipped serfs.'
- The dialogue highlights the contrast between Ireland's historical European alliances and its current subjugation under the British crown.
A young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun.
in the Black Forest.
âAnd our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. We
had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway.
âAnd will again, says Joe. âAnd with the help of the holy mother of God we
will again, says the citizen, clapping his thigh. our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galwa y Lynches and the Cavan
OâReillys and the OâKennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles
Ulysses
597 of 1305 the Fifth himself. And will again, says he, when the first
Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudorâs harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius.
And he took the last swig out of the pint. Moya. All
wind and piss like a tanyard cat. Cows in Connacht have long horns. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude
in Shanagolden where he darenât show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through
him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant.
âHear, hear to that, says John Wyse. What will you
have?
âAn imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate
the occasion.
âHalf one, Terry, says John Wyse, and a hands up.
Terry! Are you asleep?
âYes, sir, says Terry. Small whisky and bottle of
Allsop. Right, sir.
Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for
spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. Picture of a butting match, trying to crack their bloody
Ulysses
598 of 1305 skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down
like a bull at a gate. And another one: Black Beast Burned in
Omaha, Ga . A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and
they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. Gob, they ought to drown him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job.
âBut what about the fighting navy, says Ned, that
keeps our foes at bay?
âIâll tell you what about it, sa ys the citizen. Hell upon
earth it is. Read the revelat ions thatâs going on in the
papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth.
A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One .
So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and
about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun.
âA rump and dozen, says th e citizen, was what that
old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern Godâs Englishman calls it caning on the breech.
And says John Wyse:
Ulysses
599 of 1305 ââTis a custom more honoured in the breach than in
the observance.
Then he was telling us the master at arms comes along
with a long cane and he draw s out and he flogs the bloody
backside off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.
âThatâs your glorious British navy, says the citizen,
that bosses the earth.
The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only
hereditary chamber on the fac e of Godâs earth and their
land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. Thatâs the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs.
âOn which the sun never rises, says Joe.
âAnd the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, they believe
it. The unfortunate yahoos believe it.
They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of
Irish Nationalism and Imperial Spite
- The Citizen recounts the historical trauma of the Great Famine and the forced emigration of the Irish people.
- A debate ensues regarding the efficacy of foreign alliances, with the characters dismissing the French as unreliable 'dancing masters.'
- The conversation turns to a scathing and vulgar critique of the British monarchy, specifically Queen Victoria and King Edward VII.
- The speakers highlight the irony of the Irish Catholic clergy honoring a British monarch with racing colors at Maynooth.
- The dialogue reflects a deep-seated resentment toward 'perfidious Albion' and a desire for vengeance from the Irish diaspora.
Thereâs a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo.
hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.
Ulysses
600 of 1305 âBut, says Bloom, isnât discipline the same
everywhere. I mean wouldnât it be the same here if you put force against force?
Didnât I tell you? As true as Iâm drinking this porter if
he was at his last gasp heâd try to downface you that dying was living.
âWeâll put force against force , says the citizen. We
have our greater Ireland beyond the sea. They were driven
out of house and home in the black 47. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the
batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the
whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in
Ireland as redskins in America . Even the Grand Turk sent
us his piastres. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. Ay, they drove out the peasants in hordes. Twenty thousand of them died in the coffinships. But those that came to the land of the free remember the land of bondage. And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan.
âPerfectly true, says Bloom. But my point was ...
Ulysses
601 of 1305 âWe are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says
Ned. Since the poor old wom an told us that the French
were on the sea and landed at Killala.
âAy, says John Wyse. We fought for the royal Stuarts
that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. Fontenoy, eh? And Sarsfield and OâDonnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. But what did we ever get for
it?
âThe French! says the citizen. Set of dancing masters!
Do you know what it is? They were never worth a roasted
fart to Ireland. Arenât they trying to make an Entente
cordiale now at Tay Payâs dinnerparty with perfidious
Albion? Firebrands of Europe and they always were.
âConspuez les Français , says Lenehan, nobbling his
beer.
âAnd as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says
Joe, havenât we had enough of those sausageeating bastards
on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch thatâs dead?
Jesus, I had to laugh at the way he came out with that
about the old one with the winkers on her, blind drunk in
Ulysses
602 of 1305 her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her
jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by
the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren
on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper.
âWell, says J. J. We have Edward the peacemaker
now.
âTell that to a fool, says the citizen. Thereâs a bloody
sight more pox than pax about that boyo. Edward Guelph-Wettin!
âAnd what do you think, says Joe, of the holy boys,
the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in
Maynooth in His Satanic Majestyâs racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the horses his jockeys rode. The
earl of Dublin, no less.
âThey ought to have stuck up all the women he rode
himself, says little Alf.
And says J. J.: âConsiderations of space influenced their lordshipsâ
decision.
âWill you try another, citizen? says Joe. âYes, sir, says he. I will. âYou? says Joe.
Ulysses
603 of 1305 âBeholden to you, Joe, says I. May your shadow
Bloom Defines the Nation
- Leopold Bloom attempts to define a nation as people living in the same place, which is met with mockery by his companions.
- Despite the skepticism of the nationalist 'citizen,' Bloom asserts his identity as an Irishman based on his birth in the country.
- The narrative shifts into a satirical, high-style description of a common handkerchief as a legendary Irish artifact.
- A long list of Irish landmarks, ranging from ancient ruins to commercial breweries and jails, is presented as a catalog of national identity.
- Bloom draws a parallel between the persecution of the Irish and the historical and current suffering of the Jewish people.
- The tension escalates as Bloom denounces injustice and the citizen challenges him to meet oppression with physical force.
The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him right in the corner.
never grow less.
âRepeat that dose, says Joe. Bloom was talking and talking with John Wyse and he
quite excited with his dunducketymudcoloured mug on him and his old plumeyes rolling about.
âPersecution, says he, all the history of the world is
full of it. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.
âBut do you know what a nation means? says John
Wyse.
âYes, says Bloom. âWhat is it? says John Wyse.
âA nation? says Bloom. A na tion is the same people
living in the same place.
âBy God, then, says Ned, laughing, if thatâs so Iâm a
nation for Iâm living in the same place for the past five years.
So of course everyone had th e laugh at Bloom and says
he, trying to muck out of it:
âOr also living in different places. âThat covers my case, says Joe. âWhat is your nation if I may ask? says the citizen. âIreland, says Bloom. I was born here. Ireland.
Ulysses
604 of 1305 The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his
gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him right in the corner.
âAfter you with the push, Joe, says he, taking out his
handkerchief to swab himself dry.
âHere you are, citizen, says Joe. Take that in your
right hand and repeat after me the following words.
The muchtreasured and intric ately embroidered ancient
Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of
Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth
prolonged admiration. No need to dwell on the legendary
beauty of the cornerpieces, th e acme of art, wherein one
can distinctly discern each of the four evangelists in turn presenting to each of the four masters his evangelical symbol, a bogoak sceptre, a North American puma (a far
nobler king of beasts than the British article, be it said in passing), a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of lear ning and maledictive stones,
are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as
when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the Barmecides.
Ulysses
605 of 1305 Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, the ruins of
Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Irelandâs Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and
Company (Limited), Lough Neaghâs banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isoldeâs tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dunâs hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynchâs castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Juryâs
Hotel, S. Patrickâs Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curleyâs hole, the three birthplaces of
the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog
of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingalâs Caveâall these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the wa ters of sorrow which have
passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.
âShow us over the drink, says I. Which is which? âThatâs mine, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead
policeman.
âAnd I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated
and persecuted. Also now. This very moment. This very
instant.
Ulysses
606 of 1305 Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old
cigar.
âRobbed, says he. Plund ered. Insulted. Persecuted.
Taking what belongs to us by right. At this very moment,
says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle.
âAre you talking about the new Jerusalem? says the
citizen.
âIâm talking about injustice, says Bloom. âRight, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with
force like men.
Thatâs an almanac picture for you. Mark for a softnosed
bullet. Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a
Love and Imperial Hypocrisy
- Leopold Bloom argues that life is defined by love rather than the force, hatred, and history championed by nationalists.
- The citizen and other pub patrons mock Bloomâs sentimentality, labeling him a 'new apostle to the gentiles.'
- A satirical litany of mundane and absurd romances is recited to trivialize Bloom's universal definition of love.
- The citizen critiques the hypocrisy of British imperialism, citing Cromwellâs use of religious texts to justify slaughter.
- A satirical news report describes a Zulu chief being manipulated by British trade interests through the gift of a Bible.
- The group uses humor and cynicism to dismiss the moral authority of both Bloom and the British Empire.
What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon?
gun. Gob, heâd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurseâs apron on him. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.
âBut itâs no use, says he . Force, hatred, history, all
that. Thatâs not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that itâs the very opposite of that that is really life.
âWhat? says Alf. âLove, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred. I
must go now, says he to John Wyse. Just round to the
Ulysses
607 of 1305 court a moment to see if Martin is there. If he comes just
say Iâll be back in a second. Just a moment.
Whoâs hindering you? And off he pops like greased
lightning.
âA new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen.
Universal love.
âWell, says John Wyse. Isnât that what weâre told.
Love your neighbour.
âThat chap? says the citize n. Beggar my neighbour is
his motto. Love, moya! Heâs a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.
Love loves to love love. Nu rse loves the new chemist.
Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. Gerty MacDowell loves
the boy that has the bicycle. M. B. loves a fair gentleman. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybod y loves somebody but God
loves everybody.
Ulysses
608 of 1305 âWell, Joe, says I, your very good health and song.
More power, citizen.
âHurrah, there, says Joe. âThe blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you,
says the citizen.
And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. âWe know those canters, says he, preaching and
picking your pocket. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and
children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God
is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? The bible!
Did you read that skit in the United Irishman today about
that Zulu chief thatâs visiting England?
âWhatâs that? says Joe. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers
and he starts reading out:
âA delegation of the chief cotton magnates of
Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stic k in Waiting, Lord Walkup
of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for th e facilities afforded them in
his dominions. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of
a happy speech, freely translate d by the British chaplain,
Ulysses
609 of 1305 the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his
best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word
of God and the secret of Englandâs greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a personal dedication from the august
hand of the Royal Donor. Th e Alaki then drank a
lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and
White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the
dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after
which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitorsâ book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.
âWidow woman, says Ned. I wouldnât doubt her.
Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.
âSame only more so, says Lenehan. And thereafter in
that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly.
âIs that by Griffith? says John Wyse.
Ulysses
Prejudice and Dark Horses
- The conversation shifts from British colonial brutality in the Congo to local suspicions regarding Leopold Bloom's whereabouts.
- Lenehan spreads a rumor that Bloom has secretly won a large sum of money by betting on the long-shot horse, Throwaway.
- The citizen and others express deep-seated anti-Semitic prejudice, dismissing Bloom's character and questioning his loyalty to Ireland.
- John Wyse claims Bloom is the secret intellectual force behind Arthur Griffith and the Sinn Fein movement's economic policies.
- The narrator recounts Bloom's family history with hostility, mentioning his father's suicide and past business dealings as evidence of inherent dishonesty.
- The narrative style abruptly shifts into a parodic, medieval chivalric tone as Martin Cunningham and his party arrive at the pub.
Ireland my nation says he (hoik! phthook!) never be up to those bloody (thereâs the last of it) Jerusalem (ah!) cuckoos.
610 of 1305 âNo, says the citizen. Itâs not signed Shanganagh. Itâs
only initialled: P.
âAnd a very good initial too, says Joe. âThatâs how itâs worked, says the citizen. Trade
follows the flag.
âWell, says J. J., if they âre any worse than those
Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Did you read that report by a man whatâs this his name is?
âCasement, says the citizen. Heâs an Irishman. âYes, thatâs the man, says J. J. Raping the women and
girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.
âI know where heâs gone, sa ys Lenehan, cracking his
fingers.
âWho? says I. âBloom, says he. The courthouse is a blind. He had a
few bob on Throwaway and heâs gone to gather in the
shekels.
âIs it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never
backed a horse in anger in his life?
âThatâs where heâs gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam
Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. Bet you what you
Ulysses
611 of 1305 like he has a hundred shillings to five on. Heâs the only
man in Dublin has it. A dark horse.
âHeâs a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. âMind, Joe, says I. Show us the entrance out. âThere you are, says Terry. Goodbye Ireland Iâm going to Gort. So I just went
round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob (hundred shillings to five) while I was letting off my
(Throwaway twenty to) letting off my load gob says I to
myself I knew he was uneasy in his (two pints off of Joe and one in Slatteryâs off) in his mind to get off the mark to
(hundred shillings is five quid) and when they were in the
(dark horse) pisser Burke was telling me card party and
letting on the child was sick (gob, must have done about a
gallon) flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube sheâs
better or sheâs (ow!) all a plan so he could vamoose with the
pool if he won or (Jesus, full up I was) trading without a
licence (ow!) Ireland my nation says he (hoik! phthook!) never be up to those bloody (thereâs the last of it) Jerusalem (ah!) cuckoos.
So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong,
John Wyse saying it was Bl oom gave the ideas for Sinn
Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off
Ulysses
612 of 1305 of the government and appointing consuls all over the
world to walk about selling Irish industries. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Give us a bloody chance. God save Ireland from the likes of that bloody mouseabout. Mr Bloom with his argol bargol. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem
Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. Loans by post on easy terms. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Distance no object. No security. Gob, heâs like Lanty
MacHaleâs goat thatâd go a piece of the road with every
one.
âWell, itâs a fact, says J ohn Wyse. And thereâs the man
now thatâll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham.
Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it
and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the collector generalâs, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he
drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the kingâs expense.
Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted
from their palfreys.
Ulysses
613 of 1305 âHo, varlet! cried he, who by his mien seemed the
leader of the party. Saucy knave! To us!
So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon
the open lattice.
Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him
with his tabard.
âGive you good den, my ma sters, said he with an
obsequious bow.
âBestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked.
Look to our steeds. And for our selves give us of your best
for ifaith we need it.
The Citizen's Bitter Judgment
- A group of men in a pub engage in a mock-archaic dialogue about a host's larder before shifting to a sharp, prejudiced discussion about Leopold Bloom.
- The men debate Bloom's national loyalty and religious identity, questioning whether a Jew can truly love Ireland.
- Martin Cunningham reveals Bloom's family history, noting his father was a Hungarian named Virag who committed suicide.
- The Citizen expresses violent antisemitic vitriol, labeling Bloom a 'perverted jew' and a 'wolf in sheep's clothing' who deserves to be thrown into the sea.
- The conversation highlights the intersection of Irish nationalism and xenophobia, as the men mock Bloom's masculinity and his supposed role in the 'Hungarian system' of political organization.
- The group prepares to leave for a 'brief libation' while continuing to disparage Bloom for his perceived lack of generosity and foreign roots.
Itâd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea.
âLackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor
house has but a bare larder. I know not what to offer your
lordships.
âHow now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a
man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the kingâs messengers, master Taptun?
An instantaneous change ov erspread the landlordâs
visage.
âCry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you
be the kingâs messengers (God shield His Majesty!) you shall not want for aught. The kingâs friends (God bless His
Majesty!) shall not go afasting in my house I warrant me.
Ulysses
614 of 1305 âThen about! cried the traveller who had not spoken,
a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?
Mine host bowed again as he made answer: âWhat say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty,
some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hogâs bacon, a boarâs head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?
âGadzooks! cried the last speaker. That likes me well.
Pistachios!
âAha! cried he of the pleas ant countenance. A poor
house and a bare larder, quot ha! âTis a merry rogue.
So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.
âWhere is he? says Lenehan. Defrauding widows and
orphans.
âIsnât that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling
the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?
âThatâs so, says Martin . Or so they allege.
âWho made those allegations? says Alf. âI, says Joe. Iâm the alligator. âAnd after all, says John Wyse, why canât a jew love
his country like the next fellow?
âWhy not? says J. J., when heâs quite sure which
country it is.
Ulysses
615 of 1305 âIs he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a
swaddler or what the hell is he? says Ned. Or who is he?
No offence, Crofton.
âWho is Junius? says J. J. âWe donât want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or
presbyterian.
âHeâs a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in
Hungary and it was he drew up all the plans according to
the Hungarian system. We know that in the castle.
âIsnât he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? says Jack
Power.
âNot at all, says Martin. Only namesakes. His name
was Virag, the fatherâs name that poisoned himself. He
changed it by deedpoll, the father did.
âThatâs the new Messiah for Ireland! says the citizen.
Island of saints and sages!
âWell, theyâre still waiting for their redeemer, says
Martin. For that matter so are we.
âYes, says J. J., and every male thatâs born they think
it may be their Messiah. And ev ery jew is in a tall state of
excitement, I believe, till he knows if heâs a father or a
mother.
âExpecting every moment will be his next, says
Lenehan.
Ulysses
616 of 1305 âO, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom
before that son of his that died was born. I met him one
day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neaveâs food six weeks before the wife was delivered.
âEn ventre sa mère , says J. J.
âDo you call that a man? says the citizen. âI wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.
âWell, there were two child ren born anyhow, says
Jack Power.
âAnd who does he suspect? says the citizen. Gob, thereâs many a true word spoken in jest. One of
those mixed middlings he is. Ly ing up in the hotel Pisser
was telling me once a month wit h headache like a totty
with her courses. Do you know what Iâm telling you? Itâd
be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea. Justifiable homicide, so it would. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. Give us your blessing.
Not as much as would blind your eye.
âCharity to the neighbour, says Martin. But where is
he? We canât wait.
âA wolf in sheepâs clothing, says the citizen. Thatâs
what he is. Virag from Hungary! Ahasuerus I call him. Cursed by God.
Ulysses
617 of 1305 âHave you time for a brief libation, Martin? says Ned.
âOnly one, says Martin. We must be quick. J. J. and
A Litany of Saints
- The scene opens in a Dublin pub where the 'citizen' expresses xenophobic and nationalist sentiments regarding the contamination of Irish shores.
- The narrative shifts into a mock-heroic, liturgical parody, listing an exhaustive procession of religious orders and monastic figures.
- A massive, satirical catalog of saints follows, blending genuine historical figures with invented or absurd names like S. Anonymous and S. Pseudonymous.
- The saints are described carrying traditional icons alongside bizarre, anachronistic objects such as boxes of vaseline and watertight boots.
- The procession moves through the specific geography of Dublin streets, merging the mundane city landscape with a grand celestial vision.
- The passage utilizes the 'Cyclops' episode's technique of gigantism, inflating a simple pub conversation into a cosmic, religious spectacle.
And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr and S. Isidore Arator and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr.
S.
âYou, Jack? Crofton? Three half ones, Terry. âSaint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar
and convert us, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.
âWell, says Martin, rapping for his glass. God bless all
here is my prayer.
âAmen, says the citizen. âAnd Iâm sure He will, says Joe. And at the sound of the sa cring bell, headed by a
crucifer with acolytes, thurif ers, boatbearers, readers,
ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans,
Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the friars of Augustine,
Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the
children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah pr ophet led by Albert bishop
and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and
Ulysses
618 of 1305 the sons of Dominic, the fria rs preachers, and the sons of
Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr
and S. Isidore Arator and S. Ja mes the Less and S. Phocas
of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S.
Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis
and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S.
Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence OâToole and S. James of Dingle and
Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius
Ulysses
619 of 1305 Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans
and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and
S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy
and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbar a and S. Scholastica and S.
Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps
and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were
woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in
a bathtub, shells, wallets, sh ears, keys, dragons, lilies,
buckshot, beards, hogs, la mps, bellows, beehives,
soupladles, stars, snakes, anv ils, boxes of vaseline, bells,
crutches, forceps, stagsâ horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills,
unicorns. And as they wended their way by Nelsonâs Pillar, Henry street, Mary street, Capel street, Little Britain
street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which
beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the
Ulysses
The Blessing and the Departure
- A mock-heroic religious procession led by Father OâFlynn performs miracles and blesses a wholesale grocery and spirit shop.
- The narrative shifts between high liturgical Latin and the coarse, cynical dialogue of men in a Dublin pub.
- The 'citizen' and others express anti-Semitic resentment toward a character accused of being stingy and self-serving.
- Martin Cunningham hurriedly ushers the group out to a jaunting car to avoid a rising confrontation.
- The departure of the carriage is described through an elaborate, Homeric parody of a ship setting sail with nymphs.
- The narrator remains grounded in reality, focused on finishing his pint while the grand metaphors unfold.
The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard.
620 of 1305 gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers
wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father OâFlynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8, 9 and 10 little Brit ain street, wholesale grocers,
wine and brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer,
wine and spirits for consumption on the premises, the
celebrant blessed the house and censed the mullioned
windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and
sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that h ouse as he had blessed the
house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the
angels of His light to inhabit therein. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the blessed answered his prayers.
âAdiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.
âQui fecit coelum et terram.
Ulysses
621 of 1305 âDominus vobiscum.
âEt cum spiritu tuo.
And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave
thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed:
âDeus, cuius verbo sanctificantu r omnia, benedictionem tuam
effunde super creaturas istas: et p raesta ut quisquis eis secundum
legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et
animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum
nostrum.
âAnd so say all of us, says Jack. âThousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or
Crawford.
âRight, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. And
butter for fish.
I was just looking around to see who the happy
thought would strike when be damned but in he comes again letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.
âI was just round at the c ourthouse, says he, looking
for you. I hope Iâm not ...
âNo, says Martin, weâre ready. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down
with gold and silver. Mean blood y scut. Stand us a drink
Ulysses
622 of 1305 itself. Devil a sweet fear! Thereâs a jew for you! All for
number one. Cute as a shithouse rat. Hundred to five.
âDonât tell anyone, says the citizen, âBeg your pardon, says he. âCome on boys, says Martin , seeing it was looking
blue. Come along now.
âDonât tell anyone, says the ci tizen, letting a bawl out
of him. Itâs a secret.
And the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. âBye bye all, says Martin. And he got them out as quic k as he could, Jack Power
and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the
middle of them letting on to be all at sea and up with
them on the bloody jaunting car.
â-Off with you, says Martin to the jarvey. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in
the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forwa rd with all sail set, the
spinnaker to larboard. A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked th eir shining forms as doth the
cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of
his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to
Ulysses
623 of 1305 another and he binds them all with an outer ring and
giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the bark clave the waves.
But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint
The Citizen's Violent Farewell
- A chaotic confrontation erupts outside the pub as Bloom asserts that Christ and his family were Jews, directly challenging the Citizen's antisemitism.
- The Citizen, enraged by Bloom's claim and perceived blasphemy, threatens to 'crucify' him and searches for a projectile.
- The narrative shifts into a parodic, high-flown 'epic' style, describing Bloom's departure as a grand, state-sanctioned ceremony of international importance.
- This stylistic shift contrasts the gritty, vulgar reality of the street brawl with a mock-heroic celebration involving illuminated scrolls and bonfires across Ireland.
- The tension between the literal violence of the biscuit box being thrown and the flowery language of the 'departure' highlights the absurdity of the nationalist fervor.
- The scene concludes with the Citizen physically lunging back for a biscuit tin to use as a weapon against Bloom.
Your God was a jew. Christ was a jew like me.
when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf
round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.
âLet me alone, says he.
And begob he got as far as the door and they holding
him and he bawls out of him:
âThree cheers for Israel! Arrah, sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse
for Christâ sake and donât be making a public exhibition of
yourself. Jesus, thereâs always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. Gob, itâd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would.
And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round
the door and Martin telling th e jarvey to drive ahead and
the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and
Ulysses
624 of 1305 he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling
for a speech and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a
patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a
jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her:
âEh, mister! Your fly is open, mister! And says he: âMendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and
Mercadante and Spinoza. And the Saviour was a jew and his father was a jew. Your God.
âHe had no father, says Martin. Thatâll do now. Drive
ahead.
âWhose God? says the citizen. âWell, his uncle was a jew, says he. Your God was a
jew. Christ was a jew like me.
Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop. âBy Jesus, says he, Iâll br ain that bloody jewman for
using the holy name.
By Jesus, Iâll crucify him so I will. Give us that
biscuitbox here.
âStop! Stop! says Joe. A large and appreciative gathering of friends and
acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos
Ulysses
625 of 1305 uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thomâs,
printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas (Meadow of Murmuring Waters). The ceremony which
went off with great ĂŠclat was characterised by the most
affecting cordiality. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. The departing guest was
the recipient of a hearty ovat ion, many of those who were
present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of
Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to
Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsyâs March . Tarbarrels
and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four seas on the summits of the H ill of Howth, Three Rock
Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of
Ulysses
626 of 1305 henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills,
the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light.
VisszontlĂĄtĂĄsra, kedves barĂĄton! VisszontlĂĄtĂĄsra! Gone but not
forgotten.
Gob, the devil wouldnât stop him till he got hold of the
bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf
The Citizen's Seismic Fury
- A chaotic confrontation erupts as the Citizen attempts to physically assault Bloom, who is fleeing on a horse-drawn car.
- The narrative shifts into a mock-heroic, pseudo-scientific style, describing the Citizen's thrown biscuit tin as a catastrophic seismic event.
- The 'earthquake' is reported to have registered eleven shocks on the Mercalli scale, supposedly leveling the Four Courts and surrounding residences.
- The text parodies official reports by detailing the absurd distances at which personal items, like a silk umbrella, were recovered across Ireland.
- The passage concludes with a satirical account of international condolences and the mobilization of recovery efforts by local contractors and the military.
The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect.
hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as any bloody play in the Queenâs royal theatre:
âWhere is he till I murder him? And Ned and J. J. paralysed with the laughing. âBloody wars, says I, Iâll be in for the last gospel. But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nagâs head
round the other way and off with him.
âHold on, citizen, says Joe. Stop! Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.
Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or heâd have left him for dead. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. The bloody nag took fright and the old
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627 of 1305 mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the populace
shouting and laughing and the old tinbox clattering along the street.
The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its
effect. The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifth grade of Mercalliâs scale, and there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Innâs Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole
or perch. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the
palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have
been buried alive. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell
and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the
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628 of 1305 erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir
Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the
giantâs causeway, the latter em bedded to the extent of one
foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incande scent object of enormous
proportions hurtling through th e atmosphere at a terrifying
velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of the different continents and the
sovereign pontiff has been grac iously pleased to decree that
a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated
simultaneously by the ordi naries of each and every
cathedral church of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls
of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. The work of salvage, removal
of dĂŠbris, human remains etc has b een entrusted to Messrs
Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77, 78, 79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwallâs light infantry under the general supervision of H. R. H.,
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629 of 1305 rear admiral, the right honoura ble sir Hercules Hannibal
Ascension and Evening Shore
- The chaotic confrontation between the citizen and Bloom concludes with a frantic escape by carriage.
- The narrative shifts into a mock-heroic biblical style, depicting Bloom's departure as a divine ascension into heaven.
- The scene transitions abruptly to a sentimental, lyrical description of a summer evening at Sandymount shore.
- A group of young women, Cissy Caffrey and Edy Boardman, are introduced relaxing by the sea with children.
- The prose style changes from aggressive vernacular and religious parody to a soft, romanticized domesticity.
And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoeâs in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel.
Habeas Corpus Anderson, K. G., K. P., K. T., P. C., K.
C. B., M. P, J. P., M. B., D. S. O., S. O. D., M. F. H., M. R. I. A., B. L., Mus. Doc., P. L. G., F. T. C. D., F. R. U. I., F. R. C. P. I. and F. R. C. S. I.
You never saw the like of it in all your born puff. Gob,
if he got that lottery ticket on the side of his poll heâd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault and battery and Joe for aiding and abetting. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. What? O, Jesus, he did. And he let a volley of oaths after him.
âDid I kill him, says he, or what?
And he shouting to the bloody dog: âAfter him, Garry! After him, boy! And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the
corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. Hundred to five! Jesus, he took the va lue of it out of him, I promise
you.
When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness
and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to
heaven. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed
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630 of 1305 upon in the glory of the bright ness, having raiment as of
the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they
durst not look upon Him. An d there came a voice out of
heaven, calling: Elijah! Elijah! And He answered with a
main cry: Abba! Adonai! And they beheld Him even Him,
ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an ang le of fortyfive degrees over
Donohoeâs in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel.
* * * * *
The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its
mysterious embrace. Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered
lovingly on sea and strand, on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, on
the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the stormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea.
The three girl friends were seated on the rocks,
enjoying the evening scene and the air which was fresh but not too chilly. Many a time and oft were they wont to
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631 of 1305 come there to that favourite nook to have a cosy chat
beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy Caffrey and Edy Boardman with the baby in the pushcar and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match and the name H.M.S. Belle isle printed on both. For
Tommy and Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years old and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them. They were dabbling in the sand with their spades and buckets, building castles as children do, or playing with their big coloured ball, happy
as the day was long. And Edy Boardman was rocking the
chubby baby to and fro in the pushcar while that young
gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. He was but eleven months and nine days old an d, though still a tiny toddler,
was just beginning to lisp his first babyish words. Cissy Caffrey bent over to him to tease his fat little plucks and
the dainty dimple in his chin.
âNow, baby, Cissy Caffrey said. Say out big, big. I
want a drink of water.
And baby prattled after her: âA jink a jink a jawbo.
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632 of 1305 Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she was awfully
fond of children, so patien t with little sufferers and
Sandcastles and Irish Girlhood
- Cissy Caffrey manages her younger twin brothers, Tommy and Jacky, with a mix of maternal authority and playful persuasion.
- A childhood dispute over a sandcastle's architecture leads to a physical altercation between the twins, resulting in the castle's destruction.
- The narrative highlights the social dynamics between the young women, Cissy and Edy, as they tease the children about sweethearts.
- Gerty MacDowell is introduced as a figure of delicate, almost spiritual beauty, though her health is bolstered by patent medicines.
- The scene captures a specific middle-class Irish domesticity, blending sentimental descriptions with the gritty reality of sandy clothes and childhood tantrums.
The waxen pallor of her face was almost spiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine Cupidâs bow, Greekly perfect.
Tommy Caffrey could never be got to take his castor oil unless it was Cissy Caffrey that held his nose and promised him the scatty heel of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. What a persuasive power that girl had! But to be sure baby Boardman was as good as gold, a perfect little dote in his new fancy bib. None of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, was Cissy Caffrey. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life, always with a laugh in her gipsylike eyes and a fro licsome word on her cherryripe
red lips, a girl lovable in th e extreme. And Edy Boardman
laughed too at the quaint language of little brother.
But just then there was a slight altercation between
Master Tommy and Master Jacky. Boys will be boys and our two twins were no excepti on to this golden rule. The
apple of discord was a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky had built and Master Tommy would have it right go wrong that it was to be architecturally improved by a frontdoor like the Martello tower had. But if Master Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky was selfwilled too and, true to the maxim that every little Irishmanâs house is his castle, he fell upon his hated rival and to such purpose
that the wouldbe assailant came to grief and (alas to relate!)
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633 of 1305 the coveted castle too. Needless to say the cries of
discomfited Master Tommy drew the attention of the girl
friends.
âCome here, Tommy, his sister called imperatively.
At once! And you, Jacky, for shame to throw poor Tommy in the dirty sand. Wait till I catch you for that.
His eyes misty with unshed tears Master Tommy came
at her call for their big sisterâs word was law with the twins. And in a sad plight he was too after his misadventure. His little man-oâ-war top and unmentionables were full of sand but Cissy was a past mistress in the art of smoothing over lifeâs tiny troubles
and very quickly not one speck of sand was to be seen on
his smart little suit. Still the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would well up so she kissed away the
hurtness and shook her hand at Master Jacky the culprit
and said if she was near him she wouldnât be far from him, her eyes dancing in admonition.
âNasty bold Jacky! she cried. She put an arm round the little mariner and coaxed
winningly:
âWhatâs your name? Butter and cream? âTell us who is your sweetheart, spoke Edy
Boardman. Is Cissy your sweetheart?
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634 of 1305 âNao, tearful Tommy said.
âIs Edy Boardman your sweetheart? Cissy queried. âNao, Tommy said. âI know, Edy Boardman said none too amiably with
an arch glance from her shor tsighted eyes. I know who is
Tommyâs sweetheart. Gerty is Tommyâs sweetheart.
âNao, Tommy said on the verge of tears. Cissyâs quick motherwit gu essed what was amiss and
she whispered to Edy Boardman to take him there behind the pushcar where the gentleman couldnât see and to mind
he didnât wet his new tan shoes.
But who was Gerty?
Gerty MacDowell who was seated near her
companions, lost in thought, gazing far away into the distance was, in very truth, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as folks often said, she was more a Giltrap than a MacDowell. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had been taking of late
had done her a world of good much better than the Widow Welchâs female pills and she was much better of
those discharges she used to get and that tired feeling. The waxen pallor of her face was almost spiritual in its
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635 of 1305 ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine
Cupidâs bow, Greekly perfect. Her hands were of finely veined alabaster with tapering fingers and as white as
lemonjuice and queen of oi ntments could make them
Gerty MacDowell's Refined Aspirations
- Gerty MacDowell possesses an innate refinement and 'queenly hauteur' that suggests she was destined for a higher social class than her current station.
- She meticulously maintains her appearance using advice from beauty columns, including the use of 'eyebrowleine' and cutting her hair according to the lunar cycle.
- Despite petty rumors spread by acquaintances like Bertha Supple, Gerty maintains a dignified and superior air in her social circle.
- Gerty experiences a romantic longing for a young man, a student and cyclist, whose family's Protestant faith presents a silent religious barrier.
- Her internal life is a blend of cinematic romanticism and the practical anxieties of courtship and social rivalry among her 'girl chums.'
- She masks her emotional pain and the 'aching void' in her heart with a performative, joyous laugh and a focus on her physical charms.
Had kind fate but willed her to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her own right and had she only received the benefit of a good education Gerty MacDowell might easily have held her own beside any lady in the land.
though it was not true that she used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a milk footbath ei ther. Bertha Supple told that
once to Edy Boardman, a deliberate lie, when she was black out at daggers drawn with Gerty (the girl chums had of course their little tiffs from time to time like the rest of
mortals) and she told her not to let on whatever she did that it was her that told h er or sheâd never speak to her
again. No. Honour where honour is due. There was an innate refinement, a languid queenly hauteur about Gerty
which was unmistakably eviden ced in her delicate hands
and higharched instep. Had kind fate but willed her to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her own right and
had she only received the benefit of a good education Gerty MacDowell might easily have held her own beside any lady in the land and have seen herself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her brow and patrician suitors at her feet vying with one anoth er to pay their devoirs to
her. Mayhap it was this, the love that might have been,
that lent to her softlyfeatu red face at whiles a look, tense
with suppressed meaning, that imparted a strange yearning
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636 of 1305 tendency to the beautiful eyes, a charm few could resist.
Why have women such eyes of witchery? Gertyâs were of the bluest Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark
expressive brows. Time was when those brows were not so silkily seductive. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the Woman Beautiful page of the Princess Novelette,
who had first advised her to try eyebrowleine which gave
that haunting expression to the eyes, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and she had never regretted it. Then there was blushing scientifically cured and how to be tall increase your height and you have a beautiful face but your nose? That would suit Mrs Dignam because she had a
button one. But Gertyâs crowning glory was her wealth of
wonderful hair. It was dark brown with a natural wave in it. She had cut it that very morning on account of the new moon and it nestled about her pretty head in a profusion
of luxuriant clusters and pared her nails too, Thursday for
wealth. And just now at Edyâs words as a telltale flush, delicate as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her cheeks she looked so lovely in her sweet girlish shyness that of a
surety Godâs fair land of Irel and did not hold her equal.
For an instant she was silent with rather sad downcast
eyes. She was about to retort but something checked the words on her tongue. Inclination prompted her to speak
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637 of 1305 out: dignity told her to be silent. The pretty lips pouted
awhile but then she glanced up and broke out into a
joyous little laugh which had in it all the freshness of a young May morning. She knew right well, no-one better, what made squinty Edy say that because of him cooling in his attentions when it was simply a loversâ quarrel. As per usual somebodyâs nose was out of joint about the boy that had the bicycle off the London bridge road always riding up and down in front of her window. Only now his father kept him in in the evenings studying hard to get an exhibition in the intermediate that was on and he was going to go to Trinity college to study for a doctor when
he left the high school like his brother W. E. Wylie who
was racing in the bicycle races in Trinity college university. Little recked he perhaps for what she felt, that dull aching void in her heart sometimes, piercing to the core. Yet he was young and perchance he might learn to love her in time. They were pr otestants in his family and
of course Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Virgin and then Saint Joseph. But he was undeniably handsome with an e xquisite nose and he was
what he looked, every inch a gentleman, the shape of his head too at the back without his cap on that she would know anywhere something off the common and the way
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638 of 1305 he turned the bicycle at the lamp with his hands off the
Gerty MacDowell's Careful Finery
- Gerty MacDowell meticulously prepares her outfit in hopes of a romantic encounter, following the latest trends from the Lady's Pictorial.
- She takes great pride in her fashion sense, having hand-crafted her hat from materials found at a summer sale to outshine her rivals.
- The narrative highlights a competitive social dynamic between Gerty and Edy Boardman regarding physical attributes and style.
- Gerty's attention to detail extends to her hidden garments and superstitious beliefs about luck and 'lovers' meetings.'
- Despite her outward focus on beauty and vanity, the passage concludes by hinting at a deep-seated, gnawing sorrow within her soul.
And when she put it on the waterjug to keep the shape she knew that that would take the shine out of some people she knew.
bars and also the nice perfum e of those good cigarettes and
besides they were both of a size too he and she and that was why Edy Boardman thought she was so frightfully clever because he didnât go and ride up and down in front of her bit of a garden.
Gerty was dressed simply but with the instinctive taste
of a votary of Dame Fashion for she felt that there was just
a might that he might be out . A neat blouse of electric
blue selftinted by dolly dyes (because it was expected in
the Ladyâs Pictorial that electric blue would be worn) with
a smart vee opening down to the division and kerchief
pocket (in which she always kept a piece of cottonwool
scented with her favourite perfume because the handkerchief spoiled the sit) and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. She wore a coquettish little love of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with an underbrim of eggblue chenille and at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. All Tu esday week afternoon she was
hunting to match that chenille but at last she found what she wanted at Cleryâs summer sa les, the very it, slightly
shopsoiled but you would never notice, seven fingers two and a penny. She did it up all by herself and what joy was
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639 of 1305 hers when she tried it on then, smiling at the lovely
reflection which the mirror gave back to her! And when she put it on the waterjug to keep the shape she knew that
that would take the shine out of some people she knew.
Her shoes were the newest thing in footwear (Edy
Boardman prided herself that she was very petite but she
never had a foot like Gerty Ma cDowell, a five, and never
would ash, oak or elm) with patent toecaps and just one
smart buckle over her highar ched instep. Her wellturned
ankle displayed its perfect proportions beneath her skirt and just the proper amount and no more of her shapely
limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels and
wide garter tops. As for undies they were Gertyâs chief care and who that knows the fl uttering hopes and fears of
sweet seventeen (though Gerty would never see seventeen
again) can find it in his he art to blame her? She had four
dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three garments and nighties extra, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, mauve and peagreen, and she aired them herself and blued them when they came home from the wash and ironed them and she had a brickbat to keep the iron on because she wouldnât trust those washerwomen as far as sheâd see them scorching the things. She was wearing the blue for luck, hoping against
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640 of 1305 hope, her own colour and lucky too for a bride to have a
bit of blue somewhere on her be cause the green she wore
that day week brought grie f because his father brought
him in to study for the in termediate exhibition and
because she thought perhaps he might be out because when she was dressing that morning she nearly slipped up the old pair on her inside out and that was for luck and loversâ meeting if you put those things on inside out or if they got untied that he was thinking about you so long as it wasnât of a Friday.
And yet and yet! That strained look on her face! A
gnawing sorrow is there all the time. Her very soul is in
Gerty MacDowell's Romantic Longing
- Gerty MacDowell experiences a profound sense of melancholy and yearning as she reflects on her unfulfilled romantic aspirations.
- She dismisses her former crush, Reggy Wylie, as too young and lacking the strength of character required to be her ideal partner.
- Gerty dreams of a 'manly man' with a quiet face and grey-flecked hair who will offer her protection and deep, passionate affection.
- Her domestic fantasies involve a meticulously curated home life, featuring golden-brown griddlecakes and elegant furnishings from jumble sales.
- She envisions marriage as a sanctuary of 'hominess' where she can escape the petty judgments of her peers like Edy Boardman and Bertha Supple.
- The narrative highlights the contrast between Gerty's poetic, idealized vision of love and the mundane realities of her social environment.
He called her little one in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half kiss (the first!) but it was only the end of her nose and then he hastened from the room with a remark about refreshments.
her eyes and she would give wo rlds to be in the privacy of
her own familiar chamber where, giving way to tears, she could have a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too much because she knew how to
cry nicely before the mirror. Y ou are lovely, Gerty, it said.
The paly light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful. Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain. Yes, she had known from the very first that her daydream of a marriage has been arranged and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie T. C. D. (because the one who married the elder brother would be Mrs Wylie) and in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie was wearing a sumptuous
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641 of 1305 confection of grey trimmed with expensive blue fox was
not to be. He was too young to understand. He would not believe in love, a womanâs birthright. The night of the party long ago in Stoerâs (he was still in short trousers) when they were alone and he stole an arm round her waist
she went white to the very lips. He called her little one in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half kiss (the first!) but it was only the end of her nose and then he hastened from the room with a remark about refreshments. Impetuous fellow! Strength of character had never been
Reggy Wylieâs strong point and he who would woo and
win Gerty MacDowell must be a man among men. But
waiting, always waiting to be asked and it was leap year
too and would soon be over. No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare and w ondrous love at her feet but
rather a manly man with a strong quiet face who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and who would understand, take her in his sheltering
arms, strain her to him in all the strength of his deep passionate nature and comfort her with a long long kiss. It would be like heaven. For such a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. With all the heart of her she longs to be his only, his affianced bride for riches for poor, in
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642 of 1305 sickness in health, till death us two part, from this to this
day forward.
And while Edy Boardman was with little Tommy
behind the pushcar she was just thinking would the day ever come when she could call herself his little wife to be.
Then they could talk about her till they went blue in the face, Bertha Supple too, and Edy, little spitfire, because she would be twentytwo in November. She would care for him with creature comforts too for Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked that feeling of
hominess. Her griddlecakes done to a goldenbrown hue and queen Annâs pudding of delightful creaminess had
won golden opinions from all because she had a lucky
hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the fine selfraising flour and always stir in the same direction, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white of eggs though she didnât like the eating part when there were any people that made her shy and oft en she wondered why you
couldnât eat something poetical like violets or roses and they would have a beautifully appointed drawingroom with pictures and engravings and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrapâs lovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was so human and chin tz covers for the chairs and
that silver toastrack in Clery âs summer jumble sales like
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643 of 1305 they have in rich houses. He would be tall with broad
shoulders (she had always admired tall men for a husband) with glistening white teeth under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and they would go on the continent for their honeymoon (three wonderful weeks!) and then, when they settled down in a nice snug and cosy little homely house, every morning they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for their own two selves and before he went ou t to business he would give
his dear little wifey a good hearty hug and gaze for a
moment deep down into her eyes.
Edy Boardman asked Tommy C affrey was he done and
Sandymount Sands and Spiritual Sighs
- A domestic squabble unfolds on the beach as young Tommy Caffrey throws a tantrum over a ball, highlighting the gendered dynamics of childcare among the young women.
- Cissy Caffrey uses playful distraction and humor to resolve the conflict, contrasting with Edy Boardmanâs stricter, more frustrated approach to discipline.
- Gerty MacDowell experiences a moment of Victorian modesty and social anxiety, blushing at Cissy's unladylike language and worrying about the nearby gentleman's perception.
- The narrative characterizes Cissy as a 'madcap' and sincere spirit, recalling her past tomboyish escapades and her refusal to conform to rigid social pretenses.
- The atmosphere shifts as the sound of a temperance retreat's organ music drifts over the shore, prompting Gerty to reflect on her family's decline due to her father's alcoholism.
- Gertyâs internal monologue reveals a deep-seated longing for a lost middle-class status, imagining a life of luxury that was thwarted by the 'demon drink'.
Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and crimsoned at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that out loud sheâd be ashamed of her life to say, flushing a deep rosy red.
he said yes so then she buttoned up his little
knickerbockers for him and told him to run off and play with Jacky and to be good now and not to fight. But
Tommy said he wanted the ball and Edy told him no that baby was playing with the ball and if he took it thereâd be
wigs on the green but Tommy said it was his ball and he wanted his ball and he pranced on the ground, if you please. The temper of him! O, he was a man already was little Tommy Caffrey since he was out of pinnies. Edy told him no, no and to be off now with him and she told Cissy
Caffrey not to give in to him.
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644 of 1305 âYouâre not my sister, naughty Tommy said. Itâs my
ball.
But Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman to look up, look
up high at her finger and she snatched the ball quickly and threw it along the sand and Tommy after it in full career, having won the day.
âAnything for a quiet life, laughed Ciss. And she tickled tiny totâs two cheeks to make him
forget and played hereâs the lord mayor, hereâs his two horses, hereâs his gingerbread carriage and here he walks in, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper chin. But Edy
got as cross as two sticks ab out him getting his own way
like that from everyone always petting him.
âIâd like to give him something, she said, so I would,
where I wonât say.
âOn the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily. Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and crimsoned
at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that out loud sheâd be ashamed of her life to say, flushing a deep rosy red, and Edy Boardman said she was sure the gentleman opposite heard w hat she said. But not a pin
cared Ciss.
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645 of 1305 âLet him! she said with a pert toss of her head and a
piquant tilt of her nose. Give it to him too on the same place as quick as Iâd look at him.
Madcap Ciss with her golliwog curls. You had to laugh
at her sometimes. For instance when she asked you would you have some more Chinese tea and jaspberry ram and when she drew the jugs too and the menâs faces on her nails with red ink make you s plit your sides or when she
wanted to go where you know she said she wanted to run and pay a visit to the Miss White. That was just like Cissycums. O, and will you ever forget her the evening she dressed up in her fatherâs suit and hat and the burned
cork moustache and walked down Tritonville road,
smoking a cigarette. There was none to come up to her
for fun. But she was sincerity itself, one of the bravest and
truest hearts heaven ever made, not one of your twofaced
things, too sweet to be wholesome.
And then there came out upon the air the sound of
voices and the pealing anthem of the organ. It was the
menâs temperance retreat conducted by the missioner, the reverend John Hughes S. J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament. They were there gathered together without distinction of social class (and a most edifying spectacle it was to see) in that simple
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646 of 1305 fane beside the waves, after th e storms of this weary world,
kneeling before the feet of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to intercede for them, the old familiar word s, holy Mary, holy virgin of
virgins. How sad to poor Gertyâs ears! Had her father only avoided the clutches of the demon drink, by taking the pledge or those powders the dr ink habit cured in Pearsonâs
Weekly, she might now be rolling in her carriage, second to none. Over and over had she told herself that as she mused by the dying embers in a brown study without the lamp because she hated two lig hts or oftentimes gazing out
of the window dreamily by the hour at the rain falling on
the rusty bucket, thinking. Bu t that vile decoction which
Gerty MacDowellâs Domestic Reflections
- Gerty reflects on a childhood shadowed by her fatherâs alcoholism and the domestic violence she witnessed in her home.
- Despite her father's flaws and his physical decline, Gerty recalls nostalgic family moments of music and shared suppers.
- The narrative highlights the sudden death of Mr. Dignam, serving as a grim reminder of mortality within their social circle.
- Gerty is portrayed as a 'ministering angel' who manages the household, cares for her motherâs headaches, and maintains domestic order.
- Gerty finds romantic escape in a grocery store almanac, daydreaming of 'halcyon days' and aristocratic chivalry.
- The scene shifts back to the beach where a mysterious gentleman in black intervenes in the twins' rowdy play.
If there was one thing of all things that Gerty knew it was that the man who lifts his hand to a woman save in the way of kindness, deserves to be branded as the lowest of the low.
has ruined so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her childhood days. Nay, she had even witnessed in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had seen her own father, a prey to the fumes of
intoxication, forget himself completely for if there was one thing of all things that Gert y knew it was that the man
who lifts his hand to a woman save in the way of kindness, deserves to be branded as the lowest of the low.
And still the voices sang in supplication to the Virgin
most powerful, Virgin most merciful. And Gerty, rapt in thought, scarce saw or heard her companions or the twins
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647 of 1305 at their boyish gambols or the gentleman off Sandymount
green that Cissy Caffrey called the man that was so like himself passing along the strand taking a short walk. You
never saw him any way screwed but still and for all that she would not like him for a father because he was too old or something or on account of his face (it was a palpable
case of Doctor Fell) or his carbuncly nose with the pimples
on it and his sandy moustache a bit white under his nose. Poor father! With all his faults she loved him still when he
sang Tell me, Mary, how to woo thee or My love and cottage
near Rochelle and they had stewed cockles and lettuce with
Lazenbyâs salad dressing for supper and when he sang The
moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and
was buried, God have mercy on him, from a stroke. Her motherâs birthday that was and Charley was home on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dig nam and Mrs and Patsy and
Freddy Dignam and they were to have had a group taken. No-one would have thought the end was so near. Now he was laid to rest. And her mother said to him to let that be a warning to him for the rest of his days and he couldnât even go to the funeral on account of the gout and she had to go into town to bring him the letters and samples from his office about Catesbyâs cork lino, artistic,
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648 of 1305 standard designs, fit for a pa lace, gives tiptop wear and
always bright and cheery in the home.
A sterling good daughter was Gerty just like a second
mother in the house, a ministering angel too with a little heart worth its weight in gold. And when her mother had those raging splitting headaches who was it rubbed the menthol cone on her forehead but Gerty though she didnât like her motherâs taking pinches of snuff and that was the only single thing they ever had words about, taking snuff. Everyone thought the world of her for her gentle ways. It was Gerty w ho turned off the gas at the
main every night and it was Gerty who tacked up on the
wall of that place where she ne ver forgot every fortnight
the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocerâs christmas almanac, the picture of halcyon days where a young gentleman in the costume they used to wear then with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to his ladylove with oldtime chivalry through her lattice window. You could see there was a story behind it. The colours were done something lovely. She was in a soft clinging white in a studied attitude and the gentleman was in chocolate and he looked a thorough aristocrat. She often looked at them dream ily when she went there for a
certain purpose and felt her own arms that were white and
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649 of 1305 soft just like hers with the sl eeves back and thought about
those times because she had found out in Walkerâs pronouncing dictionary that belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about the halcyon days what they meant.
The twins were now playing in the most approved
brotherly fashion till at last Master Jacky who was really as bold as brass there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball as hard as ever he could down towards the seaweedy rocks. Needless to say poor Tommy was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman in black who was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the rescue and intercepted the ball. Our two champions
Twilight Flirtations and Sacred Echoes
- A stray ball leads to a moment of self-conscious performance as Gerty MacDowell kicks it back to the twins to impress a mysterious gentleman.
- Gerty experiences a surge of physical awareness and 'pure jealousy,' using the interaction to draw the gaze of the man watching her from a distance.
- The narrative juxtaposes the secular, romantic tension on the beach with the solemn Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary drifting from a nearby church.
- The spiritual atmosphere of the 'mystical rose' and 'spiritual vessel' contrasts with the mundane, messy realities of childcare on the strand.
- Cissy Caffrey manages a fussy, 'possing wet' infant, highlighting the domestic chaos that Gerty finds irritating and disruptive to her romantic reverie.
- Gerty observes the gentleman's face in the twilight, perceiving it as the saddest she has ever seen, adding a layer of melancholic desire to the scene.
She felt the warm flush, a danger signal always with Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks.
claimed their plaything with lusty cries and to avoid
trouble Cissy Caffrey called to the gentleman to throw it to her please. The gentleman aimed the ball once or twice and then threw it up the strand towards Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down the slope and stopped right under Gertyâs skirt near the little pool by the rock. The twins clamoured again for it and Cissy told her to kick it away and let them fight for it so Gerty drew back her foot but she wished their stupid ball hadnât come rolling down to her and she gave a kick but she missed and Edy and Cissy laughed.
âIf you fail try again, Edy Boardman said.
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650 of 1305 Gerty smiled assent and bit her lip. A delicate pink
crept into her pretty cheek but she was determined to let them see so she just lifted h er skirt a little but just enough
and took good aim and gave the ball a jolly good kick and it went ever so far and the tw o twins after it down towards
the shingle. Pure jealousy of course it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the gentleman opposite looking. She felt the warm flush, a danger signal always with Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks. Till then they had only exchanged glances of the most casual but now under the brim of her new hat she
ventured a look at him and the face that met her gaze
there in the twilight, wan and strangely drawn, seemed to
her the saddest she had ever seen.
Through the open window of the church the fragrant
incense was wafted and with it the fragrant names of her who was conceived without stain of original sin, spiritual
vessel, pray for us, honourable vessel, pray for us, vessel of
singular devotion, pray for us, mystical rose. And
careworn hearts were there and toilers for their daily bread and many who had erred and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for all that bright with hope for the reverend father Father Hughes had told them what the
great saint Bernard said in hi s famous prayer of Mary, the
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651 of 1305 most pious Virginâs intercessory power that it was not
recorded in any age that thos e who implored her powerful
protection were ever abandoned by her.
The twins were now playing again right merrily for the
troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers. Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman till he crowed
with glee, clapping baby hands in air. Peep she cried behind the hood of the pushcar and Edy asked where was Cissy gone and then Cissy popped up her head and cried ah! and, my word, didnât the little chap enjoy that! And then she told him to say papa.
âSay papa, baby. Say pa pa pa pa pa pa pa.
And baby did his level best to say it for he was very
intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the picture of health, a perfect little bunch of love, and he would certainly turn out to be something great,
they said.
âHaja ja ja haja. Cissy wiped his little mouth with the dribbling bib and
wanted him to sit up properly and say pa pa pa but when she undid the strap she cried out , holy saint Denis, that he
was possing wet and to double the half blanket the other way under him. Of course hi s infant majesty was most
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652 of 1305 obstreperous at such toilet for malities and he let everyone
know it:
âHabaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. And two great big lovely big tears coursing down his
cheeks. It was all no use soothering him with no, nono, baby, no and telling him about the geegee and where was the puffpuff but Ciss, always readywitted, gave him in his mouth the teat of the suckingbottle and the young heathen was quickly appeased.
Gerty wished to goodness they would take their
squalling baby home out of that and not get on her nerves,
no hour to be out, and the littl e brats of twins. She gazed
out towards the distant sea. It was like the paintings that
man used to do on the pave ment with all the coloured
Gerty MacDowell's Romantic Vision
- Gerty MacDowell observes a mysterious, dark-eyed stranger on the beach, projecting onto him the image of a tragic, romantic hero.
- She interprets his intense gaze as a profound connection, imagining he can read her soul and find her uniquely 'womanly' compared to other girls.
- Despite his potential status as a foreigner or a sinner, Gerty feels a maternal and romantic urge to heal his 'haunting sorrow' through love.
- The narrative blends Gerty's eroticized daydreams of physical embrace with the religious imagery of the nearby church service.
- Gerty finds comfort in the rituals of the Catholic Church, viewing the Virgin Mary as a refuge while imagining her own potential life as a nun.
His eyes burned into her as though they would search her through and through, read her very soul.
chalks and such a pity too le aving them there to be all
blotted out, the evening and the clouds coming out and the Bailey light on Howth and to hear the music like that and the perfume of those ince nse they burned in the
church like a kind of waft. An d while she gazed her heart
went pitapat. Yes, it was her he was looking at, and there
was meaning in his look. His eyes burned into her as though they would search her through and through, read her very soul. Wonderful eyes they were, superbly expressive, but could you tr ust them? People were so
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653 of 1305 queer. She could see at once by his dark eyes and his pale
intellectual face that he was a foreigner, the image of the photo she had of Martin Harvey, the matinee idol, only for the moustache which she preferred because she wasnât stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same on account of a play but she could not see whether he had an aquiline nose or a slightly
retroussĂŠ from where he was sitting. He was in deep
mourning, she could see that , and the story of a haunting
sorrow was written on his face. She would have given worlds to know what it was. He was looking up so
intently, so still, and he saw her kick the ball and perhaps
he could see the bright steel buckles of her shoes if she swung them like that thoughtfully with the toes down. She was glad that something told her to put on the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie might be out but that was far away. Here was that of which she had so often dreamed. It was he who mattered and there was joy on her face because she wanted him because she felt instinctively that he was like no-one else. The very heart of the girlwoman went out to him, her dreamhusband, because she knew on the instant it was him. If he had suffered, more sinned against than sinning, or even, even, if he had been himself a sinner, a wicked man, she cared
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654 of 1305 not. Even if he was a protest ant or methodist she could
convert him easily if he truly loved her. There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. She was a
womanly woman not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had known, those cyclists showing off what they hadnât got and she just yearned to know all, to forgive all if she could make him fall in love with her, make him forget the memory of the past. Then ma yhap he would embrace her
gently, like a real man, crushing her soft body to him, and love her, his ownest girlie, for herself alone.
Refuge of sinners. Comfortress of the afflicted. Ora pro
nobis. Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her
with faith and constancy can never be lost or cast away:
and fitly is she too a haven of refuge for the afflicted because of the seven dolours which transpierced her own heart. Gerty could picture the whole scene in the church, the stained glass windows lighted up, the candles, the flowers and the blue banners of the blessed Virginâs sodality and Father Conroy was helping Canon OâHanlon
at the altar, carrying things in and out with his eyes cast
down. He looked almost a sa int and his confessionbox was
so quiet and clean and dark and his hands were just like white wax and if ever she became a Dominican nun in their white habit perhaps he might come to the convent
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655 of 1305 for the novena of Saint Dominic. He told her that time
when she told him about that in confession, crimsoning up
The Gaze on Sandymount Strand
- Gerty MacDowell reflects on the comforting words of a priest who validated her natural feminine desires as divinely instituted rather than sinful.
- The narrative captures the domestic tension and social performance of the young women as they mind unruly children on the beach.
- Cissy Caffreyâs tomboyish behavior and physical display are viewed with sharp, competitive judgment by Gerty, who finds her common and forward.
- A religious service occurring nearby provides a rhythmic, liturgical backdrop to the secular vanities and romantic longing of the characters.
- Gerty is acutely aware of a gentleman watching her, interpreting his gaze as a validation of her superior beauty and fashion choices over her companions.
She ran with long gandery strides it was a wonder she didnât rip up her skirt at the side that was too tight on her because there was a lot of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey and she was a forward piece whenever she thought she had a good opportunity to show.
to the roots of her hair for fear he could see, not to be troubled because that was only the voice of nature and we were all subject to natureâs laws, he said, in this life and that that was no sin because that came from the nature of woman instituted by God, he said, and that Our Blessed Lady herself said to the archangel Gabriel be it done unto me according to Thy Word. He was so kind and holy and
often and often she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him as a
present or a clock but they had a clock she noticed on the
mantelpiece white and gold wit h a canarybird that came
out of a little house to tell the time the day she went there
about the flowers for the forty hoursâ adoration because it was hard to know what sort of a present to give or perhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some place.
The exasperating little brats of twins began to quarrel
again and Jacky threw the ball out towards the sea and they both ran after it. Little monkeys common as ditchwater. Someone ought to take them and give them a good hiding for themselves to keep them in their places, the both of them. And Cissy and Edy shouted after them
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656 of 1305 to come back because they were afraid the tide might
come in on them and be drowned.
âJacky! Tommy! Not they! What a great notion they had! So Cissy said
it was the very last time sheâd ever bring them out. She jumped up and called them and she ran down the slope
past him, tossing her hair behind her which had a good enough colour if there had been more of it but with all the thingamerry she was always rubbing into it she couldnât get it to grow long because it wasnât natural so
she could just go and throw her hat at it. She ran with long gandery strides it was a wonder she didnât rip up her
skirt at the side that was t oo tight on her because there was
a lot of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey and she was a forward piece whenever she thought she had a good opportunity to show and just because she was a good runner she ran like that so that he could see all the end of
her petticoat running and her skinny shanks up as far as possible. It would have served her just right if she had
tripped up over something a ccidentally on purpose with
her high crooked French heels on her to make her look
tall and got a fine tumble. Tableau! That would have been
a very charming expose for a gentleman like that to witness.
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657 of 1305 Queen of angels, queen of patriarchs, queen of
prophets, of all saints, they prayed, queen of the most holy rosary and then Father Conroy handed the thurible to Canon OâHanlon and he put in the incense and censed
the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy Caffrey caught the two twins and she was itching to give them a ringing good clip on the ear but she didnât becaus e she thought he might be
watching but she never made a bigger mistake in all her life because Gerty could see wit hout looking that he never
took his eyes off of her and then Canon OâHanlon handed the thurible back to Father Conroy and knelt down looking up at the Blessed Sacrament and the choir began to sing the Tantum ergo and she just swung her foot in and
out in time as the music rose and fell to the Tantumer gosa
cramen tum . Three and eleven she paid for those stockings
in Sparrowâs of Georgeâs st reet on the Tuesday, no the
Monday before Easter and there wasnât a brack on them and that was what he was looking at, transparent, and not at her insignificant ones that had neither shape nor form (the cheek of her!) because he had eyes in his head to see the difference for himself.
Cissy came up along the strand with the two twins and
their ball with her hat anyhow on her to one side after her run and she did look a streel tugging the two kids along
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Gerty MacDowell's Silent Flirtation
- Gerty MacDowell revels in her own beauty, observing the intense and 'maddening' effect her appearance has on a nearby gentleman.
- The narrative highlights the tension between Gerty and her companions, Edy and Cissy, whom she views with a mix of irritation and social competition.
- A moment of direct interaction occurs when Cissy approaches the gentleman to ask the time, revealing his 'cultured' but slightly nervous demeanor.
- Gerty interprets the man's gaze as a form of worship, feeling a physical rush of sensation as he watches her movements.
- The scene is set against the backdrop of a religious service, contrasting the solemnity of the 'Tantum ergo' with the secular, eroticized tension on the beach.
He was eying her as a snake eyes its prey.
658 of 1305 with the flimsy blouse she bought only a fortnight before
like a rag on her back and a bit of her petticoat hanging
like a caricature. Gerty just took off her hat for a moment to settle her hair and a prettier, a daintier head of nutbrown tresses was never seen on a girlâs shouldersâa radiant little vision, in sooth, almost maddening in its sweetness. You would have to travel many a long mile before you found a head of hair the like of that. She could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in his eyes that set her tingling in every nerve. She put on her
hat so that she could see fr om underneath the brim and
swung her buckled shoe faster for her breath caught as she
caught the expression in his eyes. He was eying her as a
snake eyes its prey. Her womanâ s instinct told her that she
had raised the devil in him and at the thought a burning scarlet swept from throat to brow till the lovely colour of her face became a glorious rose.
Edy Boardman was noticing it too because she was
squinting at Gerty, half smilin g, with her specs like an old
maid, pretending to nurse the baby. Irritable little gnat she was and always would be and that was why no-one could get on with her poking her nose into what was no concern of hers. And she said to Gerty:
âA penny for your thoughts.
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659 of 1305 âWhat? replied Gerty with a smile reinforced by the
whitest of teeth. I was only wondering was it late.
Because she wished to goodness theyâd take the
snottynosed twins and their babby home to the mischief out of that so that was why she just gave a gentle hint
about its being late. And when Cissy came up Edy asked her the time and Miss Cissy, as glib as you like, said it was half past kissing time, time to kiss again. But Edy wanted to know because they were told to be in early.
âWait, said Cissy, Iâll run ask my uncle Peter over
there whatâs the time by his conundrum.
So over she went and when he saw her coming she
could see him take his hand out of his pocket, getting
nervous, and beginning to play with his watchchain, looking up at the church. Pa ssionate nature though he was
Gerty could see that he had enormous control over
himself. One moment he had been there, fascinated by a loveliness that made him gaze, and the next moment it was the quiet gravefaced gent leman, selfcontrol expressed
in every line of his distinguishedlooking figure.
Cissy said to excuse her would he mind please telling
her what was the right time and Gerty could see him
taking out his watch, listening to it and looking up and clearing his throat and he said he was very sorry his watch
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660 of 1305 was stopped but he thought it must be after eight because
the sun was set. His voice had a cultured ring in it and though he spoke in measured accents there was a suspicion of a quiver in the mellow tones. Cissy said thanks and came back with her tongue out and said uncle said his waterworks were out of order.
Then they sang the second verse of the Tantum ergo and
Canon OâHanlon got up again and censed the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down and he told Father Conroy that one of the candles was just going to set fire to the flowers and Father Conroy got up and settled it all right and she
could see the gentleman winding his watch and listening
to the works and she swung her leg more in and out in time. It was getting darker but he could see and he was looking all the time that he was winding the watch or
whatever he was doing to it and then he put it back and put his hands back into his pockets. She felt a kind of a sensation rushing all over her and she knew by the feel of her scalp and that irritation agai nst her stays that that thing
must be coming on because the last time too was when she clipped her hair on account of the moon. His dark eyes fixed themselves on her again drinking in her every
contour, literally worshipping at her shrine. If ever there
Gerty's Scorn and Social Rivalry
- Gerty MacDowell experiences a moment of intense emotional validation under the passionate gaze of a mysterious admirer on the strand.
- A sharp social exchange occurs between Gerty and Edy, who attempts to wound Gerty by mocking her recent romantic rejection.
- Gerty masks her internal pain and tears with a display of 'scathing politeness' and a proud, musical declaration of her own independence.
- The narrative highlights the petty jealousies and class distinctions felt between the young women as they prepare to leave the beach.
- The scene transitions from intense interpersonal drama to the domestic comedy of tending to a messy infant as the church bell signals the benediction.
A brief cold blaze shone from her eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable.
was undisguised admiration in a manâs passionate gaze it
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661 of 1305 was there plain to be seen on that manâs face. It is for you,
Gertrude MacDowell, and you know it.
Edy began to get ready to go and it was high time for
her and Gerty noticed that that little hint she gave had had the desired effect because it was a long way along the strand to where there was the pla ce to push up the pushcar
and Cissy took off the twinsâ caps and tidied their hair to make herself attractive of course and Canon OâHanlon
stood up with his cope poking up at his neck and Father Conroy handed him the card to read off and he read out
Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy and Cissy were talking
about the time all the time and asking her but Gerty could
pay them back in their own coin and she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked her was she
heartbroken about her best boy throwing her over. Gerty winced sharply. A brief cold bl aze shone from her eyes
that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. It hurtâO yes, it cut deep because Edy had her own quiet way of saying things like that she knew would wound like the confounded little cat she was. Gertyâs lips parted swiftly to frame the word but she fought back the sob that rose to her throat, so slim, so flawless, so beautifully moulded it seemed one an artist might have dreamed of. She had loved him better than he knew. Lighthearted deceiver and
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662 of 1305 fickle like all his sex he w ould never understand what he
had meant to her and for an instant there was in the blue eyes a quick stinging of tears. Their eyes were probing her
mercilessly but with a brave e ffort she sparkled back in
sympathy as she glanced at her new conquest for them to
see.
âO, responded Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing,
and the proud head flashed up. I can throw my cap at who I like because itâs leap year.
Her words rang out crystalclear, more musical than the
cooing of the ringdove, but they cut the silence icily.
There was that in her young vo ice that told that she was
not a one to be lightly trifled with. As for Mr Reggy with
his swank and his bit of money she could just chuck him aside as if he was so much filth and never again would she cast as much as a second thoug ht on him and tear his silly
postcard into a dozen pieces. And if ever after he dared to
presume she could give him one look of measured scorn that would make him shrivel up on the spot. Miss puny
little Edyâs countenance fell to no slight extent and Gerty
could see by her looking as black as thunder that she was simply in a towering rage though she hid it, the little kinnatt, because that shaft had struck home for her petty
jealousy and they both knew that she was something aloof,
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663 of 1305 apart, in another sphere, that she was not of them and
never would be and there was somebody else too that knew it and saw it so they could put that in their pipe and smoke it.
Edy straightened up baby Boardman to get ready to go
and Cissy tucked in the ball and the spades and buckets and it was high time too because the sandman was on his way for Master Boardman junior. And Cissy told him too that billy winks was coming and that baby was to go
deedaw and baby looked just too ducky, laughing up out of his gleeful eyes, and Cissy poked him like that out of fun in his wee fat tummy and baby, without as much as by
your leave, sent up his com pliments to all and sundry on
to his brandnew dribbling bib.
âO my! Puddeny pie! prote sted Ciss. He has his bib
destroyed.
The slight contretemps claimed her attention but in two
twos she set that little matter to rights.
Gerty stifled a smothered exclamation and gave a
nervous cough and Edy asked what and she was just going to tell her to catch it while it was flying but she was ever ladylike in her deportment so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that that was the benediction because just then the bell rang out from the steeple over
Gerty MacDowell's Romantic Dreams
- Gerty MacDowell observes a religious benediction at twilight, blending the spiritual atmosphere with her own sentimental longings.
- She finds solace in Victorian literature and poetry, using these romanticized tropes to frame her own identity and aspirations.
- Gerty maintains a collection of feminine treasures and a confession album, reflecting her desire for a life of aesthetic neatness and poetic expression.
- She harbors a secret physical 'shortcoming' from an accident that fuels her insecurity despite her outward confidence in her beauty.
- Gerty projects a complex romantic fantasy onto a mysterious stranger, imagining a relationship that transcends social conventions and past tragedies.
- Her internal monologue reveals a strict moral code that distinguishes her 'finebred nature' from the 'fallen women' she views with disdain.
Art thou real, my ideal? it was called by Louis J Walsh, Magherafelt, and after there was something about twilight, wilt thou ever?
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664 of 1305 the quiet seashore because Canon OâHanlon was up on
the altar with the veil that Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction with the Blessed Sacrament in his hands.
How moving the scene there in the gathering twilight,
the last glimpse of Erin, the touching chime of those evening bells and at the same time a bat flew forth from
the ivied belfry through the dusk, hither, thither, with a tiny lost cry. And she could see far away the lights of the lighthouses so picturesque she would have loved to do with a box of paints because it was easier than to make a man and soon the lamplighter would be going his rounds
past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady
Tritonville avenue where the couples walked and lighting the lamp near her window where Reggy Wylie used to
turn his freewheel like she read in that book The
Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan
and other tales. For Gerty had her dreams that no-one knew of. She loved to read poetry and when she got a
keepsake from Bertha Supple of that lovely confession album with the coralpink cover to write her thoughts in
she laid it in the drawer of her toilettable which, though it
did not err on the side of luxu ry, was scrupulously neat
and clean. It was there she kept her girlish treasure trove,
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665 of 1305 the tortoiseshell combs, her child of Mary badge, the
whiterose scent, the eyebrowleine, her alabaster pouncetbox and the ribbons to change when her things came home from the wash and there were some beautiful
thoughts written in it in violet ink that she bought in Helyâs of Dame Street for she felt that she too could write poetry if she could only expre ss herself like that poem that
appealed to her so deeply that she had copied out of the
newspaper she found one evening round the potherbs. Art
thou real, my ideal? it was called by Louis J Walsh,
Magherafelt, and after there was something about twilight,
wilt thou ever? and ofttimes the beauty of poetry, so sad in
its transient loveliness, had mi sted her eyes with silent tears
for she felt that the years w ere slipping by for her, one by
one, and but for that one shortcoming she knew she need fear no competition and that was an accident coming
down Dalkey hill and she always tried to conceal it. But it must end, she felt. If she saw that magic lure in his eyes there would be no holding back for her. Love laughs at locksmiths. She would make th e great sacrifice. Her every
effort would be to share hi s thoughts. Dearer than the
whole world would she be to him and gild his days with happiness. There was the allimportant question and she was dying to know was he a married man or a widower
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666 of 1305 who had lost his wife or some tragedy like the nobleman
with the foreign name from the land of song had to have her put into a madhouse, cruel only to be kind. But even ifâwhat then? Would it make a very great difference? From everything in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. She loathed that sort of person, the fallen women off the accommodation walk beside the Dodder that went with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a girlâs honour, degrading the sex and being taken up to the police station. No, no: not that. They would be just good friends like a big brother and sister without all that other in spite of the conventions of
Society with a big ess. Perhaps it was an old flame he was
in mourning for from the da ys beyond recall. She thought
she understood. She would try to understand him because men were so different. The old love was waiting, waiting with little white hands stretched out, with blue appealing eyes. Heart of mine! She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the wor ld for her for love was the
master guide. Nothing else mattered. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.
Fireworks and Silent Passion
- The religious service concludes as the children and Cissy Caffrey rush toward the beach to watch the bazaar fireworks.
- Gerty MacDowell remains behind, choosing to stay seated in a moment of defiance and private intimacy.
- Gerty becomes hyper-aware of the intense, silent gaze of a man nearby, interpreting his look as one of steadfast, noble passion.
- She leans back to view the Roman candles, intentionally exposing her legs to the man while reflecting on the secret 'hotblooded' nature of men.
- Gerty justifies her provocative behavior through a lens of romantic fantasy and the comfort of religious absolution.
- The scene reaches a sensory peak as a Roman candle climbs higher into the sky, mirroring the rising tension between the two watchers.
Whitehot passion was in that face, passion silent as the grave, and it had made her his.
Canon OâHanlon put the Blesse d Sacrament back into
the tabernacle and genuflected and the choir sang Laudate
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667 of 1305 Dominum omnes gentes and then he locked the tabernacle
door because the benediction was over and Father Conroy handed him his hat to put on and crosscat Edy asked
wasnât she coming but Jacky Caffrey called out:
âO, look, Cissy! And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy
saw it too over the trees beside the church, blue and then green and purple.
âItâs fireworks, Cissy Caffrey said. And they all ran down the strand to see over the houses
and the church, helterskelter, Edy with the pushcar with
baby Boardman in it and Cissy holding Tommy and Jacky
by the hand so they wouldnât fall running.
âCome on, Gerty, Cissy called. Itâs the bazaar
fireworks.
But Gerty was adamant. She had no intention of being
at their beck and call. If th ey could run like rossies she
could sit so she sa id she could see from where she was.
The eyes that were fastened upon her set her pulses tingling. She looked at him a moment, meeting his glance, and a light broke in upon her. Whitehot passion was in that face, passion silent as th e grave, and it had made her
his. At last they were left alone without the others to pry and pass remarks and she knew he could be trusted to the
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668 of 1305 death, steadfast, a sterling man, a man of inflexible honour
to his fingertips. His hands and face were working and a
tremour went over her. She leaned back far to look up where the fireworks were and she caught her knee in her hands so as not to fall back looking up and there was no-
one to see only him and her when she revealed all her graceful beautifully shaped le gs like that, supply soft and
delicately rounded, and she seemed to hear the panting of his heart, his hoarse breathing, because she knew too about the passion of men like that, hotblooded, because
Bertha Supple told her once in dead secret and made her swear sheâd never about the gentleman lodger that was
staying with them out of the Congested Districts Board
that had pictures cut out of papers of those skirtdancers
and highkickers and she said he used to do something not very nice that you could imagine sometimes in the bed. But this was altogether different from a thing like that because there was all the di fference because she could
almost feel him draw her face to his and the first quick hot touch of his handsome lips. Besides there was absolution so long as you didnât do the other thing before being married and there ought to be women priests that would understand without your telling out and Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of dreamy look in her
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669 of 1305 eyes so that she too, my de ar, and Winny Rippingham so
mad about actorsâ photographs and besides it was on account of that other thing coming on the way it did.
And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look, there was another
and she leaned back and the garters were blue to match on
account of the transparent and they all saw it and they all shouted to look, look, there it was and she leaned back
ever so far to see the fireworks and something queer was flying through the air, a soft thing, to and fro, dark. And she saw a long Roman candle going up over the trees, up,
up, and, in the tense hush, they were all breathless with
excitement as it went higher and higher and she had to
lean back more and more to look up after it, high, high,
almost out of sight, and her face was suffused with a
The Revealment and the Limp
- Gerty MacDowell intentionally exposes herself to Leopold Bloom on the beach, creating a moment of shared, silent eroticism.
- The climax of their encounter is punctuated by the sensory explosion of a Roman candle firework, mirroring their internal states.
- Bloom experiences a wave of guilt and self-loathing, viewing himself as a 'wretch' and a 'cad' for his voyeuristic behavior.
- Gerty departs with a sense of romantic destiny, believing their souls have met in a profound, secret connection.
- The encounter ends with a jarring shift in Bloom's perspective when he realizes Gerty is lame as she limps away.
- Bloom's initial idealization of Gerty quickly turns to pity and a cold assessment of her physical 'defect' and social standing.
And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! then the Roman candle burst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried O! O! in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads.
divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and he could see her other things t oo, nainsook knickers, the
fabric that caresses the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the green, four and eleven, on account of being white and she let him and she saw that he saw and then it went so high it we nt out of sight a moment and
she was trembling in every limb from being bent so far back that he had a full view high up above her knee where no-one ever not even on the swing or wading and she wasnât ashamed and he wasnât either to look in that
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670 of 1305 immodest way like that because he couldnât resist the sight
of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen
looking and he kept on lookin g, looking. She would fain
have cried to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him to come, to feel his lips laid on her white brow, the cry of a young girlâs love, a little strangled cry, wrung from her, that cry that has rung through the ages.
And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and
O! then the Roman candle burst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried O! O! in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hai r threads and they shed and
ah! they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O
so lovely, O, soft, sweet, soft!
Then all melted away dewily in the grey air: all was
silent. Ah! She glanced at him as she bent forward quickly,
a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of shy reproach under which he coloured like a girl He was leaning back against the rock behind. Leopold Bloom (for it is he) stands silent, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. What a brute he had been! At it again? A fair unsullied soul had called to him and, wretch that he was, how had he answered? An utter cad he had been! He of all men! But there was an infinite store of mercy in
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671 of 1305 those eyes, for him too a word of pardon even though he
had erred and sinned and wandered. Should a girl tell? No, a thousand times no. That wa s their secret, only theirs,
alone in the hiding twilight and there was none to know
or tell save the little bat that flew so softly through the evening to and fro and little bats donât tell.
Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the
football field to show what a great person she was: and then she cried:
âGerty! Gerty! Weâre going. Come on. We can see
from farther up.
Gerty had an idea, one of love âs little ruses. She slipped
a hand into her kerchief pock et and took out the wadding
and waved in reply of course without letting him and then
slipped it back. Wonder if heâs too far to. She rose. Was it
goodbye? No. She had to go but they would meet again, there, and she would dream of that till then, tomorrow, of her dream of yester eve. She d rew herself up to her full
height. Their souls met in a last lingering glance and the eyes that reached her heart, full of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her sweet flower like face. She half smiled at
him wanly, a sweet forgiving smile, a smile that verged on tears, and then they parted.
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672 of 1305 Slowly, without looking back she went down the
uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman. It was darker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand and slippy seaweed. She walked with a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her but with care and very slowly becauseâbecause Gerty MacDowell was ...
Tight boots? No. Sheâs lame! O! Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away. Poor girl!
Thatâs why sheâs left on th e shelf and the others did a
sprint. Thought something was wrong by the cut of her jib. Jilted beauty. A defect is ten times worse in a woman.
But makes them polite. Glad I didnât know it when she
Bloom's Musings on Femininity
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the biological and psychological cycles of women, wondering why menstrual cycles do not align perfectly with the moon.
- He considers the performative nature of fashion and lingerie, suggesting that clothing is a vital component of sexual attraction and social 'sacrifice.'
- The narrative explores the complex dynamics of female friendships, characterized by intense intimacy in youth that often sours into competitive scrutiny.
- Bloom recalls voyeuristic experiences with mutoscope pictures and ponders the authenticity of erotic photography.
- He notes the physical and emotional shifts women experience during their periods, including heightened sensitivity and 'dark' moods.
- The passage highlights Bloom's own sensory empathy and his observations on the superstitious beliefs surrounding women's biology.
Sister souls. Showing their teeth at one another. How many have you left? Wouldnât lend each other a pinch of salt.
was on show. Hot little devil all the same. I wouldnât mind. Curiosity like a nun or a negress or a girl with glasses. That squinty one is delicate. Near her monthlies, I expect, makes them feel ti cklish. I have such a bad
headache today. Where did I put the letter? Yes, all right.
All kinds of crazy longings. Licking pennies. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me liked to smell rock oil. Virgins go mad in the end I suppose. Sister? How many women in Dublin have it today? Martha, she. Something in the air. That âs the moon. But then why
donât all women menstruate at the same time with the
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673 of 1305 same moon, I mean? Depends on the time they were born
I suppose. Or all start scratch then get out of step. Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Anyhow I got the best of that. Damned glad I didn ât do it in the bath this
morning over her silly I will p unish you letter. Made up
for that tramdriver this mo rning. That gouger MâCoy
stopping me to say nothing. And his wife engagement in the country valise, voice like a pickaxe. Thankful for small
mercies. Cheap too. Yours for the asking. Because they
want it themselves. Their natur al craving. Shoals of them
every evening poured out of offi ces. Reserve better. Donât
want it they throw it at you. Catch em alive, O. Pity they
canât see themselves. A dream of wellfilled hose. Where
was that? Ah, yes. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for men only. Peeping Tom. Willyâs hat and what the girls did with it. Do they snapshot thos e girls or is it all a fake?
Lingerie does it. Felt for the curves inside her deshabillĂŠ.
Excites them also when theyâre. Iâm all clean come and dirty me. And they like d ressing one another for the
sacrifice. Milly delighted with Mollyâs new blouse. At first.
Put them all on to take them all off. Molly. Why I bought her the violet garters. Us too: the tie he wore, his lovely
socks and turnedup trousers. He wore a pair of gaiters the night that first we met. His lovely shirt was shining
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674 of 1305 beneath his what? of jet. Say a woman loses a charm with
every pin she takes out. Pinned together. O, Mairy lost the pin of her. Dressed up to the nines for somebody.
Fashion part of their charm. Just changes when youâre on
the track of the secret. Except the east: Mary, Martha: now as then. No reasonable offer refused. She wasnât in a hurry either. Always off to a fellow when they are. They
never forget an appointment. Out on spec probably. They believe in chance because like themselves. And the others
inclined to give her an o dd dig. Girl friends at school,
arms round each otherâs necks or with ten fingers locked, kissing and whispering secrets about nothing in the
convent garden. Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs
and their rosaries going up and down, vindictive too for what they canât get. Barbed wire. Be sure now and write to me. And Iâll write to you. Now wonât you? Molly and
Josie Powell. Till Mr Right comes along, then meet once
in a blue moon. Tableau! O, look who it is for the love of
God! How are you at all? What have you been doing with yourself? Kiss and delighted to, kiss, to see you. Picking holes in each otherâs appearance. Youâre looking splendid. Sister souls. Showing their teeth at one another. How many have you left? Wouldnât lend each other a pinch of
salt.
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675 of 1305 Ah!
Devils they are when that âs coming on them. Dark
devilish appearance. Molly often told me feel things a ton weight. Scratch the sole of my foot. O that way! O, thatâs
exquisite! Feel it myself too. Good to rest once in a way.
Wonder if itâs bad to go with them then. Safe in one way.
Turns milk, makes fiddlestrin gs snap. Something about
withering plants I read in a garden. Besides they say if the flower withers she wears sheâs a flirt. All are. Daresay she felt 1. When you feel like t hat you often meet what you
feel. Liked me or what? Dress they look at. Always know
Bloom's Soliloquy of Desire
- Leopold Bloom reflects on male vanity and the performative nature of courtship, comparing human grooming to the displays of lions and stags.
- He contemplates the transactional nature of beauty and sex, recalling selling Molly's hair combings and pondering the financial value of her favors.
- Bloom experiences a moment of post-climactic physical discomfort and psychological detachment after a secret encounter.
- He analyzes the necessity of 'stage settings' like costumes and music in maintaining the illusion of romance and attraction.
- The narrative explores Bloom's guilt and excitement regarding infidelity, specifically the thrill of 'taking a man from another woman.'
- He ruminates on past sexual encounters and the awkwardness of social interactions with women in the dark streets of Dublin.
See her as she is spoil all. Must have the stage setting, the rouge, costume, position, music.
a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Well cocks and lions
do the same and stags. Same time might prefer a tie
undone or something. Trousers? Suppose I when I was? No. Gently does it. Dislike rough and tumble. Kiss in the
dark and never tell. Saw something in me. Wonder what. Sooner have me as I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic. To aid gentleman in literary. Ought to attend to my appearance my age. Didnât let her see me in profile. Still, you never know. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Beauty and the beast. Besides I canât be so if Molly. Took
off her hat to show her hair. Wide brim. Bought to hide
her face, meeting someone might know her, bend down
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676 of 1305 or carry a bunch of flowers to smell. Hair strong in rut.
Ten bob I got for Mollyâs combings when we were on the rocks in Holles street. Why not? Suppose he gave her money. Why not? All a prejudice. Sheâs worth ten, fifteen, more, a pound. What? I think so. All that for nothing. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. Did I forget to write address on that letter like the postcard I sent to Flynn? And the day I
went to Drimmieâs without a necktie. Wrangle with Molly it was put me off. No, I remember. Richie Goulding: heâs another. Weig hs on his mind. Funny my
watch stopped at half past four. Dust. Shark liver oil they use to clean. Could do it myself. Save. Was that just when
he, she?
O, he did. Into her. She did. Done. Ah! Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt.
O Lord, that little limping devil. Begins to feel cold and clammy. Aftereffect not pleasant . Still you have to get rid
of it someway. They donât care. Complimented perhaps. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with the kiddies. Well, arenât th ey? See her as she is spoil
all. Must have the stage setti ng, the rouge, costume,
position, music. The name too. Amours of actresses. Nell
Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Curtain up.
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677 of 1305 Moonlight silver effulgence. Maiden discovered with
pensive bosom. Little sweethe art come and kiss me. Still, I
feel. The strength it gives a man. Thatâs the secret of it. Good job I let off there behind the wall coming out of Dignamâs. Cider that was. Ot herwise I couldnât have.
Makes you want to sing after. Lacaus esant taratara . Suppose
I spoke to her. What about? Bad plan however if you donât know how to end the conversation. Ask them a question they ask you another. Good idea if youâre stuck. Gain time. But then youâre in a cart. Wonderful of course
if you say: good evening, and you see sheâs on for it: good
evening. O but the dark evening in the Appian way I
nearly spoke to Mrs Clinch O thinking she was. Whew! Girl in Meath street that night. All the dirty things I made
her say. All wrong of course. My arks she called it. Itâs so
hard to find one who. Aho! If you donât answer when they solicit must be horrible for them till they harden. And
kissed my hand when I gave her the extra two shillings. Parrots. Press the button and the bird will squeak. Wish she hadnât called me sir. O, her mouth in the dark! And you a married man with a single girl! Thatâs what they enjoy. Taking a man from an other woman. Or even hear
of it. Different with me. Glad to get away from other chapâs wife. Eating off his cold plate. Chap in the Burton
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678 of 1305 today spitting back gumchewed gristle. French letter still
The Ways of the World
- Bloom reflects on the inherent intuition and 'sharp as needles' perception of women, noting how they notice details men miss.
- He reminisces about Mollyâs past, including her first kiss with Lieutenant Mulvey and the physical signs of her early maturity.
- The narrative shifts to observing young girls and children on the strand, contemplating their desire to grow up and their natural coquetry.
- Bloom considers the performative nature of female behavior, from the way a typist shows her legs to his daughter Millyâs clever domestic shortcuts.
- He concludes that these feminine traits and 'tricks' are 'bred in the bone,' passed down instinctively from mother to daughter.
Something inside them goes pop. Mushy like, tell by their eye, on the sly.
in my pocketbook. Cause of half the trouble. But might happen sometime, I donât think. Come in, all is prepared. I dreamt. What? Worst is beginning. How they change the venue when itâs not what they like. Ask you do you
like mushrooms because she once knew a gentleman who. Or ask you what someone was going to say when he changed his mind and stopped. Yet if I went the whole hog, say: I want to, something like that. Because I did. She too. Offend her. Then make it up. Pretend to want something awfully, then cry off for her sake. Flatters them. She must have been thinking of someone else all the time.
What harm? Must since she came to the use of reason, he,
he and he. First kiss does the trick. The propitious moment. Something inside them goes pop. Mushy like,
tell by their eye, on the sly. First thoughts are best. Remember that till their dying day. Molly, lieutenant Mulvey that kissed her under the Moorish wall beside the gardens. Fifteen she told me. But her breasts were developed. Fell asleep then . After Glencree dinner that
was when we drove home. Featherbed mountain. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Lord mayor had his eye on her too. Val Dillon. Apoplectic.
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679 of 1305 There she is with them down there for the fireworks.
My fireworks. Up like a rocket, down like a stick. And the children, twins they must be, waiting for something to
happen. Want to be grownups. Dressing in motherâs clothes. Time enough, understand all the ways of the world. And the dark one with the mop head and the nigger mouth. I knew she could whistle. Mouth made for that. Like Molly. Why that hi ghclass whore in Jammetâs
wore her veil only to her nose. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time? Iâll tell you the right time up a dark lane. Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, cure for fat lips. Caressing the little boy too.
Onlookers see most of the game. Of course they
understand birds, animals, babies. In their line.
Didnât look back when she was going down the strand.
Wouldnât give that satisfaction. Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. Fine eyes she had, clear. Itâs the
white of the eye brings that out not so much the pupil.
Did she know what I? Course. Like a cat sitting beyond a
dogâs jump. Women never meet one like that Wilkins in
the high school drawing a picture of Venus with all his belongings on show. Call that innocence? Poor idiot! His
wife has her work cut out for her. Never see them sit on a
bench marked Wet Paint . Eyes all over them. Look under
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680 of 1305 the bed for whatâs not there. Longing to get the fright of
their lives. Sharp as needles they are. When I said to Molly the man at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking,
thought she might like, twigged at once he had a false arm. Had, too. Where do they get that? Typist going up
Roger Greeneâs stairs two at a time to show her understandings. Handed down from father to, mother to
daughter, I mean. Bred in the bone. Milly for example drying her handkerchief on the mirror to save the ironing. Best place for an ad to catch a womanâs eye on a mirror. And when I sent her for Molly âs Paisley shawl to Prescottâs
by the way that ad I must, carrying home the change in
her stocking! Clever little minx. I never told her. Neat
way she carries parcels too. Attract men, small thing like that. Holding up her hand, shaking it, to let the blood flow back when it was red. Who did you learn that from?
Nobody. Something the nurse taught me. O, donât they know! Three years old she was in front of Mollyâs dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. Me have a nice pace. Mullingar. Who knows? Ways of the world. Young student. Straig ht on her pins anyway not
like the other. Still she was game. Lord, I am wet. Devil you are. Swell of her calf. Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. Not like that frump today. A. E.
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Magnetism and Domestic Realities
- Bloom reflects on a fleeting, silent encounter with Gerty, viewing it as a shared language of excitement and relief.
- The narrative shifts to the cyclical nature of domestic life, from raising children to the grim reality of washing corpses.
- Bloom compares the 'Moorish' vitality of Molly to other wives, noting how a man's weaknesses are often visible through his spouse.
- He muses on the strange pairings of couples, observing that destiny or 'magnetism' seems to match people regardless of physical logic.
- The passage concludes with a scientific curiosity about the influence of magnetism on time and human attraction.
Sad however because it lasts only a few years till they settle down to potwalloping and papaâs pants will soon fit Willy and fullerâs earth for the baby when they hold him out to do ah ah.
681 of 1305 Rumpled stockings. Or the one in Grafton street. White.
Wow! Beef to the heel.
A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting
crackles. Zrads and zrads, zr ads, zrads. And Cissy and
Tommy and Jacky ran out to see and Edy after with the pushcar and then Gerty beyond the curve of the rocks. Will she? Watch! Watch! See! Looked round. She smelt an onion. Darling, I saw, your. I saw all.
Lord! Did me good all the same. Off colour after Kiernanâs,
Dignamâs. For this relie f much thanks. In Hamlet, that is.
Lord! It was all things combined. Excitement. When she
leaned back, felt an ache at the butt of my tongue. Your
head it simply swirls. Heâs right. Might have made a worse fool of myself however. Inste ad of talking about nothing.
Then I will tell you all. Still it was a kind of language between us. It couldnât be? No, Gerty they called her.
Might be false name however like my name and the address Dolphinâs barn a blind.
Her maiden name was Jemina Brown
And she lived with her mother in Irishtown.
Place made me think of that I suppose. All tarred with
the same brush Wiping pens in their stockings. But the ball rolled down to her as if it understood. Every bullet has
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682 of 1305 its billet. Course I never could throw anything straight at
school. Crooked as a ramâs horn. Sad however because it lasts only a few years till they settle down to potwalloping and papaâs pants will soon fit Willy and fullerâs earth for the baby when they hold him out to do ah ah. No soft
job. Saves them. Keeps them out of harmâs way. Nature. Washing child, washing corpse. Dignam. Childrenâs hands always round them. Cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not even
closed at first, sour milk in their swaddles and tainted curds. Oughtnât to have give n that child an empty teat to
suck. Fill it up with wind. Mrs Beaufoy, Purefoy. Must call to the hospital. Wonder is nurse Callan there still. She
used to look over some nights when Molly was in the
Coffee Palace. That young doctor OâHare I noticed her
brushing his coat. And Mrs Breen and Mrs Dignam once
like that too, marriageable. Worst of all at night Mrs Duggan told me in the City Arms. Husband rolling in drunk, stink of pub off him like a polecat. Have that in
your nose in the dark, whiff of stale boose. Then ask in the morning: was I drunk last night? Bad policy however to fault the husband. Chickens come home to roost. They
stick by one another like glue. Maybe the womenâs fault also. Thatâs where Molly can k nock spots off them. Itâs the
blood of the south. Moorish. Also the form, the figure.
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683 of 1305 Hands felt for the opulent. Just compare for instance those
others. Wife locked up at home, skeleton in the cupboard. Allow me to introduce my. Then they trot you out some kind of a nondescript, wouldnât know what to call her.
Always see a fellowâs weak point in his wife. Still thereâs destiny in it, falling in love. Have their own secrets between them. Chaps that would go to the dogs if some woman didnât take them in han d. Then little chits of girls,
height of a shilling in coppers , with little hubbies. As God
made them he matched them. Sometimes children turn out well enough. Twice nought makes one. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. Marry in May and
repent in December. This wet is very unpleasant. Stuck.
Well the foreskin is not back. Better detach.
Ow! Other hand a sixfooter wit h a wifey up to his
watchpocket. Long and the shor t of it. Big he and little
she. Very strange about my watch. Wristwatches are always going wrong. Wonder is there any magnetic influence between the person because that was about the time he. Yes, I suppose, at on ce. Catâs away, the mice will
play. I remember looking in P ill lane. Also that now is
magnetism. Back of everything magnetism. Earth for instance pulling this and being pulled. That causes
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The Scent of Memory
- Bloom reflects on the mechanical and magnetic nature of attraction, likening the interaction between men and women to the pull of steel and a fork.
- He contemplates the sensory power of Molly's perfume, musing on how scents like opoponax and jessamine linger on her clothing and skin.
- The narrative explores the scientific and mystical nature of smell, comparing human pheromones to the 'spice islands' and the musk of animals.
- Bloom considers the distinct 'mansmell' of priests and how it acts as a forbidden lure for women, likening it to flies drawn to treacle.
- The passage concludes with Bloom attempting to identify his own scent, only to be distracted by the lingering lemon aroma of his soap.
Itâs like a fine fine veil or web they have all over the skin, fine like what do you call it gossamer, and theyâre always spinning it out of them, fine as anything, like rainbow colours without knowing it.
684 of 1305 movement. And time, well that âs the time the movement
takes. Then if one thing stopped the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit. Because itâs a ll arranged. Magnetic needle
tells you whatâs going on in the sun, the stars. Little piece of steel iron. When you hold out the fork. Come. Come. Tip. Woman and man that is. Fork and steel. Molly, he. Dress up and look and suggest and let you see and see more and defy you if youâre a man to see that and, like a sneeze coming, legs, look, look and if you have any guts
in you. Tip. Have to let fly.
Wonder how is she feeling in that region. Shame all
put on before third person. More put out about a hole in
her stocking. Molly, her underjaw stuck out, head back,
about the farmer in the ridingb oots and spurs at the horse
show. And when the painters were in Lombard street west. Fine voice that fellow had. How Giuglini began. Smell that I did. Like flowers. It was too. Violets. Came from the turpentine probably in the paint. Make their own use of everything. Same time doing it scraped her slipper on the floor so they wouldnât hear. But lots of them canât
kick the beam, I think. Keep that thing up for hours. Kind of a general all round over me and half down my back.
Wait. Hm. Hm. Yes. Thatâs her perfume. Why she
waved her hand. I leave you this to think of me when Iâm
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685 of 1305 far away on the pillow. What is it? Heliotrope? No.
Hyacinth? Hm. Roses, I thin k. Sheâd like scent of that
kind. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Why Molly likes opoponax. Suits her, with a little jessamine mixed. Her high notes and her low notes. At the dance night she met him, dance of the hours. Heat brought it out. She was wearing her black and it had the perfume of the time before. Good conductor, is it? Or bad? Light too. Suppose thereâs some connection. For instance if you go into a cellar where itâs dark. Myst erious thing too. Why did I
smell it only now? Took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. Suppose itâs ever so many millions of tiny
grains blown across. Yes, it is . Because those spice islands,
Cinghalese this morning, smell them leagues off. Tell you what it is. Itâs like a fine fine veil or web they have all over the skin, fine like what do you call it gossamer, and theyâre always spinning it out of them, fine as anything, like rainbow colours without knowing it. Clings to everything she takes off. Vamp of her sto ckings. Warm shoe. Stays.
Drawers: little kick, taking them off. Byby till next time.
Also the cat likes to sniff in her shift on the bed. Know her
smell in a thousand. Bathwater too. Reminds me of strawberries and cream. Wond er where it is really. There
or the armpits or under the neck. Because you get it out
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686 of 1305 of all holes and corners. Hyacinth perfume made of oil of
ether or something. Muskra t. Bag under their tails. One
grain pour off odour for years. Dogs at each other behind.
Good evening. Evening. Ho w do you sniff? Hm. Hm.
Very well, thank you. Animals go by that. Yes now, look
at it that way. Weâre the same. Some women, instance, warn you off when they have their period. Come near. Then get a hogo you could hang your hat on. Like what?
Potted herrings gone stale or . Boof! Please keep off the
grass.
Perhaps they get a man sme ll off us. What though?
Cigary gloves long John had on his desk the other day.
Breath? What you eat and drink gives that. No. Mansmell,
I mean. Must be connected with that because priests that
are supposed to be are different. Women buzz round it like flies round treacle. Railed off the altar get on to it at any cost. The tree of forbidden pr iest. O, father, will you?
Let me be the first to. That diffuses itself all through the
body, permeates. Source of life. And itâs extremely curious the smell. Celery sauce. Let me.
Mr Bloom inserted his nose. Hm. Into the. Hm.
Opening of his waistcoat. Almonds or. No. Lemons it is. Ah no, thatâs the soap.
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Bloom's Evening Reflections
- Leopold Bloom ruminates on minor debts and social reputations, worrying about an unpaid soap bill and the etiquette of reminding others of money owed.
- He observes a passerby on the beach, contemplating the nature of identity and the possibility of writing a story titled 'The Mystery Man on the Beach'.
- Bloom analyzes atmospheric changes and the science of light, recalling the mnemonic 'Roygbiv' while watching the sunset and the first stars appear.
- The narrative shifts to sensual and nostalgic memories of Gerty MacDowell and his wife, Molly, blending past romantic encounters with present physical discomfort.
- He reflects on the cyclical nature of history and personal loss, concluding with a bittersweet realization of his own place in the world's social order.
Life, love, voyage round your own little world. And now? Sad about her lame of course but must be on your guard not to feel too much pity.
687 of 1305 O by the by that lotion. I knew there was something
on my mind. Never went ba ck and the soap not paid.
Dislike carrying bottles like that hag this morning. Hynes might have paid me that three shillings. I could mention Meagherâs just to remind him. Still if he works that paragraph. Two and nine. Bad opinion of me heâll have. Call tomorrow. How much do I owe you? Three and nine? Two and nine, sir. Ah. Might stop him giving credit another time. Lose your cust omers that way. Pubs do.
Fellows run up a bill on the slate and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else.
Hereâs this nobleman passed before. Blown in from the
bay. Just went as far as turn back. Always at home at
dinnertime. Looks mangled out: had a good tuck in. Enjoying nature now. Grace after meals. After supper walk a mile. Sure he has a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. Walk after him now make him awkward like those newsboys me today. Still you learn something.
See ourselves as others see us. So long as women donât
mock what matter? Thatâs the way to find out. Ask
yourself who is he now. The Mystery Man on the Beach ,
prize titbit story by Mr Le opold Bloom. Payment at the
rate of one guinea per column. And that fellow today at the graveside in the brown macintosh. Corns on his
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688 of 1305 kismet however. Healthy perhaps absorb all the. Whistle
brings rain they say. Must be some somewhere. Salt in the
Ormond damp. The body feels the atmosphere. Old Bettyâs joints are on the rack. Mother Shiptonâs prophecy that is about ships around they fly in the twinkling. No. Signs of rain it is. The royal reader. And distant hills seem
coming nigh.
Howth. Bailey light. Two, four, six, eight, nine. See.
Has to change or they migh t think it a house. Wreckers.
Grace Darling. People afraid of the dark. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Je wels diamonds flash better.
Women. Light is a kind of reassuring. Not going to hurt
you. Better now of course than long ago. Country roads.
Run you through the small guts for nothing. Still two types there are you bob against. Scowl or smile. Pardon! Not at all. Best time to spray plants too in the shade after the sun. Some light still. Re d rays are longest. Roygbiv
Vance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. A star I see. Venus? Canât tell yet. Two. When three itâs night. Were those ni ghtclouds there all the time?
Looks like a phantom ship. No. Wait. Trees are they? An optical illusion. Mirage. Land of the setting sun this.
Homerule sun setting in the southeast. My native land, goodnight.
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689 of 1305 Dew falling. Bad for you, de ar, to sit on that stone.
Brings on white fluxions. Never have little baby then less he was big strong fight his way up through. Might get
piles myself. Sticks too like a summer cold, sore on the mouth. Cut with grass or paper worst. Friction of the position. Like to be that rock she sat on. O sweet little, you donât know how nice you looked. I begin to like them at that age. Green apple s. Grab at all that offer.
Suppose itâs the only time we cross legs, seated. Also the
library today: those girl graduates. Happy chairs under them. But itâs the evening influence. They feel all that. Open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers,
Jerusalem artichokes, in ba llrooms, chandeliers, avenues
under the lamps. Nightstock in Mat Dillonâs garden where I kissed her shoulder. Wish I had a full length oilpainting of her then. June that was to o I wooed. The year returns.
History repeats itself. Ye crags and peaks Iâm with you once again. Life, love, voyage round your own little world. And now? Sad about her lame of course but must be on your guard not to feel too much pity. They take advantage.
All quiet on Howth now. The distant hills seem.
Where we. The rhododendrons. I am a fool perhaps. He gets the plums, and I the plumstones. Where I come in.
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Memory and Metempsychosis
- Bloom reflects on the cyclical nature of time and the impossibility of returning to the past as the same person.
- He reminisces about social gatherings in 1887, recalling Molly and the Doyle family through the lens of a Rip Van Winkle performance.
- The sight of a bat prompts thoughts on metempsychosis and the ancient belief in humans transforming into trees out of grief.
- Bloom observes the repetitive nature of religious prayer, comparing its psychological efficacy to the persistence of modern advertising.
- Scientific curiosity leads him to ponder the mechanics of light, the causes of wildfires, and the survival instincts of animals.
- He contemplates the perilous lives of sailors and the vastness of the ocean, concluding that the world has no ends because it is round.
Think youâre escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.
690 of 1305 All that old hill has seen. Name s change: thatâs all. Lovers:
yum yum.
Tired I feel now. Will I get up? O wait. Drained all the
manhood out of me, little wretch. She kissed me. Never again. My youth. Only once it comes. Or hers. Take the train there tomorrow. No. Returning not the same. Like kids your second visit to a house. The new I want. Nothing new under the sun. Care of P. O. Dolphinâs Barn. Are you not happy in your? Naughty darling. At Dolphinâs barn charades in Luke Doyleâs house. Mat Dillon and his bevy of daughter s: Tiny, Atty, Floey,
Maimy, Louy, Hetty. Molly to o. Eightyseven that was.
Year before we. And the old major, partial to his drop of
spirits. Curious she an only child, I an only child. So it returns. Think youâre escapin g and run into yourself.
Longest way round is the shortest way home. And just when he and she. Circus horse walking in a ring. Rip van
Winkle we played. Rip: tear in Henny Doyleâs overcoat. Van: breadvan delivering . Winkle: cockles and
periwinkles. Then I did Rip van Winkle coming back. She leaned on the sideboard watching. Moorish eyes.
Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. All changed. Forgotten. The young are old. His gun rusty from the dew.
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691 of 1305 Ba. What is that flying about? Swallow? Bat probably.
Thinks Iâm a tree, so blind. Have birds no smell? Metempsychosis. They belie ved you could be changed
into a tree from grief. Weeping willow. Ba. There he goes. Funny little beggar. Wonder where he lives. Belfry up there. Very likely. Hanging by his heels in the odour of sanctity. Bell scared him out, I suppose. Mass seems to be
over. Could hear them all at it. Pray for us. And pray for
us. And pray for us. Good idea the repetition. Same thing with ads. Buy from us. And buy from us. Yes, thereâs the light in the priestâs house. Their frugal meal. Remember
about the mistake in the valuation when I was in Thomâs.
Twentyeight it is. Two houses they have. Gabriel
Conroyâs brother is curate. Ba. Again. Wonder why they
come out at night like mice. Theyâre a mixed breed. Birds
are like hopping mice. What frightens them, light or
noise? Better sit still. All instinct like the bird in drouth got water out of the end of a jar by throwing in pebbles. Like
a little man in a cloak he is with tiny hands. Weeny bones.
Almost see them shimmering, kind of a bluey white. Colours depend on the light you see. Stare the sun for example like the eagle then look at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. Instance, that cat this morning on the staircase.
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692 of 1305 Colour of brown turf. Say you never see them with three
colours. Not true. That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the
City Arms with the letter em on her forehead. Body fifty
different colours. Howth a while ago amethyst. Glass flashing. Thatâs how that wis e man whatâs his name with
the burning glass. Then the he ather goes on fire. It canât
be touristsâ matches. What? Perhaps the sticks dry rub together in the wind and light. Or broken bottles in the furze act as a burning glass in the sun. Archimedes. I have it! My memoryâs not so bad.
Ba. Who knows what theyâre always flying for. Insects?
That bee last week got into the room playing with his
shadow on the ceiling. Migh t be the one bit me, come
back to see. Birds too. Never find out. Or what they say.
Like our small talk. And says she and says he. Nerve they
have to fly over the ocean and back. Lots must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Dreadful life sailors have too. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the
dark, lowing out like seacows. Faugh a Ballagh! Out of
that, bloody curse to you! Others in vessels, bit of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a wake when the stormy winds do blow. Married too. Sometimes away for years at the ends of the earth somewhere. No ends really because itâs round. Wife in every port they say. She
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Reflections on Sea and Youth
- Bloom contemplates the dangers of the sea and the superstitions sailors use to ward off death.
- The narrative shifts to the peaceful Dublin evening, marked by the nine o'clock postman and the news of the Gold Cup race.
- Bloom recalls a family boat trip where he observed the varying reactions of passengers to the rough waters.
- He reflects on his daughter Milly's childhood fearlessness compared to the inherent vulnerability of children.
- The passage explores the transition from childhood innocence to the complexities of adult life and memory.
Do fish ever get seasick?
693 of 1305 has a good job if she minds it till Johnny comes marching
home again. If ever he does. Smelling the tail end of ports.
How can they like the sea? Yet they do. The anchorâs weighed. Off he sails with a scapular or a medal on him for luck. Well. And the tephilim no whatâs this they call it poor papaâs father had on his door to touch. That brought
us out of the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage. Something in all those super stitions because when you go
out never know what dangers. Hanging on to a plank or astride of a beam for grim life, lifebelt round him, gulping salt water, and thatâs the last of his nibs till the sharks catch
hold of him. Do fish ever get seasick?
Then you have a beautiful calm without a cloud,
smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jonesâ locker, moon looking down so peaceful. Not my fault, old cockalorum.
A last lonely candle wandered up the sky from Mirus
bazaar in search of funds for Mercerâs hospital and broke, drooping, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars. They floated, fell: they faded. The shepherdâs hour: the hour of folding: hour of tryst. From house to house, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the nine oâclock postman, the glowwo rmâs lamp at his belt
gleaming here and there through the laurel hedges. And
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694 of 1305 among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp
at Leahyâs terrace. By screens of lighted windows, by equal
gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening
Telegraph, stop press edition! Result of the Gold Cup race! and
from the door of Dignamâs house a boy ran out and called. Twittering the bat flew here, flew there. Far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Howth settled for slumber, tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons (he was old) and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep
and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. And far on
Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom.
Life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the same
spot. Irish Lights board. Penance for their sins. Coastguards too. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Day we went out for the pleasure cruise in the Erinâs King, throwing them the sack of old papers. Bears in the zoo. Filthy trip. Drunkards out to shake up their livers.
Puking overboard to feed the herrings. Nausea. And the women, fear of God in their faces. Milly, no sign of funk. Her blue scarf loose, laughing. Donât know what death is at that age. And then their stomachs clean. But being lost
they fear. When we hid be hind the tree at Crumlin. I
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695 of 1305 didnât want to. Mamma! Ma mma! Babes in the wood.
Frightening them with masks too. Throwing them up in
the air to catch them. Iâll murder you. Is it only half fun? Or children playing battle. Whole earnest. How can people aim guns at each other. Sometimes they go off. Poor kids! Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. Calomel purge I got her for that. Aft er getting better asleep with
Molly. Very same teeth she ha s. What do they love?
Another themselves? But the morning she chased her with
the umbrella. Perhaps so as not to hurt. I felt her pulse.
Ticking. Little hand it was: now big. Dearest Papli. All that the hand says when y ou touch. Loved to count my
waistcoat buttons. Her first stays I remember. Made me
Bloom's Evening Reflections
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the physical and emotional transitions of womanhood, recalling his wife Molly's girlhood in Gibraltar and her first menstruation.
- He mentally recounts the day's exhausting events, including a funeral, a visit to the museum, and a hostile confrontation with a 'drunken ranter' at Barney Kiernanâs.
- Bloom contemplates the nature of widowhood and mourning, noting the practical financial burdens and the social expectations placed on those left behind.
- His internal monologue shifts to domestic desires and anxieties, considering his relationship with Molly and his need to secure advertising work for Keyes.
- As night falls on the strand, Bloom experiences a sense of physical exhaustion and aging, questioning if he will return to this spot or if his vitality is fading.
Everyone to his taste as Morris said when he kissed the cow.
laugh to see. Little paps to begin with. Left one is more sensitive, I think. Mine too. Nearer the heart? Padding themselves out if fat is in fashion. Her growing pains at night, calling, wakening me. Frightened she was when her nature came on her first. Poor child! Strange moment for the mother too. Brings back her girlhood. Gibraltar. Looking from Buena Vista. OâHaraâs tower. The seabirds screaming. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his family. Sundown, gunfire for the men to cross the lines. Looking out over the sea she told me. Evening like this, but clear, no clouds. I always thought Iâd marry a lord or a rich
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696 of 1305 gentleman coming with a private yacht. Buenas noches,
seĂąorita. El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa . Why me?
Because you were so foreign from the others.
Better not stick here all night like a limpet. This
weather makes you dull. Must be getting on for nine by
the light. Go home. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney.
No. Might be still up. Call to the hospital to see. Hope
sheâs over. Long day Iâve had. Martha, the bath, funeral, house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalusâ
song. Then that bawler in Ba rney Kiernanâs. Got my own
back there. Drunken ranters what I said about his God made him wince. Mistake to hit back. Or? No. Ought to go home and laugh at themselves. Always want to be swilling in company. Afraid to be alone like a child of
two. Suppose he hit me. Look at it other way round. Not so bad then. Perhaps not to hurt he meant. Three cheers
for Israel. Three cheers for the sister-in-law he hawked about, three fangs in her mout h. Same style of beauty.
Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea. The sister of the wife of the wild man of Borneo has just come to town. Imagine that in the ea rly morning at close range.
Everyone to his taste as Morris said when he kissed the cow. But Dignamâs put the boots on it. Houses of mourning so depressing because you never know.
Ulysses
697 of 1305 Anyhow she wants the money. Must call to those Scottish
Widows as I promised. Strange name. Takes it for granted
weâre going to pop off first. That widow on Monday was it outside Cramerâs that looked at me. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the premium. Her widowâs mite. Well? What do you expect her to do? Must
wheedle her way along. Widower I hate to see. Looks so forlorn. Poor man OâConnor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. The sewage. Hopeless. Some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to mother him. Take him in tow, platter face and a large apron. Ladiesâ grey flannelette bloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing
bargain. Plain and loved, loved for ever, they say. Ugly:
no woman thinks she is. Love , lie and be handsome for
tomorrow we die. See him sometimes walking about
trying to find out who played the trick. U. p: up. Fate that is. He, not me. Also a shop often noticed. Curse seems to dog it. Dreamt last night? Wait. Something confused. She had red slippers on. Turkish. Wore the breeches. Suppose she does? Would I like her in pyjamas? Damned hard to answer. Nannettiâs gone. Mailboat. Near Holyhead by now. Must nail that ad of Keyesâs. Work Hynes and Crawford. Petticoats for Molly. She has something to put in them. Whatâs that? Might be money.
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698 of 1305 Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on
the strand. He brought it near his eyes and peered. Letter?
No. Canât read. Better go. Better. Iâm tired to move. Page of an old copybook. All those holes and pebbles. Who could count them? Never know what you find. Bottle with story of a treasure in it, thrown from a wreck. Parcels
post. Children always want to throw things in the sea. Trust? Bread cast on the waters. Whatâs this? Bit of stick.
O! Exhausted that female has me. Not so young now.
Will she come here tomorrow? Wait for her somewhere for ever. Must come back. Murderers do. Will I?
Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at
Sands of Memory and Time
- Mr. Bloom attempts to write a message in the sand but ultimately effaces the letters, reflecting on the futility of leaving a mark in such an unstable medium.
- The narrative shifts into a stream of consciousness, blending Bloom's immediate sensory experiences with eroticized memories and fragments of past encounters.
- A cuckoo clock chimes in the distance, marking the time for both Bloom on the beach and the local priests at tea, signaling the end of his encounter with Gerty MacDowell.
- The prose style undergoes a radical transformation, shifting from internal monologue to a rhythmic, ritualistic invocation of fertility and 'wombfruit.'
- The section concludes with a dense, Latinate, and academic parody that discusses the prosperity of a nation in terms of its population growth and maternal care.
Hopeless thing sand. Nothing grows in it. All fades.
his foot. Write a message for her. Might remain. What?
I Some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning. Useless.
Washed away. Tide comes here. Saw a pool near her foot. Bend, see my face there, dark mirror, breathe on it, stirs. All these rocks with lines and scars and letters. O, those transparent! Besides they donât know. What is the meaning of that other world. I called you naughty boy because I do not like.
AM. A. No room. Let it go.
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699 of 1305 Mr Bloom effaced the lett ers with his slow boot.
Hopeless thing sand. Nothing grows in it. All fades. No fear of big vessels coming up here. Except Guinnessâs barges. Round the Kish in eighty days. Done half by design.
He flung his wooden pen away. The stick fell in silted
sand, stuck. Now if you were tr ying to do that for a week
on end you couldnât. Chance. Weâll never meet again.
But it was lovely. Goodbye, dear. Thanks. Made me feel so young.
Short snooze now if I had. Must be near nine.
Liverpool boat long gone.. Not even the smoke. And she
can do the other. Did too. And Belfast. I wonât go. Race
there, race back to Ennis. Le t him. Just close my eyes a
moment. Wonât sleep, though. Half dream. It never comes the same. Bat again. No harm in him. Just a few.
O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw dirty
bracegirdle made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace
darling she him half past the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heave
under embon seĂąorita young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me
breadvan Winkle red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed
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700 of 1305 me her next year in drawers return next in her next her
next.
A bat flew. Here. There. Here. Far in the grey a bell
chimed. Mr Bloom with open mouth, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. Just for a few
Cuckoo
Cuckoo
Cuckoo.
The clock on the mantelpiece in the priestâs house
cooed where Canon OâHanlon and Father Conroy and the reverend John Hughes S. J. were taking tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about
Cuckoo
Cuckoo Cuckoo.
Because it was a little canarybird that came out of its
little house to tell the time that Gerty MacDowell noticed the time she was there bec ause she was as quick as
anything about a thing like that, was Gerty MacDowell, and she noticed at once that that foreign gentleman that
was sitting on the rocks looking was
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701 of 1305 Cuckoo
Cuckoo
Cuckoo.
* * * * *
Deshil Holles Eamus. Desh il Holles Eamus. Deshil
Holles Eamus.
Send us bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening
and wombfruit. Send us brig ht one, light one, Horhorn,
quickening and wombfruit. Send us bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit.
Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa! Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa!
Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa!
Universally that personâs acum en is esteemed very little
perceptive concerning whatso ever matters are being held
as most profitably by mortals wi th sapience endowed to be
studied who is ignorant of that which the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that in them high mindâs
ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other
circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the prosperity of a nation more efficaciously asserted than by the measure of how far forwa rd may have progressed the
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702 of 1305 tribute of its solicitude for that proliferent continuance
The Sanctity of Maternity
- The text reflects on the moral obligation to uphold ancestral customs regarding the sanctity of procreation and the preservation of the nation.
- It highlights the historical reverence for medicine among the Celts, specifically noting the contributions of great hereditary medical families like the O'Shiels and O'Lees.
- A sophisticated system of maternity care is described, ensuring that even the most impoverished women receive expert medical attention during childbirth.
- The narrative emphasizes that national prosperity is inextricably linked to the well-being of 'proliferent mothers' and the successful generation of offspring.
- The environment of the maternity home is meticulously prepared with swaddles, surgical tools, and inspiring imagery to facilitate a successful delivery.
Before born bliss babe had. Within womb won he worship.
which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunately present constitutes the certain sign of omnipotent natureâs incorrupted benefaction. For who is there who anything of some significance has appreh ended but is conscious that
that exterior splendour may be the surface of a downwardtending lutulent reality or on the contrary anyone so is there unilluminated as not to perceive that as
no natureâs boon can contend against the bounty of increase so it behoves every most just citizen to become
the exhortator and admonisher of his semblables and to tremble lest what had in the past been by the nation
excellently commenced might be in the future not with
similar excellence accomplished if an inverecund habit shall have gradually traduced the honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that th ither of profundity that that
one was audacious excessively who would have the hardihood to rise affirming that no more odious offence can for anyone be than to obliv ious neglect to consign that
evangel simultaneously command and promise which on all mortals with prophecy of abundance or with diminutionâs menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably enjoined?
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703 of 1305 It is not why therefore we shall wonder if, as the best
historians relate, among the Ce lts, who nothing that was
not in its nature admirable admired, the art of medicine shall have been highly honoured. Not to speak of hostels, leperyards, sweating chambers, plaguegraves, their greatest doctors, the OâShiels, the OâHickeys, the OâLees, have sedulously set down the divers methods by which the sick and the relapsed found again health whether the malady had been the trembling withering or loose boyconnell flux. Certainly in every public work which in it anything
of gravity contains preparation should be with importance commensurate and therefore a plan was by them adopted
(whether by having preconsidered or as the maturation of
experience it is difficult in being said which the discrepant
opinions of subsequent inquirers are not up to the present
congrued to render manifest) whereby maternity was so far from all accident possibility removed that whatever care
the patient in that all hardest of woman hour chiefly required and not solely for the copiously opulent but also for her who not being suffici ently moneyed scarcely and
often not even scarcely could subsist valiantly and for an inconsiderable emolument was provided.
To her nothing already then and thenceforward was
anyway able to be molestful for this chiefly felt all citizens
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704 of 1305 except with proliferent mothers pr osperity at all not to can
be and as they had recei ved eternity gods mortals
generation to befit them her beholding, when the case was so hoving itself, parturient in vehicle thereward carrying desire immense among all one another was impelling on of her to be received into that domicile. O thing of prudent
nation not merely in being seen but also even in being
related worthy of being praised that they her by anticipation went seeing mo ther, that she by them
suddenly to be about to be cherished had been begun she felt!
Before born bliss babe had. Within womb won he
worship. Whatever in that one case done commodiously
done was. A couch by midwives attended with
wholesome food reposeful, cleanest swaddles as though forthbringing were now done and by wise foresight set: but to this no less of what dr ugs there is need and surgical
implements which are pertaining to her case not omitting aspect of all very distracting spectacles in various latitudes by our terrestrial orb offered together with images, divine and human, the cogitation of which by sejunct females is to tumescence conducive or eases issue in the high sunbright wellbuilt fair home of mothers when, ostensibly
Ulysses
705 of 1305 far gone and reproductitive, it is come by her thereto to
lie in, her term up.
Some man that wayfaring was stood by housedoor at
The House of Horne
- Leopold Bloom arrives at a maternity hospital, described in archaic, alliterative prose as the house where 'teeming mothers' endure the pains of childbirth.
- A nurse greets Bloom, fearing a coming storm as a sign of divine wrath, and invites him inside the hall of the hospital's master, A. Horne.
- Bloom inquires after a Doctor O'Hare, only to learn from the nurse that the young doctor died three years prior from 'bellycrab' (cancer) on Mona Island.
- The narrative reflects on the inevitability of death, reminding the reader that every man returns to the dust as naked as he came from the womb.
- The nurse describes a particularly agonizing labor currently underway, noting that the woman has been in throes for three full days.
- Bloom encounters a young medical student named Dixon, who previously treated Bloom for an injury at a house of mercy.
Full she drad that God the Wreaker all mankind would for do with water for his evil sins.
nightâs oncoming. Of Israelâs folk was that man that on earth wandering far had fared. Stark ruth of man his errand that him lone led till that house.
Of that house A. Horne is lord. Seventy beds keeps he
there teeming mothers are wont that they lie for to thole
and bring forth bairns hale so Godâs angel to Mary quoth.
Watchers tway there walk, white sisters in ward sleepless. Smarts they still, sickness soothing: in twelve moons thrice an hundred. Truest bedthanes they twain are, for Horne
holding wariest ward.
In ward wary the watcher hearing come that man
mildhearted eft rising with swire ywimpled to him her gate wide undid. Lo, levin leaping lightens in eyeblink Irelandâs westward welkin. Full she drad that God the Wreaker all mankind would for do with water for his evil
sins. Christâs rood made she on breastbone and him drew that he would rathe infare under her thatch. That man her will wotting worthful went in Horneâs house.
Loth to irk in Horneâs hall hat holding the seeker
stood. On her stow he ere was living with dear wife and lovesome daughter that then over land and seafloor nine
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706 of 1305 years had long outwandered. Once her in townhithe
meeting he to her bow had not doffed. Her to forgive now he craved with good ground of her allowed that that of him swiftseen face, hers, so young then had looked. Light swift her eyes kindled, bloom of blushes his word
winning.
As her eyes then ongot his weeds swart therefor sorrow
she feared. Glad after she was t hat ere adread was. Her he
asked if OâHare Doctor tidings sent from far coast and she
with grameful sigh him answered that OâHare Doctor in heaven was. Sad was the man that word to hear that him so heavied in bowels ruthful. All she there told him, ruing
death for friend so young, algate sore unwilling Godâs
rightwiseness to withsay. She sa id that he had a fair sweet
death through God His goodness with masspriest to be shriven, holy housel and sick menâs oil to his limbs. The man then right earnest asked the nun of which death the dead man was died and the nun answered him and said
that he was died in Mona Isl and through bellycrab three
year agone come Childermas and she prayed to God the Allruthful to have his dear soul in his undeathliness. He heard her sad words, in held hat sad staring. So stood they
there both awhile in wanhope sorrowing one with other.
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707 of 1305 Therefore, everyman, look to that last end that is thy
death and the dust t hat gripeth on every man that is born
of woman for as he came naked forth from his motherâs womb so naked shall he wend him at the last for to go as he came.
The man that was come in to the house then spoke to
the nursingwoman and he asked her how it fared with the woman that lay there in childbed. The nursingwoman answered him and said that that woman was in throes now full three days and that it would be a hard birth unneth to bear but that now in a little it would be. She said thereto that she had seen many births of women but never was
none so hard as was that womanâs birth. Then she set it all
forth to him for because she knew the man that time was had lived nigh that house. The man hearkened to her words for he felt with wonder womenâs woe in the travail that they have of motherhood and he wondered to look on her face that was a fair fac e for any man to see but yet
was she left after long years a handmaid. Nine twelve bloodflows chiding her childless.
And whiles they spake the door of the castle was
opened and there nighed them a mickle noise as of many that sat there at meat. And there came against the place as they stood a young learningkn ight yclept Dixon. And the
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708 of 1305 traveller Leopold was couth to him sithen it had happed
that they had had ado each with other in the house of misericord where this learni ngknight lay by cause the
traveller Leopold came there to be healed for he was sore
The Castle of Wonders
- Leopold and a 'learning knight' enter a marvelous castle filled with enchanted objects and strange, magical provisions.
- The text describes a feast featuring headless fish in oil, bread that swells like a mountain, and a brewage made from serpent scales.
- Leopold, ever cautious and subtle, avoids drinking the mead by secretly pouring it into his neighbor's glass.
- A sister of the house pleads for quiet as a woman upstairs is in the throes of a long and difficult labor.
- Leopold discusses the impending birth with a franklin named Lenehan, who drinks heartily to their health.
And on this board were frightful swords and knives that are made in a great cavern by swinking demons out of white flames that they fix then in the horns of buffalos and stags that there abound marvellously.
wounded in his breast by a spear wherewith a horrible and dreadful dragon was smitten him for which he did do make a salve of volatile salt and chrism as much as he might suffice. And he said now that he should go in to that castle for to make merry with them that were there.
And the traveller Leopold said that he should go
otherwhither for he was a man of cautels and a subtile. Also the lady was of his avis and repreved the
learningknight though she trow ed well that the traveller
had said thing that was false for his subtility. But the
learningknight would not hear say nay nor do her
mandement ne have him in aug ht contrarious to his list
and he said how it was a marvellous castle. And the traveller Leopold went into th e castle for to rest him for a
space being sore of limb after m any marches environing in
divers lands and sometime venery.
And in the castle was set a board that was of the
birchwood of Finlandy and it was upheld by four dwarfmen of that country but they durst not move more for enchantment. And on this b oard were frightful swords
Ulysses
709 of 1305 and knives that are made in a great cavern by swinking
demons out of white flames that they fix then in the horns
of buffalos and stags that there abound marvellously. And there were vessels that are wrought by magic of Mahound out of seasand and the air by a warlock with his breath that he blases in to them like to bubbles. And full fair cheer and rich was on the board t hat no wight could devise a
fuller ne richer. And there was a vat of silver that was moved by craft to open in the which lay strange fishes withouten heads though misbelieving men nie that this be possible thing without they see it natheless they are so. And these fishes lie in an oily water brought there from
Portugal land because of the fatness that therein is like to
the juices of the olivepress. An d also it was a marvel to see
in that castle how by magic they make a compost out of
fecund wheatkidneys out of Cha ldee that by aid of certain
angry spirits that they do in to it swells up wondrously like to a vast mountain. And they teach the serpents there to entwine themselves up on long sticks out of the ground and of the scales of these serpen ts they brew out a brewage
like to mead.
And the learning knight le t pour for childe Leopold a
draught and halp thereto the while all they that were there drank every each. And childe Leopold did up his beaver
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710 of 1305 for to pleasure him and took apertly somewhat in amity
for he never drank no manner of mead which he then put by and anon full privily he voided the more part in his neighbour glass and his neig hbour nist not of this wile.
And he sat down in that castle with them for to rest him there awhile. Thanked be Almighty God.
This meanwhile this good sister stood by the door and
begged them at the reverence of Jesu our alther liege Lord
to leave their wassailing for there was above one quick with child, a gentle dame, w hose time hied fast. Sir
Leopold heard on the upfl oor cry on high and he
wondered what cry that it was whether of child or woman
and I marvel, said he, that it be not come or now.
Meseems it dureth overlong. An d he was ware and saw a
franklin that hight Lenehan on t hat side the table that was
older than any of the tother and for that they both were knights virtuous in the one em prise and eke by cause that
he was elder he spoke to him full gently. But, said he, or it be long too she will bring forth by God His bounty and have joy of her childing for she hath waited marvellous long. And the franklin that had drunken said, Expecting each moment to be her next. Also he took the cup that stood tofore him for him needed never none asking nor desiring of him to drink and, Now drink, said he, fully
Ulysses
711 of 1305 delectably, and he quaffed as far as he might to their bothâs
health for he was a passing good man of his lustiness. And
The Scholars' Drunken Debate
- A group of medical scholars and travelers gather in a hall to drink heavily and engage in philosophical discourse.
- Leopold Bloom sits among them, characterized as a meek and kind knight-like figure who feels a paternal bond toward young Stephen.
- The company debates a moral dilemma regarding a woman who died in childbirth, questioning whether the mother or the child should be saved.
- Stephen Dedalus challenges the group by shifting the focus to the 'sin' of contraception, or 'impossibilising' potential souls.
- The atmosphere is one of ribaldry and intellectual tension, contrasting the gravity of life and death with the crude jests of the drunken Costello.
But, gramercy, what of those Godpossibled souls that we nightly impossibilise, which is the sin against the Holy Ghost, Very God, Lord and Giver of Life?
sir Leopold that was the goo dliest guest that ever sat in
scholarsâ hall and that was the meekest man and the kindest that ever laid husban dly hand under hen and that
was the very truest knight of the world one that ever did minion service to lady gentle pledged him courtly in the cup. Womanâs woe with wonder pondering.
Now let us speak of that fellowship that was there to
the intent to be drunken an they might. There was a sort
of scholars along either side the board, that is to wit, Dixon yclept junior of saint Mary Merciableâs with other
his fellows Lynch and Madden, scholars of medicine, and
the franklin that hight Lenehan and one from Alba Longa,
one Crotthers, and young Step hen that had mien of a frere
that was at head of the board and Costello that men clepen Punch Costello all long of a mastery of him erewhile gested (and of all them, reserv ed young Stephen, he was
the most drunken that demanded still of more mead) and beside the meek sir Leopold. But on young Malachi they waited for that he promised to have come and such as intended to no goodness said how he had broke his avow. And sir Leopold sat with them for he bore fast friendship to sir Simon and to this his son young Stephen and for
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712 of 1305 that his languor becalmed him there after longest
wanderings insomuch as they feasted him for that time in the honourablest manner. Ruth red him, love led on with will to wander, loth to leave.
For they were right witty scholars. And he heard their
aresouns each gen other as touching birth and righteousness, young Madden maintaining that put such case it were hard the wife to die (for so it had fallen out a
matter of some year agone with a woman of Eblana in Horneâs house that now was trespassed out of this world and the self night next before her death all leeches and pothecaries had taken counsel of her case). And they said
farther she should live because in the beginning, they said,
the woman should bring forth in pain and wherefore they
that were of this imagination affirmed how young Madden had said truth for he had con science to let her die. And
not few and of these was young Lynch were in doubt that the world was now right evil governed as it was never other howbeit the mean people believed it otherwise but the law nor his judges did provide no remedy. A redress God grant. This was scant said but all cried with one acclaim nay, by our Virgin Mother, the wife should live and the babe to die. In co lour whereof they waxed hot
upon that head what with argument and what for their
Ulysses
713 of 1305 drinking but the franklin Lenehan was prompt each when
to pour them ale so that at the least way mirth might not lack. Then young Madden showed all the whole affair and said how that she was dead and how for holy religion sake by rede of palmer and bedesm an and for a vow he had
made to Saint Ultan of Arbr accan her goodman husband
would not let her death whereby they were all wondrous grieved. To whom young Stephen had these words following: Murmur, sirs, is eke oft among lay folk. Both babe and parent now glorify their Maker, the one in limbo gloom, the other in purgefire. But, gramercy, what of
those Godpossibled souls that we nightly impossibilise,
which is the sin against the Holy Ghost, Very God, Lord
and Giver of Life? For, sirs, he said, our lust is brief. We
are means to those small creatu res within us and nature has
other ends than we. Then sa id Dixon junior to Punch
Costello wist he what ends. But he had overmuch drunken and the best word he could have of him was that he would ever dishonest a woman whoso she were or wife or maid or leman if it so fortuned him to be delivered of his spleen of lustihead. Whereat Crotthers of Alba Longa sang young Malachiâs praise of that beast the unicorn how once in the millennium he come th by his horn, the other
all this while, pricked forward with their jibes wherewith
Ulysses
The Soul's Bodiment
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a drunken, theological debate regarding the laws of the Church, the origins of life, and the nature of the soul.
- The group discusses the moral dilemma of prioritizing the life of the mother versus the unborn child according to canon law.
- Leopold Bloom dissembles his true feelings with a wary answer to avoid conflict, while privately mourning his own lost son, Rudy.
- Bloom observes Stephen with a mixture of paternal grief and concern, lamenting the young man's riotous living and wasted potential.
- Stephen boastfully displays his earnings from a song, treating the company to drinks while mocking religious rituals with blasphemous parodies.
- The narrative style mimics Middle English alliterative prose, reflecting the developmental theme of the 'Oxen of the Sun' episode.
And she was wondrous stricken of heart for that evil hap and for his burial did him on a fair corselet of lambâs wool, the flower of the flock, lest he might perish utterly and lie akeled.
714 of 1305 they did malice him, witnessing all and several by saint
Foutinus his engines that he was able to do any manner of
thing that lay in man to do. Thereat laughed they all right jocundly only young Stephen and sir Leopold which never durst laugh too open by reason of a strange humour which he would not bewray and also for that he rued for her that bare whoso she might be or wheresoever. Then spake young Stephen orgulous of mo ther Church that would
cast him out of her bosom, of law of canons, of Lilith,
patron of abortions, of bigne ss wrought by wind of seeds
of brightness or by potency of vampires mouth to mouth or, as Virgilius saith, by the influence of the occident or by
the reek of moonflower or an she lie with a woman which
her man has but lain with, effectu secuto , or peradventure in
her bath according to the opinions of Averroes and Moses Maimonides. He said also how at the end of the second month a human soul was infused and how in all our holy mother foldeth ever souls for Godâs greater glory whereas
that earthly mother which was but a dam to bear beastly should die by canon for so saith he that holdeth the fishermanâs seal, even that blessed Peter on which rock was holy church for all ages founded. All they bachelors then asked of sir Leopold would he in like case so jeopard her person as risk life to save life. A wariness of mind he
Ulysses
715 of 1305 would answer as fitted all and, laying hand to jaw, he said
dissembling, as his wont was, that as it was informed him, who had ever loved the art of physic as might a layman, and agreeing also with his experience of so seldomseen an accident it was good for that mother Church belike at one
blow had birth and death pence and in such sort deliverly
he scaped their questions. That is truth, pardy, said Dixon, and, or I err, a pregnant word. Which hearing young Stephen was a marvellous glad man and he averred that he who stealeth from the poor le ndeth to the Lord for he was
of a wild manner when he was drunken and that he was now in that taking it appeared eftsoons.
But sir Leopold was passing grave maugre his word by
cause he still had pity of th e terrorcausing shrieking of
shrill women in their labour and as he was minded of his good lady Marion that had borne him an only manchild
which on his eleventh day on live had died and no man of art could save so dark is destiny. And she was wondrous
stricken of heart for that evil hap and for his burial did him
on a fair corselet of lambâs wool, the flower of the flock, lest he might perish utterly and lie akeled (for it was then about the midst of the winter) and now Sir Leopold that had of his body no manchild for an heir looked upon him his friendâs son and was shut up in sorrow for his
Ulysses
716 of 1305 forepassed happiness and as sad as he was that him failed a
son of such gentle courage ( for all accounted him of real
parts) so grieved he also in no less measure for young Stephen for that he lived riot ously with those wastrels and
murdered his goods with whores.
About that present time y oung Stephen filled all cups
that stood empty so as there remained but little mo if the
prudenter had not shadowed th eir approach from him that
still plied it very busily who, praying for the intentions of
the sovereign pontiff, he gave them for a pledge the vicar of Christ which also as he sa id is vicar of Bray. Now drink
we, quod he, of this mazer and quaff ye this mead which is
not indeed parcel of my body but my soulâs bodiment.
Leave ye fraction of bread to them that live by bread alone. Be not afeard neither for any want for this will comfort more than the other will dismay. See ye here. And he showed them glistering coins of the tribute and goldsmith notes the worth of two pound nineteen shilling that he had, he said, for a song which he writ. They all admired to see the foresaid rich es in such dearth of money
as was herebefore. His words were then these as followeth:
The Word Made Flesh
- Stephen Dedalus discourses on the theological paradoxes of the Virgin Mary, contrasting the 'second Eve' with the original grandmother of humanity.
- The narrative explores the 'postcreation' where the spirit of the maker transforms passing flesh into an eternal word.
- A ribald interruption by Punch Costello is met with a stern rebuke from Nurse Quigley, who demands silence and order in the house of Horne.
- The company mocks Stephen's asceticism and his 'curious rite of wedlock,' questioning his choice to avoid religious vows.
- Stephen defines his life through a triad of 'obedience in the womb, chastity in the tomb but involuntary poverty all his days.'
- The debate touches on the nature of the Trinity and the Incarnation, oscillating between high theology and bawdy humor.
In womanâs womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away.
Know all men, he said, ti meâs ruins build eternityâs
mansions. What means this ? Desireâs wind blasts the
thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a
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717 of 1305 rose upon the rood of time. Mark me now. In womanâs
womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all
flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away.
This is the postcreation. Omnis caro ad te veniet . No
question but her name is puissant who aventried the dear corse of our Agenbuyer, Healer and Herd, our mighty mother and mother most venerable and Bernardus saith
aptly that She hath an omnipotentiam deiparae supplicem , that
is to wit, an almightiness of petition because she is the second Eve and she won us, saith Augustine too, whereas
that other, our grandam, which we are linked up with by
successive anastomosi s of navelcords sold us all, seed, breed
and generation, for a penny pippin. But here is the matter now. Or she knew him, that second I say, and was but
creature of her creature, vergine madre, figlia di tuo figlio , or
she knew him not and then stands she in the one denial or ignorancy with Peter Piscator w ho lives in the house that
Jack built and with Joseph the joiner patron of the happy
demise of all unhappy marriages, parceque M. LĂŠo Taxil nous
a dit que qui lâavait mise dans cette fichue position câĂŠtait le sacre
pigeon, ventre de Dieu! Entweder transubstantiality ODER
consubstantiality but in no case subsubstantiality. And all cried out upon it for a very scurvy word. A pregnancy without joy, he said, a birth without pangs, a body
Ulysses
718 of 1305 without blemish, a belly wit hout bigness. Let the lewd
with faith and fervour worship. With will will we
withstand, withsay.
Hereupon Punch Costello din ged with his fist upon the
board and would sing a bawdy catch Staboo Stabella about
a wench that was put in po d of a jolly swashbuckler in
Almany which he did straightways now attack: The first
three months she was not well, Staboo, when here nurse
Quigley from the door angerly bid them hist ye should
shame you nor was it not meet as she remembered them
being her mind was to have all orderly against lord Andrew came for because she was jealous that no gasteful
turmoil might shorten the honour of her guard. It was an ancient and a sad matron of a sedate look and christian walking, in habit dun beseeming her megrims and wrinkled visage, nor did her horta tive want of it effect for
incontinently Punch Costello was of them all embraided
and they reclaimed the churl with civil rudeness some and
shaked him with menace of blandishments others whiles they all chode with him, a murrain seize the dolt, what a devil he would be at, thou chuff, thou puny, thou got in peasestraw, thou losel, thou ch itterling, thou spawn of a
rebel, thou dykedropt, thou abor tion thou, to shut up his
drunken drool out of that like a curse of God ape, the
Ulysses
719 of 1305 good sir Leopold that had for his cognisance the flower of
quiet, margerain gentle, advising also the timeâs occasion as most sacred and most worthy to be most sacred. In Horneâs house rest should reign.
To be short this passage was scarce by when Master
Dixon of Mary in Eccles, goodly grinning, asked young Stephen what was the reason why he had not cided to
take friarâs vows and he ans wered him obedience in the
womb, chastity in the tomb but involuntary poverty all his days. Master Lenehan at this made return that he had heard of those nefarious deeds and how, as he heard hereof counted, he had besmirched the lily virtue of a
confiding female which was corruption of minors and they
all intershowed it too, waxing merry and toasting to his fathership. But he said very en tirely it was clean contrary
to their suppose for he was the eternal son and ever virgin. Thereat mirth grew in them the more and they rehearsed
to him his curious rite of wedlock for the disrobing and
The Cycle of Mortal Flesh
- The narrative weaves together archaic marriage rituals and the literary history of Beaumont and Fletcher to explore themes of sexual communion.
- Stephen Dedalus offers a cynical subversion of scripture, suggesting that the ultimate act of friendship is the sharing of a wife.
- The text transitions into a prophetic lament for Ireland, personified as a faithless figure who has traded her heritage for foreign influence and material gain.
- A philosophical meditation on the 'tenebrosity of the interior' suggests that human existence is defined by a darkness that precedes birth and follows death.
- The passage concludes with a vision of the human life cycle as a 'retrogressive metamorphosis' from the cradle to the occulted sepulchre.
- The prose style mimics various historical registers, from liturgical Latin and Elizabethan drama to the prophetic tone of the Old Testament.
The aged sisters draw us into life: we wail, batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die: over us dead they bend.
deflowering of spouses, as the priests use in Madagascar island, she to be in guise of white and saffron, her groom
in white and grain, with burning of nard and tapers, on a
bridebed while clerks sung kyries and the anthem Ut
novetur sexus omnis corporis mysterium till she was there
unmaided. He gave them then a much admirable hymen
Ulysses
720 of 1305 minim by those delicate poets Master John Fletcher and
Master Francis Beaumont that is in their Maidâs Tragedy
that was writ for a like twining of lovers: To bed, to bed was
the burden of it to be played with accompanable concent upon the virginals. An exquisite dulcet epithalame of most mollificative suadency for juveniles amatory whom the odoriferous flambeaus of the pa ranymphs have escorted to
the quadrupedal proscenium of connubial communion. Well met they were, said Master Dixon, joyed, but, harkee, young sir, better were they named Beau Mount
and Lecher for, by my troth, of such a mingling much
might come. Young Stephen said indeed to his best remembrance they had but the one doxy between them and she of the stews to make shift with in delights amorous for life ran very hi gh in those days and the
custom of the country approved with it. Greater love than this, he said, no man hath that a man lay down his wife for his friend. Go thou and do likewise. Thus, or words to that effect, saith Zarathustra, sometime regius professor of French letters to the university of Oxtail nor breathed there ever that man to whom mankind was more
beholden. Bring a stranger within thy tower it will go hard
but thou wilt have the secondbest bed. Orate, fratres, pro
memetipso . And all the people shall say, Amen. Remember,
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721 of 1305 Erin, thy generations and thy days of old, how thou
settedst little by me and by my word and broughtedst in a
stranger to my gates to commit fornication in my sight and
to wax fat and kick like Jeshurum. Therefore hast thou sinned against my light and hast made me, thy lord, to be the slave of servants. Return, return, Clan Milly: forget me not, O Milesian. Wh y hast thou done this
abomination before me that thou didst spurn me for a
merchant of jalaps and didst de ny me to the Roman and
to the Indian of dark speech with whom thy daughters did lie luxuriously? Look forth now, my people, upon the land of behest, even from Horeb and from Nebo and from
Pisgah and from the Horns of Hatten unto a land flowing
with milk and money. But thou hast suckled me with a bitter milk: my moon and my sun thou hast quenched for ever. And thou hast left me alone for ever in the dark ways of my bitterness: and with a kiss of ashes hast thou kissed my mouth. This tenebrosity of the interior, he proceeded to say, hath not been illumined by the wit of the septuagint nor so much as mentioned for the Orient
from on high Which brake hellâs gates visited a darkness that was foraneous. Assuefaction minorates atrocities (as
Tully saith of his darling St oics) and Hamlet his father
showeth the prince no blister of combustion. The
Ulysses
722 of 1305 adiaphane in the noon of life is an Egyptâs plague which in
the nights of prenativity and postmortemity is their most
proper ubi and quomodo . And as the ends and ultimates of
all things accord in some mean and measure with their inceptions and originals, that same multiplicit concordance
which leads forth growth from birth accomplishing by a
retrogressive metamorphosis that minishing and ablation towards the final which is ag reeable unto nature so is it
with our subsolar being. The aged sisters draw us into life:
we wail, batten, sport, c lip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die:
over us dead they bend. Fir st, saved from waters of old
Nile, among bulrushes, a bed of fasciated wattles: at last
the cavity of a mountain, an occulted sepulchre amid the
Thunder in the Hall
- A sudden and violent thunderstorm erupts, terrifying the company and silencing their previous rowdy songs and jests.
- Stephen Dedalus, referred to as young Boasthard, is deeply shaken by the storm despite his earlier displays of bravado and paganry.
- Leopold Bloom, acting as Calmer, attempts to soothe Stephen by explaining the thunder as a mere natural phenomenon of fluid discharge.
- Stephen remains inconsolable because his internal bitterness and lack of religious grace prevent him from finding comfort in either science or faith.
- The narrative explores the tension between the physical 'land of Phenomenon' where death is certain and the promised 'land of Believe-on-Me.'
- Stephen's spiritual wandering is attributed to his distraction by the 'Bird-in-the-Hand,' representing immediate carnal temptations over eternal salvation.
And his pitch that was before so haught uplift was now of a sudden quite plucked down and his heart shook within the cage of his breast as he tasted the rumour of that storm.
conclamation of the hillcat and the ossifrage. And as no man knows the ubicity of his tumulus nor to what processes we shall thereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to Edenville in th e like way is all hidden when
we would backward see from what region of remoteness the whatness of our whoness hat h fetched his whenceness.
Thereto Punch Costello roared out mainly Etienne
chanson but he loudly bid them, lo, wisdom hath built
herself a house, this vast majestic longstablished vault, the crystal palace of the Creator, all in applepie order, a penny for him who finds the pea.
Ulysses
723 of 1305 Behold the mansion reared by dedal Jack
See the malt stored in many a refluent sack, In the proud cirque of Jackjohnâs bivouac.
A black crack of noise in the street here, alack, bawled
back. Loud on left Thor t hundered: in anger awful the
hammerhurler. Came now the sto rm that hist his heart.
And Master Lynch bade him have a care to flout and witwanton as the go d self was angered for his hellprate and
paganry. And he that had erst challenged to be so doughty
waxed wan as they might all mark and shrank together and
his pitch that was before so haught uplift was now of a
sudden quite plucked down and his heart shook within the cage of his breast as he tasted the rumour of that storm.
Then did some mock and some jeer and Punch Costello fell hard again to his yale which Master Lenehan vowed he
would do after and he was indeed but a word and a blow on any the least colour. But the braggart boaster cried that an old Nobodaddy was in his cups it was muchwhat indifferent and he would not lag behind his lead. But this was only to dye his desperation as cowed he crouched in Horneâs hall. He drank indeed at one draught to pluck up a heart of any grace for it thundered long rumblingly over all the heavens so that Master Madden, being godly certain whiles, knocked him on his r ibs upon that crack of doom
Ulysses
724 of 1305 and Master Bloom, at the bra ggartâs side, spoke to him
calming words to slumber his great fear, advertising how it was no other thing but a hubbub noise that he heard, the discharge of fluid from the thunderhead, look you, having taken place, and all of the order of a natural phenomenon.
But was young Boasthardâs fear vanquished by Calmerâs
words? No, for he had in his bosom a spike named Bitterness which could not by words be done away. And was he then neither calm like the one nor godly like the other? He was neither as mu ch as he would have liked to
be either. But could he not have endeavoured to have found again as in his youth the bottle Holiness that then
he lived withal? Indeed no for Grace was not there to find
that bottle. Heard he then in that clap the voice of the god Bringforth or, what Calmer said, a hubbub of Phenomenon? Heard? Why, he could not but hear unless
he had plugged him up the tu be Understanding (which he
had not done). For through that tube he saw that he was in the land of Phenomenon where he must for a certain one day die as he was like th e rest too a passing show. And
would he not accept to die like the rest and pass away? By
no means would he though he must nor would he make more shows according as men do with wives which Phenomenon has commanded them to do by the book
Ulysses
725 of 1305 Law. Then wotted he nought of that other land which is
called Believe-on-Me, that is the land of promise which
behoves to the king Delightful and shall be for ever where there is no death and no birth neither wiving nor
mothering at which all shall come as many as believe on it? Yes, Pious had told him of that land and Chaste had
pointed him to the way but the reason was that in the way he fell in with a certain who re of an eyepleasing exterior
whose name, she said, is Bird-in-the-Hand and she beguiled him wrongways from the true path by her
flatteries that she said to him as, Ho, you pretty man, turn
The Grot and the Storm
- The narrative uses an allegorical, archaic style to describe the pursuit of carnal pleasure and the use of 'oxengut' shields to prevent disease and offspring.
- A group of men with symbolic names, such as Young Boasthard and Mr Cautious Calmer, are condemned for their 'abuses' and 'spillings' against the divine command to procreate.
- The scene shifts to the burial of Patrick Dignam and a severe drought that has left the Irish landscape parched and brown.
- The long-awaited rain finally arrives on the evening of June 16th, accompanied by a single massive stroke of thunder that sends people scurrying for cover.
- Characters like Buck Mulligan and Alec Bannon are spotted in the Dublin streets as the weather breaks, moving through the now-drenched city thoroughfares.
Wherein, O wretched company, were ye all deceived for that was the voice of the god that was in a very grievous rage that he would presently lift his arm up and spill their souls for their abuses and their spillings done by them contrariwise to his word which forth to bring brenningly biddeth.
aside hither and I will show you a brave place, and she lay
at him so flatteringly that sh e had him in her grot which is
named Two-in-the-Bush or, by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence.
This was it what all that company that sat there at
commons in Manse of Mothers the most lusted after and if
they met with this whore Bird-in-the-Hand (which was within all foul plagues, monst ers and a wicked devil) they
would strain the last but they would make at her and know her. For regarding Belie ve-on-Me they said it was
nought else but notion and they could conceive no thought of it for, first, Two-in-the-Bush whither she ticed them was the very goodliest grot and in it were four
Ulysses
726 of 1305 pillows on which were four tickets with these words
printed on them, Pickaback and Topsyturvy and Shameface and Cheek by Jowl and, second, for that foul plague Allpox and the monsters they cared not for them for Preservative had given them a stout shield of oxengut and, third, that they might take no hurt neither from
Offspring that was that wicked de vil by virtue of this same
shield which was named Killchild. So were they all in their blind fancy, Mr Cavil and Mr Sometimes Godly, Mr Ape Swillale, Mr False Franklin, Mr Dainty Dixon, Young Boasthard and Mr Cautious Calmer. Wherein, O wretched company, were ye all deceived for that was the
voice of the god that was in a very grievous rage that he
would presently lift his arm up and spill their souls for their abuses and their spillings done by them contrariwise
to his word which forth to bring brenningly biddeth.
So Thursday sixteenth June Patk. Dignam laid in clay
of an apoplexy and after hard drought, please God, rained, a bargeman coming in by water a fifty mile or thereabout with turf saying the seed wonât sprout, fields athirst, very sadcoloured and stunk mightily , the quags and tofts too.
Hard to breathe and all the young quicks clean consumed without sprinkle this long while back as no man
remembered to be without. Th e rosy buds all gone brown
Ulysses
727 of 1305 and spread out blobs and on the hills nought but dry flag
and faggots that would catch at first fire. All the world saying, for aught they knew, the big wind of last February a year that did havoc the land so pitifully a small thing beside this barrenness. But by and by, as said, this evening
after sundown, the wind sitting in the west, biggish swollen clouds to be seen as the night increased and the weatherwise poring up at them and some sheet lightnings at first and after, past ten of the clock, one great stroke with a long thunder and in a brace of shakes all scamper
pellmell within door for the smoking shower, the men making shelter for their straws with a clout or kerchief,
womenfolk skipping off with kirtl es catched up soon as
the pour came. In Ely place, Baggot street, Dukeâs lawn, thence through Merrion green up to Holles street a swash of water flowing that was before bonedry and not one
chair or coach or fiacre seen about but no more crack after
that first. Over against the Rt. Hon. Mr Justice Fitzgibbonâs door (that is to sit with Mr Healy the lawyer upon the college lands) Mal. Mulligan a gentlemanâs gentleman that had but come from Mr Mooreâs the writerâs (that was a papish but is now, folk say, a good Williamite) chanced against Alec. Bannon in a cut bob (which are now in with dance cloaks of Kendal green) that
Ulysses
A Gathering at Horne's
- Leopold Bloom joins a group of medical students and wits at Andrew Horne's maternity hospital during a heavy rainstorm.
- The company discusses the difficult labor of Mrs. Purefoy, who has been struggling for two days to deliver her ninth child.
- Bloom reflects on a strange dream involving his wife, Molly, dressed in red slippers and Turkish trousers.
- Lenehan, a colorful character and gossip, arrives and entertains the group with talk of horse racing and local scandals.
- The narrative style mimics archaic English prose, blending medical concerns with superstitious prognostications about the weather and harvest.
- The atmosphere is one of rowdy camaraderie, contrasting the men's lighthearted banter with the physical ordeal of childbirth occurring nearby.
Mistress Purefoy there, that got in through pleading her belly, and now on the stools, poor body, two days past her term, the midwives sore put to it and canât deliver.
728 of 1305 was new got to town from Mullingar with the stage where
his coz and Mal Mâs brother will stay a month yet till Saint Swithin and asks what in the earth he does there, he bound home and he to Andrew Horneâs being stayed for to crush a cup of wine, so he said, but would tell him of a skittish heifer, big of her age and beef to the heel, and all this while poured with rain and so both together on to Horneâs. There Leop. Bloom of Crawfordâs journal sitting
snug with a covey of wags, likely brangling fellows, Dixon jun., scholar of my lady of Mercyâs, Vin. Lynch, a Scots fellow, Will. Madden, T. Lenehan, very sad about a racer he fancied and Stephen D. Leop. Bloom there for a
languor he had but was now better, be having dreamed
tonight a strange fancy of his dame Mrs Moll with red slippers on in a pair of Turkey trunks which is thought by
those in ken to be for a change and Mistress Purefoy there, that got in through pleading her belly, and now on the stools, poor body, two days past her term, the midwives sore put to it and canât deliver, she queasy for a bowl of riceslop that is a shrewd drier up of the insides and her breath very heavy more than good and should be a bullyboy from the knocks, they say, but God give her soon issue. âTis her ninth chick to live, I hear, and Lady day bit off her last chickâs nails that was then a
Ulysses
729 of 1305 twelvemonth and with other three all breastfed that died
written out in a fair hand in the kingâs bible. Her hub fifty odd and a methodist but takes the sacrament and is to be
seen any fair sabbath with a pair of his boys off Bullock harbour dapping on the sound with a heavybraked reel or
in a punt he has trailing for flounder and pollock and catches a fine bag, I hear. In sum an infinite great fall of rain and all refreshed and will much increase the harvest yet those in ken say after wind and water fire shall come for a prognostication of Malachiâ s almanac (and I hear that
Mr Russell has done a prophetical charm of the same gist
out of the Hindustanish for his farmerâs gazette) to have
three things in all but this a mere fetch without bottom of
reason for old crones and bair ns yet sometimes they are
found in the right guess with their queerities no telling how.
With this came up Lenehan to the feet of the table to
say how the letter was in that nightâs gazette and he made a show to find it about him (for he swore with an oath that he had been at pain s about it) but on Stephenâs
persuasion he gave over the search and was bidden to sit near by which he did mighty brisk. He was a kind of sport
gentleman that went for a merryandrew or honest pickle
and what belonged of women, horseflesh or hot scandal he
Ulysses
730 of 1305 had it pat. To tell the trut h he was mean in fortunes and
for the most part hankered about the coffeehouses and low taverns with crimps, ostlers, bookies, Paulâs men, runners, flatcaps, waistcoateers, ladies of the bagnio and other rogues of the game or with a chanceable catchpole or a
tipstaff often at nights till br oad day of whom he picked up
between his sackpossets much loose gossip. He took his ordinary at a boilingcookâs and if he had but gotten into
him a mess of broken victuals or a platter of tripes with a bare tester in his purse he c ould always bring himself off
with his tongue, some randy quip he had from a punk or whatnot that every motherâs son of them would burst their
sides. The other, Costello that is, hearing this talk asked
was it poetry or a tale. Faith, no, he says, Frank (that was his name), âtis a ll about Kerry cows that are to be
butchered along of the plague. But they can go hang, says he with a wink, for me with their bully beef, a pox on it. Thereâs as good fish in this tin as ever came out of it and very friendly he offered to ta ke of some salty sprats that
stood by which he had eyed wishly in the meantime and
found the place which was ind eed the chief design of his
The Tale of the Irish Bull
- The narrative introduces Frank, a wayward son of a headborough who abandoned his university studies for a life of vagrancy and petty crime.
- Leopold Bloom expresses concern over the slaughter of livestock, drawing on his professional experience working for a cattle salesman.
- Stephen Dedalus counters with a satirical allegory involving 'Doctor Rinderpest' and an imperial 'tailtickler' sent to manage the cattle.
- The conversation shifts into a complex metaphor of an Irish bull sent to the island by 'farmer Nicholas' (Pope Adrian IV).
- The bull is described as a majestic yet gelded creature that charms the women of Ireland with its 'long holy tongue' and spiritual influence.
- The allegory serves as a sharp critique of the historical and religious subjugation of Ireland by the Church and the British crown.
He had horns galore, a coat of cloth of gold and a sweet smoky breath coming out of his nostrils so that the women of our island, leaving doughballs and rollingpins, followed after him hanging his bulliness in daisychains.
embassy as he was sharpset. Mort aux vaches , says Frank
then in the French language t hat had been indentured to a
brandyshipper that has a winelodge in Bordeaux and he
Ulysses
731 of 1305 spoke French like a gentleman too. From a child this
Frank had been a donought that his father, a headborough, who could ill keep him to sc hool to learn his letters and
the use of the globes, matric ulated at the university to
study the mechanics but he took the bit between his teeth like a raw colt and was more familiar with the justiciary and the parish beadle than with his volumes. One time he would be a playactor, then a sutler or a welsher, then
nought would keep him from the bearpit and the cocking main, then he was for the oce an sea or to ho of it on the
roads with the romany folk, kidnapping a squireâs heir by favour of moonlight or fecking maidsâ linen or choking
chicken behind a hedge. He had been off as many times as
a cat has lives and back agai n with naked pockets as many
more to his father the headborough who shed a pint of tears as often as he saw him. What, says Mr Leopold with
his hands across, that was earnest to know the drift of it, will they slaughter all? I protest I saw them but this day morning going to the Liverpool boats, says he. I can scarce believe âtis so bad, says he. And he had experience of the
like brood beasts and of springers, greasy hoggets and wether wool, having been some years before actuary for Mr Joseph Cuffe, a worthy sale smaster that drove his trade
for live stock and meadow auctions hard by Mr Gavin
Ulysses
732 of 1305 Lowâs yard in Prussia street. I question with you there,
says he. More like âtis the hoose or the timber tongue. Mr Stephen, a little moved but very handsomely told him no such matter and that he had dispatches from the emperorâs chief tailtickler thanking him for the hospitality, that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, the bestquoted cowcatcher in all Muscovy, wit h a bolus or two of physic
to take the bull by the horns. Come, come, says Mr Vincent, plain dealing. Heâll find himself on the horns of a
dilemma if he meddles with a bull thatâs Irish, says he. Irish by name and irish by nature, says Mr Stephen, and he sent the ale purling about, an Irish bull in an English
chinashop. I conceive you, says Mr Dixon. It is that same
bull that was sent to our is land by farmer Nicholas, the
bravest cattlebreeder of them a ll, with an emerald ring in
his nose. True for you, says Mr Vincent cross the table,
and a bullseye into the bargain, says he, and a plumper and a portlier bull, says he, nev er shit on shamrock. He had
horns galore, a coat of clot h of gold and a sweet smoky
breath coming out of his nostr ils so that the women of our
island, leaving doughballs and rollingpins, followed after him hanging his bulliness in daisychains. What for that, says Mr Dixon, but before he came over farmer Nicholas
that was a eunuch had him pr operly gelded by a college of
Ulysses
733 of 1305 doctors who were no better off than himself. So be off
now, says he, and do all my cousin german the lord Harry
tells you and take a farmerâs blessing, and with that he slapped his posteriors very soundly. But the slap and the blessing stood him friend, says Mr Vincent, for to make up
he taught him a trick worth two of the other so that maid, wife, abbess and widow to this day affirm that they would rather any time of the month whisper in his ear in the dark of a cowhouse or get a lick on the nape from his long holy
tongue than lie with the finest strapping young ravisher in the four fields of all Ireland. Another then put in his word: And they dressed him, says he, in a point shift and
petticoat with a tippet and gir dle and ruffles on his wrists
The Bull and the Lord
- A pampered bull is treated with excessive luxury by the women of the land, eventually growing too heavy to walk.
- The Lord Harry enforces a strict decree that only green grass may grow, violently uprooting any other crops planted by farmers.
- Lord Harry discovers a supposed ancestral connection to the Roman bull Bos Bovum and adopts a new identity.
- Despite studying the bull's language, the Lord can only master the first personal pronoun, which he chalks obsessively on every surface.
- The men of the island, disillusioned by the alliance between the Lord and the bull, eventually flee by sea toward America.
- Malachi Mulligan and a young acquaintance, Alec Bannon, arrive as the students conclude their allegorical tale.
In short, he and the bull of Ireland were soon as fast friends as an arse and a shirt.
and clipped his forelock and rubbed him all over with spermacetic oil and built stable s for him at every turn of
the road with a gold manger in each full of the best hay in the market so that he could doss and dung to his heartâs content. By this time the fath er of the faithful (for so they
called him) was grown so heavy that he could scarce walk
to pasture. To remedy which our cozening dames and damsels brought him his fodder in their apronlaps and as soon as his belly was full he would rear up on his hind uarters to show their ladyships a mystery and roar and bellow out of him in bullsâ language and they all after him.
Ulysses
734 of 1305 Ay, says another, and so pampered was he that he would
suffer nought to grow in all the land but green grass for himself (for that was the only colour to his mind) and there was a board put up on a hillock in the middle of the island with a printed notice , saying: By the Lord Harry,
Green is the grass that grows on the ground. And, says Mr Dixon, if ever he got scent of a cattleraider in Roscommon or the wilds of Connemara or a husbandman in Sligo that was sowing as much as a handful of mustard or a bag of rapeseed out heâd run amok over half the countryside rooting up with his horns whatever was planted and all by lord Harryâs orders. There was bad
blood between them at first, says Mr Vincent, and the lord
Harry called farmer Nicholas all the old Nicks in the world and an old whoremaster th at kept seven trulls in his
house and Iâll meddle in his matt ers, says he. Iâll make that
animal smell hell, says he, with the help of that good pizzle my father left me. But one evening, says Mr Dixon, when the lord Harry was cleaning hi s royal pelt to go to dinner
after winning a boatrace (he had spade oars for himself but the first rule of the course wa s that the others were to row
with pitchforks) he discovered in himself a wonderful likeness to a bull and on picking up a blackthumbed chapbook that he kept in th e pantry he found sure enough
Ulysses
735 of 1305 that he was a lefthanded descendant of the famous
champion bull of the Romans, Bos Bovum , which is good
bog Latin for boss of the show. After that, says Mr Vincent, the lord Harry put his head into a cowâs drinkingtrough in the presence of all his courtiers and pulling it out again told them all his new name. Then, with the water running off him, he got into an old smock
and skirt that had belonged to his grandmother and bought a grammar of the bullsâ language to study but he could never learn a word of it except the first personal
pronoun which he copied out big and got off by heart and
if ever he went out for a walk he filled his pockets with
chalk to write it upon what took his fancy, the side of a rock or a teahouse table or a bale of cotton or a corkfloat. In short, he and the bull of Ireland were soon as fast friends as an arse and a shirt. They were, says Mr Stephen,
and the end was that the men of the island seeing no help was toward, as the ungrate women were all of one mind, made a wherry raft, loaded th emselves and their bundles of
chattels on shipboard, se t all masts erect, manned the
yards, sprang their luff, heaved to, spread three sheets in the wind, put her head between wind and water, weighed anchor, ported her helm, ran up the jolly Roger, gave three times three, let the bullgine run, pushed off in their
Ulysses
736 of 1305 bumboat and put to sea to recover the main of America.
Which was the occasion, says Mr Vincent, of the composing by a boatswain of that rollicking chanty:
âPope Peterâs but a pissabed.
A manâs a man for aâ that.
Our worthy acquaintance Mr Malachi Mulligan now
appeared in the doorway as the students were finishing
their apologue accompanied with a friend whom he had just rencountered, a young gentleman, his name Alec Bannon, who had late come to town, it being his intention to buy a colour or a cornetcy in the fencibles
Mulligan's National Fertilising Farm
- Malachi Mulligan presents a satirical proposal to combat sterility and the 'defrauding' of the nuptial couch.
- He plans to establish a 'national fertilising farm' named Omphalos on Lambay Island, complete with an Egyptian-style obelisk.
- Mulligan offers his personal services for the fecundation of any woman, regardless of social class, from kitchenwenches to ladies of fashion.
- The project is framed as a noble devotion to the bodily organism, contrasting with the idle pleasures of city fops.
- To maintain his potency, Mulligan describes a specific diet of fish and prolific rodents like coneys, seasoned with mace and chillies.
- While the company receives the plan with hearty eulogies, Mr. Dixon offers a skeptical retort regarding the necessity of such a service.
It grieved him plaguily, he said, to see the nuptial couch defrauded of its dearest pledges: and to reflect upon so many agreeable females with rich jointures, a prey to the vilest bonzes.
and list for the wars. Mr Mu lligan was civil enough to
express some relish of it all the more as it jumped with a project of his own for the cure of the very evil that had been touched on. Whereat he handed round to the company a set of pasteboard cards which he had had printed that day at Mr Quinnellâs bearing a legend printed
in fair italics: Mr Malachi Mulligan. Fertiliser and Incubator.
Lambay Island . His project, as he went on to expound, was
to withdraw from the round of idle pleasures such as form
the chief business of sir Fopling Popinjay and sir Milksop Quidnunc in town and to devote himself to the noblest task for which our bodily org anism has been framed. Well,
Ulysses
737 of 1305 let us hear of it, good my friend, said Mr Dixon. I make
no doubt it smacks of wenching. Come, be seated, both. âTis as cheap sitting as standing. Mr Mulligan accepted of the invitation and, expatiating upon his design, told his hearers that he had been le d into this thought by a
consideration of the causes of sterility, both the inhibitory
and the prohibitory, whether the inhibition in its turn
were due to conjugal vexations or to a parsimony of the balance as well as whether th e prohibition proceeded from
defects congenital or from proc livities acquired. It grieved
him plaguily, he said, to see the nuptial couch defrauded of its dearest pledges: and to reflect upon so many
agreeable females with rich jointures, a prey to the vilest
bonzes, who hide their flambeau under a bushel in an uncongenial cloister or lose their womanly bloom in the embraces of some unaccountable muskin when they might
multiply the inlets of happiness, sacrificing the inestimable jewel of their sex when a hundred pretty fellows were at hand to caress, this, he assured them, made his heart weep. To curb this inconvenient (which he concluded due to a suppression of latent heat), having advised with certain
counsellors of worth and inspected into this matter, he had resolved to purchase in fee si mple for ever the freehold of
Lambay island from its holder, lord Talbot de Malahide, a
Ulysses
738 of 1305 Tory gentleman of note much in favour with our
ascendancy party. He propos ed to set up there a national
fertilising farm to be named Omphalos with an obelisk
hewn and erected after the fashion of Egypt and to offer his dutiful yeoman services for the fecundation of any
female of what grade of life soever who should there direct to him with the desire of fulfilling the functions of
her natural. Money was no obje ct, he said, nor would he
take a penny for his pains. The poorest kitchenwench no
less than the opulent lady of fashion, if so be their
constructions and their tempers were warm persuaders for
their petitions, would find in him their man. For his
nutriment he shewed how he would feed himself exclusively upon a diet of savoury tubercles and fish and coneys there, the flesh of these latter prolific rodents being highly recommended for his purpose, both broiled and stewed with a blade of mace and a pod or two of capsicum chillies. After this homily wh ich he delivered with much
warmth of asseveration Mr Mullig an in a trice put off from
his hat a kerchief with which he had shielded it. They both, it seems, had been overtaken by the rain and for all their mending their pace had taken water, as might be observed by Mr Mulliganâs sm allclothes of a hodden grey
which was now somewhat pie bald. His project meanwhile
Ulysses
739 of 1305 was very favourably entertai ned by his auditors and won
hearty eulogies from a ll though Mr Dixon of Maryâs
excepted to it, asking with a finicking air did he purpose also to carry coals to Newcastle. Mr Mulligan however made court to the scholarly by an apt quotation from the classics which, as it dwelt upon his memory, seemed to
him a sound and tasteful support of his contention: Talis ac
Mirth and Mockery at Horne's
- The scene opens with a mock-Latin oration comparing the depravity of modern women to Roman centurions and animal instincts.
- Mr. Mulligan enters the company, inquiring about the food and offering professional assistance to a stranger waiting on a woman in labor.
- A medical jest ensues regarding Mulligan's own physical girth, questioning if it represents a 'male womb' or a parasitic 'wolf in the stomach.'
- Mulligan performs a bawdy mimicry of Mother Grogan, boasting of his belly's purity to the great delight of the assembled men.
- A blond Scottish student interrupts the revelry with a polite gesture, offering a flagon of cordial waters to the narrator.
- The narrator accepts the drink with dramatic piety and reveals a cherished locket containing the image of a beloved woman.
Thereâs a belly that never bore a bastard.
tanta depravatio hujus seculi, O quirites, ut matresfamiliarum nostrae lascivas cujuslibet semiviri libici titillationes testibus
ponderosis atque excelsis erec tionibus centurionum Romanorum
magnopere anteponunt , while for those of ruder wit he drove
home his point by analogies of the animal kingdom more suitable to their stomach, the buck and doe of the forest glade, the farmyard drake and duck.
Valuing himself not a little upon his elegance, being
indeed a proper man of person, this talkative now applied himself to his dress with animadversions of some heat upon the sudden whimsy of the atmospherics while the company lavished their encomiums upon the project he had advanced. The young gentleman, his friend, overjoyed as he was at a passage that had late befallen him, could not
forbear to tell it his nearest neighbour. Mr Mulligan, now perceiving the table, asked for whom were those loaves and fishes and, seeing the stranger, he made him a civil
Ulysses
740 of 1305 bow and said, Pray, sir, was you in need of any
professional assistance we could give? Who, upon his offer, thanked him very heartily, though preserving his proper distance, and replied that he was come there about a lady, now an inmate of Horneâs house, that was in an
interesting condition, poor body, from womanâs woe (and
here he fetched a deep sigh) to know if her happiness had yet taken place. Mr Dixon, to turn the table, took on to
ask of Mr Mulligan himself whether his incipient
ventripotence, upon which he rallied him, betokened an ovoblastic gestation in the pro static utricle or male womb
or was due, as with the noted physician, Mr Austin
Meldon, to a wolf in the stomach. For answer Mr
Mulligan, in a gale of laughter at his smalls, smote himself bravely below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an admirable droll mimic of Mother Grogan (the most excellent creature of her sex though âtis pity sheâs a trollop): Thereâs a belly that never bore a bastard. This was
so happy a conceit that it renewed the storm of mirth and threw the whole room into the most violent agitations of delight. The spry rattle had run on in the same vein of mimicry but for some larum in the antechamber.
Here the listener who was none other than the Scotch
student, a little fume of a fellow, blond as tow,
Ulysses
741 of 1305 congratulated in the liveliest fashion with the young
gentleman and, interrupting the na rrative at a salient point,
having desired his visavis with a polite beck to have the obligingness to pass him a flagon of cordial waters at the same time by a questioning poise of the head (a whole century of polite breeding had not achieved so nice a gesture) to which was united an equivalent but contrary balance of the bottle asked the narrator as plainly as was ever done in words if he might treat him with a cup of it.
Mais bien sĂťr , noble stranger, said he cheerily, et mille
compliments . That you may and very opportunely. There
wanted nothing but this cup to crown my felicity. But,
gracious heaven, was I left with but a crust in my wallet and a cupful of water from the well, my God, I would accept of them and find it in my heart to kneel down
upon the ground and give thanks to the powers above for the happiness vouchsafed me by the Giver of good things.
With these words he approached the goblet to his lips, took a complacent draught of the cordial, slicked his hair
and, opening his bosom, out popped a locket that hung from a silk riband, that very picture which he had cherished ever since her hand had wrote therein. Gazing upon those features with a world of tenderness, Ah, Monsieur, he said, had you but beheld her as I did with
Ulysses
Gallic Wit and Gallantries
- A gentleman recounts a sentimental encounter with a lady, praising her artless disorder and melting tenderness.
- The narrative shifts into a philosophical reflection on the universal tyranny of love over all men, from swains to coxcombs.
- A debate ensues regarding the practicalities of protection against the rain, contrasting French cloaks with the utility of umbrellas.
- Monsieur Lynch shares a risquĂŠ anecdote from his 'pretty philosopher' Kitty regarding the two occasions where nudity is the only fit garment.
- The bawdy discourse is abruptly interrupted by the ringing of a bell and the entrance of the modest Miss Callan.
- The sudden appearance of a virtuous woman creates a sharp contrast against the backdrop of the 'party of debauchees'.
The first, said she (and here my pretty philosopher, as I handed her to her tilbury, to fix my attention, gently tipped with her tongue the outer chamber of my ear), the first is a bath ...
742 of 1305 these eyes at that affecting instant with her dainty tucker
and her new coquette cap (a gi ft for her feastday as she
told me prettily) in such an artless disorder, of so melting a tenderness, âpon my conscience, even you, Monsieur, had been impelled by generous nature to deliver yourself wholly into the hands of such an enemy or to quit the field for ever. I declare, I wa s never so touched in all my
life. God, I thank thee, as the Author of my days! Thrice happy will he be whom so amiable a creature will bless with her favours. A sigh of a ffection gave eloquence to
these words and, having replaced the locket in his bosom,
he wiped his eye and sighed again. Beneficent
Disseminator of blessings to all Thy creatures, how great
and universal must be that sweetest of Thy tyrannies which can hold in thrall the free and the bond, the simple swain and the polished coxcomb, the lover in the heyday of reckless passion and the husband of maturer years. But indeed, sir, I wander from the point. How mingled and imperfect are all our sublunary joys. Maledicity! he exclaimed in anguish. Would to God that foresight had but remembered me to take my cloak along! I could weep to think of it. Then, though it had poured seven showers,
we were neither of us a penny the worse. But beshrew me, he cried, clapping hand to his forehead, tomorrow
Ulysses
743 of 1305 will be a new day and, thousand thunders, I know of a
marchand de capotes , Monsieur Poyntz, from whom I can
have for a livre as snug a cloak of the French fashion as ever kept a lady from wetti ng. Tut, tut! cries Le
Fecondateur, tripping in, my fr iend Monsieur Moore, that
most accomplished traveller (I have just cracked a half
bottle AVEC LUI in a circle of the best wits of the town),
is my authority that in Cape Horn, ventre biche , they have a
rain that will wet through any, even the stoutest cloak. A
drenching of that violence, he tells me, sans blague , has sent
more than one luckless fellow in good earnest posthaste to
another world. Pooh! A livre! cries Monsieur Lynch. The
clumsy things are dear at a s ou. One umbrella, were it no
bigger than a fairy mushroom, is worth ten such stopgaps.
No woman of any wit would wear one. My dear Kitty told me today that she would dance in a deluge before ever she would starve in such an ark of salvation for, as she
reminded me (blushing piquantly and whispering in my ear though there was none to snap her words but giddy butterflies), dame Nature, by the divine blessing, has
implanted it in our hearts and it has become a household
word that il y a deux choses for which the innocence of our
original garb, in other circumstances a breach of the proprieties, is the fittest, nay , the only garment. The first,
Ulysses
744 of 1305 said she (and here my pretty philosopher, as I handed her
to her tilbury, to fix my attention, gently tipped with her tongue the outer chamber of my ear), the first is a bath ... But at this point a bell ti nkling in the hall cut short a
discourse which promised so br avely for the enrichment of
our store of knowledge.
Amid the general vacant hila rity of the assembly a bell
rang and, while all were conjecturing what might be the cause, Miss Callan entered and, having spoken a few
words in a low tone to young Mr Dixon, retired with a profound bow to the company. The presence even for a
moment among a party of debauchees of a woman endued
with every quality of modesty and not less severe than
Ribaldry and Rebuke
- The departure of a woman triggers a wave of crude and licentious jokes among the medical students and hangers-on.
- Costello and Lynch engage in ribald mockery of the nursing staff and the physical state of the pregnant woman.
- A young surgeon delivers a stern moral rebuke to the company, defending the sanctity of the medical profession and the dignity of motherhood.
- The announcement of a successful birthâa 'bouncing boy'âinterrupts the revelry and prompts the surgeon's exit.
- Leopold Bloom observes the scene with quiet distaste, feeling alienated by the cruel and 'tumultuary' nature of the young men's conversation.
- Costello attempts to backtrack on his insults by claiming a sentimental devotion to his own mother and religious upbringing.
I shudder to think of the future of a race where the seeds of such malice have been sown and where no right reverence is rendered to mother and maid in house of Horne.
beautiful refrained the humourous sallies even of the most licentious but her departure was the signal for an outbreak of ribaldry. Strike me silly, said Costello, a low fellow who was fuddled. A monstrous fine bit of cowflesh! Iâll be sworn she has rendezvoused you. What, you dog? Have you a way with them? Gadâs bud, immensely so, said Mr Lynch. The bedside manner it is that they use in the Mater
hospice. Demme, does not Doctor OâGargle chuck the nuns there under the chin. As I look to be saved I had it from my Kitty who has been wardmaid there any time these seven months. Lawksam ercy, doctor, cried the
Ulysses
745 of 1305 young blood in the primrose vest, feigning a womanish
simper and with immodest squirmings of his body, how you do tease a body! Drat th e man! Bless me, Iâm all of a
wibbly wobbly. Why, youâre as bad as dear little Father Cantekissem, that you are! May this pot of four half choke me, cried Costello, if she aint in the family way. I knows a
lady whatâs got a white swellin g quick as I claps eyes on
her. The young surgeon, however, rose and begged the company to excuse his retreat as the nurse had just then informed him that he was needed in the ward. Merciful providence had been pleased to put a period to the
sufferings of the lady who was enceinte which she had
borne with a laudable fortitude and she had given birth to
a bouncing boy. I want patience, said he, with those who, without wit to enliven or lear ning to instruct, revile an
ennobling profession which, saving the reverence due to the Deity, is the greatest power for happiness upon the earth. I am positive when I sa y that if need were I could
produce a cloud of witnesse s to the excellence of her
noble exercitations which, so far from being a byword, should be a glorious incentive in the human breast. I cannot away with them. What? Malign such an one, the amiable Miss Callan, who is the lustre of her own sex and the astonishment of ours? And at an instant the most
Ulysses
746 of 1305 momentous that can befall a p uny child of clay? Perish the
thought! I shudder to think of the future of a race where
the seeds of such malice have been sown and where no right reverence is rendered to mother and maid in house
of Horne. Having delivered himself of this rebuke he saluted those present on the by and repaired to the door. A murmur of approval arose from all and some were for ejecting the low soaker without more ado, a design which would have been effected nor would he have received
more than his bare deserts had he not abridged his
transgression by affirming wit h a horrid imprecation (for
he swore a round hand) that he was as good a son of the
true fold as ever drew breath. St ap my vitals, said he, them
was always the sentiments of honest Frank Costello which I was bred up most particular to honour thy father and thy mother that had the best hand to a rolypoly or a hasty pudding as you ever see what I always looks back on with a loving heart.
To revert to Mr Bloom who, after his first entry, had
been conscious of some impudent mocks which he however had borne with as being the fruits of that age upon which it is commonly c harged that it knows not
pity. The young sparks, it is true, were as full of extravagancies as overgrown children: the words of their
Ulysses
747 of 1305 tumultuary discussions were difficultly understood and not
often nice: their testiness and outrageous mots were such
that his intellects resiled from : nor were they scrupulously
sensible of the proprieties though their fund of strong
animal spirits spoke in their behalf. But the word of Mr Costello was an unwelcome language for him for he nauseated the wretch that s eemed to him a cropeared
creature of a misshapen gibbosi ty, born out of wedlock
and thrust like a crookback toot hed and feet first into the
world, which the dint of the surgeonâs pliers in his skull lent indeed a colour to, so as to put him in thought of that
Votaries of Levity
- A man of rare forecast and self-restraint reflects on the necessity of patience and the rejection of wit at the expense of feminine delicacy.
- The group receives news of a successful birth following a difficult labor, prompting reflections on divine mercy and the bounty of creation.
- Younger men in the company react with crude jests and skepticism regarding the child's paternity, contrasting with the protagonist's solemnity.
- The protagonist observes the jarring transition of medical students from frivolous 'votaries of levity' to serious practitioners of the noble healing arts.
- The narrative shifts to a critique of an 'alien' figure's lack of gratitude and loyalty to the state during times of conflict.
Singular, communed the guest with himself, the wonderfully unequal faculty of metempsychosis possessed by them, that the puerperal dormitory and the dissecting theatre should be the seminaries of such frivolity.
missing link of creationâs chain desiderated by the late
ingenious Mr Darwin. It was now for more than the middle span of our allotted years that he had passed through the thousand vicissitudes of existence and, being of a wary ascendancy and self a man of rare forecast, he had enjoined his heart to repress all motions of a rising choler and, by intercepting them with the readiest precaution, foster within his breast that plenitude of sufferance which base minds jeer at, rash judgers scorn and all find tolerable and but tolerable. To those who create themselves wits at the cost of fe minine delicacy (a habit of
mind which he never did ho ld with) to them he would
concede neither to bear the nam e nor to herit the tradition
Ulysses
748 of 1305 of a proper breeding: while for such that, having lost all
forbearance, can lose no more, there remained the sharp antidote of experience to caus e their insolency to beat a
precipitate and inglorious retreat. Not but what he could feel with mettlesome youth which, caring nought for the mows of dotards or the gruntlings of the severe, is ever (as the chaste fancy of the Holy Writer expresses it) for eating of the tree forbid it yet not so far forth as to pretermit humanity upon any condition soever towards a gentlewoman when she was about her lawful occasions. To conclude, while from the sisterâs words he had reckoned upon a speedy delivery he was, however, it must
be owned, not a little alleviated by the intelligence that the
issue so auspicated after an ordeal of such duress now testified once more to the mercy as well as to the bounty of the Supreme Being.
Accordingly he broke his mind to his neighbour, saying
that, to express his notion of the thing, his opinion (who ought not perchance to exp ress one) was that one must
have a cold constitution and a frigid genius not to be rejoiced by this freshest news of the fruition of her confinement since she had been in such pain through no fault of hers. The dressy young blade said it was her husbandâs that put her in that expectation or at least it
Ulysses
749 of 1305 ought to be unless she were another Ephesian matron. I
must acquaint you, said Mr Crotthers, clapping on the table so as to evoke a resonant comment of emphasis, old Glory Allelujurum was round again today, an elderly man with dundrearies, preferring through his nose a request to have word of Wilhelmina, my life, as he calls her. I bade
him hold himself in readiness for that the event would
burst anon. âSlife, Iâll be r ound with you. I cannot but
extol the virile potency of th e old bucko that could still
knock another child out of her. All fell to praising of it, each after his own fashion, though the same young blade held with his former view that another than her conjugial
had been the man in the gap, a clerk in orders, a linkboy
(virtuous) or an itinerant vend or of articles needed in
every household. Singular, communed the guest with himself, the wonderfully unequal faculty of metempsychosis possessed by them, that the puerperal dormitory and the dissecting theatre should be the seminaries of such frivolity, that the mere acquisition of
academic titles should suffice to transform in a pinch of time these votaries of levity in to exemplary practitioners of
an art which most men anywise eminent have esteemed the noblest. But, he further added, it is mayhap to relieve the pentup feelings that in common oppress them for I
Ulysses
750 of 1305 have more than once observed t hat birds of a feather laugh
together.
But with what fitness, let it be asked of the noble lord,
his patron, has this alien, whom the concession of a gracious prince has admitted to civic rights, constituted
himself the lord paramount of our internal polity? Where is now that gratitude which loyalty should have counselled? During the recent war whenever the enemy had a temporary advantage with his granados did this
traitor to his kind not seize t hat moment to discharge his
The Birth and the Strife
- A scathing character assassination targets a man accused of hypocrisy, moralizing, and neglecting his marital duties while pursuing illicit interests.
- The text contrasts the subject's public persona as a 'censor of morals' with his private failures and alleged attempts at seducing domestic staff.
- The long-awaited announcement of a male heir is delivered with high ceremonial gravity to a delegation of medical and state officials.
- Following the birth, the solemn atmosphere dissolves into a chaotic 'strife of tongues' among the exhausted delegates.
- The conversation shifts rapidly into a dense, clinical, and legalistic debate over various medical anomalies and reproductive tragedies.
Unhappy woman, she has been too long and too persistently denied her legitimate prerogative to listen to his objurgations with any other feeling than the derision of the desperate.
piece against the empire of which he is a tenant at will while he trembled for the secu rity of his four per cents?
Has he forgotten this as he forgets all benefits received? Or
is it that from being a deluder of others he has become at last his own dupe as he is, if report belie him not, his own and his only enjoyer? Far be it from candour to violate the bedchamber of a respectable lady, the daughter of a gallant major, or to cast the most distant reflections upon her virtue but if he challenges a ttention there (as it was indeed
highly his interest not to have done) then be it so. Unhappy woman, she has been too long and too
persistently denied her legitimate prerogative to listen to his objurgations with any other feeling than the derision of the desperate. He says this, a censor of morals, a very
Ulysses
751 of 1305 pelican in his piety, who did not scruple, oblivious of the
ties of nature, to attempt illicit intercourse with a female domestic drawn from the lowest strata of society! Nay, had the hussyâs scouringbrush not been her tutelary angel, it
had gone with her as hard as with Hagar, the Egyptian! In the question of the grazing lands his peevish asperity is notorious and in Mr Cuffeâs hearing brought upon him from an indignant rancher a scathing retort couched in terms as straightforward as they were bucolic. It ill
becomes him to preach that gospel. Has he not nearer
home a seedfield that lies fallow for the want of the ploughshare? A habit reprehens ible at puberty is second
nature and an opprobrium in middle life. If he must
dispense his balm of Gilead in nostrums and apothegms of
dubious taste to restore to health a generation of unfledged profligates let his practice c onsist better with the doctrines
that now engross him. His ma rital breast is the repository
of secrets which decorum is reluctant to adduce. The lewd suggestions of some faded beauty may console him for a consort neglected and debauc hed but this new exponent
of morals and healer of ills is at his best an exotic tree which, when rooted in its native orient, throve and flourished and was abundant in balm but, transplanted to a clime more temperate, its roo ts have lost their quondam
Ulysses
752 of 1305 vigour while the stuff that comes away from it is stagnant,
acid and inoperative.
The news was imparted with a circumspection recalling
the ceremonial usage of the Sublime Porte by the second
female infirmarian to the junior medical officer in
residence, who in his turn announced to the delegation that an heir had been born, When he had betaken himself
to the womenâs apartment to assist at the prescribed
ceremony of the afterbirth in th e presence of the secretary
of state for domestic affairs and the members of the privy
council, silent in unanimous exhaustion and approbation the delegates, chafing under the length and solemnity of
their vigil and hoping that the joyful occurrence would
palliate a licence which the si multaneous absence of abigail
and obstetrician rendered the easier, broke out at once into a strife of tongues. In vain the voice of Mr Canvasser Bloom was heard endeavouring to urge, to mollify, to refrain. The moment was too propitious for the display of
that discursiveness which seemed the only bond of union among tempers so divergent. Every phase of the situation was successively eviscerated: the prenatal repugnance of uterine brothers, the Caesarean section, posthumity with respect to the father and, that rarer form, with respect to
the mother, the fratricidal case known as the Childs
Ulysses
753 of 1305 Murder and rendered memorable by the impassioned plea
of Mr Advocate Bushe which secured the acquittal of the wrongfully accused, the rights of primogeniture and kingâs
bounty touching twins and triplets, miscarriages and
infanticides, simulated or dissimulated, the acardiac foetus
in foetu and aprosopia due to a congestion, the agnathia of
Obstetric Curiosities and Medical Debates
- A dense catalog of medical anomalies and obstetric complications is discussed, ranging from twilight sleep to the risks of sepsis during labor.
- The group examines the intersection of forensic medicine and folklore, such as the belief that stepping over a stile might strangle a fetus with the umbilical cord.
- Theories on birth defects are proposed, including 'plasmic memory' suggesting developmental arrest and more radical claims of interspecies copulation.
- A legal and theological dilemma is posed regarding the death of one Siamese twin while the other remains living.
- Mr. Bloom refers a moral question to Deacon Dedalus, who provides a perfunctory ecclesiastical ruling on the indissolubility of joined beings.
- The atmosphere shifts abruptly to the Gothic as Malachi Mulligan conjures a horrific vision of Haines appearing from a secret panel.
But Malachiasâ tale began to freeze them with horror. He conjured up the scene before them. The secret panel beside the chimney slid back and in the recess appeared ... Haines! Which of us did not feel his flesh creep!
certain chinless Chinamen (cited by Mr Candidate Mulligan) in consequence of defective reunion of the maxillary knobs along the medial line so that (as he said)
one ear could hear what the other spoke, the benefits of
anesthesia or twilight sleep, the prolongation of labour
pains in advanced gravidancy by reason of pressure on the vein, the premature relentment of the amniotic fluid (as
exemplified in the actual case) with consequent peril of sepsis to the matrix, artifici al insemination by means of
syringes, involution of the womb consequent upon the menopause, the problem of the perpetration of the species in the case of females impregnat ed by delinquent rape, that
distressing manner of delivery called by the
Brandenburghers Sturzgeburt, the recorded instances of
multiseminal, twikindled and monstrous births conceived
during the catamenic period or of consanguineous parentsâin a word all the cases of human nativity which Aristotle has classified in his masterpiece with
Ulysses
754 of 1305 chromolithographic illustrations . The gravest problems of
obstetrics and forensic medicine were examined with as much animation as the most popular beliefs on the state of pregnancy such as the forbidding to a gravid woman to step over a countrystile lest, by her movement, the navelcord should strangle her creature and the injunction upon her in the event of a yearning, ardently and ineffectually entertained, to pla ce her hand against that part
of her person which long usage has consecrated as the seat
of castigation. The abnormalities of harelip, breastmole, supernumerary digits, negroâ s inkle, strawberry mark and
portwine stain were alleged by one as a prima facie and
natural hypothetical explanat ion of those swineheaded (the
case of Madame Grissel Steevens was not forgotten) or doghaired infants occasionally born. The hypothesis of a
plasmic memory, advanced by the Caledonian envoy and
worthy of the metaphysical traditions of the land he stood for, envisaged in such cases an arrest of embryonic development at some stage antecedent to the human. An outlandish delegate sustained against both these views,
with such heat as almost carried conviction, the theory of copulation between women and the males of brutes, his authority being his own avouchment in support of fables such as that of the Minotaur which the genius of the
Ulysses
755 of 1305 elegant Latin poet has handed down to us in the pages of
his Metamorphoses. The impression made by his words was immediate but shortlived. It was effaced as easily as it had been evoked by an allocution from Mr Candidate Mulligan in that vein of pleasantry which none better than he knew how to affect, postulating as the supremest object of desire a nice clean old man. Contemporaneously, a heated argument having aris en between Mr Delegate
Madden and Mr Candidate Lync h regarding the juridical
and theological dilemma created in the event of one Siamese twin predeceasing the other, the difficulty by mutual consent was referred to Mr Canvasser Bloom for
instant submittal to Mr Coadjutor Deacon Dedalus.
Hitherto silent, whether the better to show by
preternatural gravity that curious dignity of the garb with which he was invested or in obedience to an inward
voice, he delivered briefly and, as some thought, perfunctorily the ecclesiastical ordinance forbidding man to put asunder what God has joined.
But Malachiasâ tale began to freeze them with horror.
He conjured up the scene before them. The secret panel beside the chimney slid back and in the recess appeared ... Haines! Which of us did not feel his flesh creep! He had a portfolio full of Celtic literatu re in one hand, in the other
Ulysses
756 of 1305 a phial marked Poison. Surprise, horror, loathing were
Ghosts and Youthful Mirrors
- A dramatic confession reveals a man haunted by the murder of Samuel Childs, seeking escape through drugs and distractions.
- The 'black panther' is identified as a psychological manifestation of guilt and the ghost of a murdered father.
- The narrative shifts to a philosophical meditation on the soul's ability to change its age and hue like a chameleon.
- Leopold Bloom experiences a 'retrospective arrangement,' seeing his younger self through a metaphorical mirror within a mirror.
- The text vividly recalls Bloom's early days as a traveling salesman, complete with his first hard hat and youthful charms.
A score of years are blown away. He is young Leopold. There, as in a retrospective arrangement, a mirror within a mirror (hey, presto!), he beholdeth himself.
depicted on all faces while he eyed them with a ghostly grin. I anticipated some such reception, he began with an eldritch laugh, for which, it seems, history is to blame. Yes, it is true. I am the murderer of Samuel Childs. And
how I am punished! The inferno has no terrors for me. This is the appearance is on me. Tare and ages, what way
would I be resting at all, he muttered thickly, and I tramping Dublin this while back with my share of songs and himself after me the like of a soulth or a bullawurrus? My hell, and Irelandâs, is in this life. It is what I tried to
obliterate my crime. Distracti ons, rookshooting, the Erse
language (he recited some), laudanum (he raised the phial to his lips), camping out. In vain! His spectre stalks me. Dope is my only hope ... Ah! Destruction! The black panther! With a cry he suddenly vanished and the panel slid back. An instant later his head appeared in the door opposite and said: Meet me at Westland Row station at ten past eleven. He was gone. Tears gushed from the eyes
of the dissipated host. The seer raised his hand to heaven, murmuring: The vendetta of Mananaun! The sage
repeated: Lex talionis . The sentimentalist is he who would
enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a thing done. Malachias, overcome by emotion, ceased. The
Ulysses
757 of 1305 mystery was unveiled. Haines was the third brother. His
real name was Childs. The black panther was himself the ghost of his own father. He dr ank drugs to obliterate. For
this relief much thanks. The lonely house by the graveyard
is uninhabited. No soul will live there. The spider pitches her web in the solitude. The nocturnal rat peers from his
hole. A curse is on it. It is haunted. Murdererâs ground.
What is the age of the soul of man? As she hath the
virtue of the chameleon to change her hue at every new approach, to be gay with the merry and mournful with the downcast, so too is her age changeable as her mood. No
longer is Leopold, as he sits there, ruminating, chewing
the cud of reminiscence, that staid agent of publicity and
holder of a modest substance in the funds. A score of years are blown away. He is young Leopold. There, as in a retrospective arrangement, a mirror within a mirror (hey,
presto!), he beholdeth himself . That young figure of then
is seen, precociously manly, walking on a nipping morning from the old house in Clanbrassil street to the high school, his booksatchel on him bandolierwise, and in it a goodly hunk of wheaten loaf, a motherâs thought. Or it is the same figure, a year or so g one over, in his first hard hat
(ah, that was a day!), already on the road, a fullfledged traveller for the family firm , equipped with an orderbook,
Ulysses
758 of 1305 a scented handkerchief (not for show only), his case of
bright trinketware (alas! a thing now of the past!) and a quiverful of compliant smiles for this or that halfwon
housewife reckoning it out upon her fingertips or for a budding virgin, shyly acknowledging (but the heart? tell me!) his studied baisemoins. The scent, the smile, but,
more than these, the dark eyes and oleaginous address, brought home at duskfall many a commission to the head
of the firm, seated with Jacobâs pipe after like labours in the paternal ingle (a meal of noodles, you may be sure, is aheating), reading through round horned spectacles some paper from the Europe of a month before. But hey, presto,
the mirror is breathed on and the young knighterrant
Visions of the Lost Son
- Leopold Bloom reflects on a formative sexual encounter with Bridie Kelly, a 'child of shame' met in the drizzling darkness of Hatch street.
- The narrative laments Bloom's lack of a male heir, noting that no son exists to provide for him what he once provided for his father, Rudolph.
- A surreal, cosmic procession of prehistoric and zodiacal beastsâmammoths, mastodons, and bullsâmarches toward the 'Lacus Mortis' or Dead Sea.
- The prose shifts into a celestial vision where female figures from Bloom's life, including Martha and Milly, are transformed into astral deities.
- The sequence concludes with a 'metempsychosis' of symbols, where a gossamer veil transforms into a ruby 'Alpha' sign upon the constellation Taurus.
In terror the poor girl flees away through the murk. She is the bride of darkness, a daughter of night.
recedes, shrivels, dwindles to a tiny speck within the mist. Now he is himself paternal and these about him might be his sons. Who can say? The wise father knows his own child. He thinks of a drizzlin g night in Hatch street, hard
by the bonded stores there, the first. Together (she is a poor waif, a child of shame, yours and mine and of all for a bare shilling and her luckpenny), together they hear the heavy tread of the watch as two raincaped shadows pass the new royal university. Bridie! Bridie Kelly! He will never forget the name, ever remember the night: first night, the bridenight. They are entwined in nethermost
Ulysses
759 of 1305 darkness, the willer with the willed, and in an instant ( fiat!)
light shall flood the world. Did heart leap to heart? Nay, fair reader. In a breath âtwas done butâhold! Back! It must not be! In terror the poor girl flees away through the murk. She is the bride of darkness, a daughter of night. She dare not bear the sunnygolden babe of day. No, Leopold. Name and memory solace thee not. That youthful illusion of thy stren gth was taken from theeâand
in vain. No son of thy loins is by thee. There is none now to be for Leopold, what Leopold was for Rudolph.
The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence
that is the infinite of space: and swiftly, silently the soul is
wafted over regions of cycles of generations that have lived. A region where grey twilight ever descends, never falls on wide sagegreen pastu refields, shedding her dusk,
scattering a perennial dew of stars. She follows her mother with ungainly steps, a mare leading her fillyfoal. Twilight phantoms are they, yet moulded in prophetic grace of structure, slim shapely haunc hes, a supple tendonous neck,
the meek apprehensive skull. They fade, sad phantoms: all
is gone. Agendath is a waste land, a home of screechowls and the sandblind upupa. Netai m, the golden, is no more.
And on the highway of the clouds they come, muttering thunder of rebellion, the gho sts of beasts. Huuh! Hark!
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760 of 1305 Huuh! Parallax stalks behind and goads them, the
lancinating lightnings of whose brow are scorpions. Elk and yak, the bulls of Bashan and of Babylon, mammoth
and mastodon, they come trooping to the sunken sea,
Lacus Mortis . Ominous revengeful zodiacal host! They
moan, passing upon the clouds, horned and capricorned,
the trumpeted with the tusked, the lionmaned, the giantantlered, snouter and crawler, rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all their moving moaning multitude, murderers of the sun.
Onward to the dead sea th ey tramp to drink, unslaked
and with horrible gulpings, the salt somnolent
inexhaustible flood. And the equine portent grows again, magnified in the deserted heavens, nay to heavenâs own magnitude, till it looms, vast, over the house of Virgo. And lo, wonder of metempsychosis, it is she, the everlasting bride, harbinger of the daystar, the bride, ever virgin. It is she, Martha, thou lost one, Millicent, the young, the dear, the radiant . How serene does she now
arise, a queen among the Pleiades, in the penultimate antelucan hour, shod in sandals of bright gold, coifed with a veil of what do you call it go ssamer. It floats, it flows
about her starborn flesh and loose it streams, emerald,
sapphire, mauve and heliotrop e, sustained on currents of
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761 of 1305 the cold interstellar wind, winding, coiling, simply
swirling, writhing in the skies a mysterious writing till, after a myriad metamorphoses of symbol, it blazes, Alpha, a ruby and triangled sign upon the forehead of Taurus.
Francis was reminding Stephen of years before when
Phantoms and Racing Luck
- Stephen Dedalus reflects on the ghosts of the past, positioning himself as a 'bullockbefriending bard' with the power to summon them to life.
- Vincent Lenehan offers a backhanded compliment to Stephen, suggesting his current light odes are insufficient to prove his rumored genius.
- A dark mood settles over Stephen when the conversation turns to his mother, highlighting his lingering grief and sense of failure.
- The group recounts the dramatic loss of the mare Sceptre at the races, where the dark horse Throwaway unexpectedly took the victory.
- Vincent describes a romantic encounter in the sun-drenched outdoors, characterized by sensory details of blooming chestnuts and muslin frocks.
- The narrative blends classical allusions with mundane Dublin life, featuring a brief, ironic encounter with Father Conmee.
I, Bous Stephanoumenos, bullockbefriending bard, am lord and giver of their life.
they had been at school together in Conmeeâs time. He asked about Glaucon, Alcibiades, Pisistratus. Where were they now? Neither knew. You have spoken of the past and its phantoms, Stephen said. Why think of them? If I call them into life across the waters of Lethe will not the poor ghosts troop to my call? Who supposes it? I, Bous Stephanoumenos, bullockbefriending bard, am lord and
giver of their life. He encircled his gadding hair with a
coronal of vineleaves, smiling at Vincent. That answer and those leaves, Vincent said to him, will adorn you more fitly when something more, and greatly more, than a capful of light odes can call your genius father. All who wish you well hope this for you. All desire to see you bring forth the work you meditate, to acclaim you Stephaneforos. I heartily wis h you may not fail them. O
no, Vincent Lenehan said, laying a hand on the shoulder near him. Have no fear. He could not leave his mother an
orphan. The young manâs face grew dark. All could see how hard it was for him to be reminded of his promise
Ulysses
762 of 1305 and of his recent loss. He would have withdrawn from the
feast had not the noise of voices allayed the smart. Madden had lost five drachmas on Sc eptre for a whim of the riderâs
name: Lenehan as much more. He told them of the race. The flag fell and, huuh! off, scamper, the mare ran out freshly with 0. Madden up. She was leading the field. All
hearts were beating. Even Phyllis could not contain herself. She waved her scarf and cried: Huzzah! Sceptre wins! But in the straight on the run home when all were
in close order the dark hor se Throwaway drew level,
reached, outstripped her. All was lost now. Phyllis was silent: her eyes were sad anemones. Juno, she cried, I am
undone. But her lover consol ed her and brought her a
bright casket of gold in which lay some oval sugarplums which she partook. A tear fe ll: one only. A whacking fine
whip, said Lenehan, is W. Lane . Four winners yesterday
and three today. What rider is like him? Mount him on the camel or the boisterous buffalo the victory in a hack canter is still his. But let us be ar it as was the ancient wont.
Mercy on the luckless! Poor Sc eptre! he said with a light
sigh. She is not the filly that she was. Never, by this hand,
shall we behold such another. By gad, sir, a queen of
them. Do you remember her, Vincent? I wish you could
have seen my queen today, Vincent said. How young she
Ulysses
763 of 1305 was and radiant (Lalage were sca rce fair beside her) in her
yellow shoes and frock of muslin, I do not know the right name of it. The chestnuts that shaded us were in bloom: the air drooped with their persuasive odour and with pollen floating by us. In the sunny patches one might easily have cooked on a stone a batch of those buns with
Corinth fruit in them that Periplipomenes sells in his booth near the bridge. But she had nought for her teeth
but the arm with which I held her and in that she nibbled
mischievously when I pressed too close. A week ago she lay ill, four days on the couc h, but today she was free,
blithe, mocked at peril. She is more taking then. Her
posies tool Mad romp that sh e is, she had pulled her fill as
we reclined together. And in your ear, my friend, you will not think who met us as we left the field. Conmee
himself! He was walking by the hedge, reading, I think a brevier book with, I doubt not, a witty letter in it from Glycera or Chloe to keep th e page. The sweet creature
turned all colours in her confusion, feigning to reprove a slight disorder in her dress: a slip of underwood clung there for the very trees adore her. When Conmee had passed she glanced at her lovely echo in that little mirror she carries. But he had been kind. In going by he had blessed us. The gods too are ever kind, Lenehan said. If I
Ulysses
Visions and Convivial Debates
- Malachi cautions against waking the stranger from his apparent trance, suggesting that intense focus can serve as a gateway to the divine.
- Stephen responds with esoteric theories from 'Theosophos' regarding lunar lords, etheric doubles, and karmic law.
- The narrative reveals the stranger was not in a mystical doldrum but was actually preoccupied with private memories triggered by a bottle of Bass ale.
- The stranger eventually assists the others by pouring the beer with meticulous care to avoid any waste or mess.
- The scene transitions into a grand, encyclopedic debate among a diverse group of men gathered at Horneâs house.
- The assembly includes various characters like the Highland-clad Crotthers and the cynical Lynch, representing a microcosm of life's intellectual pursuits.
It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born.
764 of 1305 had poor luck with Bassâs mare perhaps this draught of his
may serve me more propensely. He was laying his hand upon a winejar: Malachi saw it and withheld his act, pointing to the stranger and to the scarlet label. Warily, Malachi whispered, preserve a druid silence. His soul is far away. It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born. Any object, intensely regarded, may be a
gate of access to the incorru ptible eon of the gods. Do you
not think it, Stephen? Theosophos told me so, Stephen answered, whom in a previous existence Egyptian priests initiated into the mysteries of karmic law. The lords of the moon, Theosophos told me, an orangefiery shipload from
planet Alpha of the lunar c hain would not assume the
etheric doubles and these were therefore incarnated by the rubycoloured egos from the second constellation.
However, as a matter of fact though, the preposterous
surmise about him being in some description of a doldrums or other or mesmerised which was. entirely due to a misconception of the shallo west character, was not the
case at all. The individual whose visual organs while the above was going on were at this juncture commencing to exhibit symptoms of animation was as astute if not astuter
than any man living and anybo dy that conjectured the
contrary would have found themselves pretty speedily in
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765 of 1305 the wrong shop. During the past four minutes or
thereabouts he had been staring hard at a certain amount of number one Bass bottled by Messrs Bass and Co at Burton-on-Trent which happened to be situated amongst a lot of others right opposite to where he was and which was certainly calculated to attract anyone âs remark on
account of its scarlet appear ance. He was simply and
solely, as it subsequently tr anspired for reasons best known
to himself, which put quite an altogether different complexion on the proceedings, after the moment beforeâs observations about boyhood days and the turf, recollecting two or three private transacti ons of his own which the
other two were as mutually innocent of as the babe
unborn. Eventually, however, both their eyes met and as soon as it began to dawn on him that the other was endeavouring to help himself to the thing he involuntarily
determined to help him himself and so he accordingly took hold of the neck of the mediumsized glass recipient which contained the fluid sought after and made a capacious hole in it by pourin g a lot of it out with, also at
the same time, however, a considerable degree of attentiveness in order not to upset any of the beer that was in it about the place.
Ulysses
766 of 1305 The debate which ensued was in its scope and progress
an epitome of the course of lif e. Neither place nor council
was lacking in dignity. The debaters were the keenest in the land, the theme they w ere engaged on the loftiest and
most vital. The high hall of Horneâs house had never beheld an assembly so representative and so varied nor had the old rafters of that establishment ever listened to a language so encyclopaedic. A gallant scene in truth it made. Crotthers was there at th e foot of the table in his
striking Highland garb, his face glowing from the briny airs of the Mull of Galloway. There too, opposite to him,
was Lynch whose countenance bore already the stigmata
of early depravity and premature wisdom. Next the
Scotchman was the place assigned to Costello, the eccentric, while at his side was seated in stolid repose the
squat form of Madden. The chair of the resident indeed stood vacant before the hearth but on either flank of it the figure of Bannon in explorerâs kit of tweed shorts and salted cowhide brogues contrasted sharply with the primrose elegance and townbred manners of Malachi Roland St John Mulligan. Lastly at the head of the board was the young poet who found a refuge from his labours of pedagogy and metaphysical in quisition in the convivial
Scientific Debates and Social Ills
- The text contrasts Stephen Dedalus's perverted transcendentalism with the hardheaded, tangible focus of scientific inquiry.
- A debate ensues regarding the biological determination of sex, weighing the theories of Empedocles against modern embryology and the 'nisus formativus' of spermatozoa.
- Leopold Bloom raises the vital issue of infant mortality, noting that while birth is universal, the methods of death are infinitely varied.
- Buck Mulligan attributes the decline of the human race to poor sanitary conditions and the 'revolting spectacles' of urban life, such as mutilated soldiers and public advertisements.
- Mulligan proposes 'Kalipedia' as a solution, suggesting that exposure to classical art and good music will improve the condition of expectant mothers.
- The discussion touches on the tragic causes of infant death, ranging from industrial trauma and domestic discipline to the 'atrocious crime' of infanticide.
The man of science like the man in the street has to face hardheaded facts that cannot be blinked and explain them as best he can.
atmosphere of Socratic discussi on, while to right and left
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767 of 1305 of him were accommodated the flippant prognosticator,
fresh from the hippodrome, and that vigilant wanderer, soiled by the dust of travel and combat and stained by the mire of an indelible dishonour, but from whose steadfast and constant heart no lure or peril or threat or degradation
could ever efface the image of that voluptuous loveliness which the inspired pencil of Lafayette has limned for ages yet to come.
It had better be stated here and now at the outset that
the perverted transcendentalism to which Mr S. Dedalusâ
(Div. Scep.) contentions would appear to prove him pretty
badly addicted runs directly counter to accepted scientific
methods. Science, it cannot be too often repeated, deals
with tangible phenomena. The man of science like the man in the street has to face hardheaded facts that cannot
be blinked and explain them as best he can. There may be,
it is true, some questions which science cannot answerâat
presentâsuch as the first problem submitted by Mr L. Bloom (Pubb. Canv.) regardin g the future determination
of sex. Must we accept the view of Empedocles of Trinacria that the right ovary (the postmenstrual period, assert others) is responsible for the birth of males or are the
too long neglected sperm atozoa or nemasperms the
differentiating factors or is it , as most embryologists incline
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768 of 1305 to opine, such as Culpe pper, Spallanzani, Blumenbach,
Lusk, Hertwig, Leopold and Valenti, a mixture of both? This would be tantamount to a cooperation (one of
natureâs favourite devices) between the nisus formativus of
the nemasperm on the one hand and on the other a
happily chosen position, succubitus felix of the passive
element. The other problem rais ed by the same inquirer is
scarcely less vital: infant mortality. It is interesting because,
as he pertinently remarks, we are all born in the same way
but we all die in different wa ys. Mr M. Mulligan (Hyg. et
Eug. Doc.) blames the sanitary conditions in which our
greylunged citizens contract adenoids, pulmonary complaints etc. by inhaling the bacteria which lurk in dust. These factors, he alleged, and the revolting spectacles offered by our streets, hideous publicity posters, religious ministers of all denominatio ns, mutilated soldiers and
sailors, exposed scorbutic cardrivers, the suspended carcases of dead animals, paranoic bachelors and unfructified duennasâthese, he said, were accountable for
any and every fallingoff in the calibre of the race. Kalipedia, he prophesied, would soon be generally adopted and all the graces of life, genuinely good music, agreeable literature, light philosophy, instructive pictures, plastercast reproductions of the classical statues such as
Ulysses
769 of 1305 Venus and Apollo, artistic co loured photographs of prize
babies, all these little attentions would enable ladies who were in a particular conditio n to pass the intervening
months in a most enjoyable manner. Mr J. Crotthers (Disc. Bacc.) attributes some of these demises to abdominal trauma in the case of women workers subjected to heavy labours in the work shop and to marital discipline
in the home but by far the vast majority to neglect, private or official, culminating in the exposure of newborn infants, the practice of cr iminal abortion or in the
atrocious crime of infantic ide. Although the former (we
are thinking of neglect) is undoubtedly only too true the
case he cites of nurses forgetti ng to count the sponges in
the peritoneal cavity is too rare to be normative. In fact when one comes to look into it the wonder is that so many pregnancies and deliveries go off so well as they do,
all things considered and in spite of our human
Nature's Laws and Maternal Labor
- The narrative explores the hypothesis that all natural phenomena, from celestial movements to human mortality, are governed by an undiscovered universal law of numeration.
- A pseudo-scientific theory is proposed to explain infant mortality as a 'law of anticipation' where organisms with 'morbous germs' are removed early to ensure the survival of the fittest.
- Stephen Dedalus offers a cynical, macabre interruption regarding the 'omnivorous' nature of existence and the consumption of 'staggering bob'âthe flesh of a newborn calf.
- A debate between Dedalus and Leopold Bloom at the National Maternity Hospital touches on the biological and moral imperatives of childbirth and the risks to the mother.
- The passage concludes with the successful, albeit exhausting, delivery of a child, shifting into a sentimental and reverent tone regarding the new mother's 'motherlight.'
Nature, we may rest assured, has her own good and cogent reasons for whatever she does and in all probability such deaths are due to some law of anticipation by which organisms in which morbous germs have taken up their residence tend to disappear at an increasingly earlier stage of development.
shortcomings which often bau lk nature in her intentions.
An ingenious suggestion is that thrown out by Mr V. Lynch (Bacc. Arith.) that both natality and mortality, as
well as all other phenomena of evolution, tidal movements, lunar phases, blood temperatures, diseases in general, everything, in fine , in natureâs vast workshop
from the extinction of some remote sun to the blossoming
Ulysses
770 of 1305 of one of the countless flowers which beautify our public
parks is subject to a law of numeration as yet unascertained. Still the plain straightforward question why a child of normally healthy parents and seemingly a healthy child and properly looked after succumbs unaccountably in early childhood (though other children of the same marriage do not) must certainly, in the poetâs
words, give us pause. Nature, we may rest assured, has her own good and cogent reasons for whatever she does and in all probability such deaths are due to some law of anticipation by which organisms in which morbous germs have taken up their residence (modern science has
conclusively shown that only the plasmic substance can be
said to be immortal) tend to disappear at an increasingly earlier stage of development, an arrangement which, though productive of pain to some of our feelings (notably the maternal), is nevertheless, some of us think, in the long run beneficial to the race in general in securing thereby the survival of the fittest. Mr S. Dedalusâ (Div. Scep.) remark (or should it be calle d an interruption?) that an
omnivorous being which can masticate, deglute, digest and apparently pass through the ordinary channel with pluterperfect imperturbability such multifarious aliments as
cancrenous females emaciated by parturition, corpulent
Ulysses
771 of 1305 professional gentlemen, not to speak of jaundiced
politicians and chlorotic nuns, might possibly find gastric relief in an innocent collation of staggering bob, reveals as nought else could and in a very unsavoury light the tendency above alluded to. For the enlightenment of those who are not so intimately acquainted with the minutiae of the municipal abattoir as this morbidminded esthete and embryo philosopher who for all his overweening bumptiousness in things scienti fic can scarcely distinguish
an acid from an alkali prides himself on being, it should perhaps be stated that staggering bob in the vile parlance of our lowerclass licensed victuallers signifies the cookable
and eatable flesh of a calf ne wly dropped from its mother.
In a recent public controvers y with Mr L. Bloom (Pubb.
Canv.) which took place in the commonsâ hall of the National Maternity Hospital, 29, 30 and 31 Holles street,
of which, as is well known, Dr A. Horne (Lic. in Midw.,
F. K. Q. C. P. I.) is the able and popular master, he is reported by eyewitnesses as having stated that once a
woman has let the cat into the bag (an estheteâs allusion, presumably, to one of the most complicated and marvellous of all natureâs pr ocessesâthe act of sexual
congress) she must let it out ag ain or give it life, as he
phrased it, to save her own. At the risk of her own, was
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772 of 1305 the telling rejoinder of his in terlocutor, none the less
effective for the moderate and measured tone in which it was delivered.
Meanwhile the skill and patience of the physician had
brought about a happy accouchement. It had been a weary
weary while both for patient and doctor. All that surgical
skill could do was done and the brave woman had manfully helped. She had. She had fought the good fight and now she was very very happy. Those who have passed on, who have gone before, are happy too as they gaze down and smile upon the touching scene. Reverently
look at her as she reclines there with the motherlight in
her eyes, that longing hunger for baby fingers (a pretty
Domestic Bliss and Hidden Sins
- Mina Purefoy experiences a moment of maternal grace, reflecting on her newborn child and her long-standing marriage to her husband, Doady.
- The narrative lists the many Purefoy children, both living and deceased, emphasizing the continuity of the family line and the passage of time.
- Mr. Purefoy is depicted as a faithful, aging servant of the bank and his faith, having 'fought the good fight' through the trials of domestic life.
- The tone shifts to a meditation on the persistence of 'evil memories' or sins that remain buried in the human heart despite the passage of years.
- These repressed memories are described as ghosts that can be summoned by a single chance word, appearing not for vengeance but as silent, reproachful reminders.
- The observer notes a 'false calm' on a face, suggesting a deep-seated bitterness or unhealthiness hidden beneath a practiced social exterior.
Yet a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in the most various circumstances, a vision or a dream, or while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquility of the evening or at the feast, at midnight, when he is now filled with wine.
sight it is to see), in the first bloom of her new motherhood, breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving to One above, the Universal Husband. And as her loving eyes behold her babe she wis hes only one blessing more,
to have her dear Doady there with her to share her joy, to lay in his arms that mite of Godâs clay, the fruit of their lawful embraces. He is older now (you and I may whisper it) and a trifle stooped in the shoulders yet in the whirligig of years a grave dignity has come to the conscientious second accountant of the Ulster bank, College Green
branch. O Doady, loved one of old, faithful lifemate now,
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773 of 1305 it may never be again, that faroff time of the roses! With
the old shake of her pretty head she recalls those days. God! How beautiful now across the mist of years! But their children are grouped in her imagination about the bedside, hers and hi s, Charley, Mary Alice, Frederick
Albert (if he had lived), Mamy, Budgy (Victoria Frances), Tom, Violet Constance Louisa, darling little Bobsy (called after our famous hero of the South African war, lord Bobs of Waterford and Candahar) and now this last pledge of their union, a Purefoy if ever there was one, with the true
Purefoy nose. Young hopeful will be christened Mortimer Edward after the influential third cousin of Mr Purefoy in
the Treasury Remembrancerâs office, Dublin Castle. And
so time wags on: but father Cronion has dealt lightly here.
No, let no sigh break from that bosom, dear gentle Mina. And Doady, knock the ashes from your pipe, the seasoned briar you still fancy when the curfew rings for you (may it be the distant day!) and dout the light whereby you read in the Sacred Book for the oil too has run low, and so with a tranquil heart to bed, to rest. He knows and will call in His own good time. You too have fought the good fight and played loyally your manâs part. Sir, to you my hand. Well done, thou good and faithful servant!
Ulysses
774 of 1305 There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls
them) evil memories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart but they abide there and wait. He may suffer their memory to grow dim, let them be as though they had not been and all but persuade himself that they were not or at least were otherwise. Yet
a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in the most various circumstances, a vision or a dream, or while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquility of the evening or at the feast, at midnight, when he is now filled with wine.
Not to insult over him will the vision come as over one
that lies under her wrath, not for vengeance to cut him off
from the living but shrouded in the piteous vesture of the past, silent, remote, reproachful.
The stranger still regarded on the face before him a
slow recession of that false calm there, imposed, as it seemed, by habit or some studied trick, upon words so
embittered as to accuse in th eir speaker an unhealthiness, a
flair, for the cruder things of life. A scene disengages itself
in the observerâs memory, evoked, it would seem, by a word of so natural a homeliness as if those days were really present there (as some thought) with their immediate pleasures. A shaven space of lawn one soft May evening,
Ulysses
775 of 1305 the wellremembered grove of lilacs at Roundtown, purple
The Birth and the Burst
- A pastoral scene of women and a child by a grey urn transitions into the sterile, quiet atmosphere of a lying-in hospital.
- The tension of the medical students' vigil is compared to a gathering storm, heavy with moisture and impending energy.
- Upon the announcement of a successful birth, the quietude shatters into a chaotic, violent rush as the men bolt toward Burkeâs pub.
- Bloom remains behind briefly to offer a kind word to the nurse, noting the physical toll the labor has taken on the mother.
- The narrative shifts to a celebratory, cosmic praise of Theodore Purefoy for his 'doughty deed' of procreation.
- The text concludes by mocking Malthusian restraint, urging the new father to embrace his role despite the financial burdens of domestic life.
But as before the lightning the serried stormclouds, heavy with preponderant excess of moisture, in swollen masses turgidly distended, compass earth and sky in one vast slumber.
and white, fragrant slender spectators of the game but with much real interest in the pellets as they run slowly forward
over the sward or collide and stop, one by its fellow, with a brief alert shock. And yonder about that grey urn where
the water moves at times in thoughtful irrigation you saw another as fragrant sisterhood, Floey, Atty, Tiny and their darker friend with I know not what of arresting in her pose then, Our Lady of the Cherries, a comely brace of them pendent from an ear, bringing out the foreign warmth of the skin so daintily against the cool ardent fruit. A lad of four or five in lin seywoolsey (blossomtime but
there will be cheer in the kindly hearth when ere long the
bowls are gathered and hutched) is standing on the urn secured by that circle of girlish fond hands. He frowns a little just as this young m an does now with a perhaps too
conscious enjoyment of the danger but must needs glance at whiles towards where his mother watches from the PIAZZETTA giving upon the flowerclose with a faint
shadow of remoteness or of reproach ( alles Vergangliche ) in
her glad look.
Mark this farther and remember. The end comes
suddenly. Enter that ante chamber of birth where the
studious are assembled and note their faces. Nothing, as it
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776 of 1305 seems, there of rash or violent. Quietude of custody,
rather, befitting their station in that house, the vigilant watch of shepherds and of angels about a crib in Bethlehem of Juda long ago. But as before the lightning
the serried stormclouds, heavy with preponderant excess of moisture, in swollen masse s turgidly distended, compass
earth and sky in one vast slumber, impending above parched field and drowsy ox en and blighted growth of
shrub and verdure till in an instant a flash rives their
centres and with the reverberation of the thunder the cloudburst pours its torrent, so and not otherwise was the
transformation, violent and instantaneous, upon the
utterance of the word.
Burkeâs! outflings my lord Stephen, giving the cry, and
a tag and bobtail of all them after, cockerel, jackanapes, welsher, pilldoctor, punctual Bloom at heels with a universal grabbing at headgear, ashplants, bilbos, Panama hats and scabbards, Zermatt alpenstocks and what not. A dedale of lusty youth, noble every student there. Nurse Callan taken aback in the ha llway cannot stay them nor
smiling surgeon coming downstairs with news of placentation ended, a full pound if a milligramme. They hark him on. The door! It is open? Ha! They are out, tumultuously, off for a minuteâs race, all bravely legging it,
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777 of 1305 Burkeâs of Denzille and Holles their ulterior goal. Dixon
follows giving them sharp l anguage but raps out an oath,
he too, and on. Bloom stays with nurse a thought to send a kind word to happy mother and nurseling up there. Doctor Diet and Doctor Quiet. Looks she too not other now? Ward of watching in Ho rneâs house has told its tale
in that washedout pallor. Then all being gone, a glance of
motherwit helping, he whispers close in going: Madam,
when comes the storkbird for thee?
The air without is impregnat ed with raindew moisture,
life essence celestial, gliste ning on Dublin stone there
under starshiny coelum. Godâs air, the Allfatherâs air,
scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe it deep into
thee. By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, thou hast done a doughty deed and no botch! Thou art, I vow, the remarkablest progenitor barring none in this chaffering allincluding most farraginous chronicle. Astounding! In her lay a Godframed Godgiven preformed possibility which thou hast fructified with thy modicum of manâs work. Cleave to her! Serve! Toil on, labour like a very bandog and let scholarment and all Malthusiasts go hang.
Thou art all their daddies, Theodore. Art drooping under thy load, bemoiled with butcherâs bills at home and ingots (not thine!) in the countinghouse? Head up! For every
Ulysses
The Milk of Human Kin
- The passage opens with a vigorous rejection of sterile cohabitation and contraception, framing procreation as a vital, raw necessity.
- The character Purefoy is celebrated as a patriarch who has successfully fulfilled his life-task, likened to a charging bison.
- A shift occurs into a chaotic, multilingual street scene as a group of men departs from the maternity hospital in high spirits.
- The narrative dissolves into a cacophony of slang, liturgical Latin, and Nietzschean references, reflecting a drunken, celebratory descent.
- The group moves toward 'Burkeâs' pub, driven by a collective thirst and a mocking disregard for social and religious institutions.
- The dialogue captures a frantic, fragmented exchange about money, drink orders, and the physical toll of their revelry.
Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! She is a hoary pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, bilious attacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins.
778 of 1305 newbegotten thou shalt gather thy homer of ripe wheat.
See, thy fleece is drenched. Dost envy Darby Dullman there with his Joan? A canting jay and a rheumeyed curdog is all their progeny. Pshaw, I tell thee! He is a mule, a dead gasteropod, without vim or stamina, not worth a cracked kreutzer. Copulation without population! No, say I! Herodâs slaught er of the innocents were the
truer name. Vegetables, forsooth, and sterile cohabitation! Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! She is a hoary pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, bilious attacks, gallstones, cold
feet, varicose veins. A truce to threnes and trentals and
jeremies and all such congenital defunctive music! Twenty years of it, regret them not. Wit h thee it was not as with
many that will and would and wait and neverâdo. Thou sawest thy America, thy lifetask, and didst charge to cover
like the transpontine bison. How saith Zarathustra? Deine
Kuh TrĂźbsal melkest Du. Nun Tri nkst Du die sĂźsse Milch des
Euters . See! it displodes for thee in abundance. Drink,
man, an udderful! Motherâs milk, Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milk too of those burgeoning stars overhead rutilant in thin rainvapour , punch milk, such as those
rioters will quaff in their guzzling den, milk of madness,
Ulysses
779 of 1305 the honeymilk of Canaanâs land. Thy cowâs dug was
tough, what? Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and
fattening. No dollop this but thick rich bonnyclaber. To
her, old patriarch! Pap! Per deam Partulam et Pertundam nunc
est bibendum !
All off for a buster, armstrong, hollering down the
street. Bonafides. Where you slep las nigh? Timothy of the
battered naggin. Like ole Billyo. Any brollies or gumboots in the fambly? Where the Henry Nevilâs sawbones and ole clo? Sorra one oâ me knows. Hurrah there, Dix! Forward
to the ribbon counter. Whereâs Punch? All serene. Jay,
look at the drunken minister coming out of the maternity
hospal! Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius . A
make, mister. The Denzille lane boys. Hell, blast ye! Scoot. Righto, Isaacs, shove em out of the bleeding limelight. Yous join uz, dear sir? No hentrusion in life.
Lou heap good man. Allee samee dis bunch. En avant, mes
enfants ! Fire away number one on the gun. Burkeâs!
Burkeâs! Thence they advanced five parasangs. Slatteryâs mounted foot. Whereâs that bleeding awfur? Parson Steve, apostatesâ creed! No, no, Mulligan! Abaft there! Shove ahead. Keep a watch on the clock. Chuckingout time.
Mullee! Whatâs on you? Ma mère mâa mariĂŠe. British
Beatitudes! Retamplatan Digidi Boumboum . Ayes have it. To
Ulysses
780 of 1305 be printed and bound at the Druiddrum press by two
designing females. Calf covers of pissedon green. Last word in art shades. Most beautiful book come out of
Ireland my time. Silentium! Get a spurt on. Tention.
Proceed to nearest canteen and there annex liquor stores.
March! Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are (atitudes!) parching. Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs battleships,
buggery and bishops. Whether on the scaffold high. Beer, beef, trample the bibles. When for Irelandear. Trample the trampellers. Thunderation! Keep the durned millingtary
step. We fall. Bishops boosebox. Halt! Heave to. Rugger.
Scrum in. No touch kicking. Wow, my tootsies! You
hurt? Most amazingly sorry!
Query. Whoâs astanding this here do? Proud possessor
of damnall. Declare misery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this week gone. Yours? Mead of
our fathers for the Ăbermensch. Dittoh. Five number ones.
You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabbyâs caudle. Stimulate the caloric. Winding of his ticker. Stopped short never to go again when the old. Absinthe for me, savvy?
Caramba! Have an eggnog or a prairie oyster. Enemy?
Avuncularâs got my timepiece . Ten to. Obligated awful.
Donât mention it. Got a pe ctoral trauma, eh, Dix? Pos
A Polyglot Night of Revelry
- The text captures a chaotic, drunken scene filled with a dense mixture of slang, dialects, and multilingual puns.
- Characters engage in rapid-fire banter involving betting, drinking, and references to local Dublin landmarks like the Mater Hospital.
- The dialogue shifts fluidly between Hiberno-English, mock-French, Scots, and Yiddish-inflected speech, reflecting a state of intoxication.
- Themes of sexual desire and domestic life are interspersed with references to horse racing and 'dead cert' tips.
- The narrative voice mimics the sensory overload of a 'speakeasy' environment where identities and languages blur together.
- The passage concludes with a sense of impending departure and the lingering tension of unpaid debts or 'oof'.
Shrieks of silence. Every cove to his gentry mort. Venus Pandemos. Les petites femmes.
fact. Got bet be a boomblebee whenever he wus settin
Ulysses
781 of 1305 sleepin in hes bit garten. Digs up near the Mater. Buckled
he is. Know his dona? Yup, sartin I do. Full of a dure. See her in her dishybilly. Peels off a credit. Lovey lovekin. None of your lean kine, not much. Pull down the blind, love. Two Ardilauns. Same here. Look slippery. If you fall donât wait to get up. Five, se ven, nine. Fine! Got a prime
pair of mincepies, no kid. And her take me to rests and her anker of rum. Must be seen to be believed. Your starving eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart, O gluepot. Sir? Spud again the rheumatiz? All poppycock, youâll scuse me saying. For the hoi polloi. I vear thee beest a gert vool. Well, doc? Back fro Lapland? Your
corporosity sagaciating O K? Howâs the squaws and
papooses? Womanbody after going on the straw? Stand and deliver. Password. Thereâs hai r. Ours the white death
and the ruddy birth. Hi! Spit in your own eye, boss! Mummerâs wire. Cribbed out of Meredith. Jesified, orchidised, polycimical jesuit ! Aunty mineâs writing Pa
Kinch. Baddybad Stephen lead astray goodygood Malachi.
Hurroo! Collar the leather, youngun. Roun wi the
nappy. Here, Jock braw Hielentmanâs your barleybree. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot boil! My tipple.
Merci. Hereâs to us. Howâs that? Leg before wicket. Donât
stain my brandnew sitinems. Giveâs a shake of peppe, you
Ulysses
782 of 1305 there. Catch aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig?
Shrieks of silence. Every cove to his gentry mort. Venus
Pandemos. Les petites femmes . Bold bad girl from the town
of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. Hauding Sara by the wame. On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me had left but the name. What do you want for
ninepence? Machree, macruiskeen. Smutty Moll for a
mattress jig. And a pull all together. Ex!
Waiting, guvnor? Most deciduously. Bet your boots
on. Stunned like, seeing as how no shiners is acoming.
Underconstumble? Heâve got the chink ad lib . Seed near
free poun on un a spell ago a said war hisn. Us come right in on your invite, see? Up to you, matey. Out with the
oof. Two bar and a wing. You larn that go off of they there Frenchy bilks? Wonât wash here for nuts nohow. Lil chile velly solly. Ise de cutest colour coon down our side. Gawds teruth, Chawley. We are nae fou. Weâre nae tha fou. Au reservoir, mossoo. Tanks you.
âTis, sure. What say? In the speakeasy. Tight. I shee
you, shir. Bantam, two days teetee. Bowsing nowt but
claretwine. Garn! Have a glint, do. Gum, Iâm jiggered. And been to barber he have. Too full for words. With a railway bloke. How come you so? Opera heâd like? Rose of Castile. Rows of cast. Police! Some H2O for a gent
Ulysses
783 of 1305 fainted. Look at Bantamâs flowers. Gemini. Heâs going to
holler. The colleen bawn. My colleen bawn. O, cheese it! Shut his blurry Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winner today till I tipped him a dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of Stephen Hand as give me the jady coppaleen. He strike a telegramboy paddock wire big bug Bass to the depot. Shove him a joey and grahamise. Mare on form hot order. Guinea to a goosegog. Tell a cram, that. Gospeltrue. Criminal diversi on? I think that yes. Sure
thing. Land him in chokeechokee if the harman beck copped the game. Madden back Maddenâs a maddening back. O lust our refuge and our strength. Decamping.
Must you go? Off to mammy. Stand by. Hide my blushes
someone. All in if he sp ots me. Come ahome, our
Bantam. Horryvar, mong vi oo. Dinna forget the cowslips
for hersel. Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock. Of John Thomas, her spouse. No fake, old man
Leo. Sâelp me, honest injun. Shiver my timbers if I had. Thereâs a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me tell? Vel, I
ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha
Drunken Revelry and Nighttime Chaos
- A group of boisterous, intoxicated men engage in a chaotic, multilingual exchange of slang, Latin, and mock-dialects as they leave a pub.
- The dialogue shifts rapidly between various personas and linguistic styles, reflecting the disorienting effects of alcohol and the 'Oxen of the Sun' stylistic evolution.
- The mysterious 'man in the mackintosh' is spotted and mocked by the group, adding to the recurring motif of his spectral presence throughout the day.
- The scene concludes with the group dispersing into the Dublin night, heading toward the red-light district while mimicking the sounds of a passing fire brigade.
- Religious imagery and mock-liturgical phrases are interspersed with crude jokes, highlighting the tension between the sacred and the profane.
Thrust syphilis down to hell and with him those other licensed spirits. Time, gents! Who wander through the world.
mishinnah. Through ye rd our lord, Amen.
You move a motion? Steve boy, youâre going it some.
More bluggy drunkables? Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder of most extreme poverty and
Ulysses
784 of 1305 one largesize grandacious thir st to terminate one expensive
inaugurated libation? Giveâs a breather. Landlord, landlord, have you good wine, staboo? Hoots, mon, a wee drap to pree. Cut and come again. Ri ght. Boniface! Absinthe the
lot. Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat
posterioria nostria . Closingtime, gents. Eh? Rome boose for
the Bloom toff. I hear you sa y onions? Bloo? Cadges ads.
Photoâs papli, by all thatâs gorgeous. Play low, pardner.
Slide. Bonsoir la compagnie . And snares of the poxfiend.
Whereâs the buck and Namby Amby? Skunked? Leg bail.
Aweel, ye maun eâen gang yer gates. Checkmate. King to
tower. Kind Kristyann wil yu help yung man hoose frend tuk bungellow kee tu find plais whear tu lay crown of his hed 2 night. Crickey, Iâm about sprung. Tarnally dog gone my shins if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. Item, curate, couple of cookies for this child. Cotâs plood and prandypalls, none! Not a pite of sheeses? Thrust syphilis down to hell and with him those other licensed spirits. Time, gents! Who wander through the world.
Health all! a la vĂ´tre !
Golly, whatten tunketâs yon guy in the mackintosh?
Dusty Rhodes. Peep at his we arables. By mighty! Whatâs
he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovr il, by James. Wants it real
bad. Dâye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the Richmond?
Ulysses
785 of 1305 Rawthere! Thought he had a depo sit of lead in his penis.
Trumpery insanity. Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was once a prosperous ci t. Man all tattered and torn
that married a maiden all forlorn. Slung her hook, she did. Here see lost love. Walking Mackintosh of lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in. Schedule time. Nix for the hornies. Pardon? Seen him today at a runefal? Chum oâ yourn passed in his checks? Luda massy! Pore piccaninnies!
Thouâll no be telling me thot, Pold veg! Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos fren Padney was took off in black bag? Of all de darkies Massa Pat was verra best. I never see
the like since I was born. Tiens, tiens , but it is well sad,
that, my faith, yes. O, get, rev on a gradient one in nine.
Live axle drives are souped. Lay you two to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. Ja ppies? High angle fire,
inyah! Sunk by war specials. Be worse for him, says he, nor any Rooshian. Time all. Thereâs eleven of them. Get ye gone. Forward, woozy wobblers! Night. Night. May Allah the Excellent One your soul this night ever
tremendously conserve.
Your attention! Weâre nae tha fou. The Leith police
dismisseth us. The least tholic e. Ware hawks for the chap
puking. Unwell in his abominable regions. Yooka. Night. Mona, my true love. Yook. Mona, my own love. Ook.
Ulysses
786 of 1305 Hark! Shut your obstropolos. Pflaap! Pflaap! Blaze on.
There she goes. Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up! Pflaap! Tally ho. You not come? Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaap!
Lynch! Hey? Sign on long oâ me. Denzille lane this
way. Change here for Bawdyhouse. We two, she said, will seek the kips where shady Mary is. Righto, any old time.
Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis . You coming long? Whisper,
who the sooty hellâs the johnny in the black duds? Hush! Sinned against the light and even now that day is at hand
when he shall come to judge the world by fire. Pflaap! Ut
implerentur scripturae . Strike up a ballad. Then outspake
medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy. Christicle,
Nighttown and the Gospeller
- A bombastic American evangelist, Alexander J. Christ Dowie, delivers a rowdy, slang-filled sermon framing God as a shrewd business proposition.
- The narrative shifts to the Mabbot street entrance of Dublin's 'nighttown,' a surreal and grimy red-light district filled with danger signals and skeleton tracks.
- The scene is populated by grotesque figures, including a deafmute idiot tormented by children, a rag-and-bone gnome, and various derelicts.
- Cissy Caffrey sings a bawdy nursery rhyme while British soldiers, Private Carr and Private Compton, stumble through the streets in a drunken stupor.
- Stephen Dedalus and Lynch enter the chaotic scene, immediately drawing the mocking attention of the loitering soldiers.
Come on you winefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences! Come on, you dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage!
whoâs this excrement yellow gospeller on the Merrion hall? Elijah is coming! Washed in the blood of the Lamb.
Come on you winefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences! Come on, you dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on,
you triple extract of infamy! Alexander J Christ Dowie, thatâs my name, thatâs yanked to glory most half this planet
from Frisco beach to Vla divostok. The Deity aint no
nickel dime bumshow. I put it to you that Heâs on the square and a corking fine business proposition. Heâs the
Ulysses
787 of 1305 grandest thing yet and donât you forget it. Shout salvation
in King Jesus. Youâll need to rise precious early you sinner there, if you want to diddle the Almighty God. Pflaaaap! Not half. Heâs got a coughmixture with a punch in it for you, my friend, in his back pocket. Just you try it on.
* * * * *
The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown, before which
stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-oâ-the-wisps and danger signals. Rows of grimy houses
with gaping doors. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Round
Rabaiottiâs halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. They grab wafers between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Sucking, they s catter slowly. Children. The
swancomb of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the murk, white and blue under a lighthouse. Whistles call and answer.
THE CALLS: Wait, my love, and Iâll be with you. THE ANSWERS: Round behind the stable.
(A deafmute idiot with go ggle eyes, his shapeless mouth
dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitusâ dance. A chain of
children âs hands imprisons him.)
THE CHILDREN: Kithogue! Salute!
Ulysses
788 of 1305 THE IDIOT: (Lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles)
Grhahute!
THE CHILDREN: Whereâs the great light?
THE IDIOT: (Gobbing) Ghaghahest.
(They release him. He jerks on. A pigmy woman swings on a
rope slung between two railings, counting. A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its arm and hat snores, groans,
grinding growling teeth, and snores again. On a step a gnome
totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and
bones. A crone standing by with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of his sack. He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. The crone makes back for her lair, swaying her lamp. A bandy ch ild, asquat on the doorstep
with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidl ing after her in spurts, clutches
her skirt, scrambles up. A drunken navvy grips with both hands
the railings of an area, lurchin g heavily. At a comer two night
watch in shouldercapes, their hand s upon their staffholsters, loom
tall. A plate crashes: a woman scre ams: a child wails. Oaths of a
man roar, mutter, cease. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. In a room lit by a candle stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out
the tatts from the hair of a scrofulous child. Cissy Caffreyâs voice,
still young, sings shrill from a lane.)
CISSY CAFFREY:
Ulysses
789 of 1305 I gave it to Molly
Because she was jolly, The leg of the duck, The leg of the duck.
(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in
their oxters, as they march uns teadily rightaboutface and burst
together from their mouths a volley ed fart. Laughter of men from
the lane. A hoarse virago retorts.)
THE VIRAGO: Signs on you, hairy arse. More power
the Cavan girl.
CISSY CAFFREY: More luck to me. Cavan,
Cootehill and Belturbet. (She sings)
I gave it to Nelly
To stick in her belly, The leg of the duck, The leg of the duck.
(Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort,
their tunics bloodbright in a lamp glow, black sockets of caps on
their blond cropped polls. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd close to the redcoats.)
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Jerks his finger) Way for the
parson.
PRIVATE CARR: (Turns and calls) What ho, parson!
Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh Street
- Stephen Dedalus wanders through the red-light district, chanting Latin liturgy while brandishing his ashplant stick as a symbolic wand.
- A local bawd attempts to solicit Stephen and Lynch, turning to venomous insults when they ignore her advances.
- Stephen theorizes that gesture can serve as a universal language, revealing the 'structural rhythm' and 'first entelechy' of reality.
- Lynch mocks Stephenâs high-minded philosophical musings, labeling them 'pornosophical philotheology' given their sordid surroundings.
- The scene shifts to Leopold Bloom, who is seen panting and frantic, his reflection distorted into various caricatures by shop mirrors.
He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light over the world.
CISSY CAFFREY: (Her voice soaring higher)
Ulysses
790 of 1305 She has it, she got it,
Wherever she put it, The leg of the duck.
(Stephen, flourishing the ashplant in his left hand, chants with
joy the introit for paschal time. Lynch, his jockeycap low on his
brow, attends him, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.)
STEPHEN: Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere
dextro. Alleluia .
(The famished snaggletusks of an elderly bawd protrude from a
doorway.)
THE BAWD: (Her voice whispering huskily) Sst! Come
here till I tell you. Maidenhead inside. Sst!
STEPHEN: (Altius aliquantulum) Et omnes ad quos
pervenit aqua ista .
THE BAWD: (Spits in their trail her jet of venom) Trinity
medicals. Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence.
(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws
her shawl across her nostrils.)
EDY BOARDMAN: (Bickering) And says the one: I
seen you up Faithful place with your squarepusher, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat. Did you,
says I. Thatâs not for you to sa y, says I. You never seen me
in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. The likes of her! Stag that one is! Stubborn as a mule! And her
Ulysses
791 of 1305 walking with two fellows the one time, Kilbride, the
enginedriver, and lancecorporal Oliphant.
STEPHEN: (Ttriumphaliter) Salvi facti sunt.
(He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp image,
shattering light over the world. A liver and white spaniel on the prowl slinks after him, growling . Lynch scares it with a kick.)
LYNCH: So that?
STEPHEN: ( Looks behind ) So that gesture, not music
not odour, would be a universal language, the gift of
tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first entelechy, the structural rhythm.
LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Metaphysics in
Mecklenburgh street!
STEPHEN: We have shrewridden Shakespeare and
henpecked Socrates. Even th e allwisest Stagyrite was
bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love.
LYNCH: Ba! STEPHEN: Anyway, who wants two gestures to
illustrate a loaf and a jug? This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Hold my stick.
LYNCH: Damn your yellow stick. Where are we
going?
STEPHEN: Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci,
Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.
Ulysses
792 of 1305 (Stephen thrusts the ashplant on him and slowly holds out his
hands, his head going back till both hands are a span from his breast, down turned, in planes intersecting, the fingers about to part, the left being higher.)
LYNCH: Which is the jug of bread? It skills not. That
or the customhouse. Illustrate thou. Here take your crutch
and walk.
(They pass. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and,
clasping, climbs in spasms. From the top spur he slides down.
Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb. The navvy lurches against the lamp. The twins scuttle off in the dark. The navvy, swaying,
presses a forefinger against a wing of his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot. Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the crowd with his flaring cresset.
Snakes of river fog creep slowly . From drains, clefts, cesspools,
middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. A glow leaps in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the river. The navvy, staggering forward, cleaves the crowd and lurches towards the tramsiding on the farther side under the railway bridge bloom appears, flushed, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a sidepocket. From Gillenâs hairdresserâs window a composite
portrait shows him gallant Nelsonâs image. A concave mirror at
the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. he passes,
Ulysses
793 of 1305 struck by the stare of truculent Wellington, but in the convex
mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.
At Antonio Pabaiottiâs door Bloom halts, sweated under the
Bloom's Nightmarish Urban Navigation
- Leopold Bloom navigates a chaotic urban landscape, purchasing a pig's crubeen and a sheep's trotter while suffering from a physical stitch in his side.
- The sensory environment is overwhelming, featuring a distant fire, clanging bells, and a near-collision with a sandstrewer tram.
- Bloom experiences a series of internal anxieties, ranging from health concerns and the need for exercise to the superstitious 'mark of the beast.'
- The narrative shifts into a surreal encounter with a sinister, masked figure who demands a password in a multilingual exchange.
- Bloom's movements are characterized by a frantic, 'stifflegged' dodging of obstacles, reflecting his psychological disorientation and 'brainfogfag.'
- The passage highlights the tension between Bloom's mundane domestic errands and the threatening, hallucinatory atmosphere of the night streets.
The motorman bangs his footgong. THE GONG: Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.
bright arclamp. He disappears. In a moment he reappears and hurries on.)
BLOOM: Fish and taters. N. g. Ah! (He disappears into Olhausenâs, the porkbutcherâs, under the
downcoming rollshutter. A few moments later he emerges from under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In each hand he holds a parcel, one con taining a lukewarm pigâs crubeen,
the other a cold sheepâs trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. He
gasps, standing upright. Then bending to one side he presses a parcel against his ribs and groans.)
BLOOM: Stitch in my side. Why did I run?
(He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards
the lampset siding. The glow leaps again.)
BLOOM: What is that? A flasher? Searchlight.
(He stands at Cormackâs corner, watching)
BLOOM: Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Ah, the
brigade, of course. South s ide anyhow. Big blaze. Might
be his house. Beggarâs bush. Weâre safe. (He hums
cheerfully) Londonâs burning, Londonâs burning! On fire,
on fire! ( He catches sight of the n avvy lurching through the crowd
Ulysses
794 of 1305 at the farther side of Talbot street ) Iâll miss him. Run. Quick.
Better cross here.
(He darts to cross the road. Urchins shout.)
THE URCHINS: Mind out, mister! ( Two cyclists, with
lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, grazing him, their
bells rattling )
THE BELLS: Haltyaltyaltyall.
BLOOM: (Halts erect, stung by a spasm) Ow!
(He looks round, darts forward su ddenly. Through rising fog a
dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on
the wire. The motorman bangs his footgong.)
THE GONG: Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.
(The brake cracks violently. Bloom, raising a policemanâs
whitegloved hand, blunders sti fflegged out of the track. The
motorman, thrown forward, pugnosed , on the guidewheel, yells as
he slides past over chains and keys.)
THE MOTORMAN: Hey, shitbreeches, are you
doing the hat trick?
BLOOM: (Bloom trickleaps to the curbstone and halts again.
He brushes a mudflake from his cheek with a parcelled hand.)
No thoroughfare. Close shave that but cured the stitch.
Must take up Sandowâs exercises again. On the hands down. Insure against street accident too. The Providential.
Ulysses
795 of 1305 (He feels his trouser pocket) Poor mammaâs panacea. Heel
easily catch in track or bootlace in a cog. Day the wheel of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonardâs corner. Third time is the charm. S hoe trick. Insolent driver. I
ought to report him. Tension makes them nervous. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Same style of beauty. Quick of him all the same. The stiff walk. True word spok en in jest. That awful
cramp in Lad lane. Something poisonous I ate. Emblem of
luck. Why? Probably lost cattle. Mark of the beast. (He
closes his eyes an instant) Bit light in the head. Monthly or
effect of the other. Brainfogfag. That tired feeling. Too much for me now. Ow!
(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against oâbeirneâs
wall, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)
BLOOM: Buenas noches, seĂąorita Blanca, que calle es esta?
THE FIGURE: ( Impassive, raises a signal arm ) Password.
Sraid Mabbot.
BLOOM: Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. (He
mutters) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.
(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.
He steps left, ragsackman left.)
Ulysses
796 of 1305 BLOOM: I beg. ( He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past
and on .)
BLOOM: Keep to the right, ri ght, right. If there is a
signpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? I who lost my way and
contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter
Hallucinations of Ancestry and Authority
- Bloom experiences a physical collision with the Caffrey children, triggering a paranoid check of his belongings for pickpockets.
- A vision of Bloom's deceased father, Rudolph, appears in traditional Jewish attire to interrogate his son's moral and financial failings.
- The apparition of Rudolph critiques Bloom's past behavior, specifically his association with 'drunken goyim' and a youthful injury sustained while racing.
- Bloom's mother, Ellen, appears in a theatrical costume, reacting with exaggerated maternal alarm to her son's disheveled state.
- The sequence shifts to a vision of Molly Bloom dressed in opulent Turkish costume, asserting a new sense of dominance and distance.
- The scene illustrates Bloom's deep-seated guilt and the psychological weight of his family history and marital anxieties.
Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?
headed In darkest Stepaside . Keep, keep, keep to the right.
Rags and bones at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world.
(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt
against Bloom.)
BLOOM: O
(Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish
there, there. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket,
bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)
BLOOM: Beware of pickpockets. Old thievesâ dodge.
Collide. Then snatch your purse.
(The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. A
sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)
Ulysses
797 of 1305 RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. I
told you not go with drunken goy ever. So you catch no
money.
BLOOM: (Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back
and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat) Ja, ich weiss, papachi.
RUDOLPH: What you making down this place? Have
you no soul? (with feeble vulture talons he feels the silent face of
Bloom) Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of
Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the
house of his father and left th e god of his fathers Abraham
and Jacob?
BLOOM: (With precaution) I suppose so, father.
Mosenthal. All thatâs left of him.
RUDOLPH: (Severely) One night they bring you home
drunk as dog after spend your good money. What you call
them running chaps?
BLOOM: (In youthâs smart blue Oxford suit with white
vestslips, narrowshouldered, in brown Alpine hat, wearing gentâs sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with stiffening mud)
Harriers, father. Only that once.
Ulysses
798 of 1305 RUDOLPH: Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand
open. Lockjaw. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben.
You watch them chaps.
BLOOM: (Weakly) They challenged me to a sprint. It
was muddy. I slipped.
RUDOLPH: (With contempt) Goim nachez ! Nice
spectacles for your poor mother!
BLOOM: Mamma!
ELLEN BLOOM: (In pantomime dameâs stringed mobcap,
widow Twankeyâs crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg
sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a crispine net, appears over the staircase banisters, a slanted candlestick in her hand, and cries out in shrill alarm) O
blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! My
smelling salts! (She hauls up a reef of skirt and ransacks the
pouch of her striped blay petticoat. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out) Sacred Heart of
Mary, where were you at all at all?
(Bloom, mumbling, his eyes downcast, begins to bestow his
parcels in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)
A VOICE: (Sharply) Poldy!
BLOOM: Who? (He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily)
At your service.
Ulysses
799 of 1305 (He looks up. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome
woman in Turkish costume stands before him. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and jack et, slashed with gold. A wide
yellow cummerbund girdles her. A white yashmak, violet in the
night, covers her face, leaving fr ee only her large dark eyes and
raven hair.)
BLOOM: Molly!
MARION: Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear
man, when you speak to me. (Satirically) Has poor little
hubby cold feet waiting so long?
BLOOM: (Shifts from foot to foot) No, no. Not the least
little bit.
(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air,
Nighttown Hallucinations and Encounters
- Bloom experiences a surreal vision of his wife Marion as an exotic Moorish figure accompanied by a camel.
- The narrative shifts into a hallucinatory sequence where inanimate objects like a cake of lemon soap gain speech and personality.
- Bloom is confronted by a series of female figures from his past and present, including the bawd, Bridie Kelly, and Gerty Macdowell.
- The dialogue blends reality with Bloom's internal guilt and sexual anxieties, particularly regarding his interactions with Gerty.
- Mrs. Breen appears in a masculine overcoat to mock Bloom for his presence in the 'haunts of sin' during the late hours.
- The scene illustrates the fluid, dream-like logic of the 'Circe' episode where identities and locations shift rapidly.
Weâre a capital couple are Bloom and I. He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.
questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her
feet are jewelled toerings. Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain. Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban,
waits. A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near with di sgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely
she slaps his haunch, her goldcurb wr istbangles angriling, scolding
him in Moorish.)
MARION: Nebrakada! Femininum!
(The camel, lifting a foreleg, pluc ks from a tree a large mango
fruit, offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoof, then
Ulysses
800 of 1305 droops his head and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to
kneel. Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.)
BLOOM: I can give you ... I mean as your business
menagerer ... Mrs Marion ... if you ...
MARION: So you notice some change? (Her hands
passing slowly over her trinkete d stomacher, a slow friendly
mockery in her eyes) O Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old
stick in the mud! Go and s ee life. See the wide world.
BLOOM: I was just going ba ck for that lotion
whitewax, orangeflower water. Shop closes early on
Thursday. But the first thing in the morning. (He pats
divers pockets) This moving kidney. Ah!
(He points to the south, then to the east. A cake of new clean
lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.)
THE SOAP:
Weâre a capital couple are Bloom and I.
He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.
(The freckled face of Sweny, the druggist, appears in the disc
of the soapsun.)
SWENY: Three and a penny, please. BLOOM: Yes. For my wife. Mrs Marion. Special
recipe.
MARION: (Softly) Poldy!
Ulysses
801 of 1305 BLOOM: Yes, maâam?
MARION: ti trema un poco il cuore?
(In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter
pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)
BLOOM: Are you sure about that voglio? I mean the
pronunciati ...
(He follows, followed by the sniffing terrier. The elderly bawd
seizes his sleeve, the bristles of her chinmole glittering.)
THE BAWD: Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing
was never touched. Fifteen. Thereâs no-one in it only her old father thatâs dead drunk.
(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive,
rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)
BRIDIE: Hatch street. Any good in your mind?
(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly
rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker.)
THE BAWD: (Her wolfeyes shining) Heâs getting his
pleasure. You wonât get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Donât be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.
(Leering, Gerty Macdowell li mps forward. She draws from
behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)
Ulysses
802 of 1305 GERTY: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.
(She murmurs) You did that. I hate you.
BLOOM: I? When? Youâre dreaming. I never saw
you.
THE BAWD: Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat.
Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.
GERTY: (To Bloom) When you saw all the secrets of
my bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering) Dirty
married man! I love you for doing that to me.
(She glides away crookedly. Mrs Breen in manâs frieze
overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands in the causeway, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth.)
MRS BREEN: Mr ...
BLOOM: (Coughs gravely) Madam, when we last had
this pleasure by letter date d the sixteenth instant ...
MRS BREEN: Mr Bloom! You down here in the
haunts of sin! I caught you nicely! Scamp!
BLOOM: (Hurriedly) Not so loud my name. Whatever
Nostalgic Hallucinations and Teapot Games
- Bloom encounters Mrs. Breen in a surreal, hallucinatory sequence where social boundaries and time begin to blur.
- The narrative shifts into a minstrel-show performance by the Bohee brothers, reflecting Bloom's racialized and exoticized internal thoughts.
- Bloom attempts a flirtatious, 'frivolous' reconnection with Mrs. Breen, evoking their shared history as 'Josie Powell' and her former suitors.
- The dialogue descends into a coded, nonsensical 'teapot' language, signifying a breakdown of formal communication into intimate, playful absurdity.
- Bloomâs persona shifts into a 'squire of dames,' performing a patriotic toast while physically engaging in a romanticized, dream-like memory of a staircase encounter.
I confess Iâm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some personâs something is a little teapot at present.
do you think of me? Donât give me away. Walls have ears. How do you do? Itâs ages since I. Youâre looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Bla ck refracts heat. S hort cut home here.
Ulysses
803 of 1305 Interesting quarter. Rescue of fallen women. Magdalen
asylum. I am the secretary ...
MRS BREEN: (Holds up a finger) Now, donât tell a big
fib! I know somebody wonât like that. O just wait till I see
Molly! (Slily) Account for yourself this very sminute or
woe betide you!
BLOOM: (Looks behind) She often said sheâd like to
visit. Slumming. The exotic, you see. Negro servants in
livery too if she had money. Othello black brute. Eugene
Stratton. Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore
christies. Bohee brothers. Sweep for that matter.
(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits,
scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chok ers and large scarlet asters in
their buttonholes, leap out. Each has his banjo slung. Their paler
smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and tusks they ratt le through a breakdown in clumsy
clogs, twinging, singing, back to back, toe heel, heel toe, with
smackfatclacking nigger lips.)
TOM AND SAM:
Thereâs someone in the house with Dina
Thereâs someone in the house, I know,
Thereâs someone in the house with Dina
Playing on the old banjo.
Ulysses
804 of 1305 (They whisk black masks f rom raw babby faces: then,
chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.)
BLOOM: (With a sour tenderish smile) A little frivol,
shall we, if you are so inclined? Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a second?
MRS BREEN: (Screams gaily) O, you ruck! You ought
to see yourself!
BLOOM: For old sakeâ sake. I only meant a square
party, a mixed marriage mingling of our different little conjugials. You know I had a soft corner for you.
(Gloomily) âTwas I sent you that valentine of the dear
gazelle.
MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!
Killing simply. (She puts out her hand inquisitively) What are
you hiding behind your back? Tell us, thereâs a dear.
BLOOM: (Seizes her wrist with his free hand) Josie Powell
that was, prettiest deb in Dublin. How time flies by! Do
you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpsonâs housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Subject, what is in this snuffbox?
Ulysses
805 of 1305 MRS BREEN: You were the lion of the night with
your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. You were always a favourite with the ladies.
BLOOM: (Squire of dames, in dinner jacket with
wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand) Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ireland,
home and beauty.
MRS BREEN: The dear dead days beyond recall.
Loveâs old sweet song.
BLOOM: (Meaningfully dropping his voice) I confess Iâm
teapot with curiosity to find out whether some personâs something is a little teapot at present.
MRS BREEN: (Gushingly) Tremendously teapot!
Londonâs teapot and Iâm simply teapot all over me! (She
rubs sides with him) After the parlour mystery games and the
crackers from the tree we sa t on the staircase ottoman.
Under the mistletoe. Two is company.
BLOOM: (Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an amber
halfmoon, his fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her soft moist meaty palm which she surrenders gently) The witching
hour of night. I took the splinter out of this hand,
carefully, slowly. (Tenderly, as he slips on her finger a ruby
ring) LĂ ci darem la mano.
Ulysses
806 of 1305 MRS BREEN: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in
Hallucinatory Encounters in Nighttown
- Leopold Bloom engages in a surreal, flirtatious, and emotionally charged dialogue with Mrs. Breen amidst a chaotic urban backdrop.
- The narrative features grotesque and carnivalesque figures, including Denis Breen with sandwich boards and Richie Goulding carrying a bag of fish and pills.
- Bloom expresses a sense of betrayal and personal crisis, claiming to be in a 'grave predicament' while navigating the 'stupid crowds.'
- The conversation shifts into a detailed, nostalgic recollection of a past trip to the Leopardstown races, highlighting Bloom's meticulous memory for fashion and social slights.
- The scene blends reality with phantasmagoria, as characters' appearances and behaviors shift rapidly in a dreamlike sequence.
Woman, itâs breaking me!
moonlight blue, a tinsel sylphâs diadem on her brow with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing quickly) Voglio e non. Youâre hot! Youâre
scalding! The left hand nearest the heart.
BLOOM: When you made your present choice they
said it was beauty and the bea st. I can never forgive you
for that. (His clenched fist at his brow) Think what it means.
All you meant to me then. (Hoarsely) Woman, itâs
breaking me!
(Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with Wisdom Helyâs
sandwich- boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his dull beard thrust out, muttering to right and left. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the pall of the ace of spades, dogs him to left and right, doubled in laughter.)
ALF BERGAN: (Points jeering at the sandwichboards) U.
p: Up.
MRS BREEN: (To Bloom) High jinks below stairs. (She
gives him the glad eye) Why didnât you kiss the spot to make
it well? You wanted to.
BLOOM: (Shocked) Mollyâs best friend! Could you?
MRS BREEN: (Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a
pigeon kiss) Hnhn. The answer is a lemon. Have you a little
present for me there?
Ulysses
807 of 1305 BLOOM: (Offhandedly) Kosher. A snack for supper.
The home without potted meat is incomplete. I was at
Leah. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Trenchant exponent of
Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling good place round there for pigsâ feet. Feel.
(Richie Goulding, three ladiesâ hats pinned on his head,
appears weighted to one side by the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and cro ssbones are painted in white
limewash. He opens it and shows it full of polonies, kippered
herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)
RICHIE: Best value in Dub.
(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands on the curbstone, folding his
napkin, waiting to wait.)
PAT: (Advances with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy)
Steak and kidney. Bottle of lager. Hee hee hee. Wait till I
wait.
RICHIE: Goodgod. Inev erate inall ...
(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. The
navvy, lurching by, gores him with his flaming pronghorn.)
RICHIE: (With a cry of pain, hi s hand to his back) Ah!
Brightâs! Lights!
BLOOM: (Ooints to the navvy) A spy. Donât attract
attention. I hate stupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent.
I am in a grave predicament.
Ulysses
808 of 1305 MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per
usual with your cock and bull story.
BLOOM: I want to tell you a little secret about how I
came to be here. But you must never tell. Not even Molly. I have a most particular reason.
MRS BREEN: (All agog) O, not for worlds.
BLOOM: Letâs walk on. Shall us? MRS BREEN: Letâs.
(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Bloom walks on with
Mrs Breen. The terrier follows, whining piteously, wagging his
tail.)
THE BAWD: Jewmanâs melt!
BLOOM: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sprig of woodbine
in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherdâs plaid Saint Andrewâs cross scarftie, white spats, fawn du stcoat on his arm, tawny red
brogues, fieldglasses in bandolie r and a grey billycock hat) Do
you remember a long long time , years and years ago, just
after Milly, Marionette we ca lled her, was weaned when
we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was it?
MRS BREEN: (In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours
hat and spider veil) Leopardstown.
BLOOM: I mean, Leopardstown. And Molly won
seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater
Ulysses
809 of 1305 shanderadan of a waggonette you were in your heyday
then and you had on that new hat of white velours with a
surround of molefur that Mr s Hayes advised you to buy
because it was marked down to nineteen and eleven, a bit of wire and an old rag of velvet een, and Iâll lay you what
you like she did it on purpose ...
MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the cat! Donât tell
me! Nice adviser!
BLOOM: Because it didnât suit you one quarter as well
Nighttown Wanderings and Drunken Encounters
- Bloom navigates a surreal urban landscape filled with fragmented memories of Mrs. Breen and Molly.
- The narrative shifts through grotesque street scenes, including loiterers laughing at a crude prank involving a bucket of porter.
- Bloom encounters various figures of the night, including aggressive whores and drunken soldiers, highlighting the chaotic atmosphere of the red-light district.
- The interaction between the Navvy and the British soldiers (Carr and Compton) underscores the underlying political and social tensions of Dublin.
- Bloom reflects on his impulsive decision to follow Stephen Dedalus, questioning his own motivations and the role of fate.
- The passage emphasizes themes of coincidence, physical decay, and the disorienting effects of alcohol and the night.
In an archway a standing woman, bent forward, her feet apart, pisses cowily.
as the other ducky little tammy toque with the bird of paradise wing in it that I admired on you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was a pity to kill it,
you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a thing with a
heart the size of a fullstop.
MRS BREEN: (Squeezes his arm, simpers) Naughty
cruel I was!
BLOOM: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly) And Molly
was eating a sandwich of s piced beef out of Mrs Joe
Gallaherâs lunch basket. Frankly, though she had her advisers or admirers, I never cared much for her style. She was ...
MRS BREEN: Too ... BLOOM: Yes. And Molly was laughing because
Rogers and Maggot OâReilly were mimicking a cock as
Ulysses
810 of 1305 we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the tea
merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across ...
MRS BREEN: (Eagerly) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
(She fades from his side. Followed by the whining dog he
walks on towards hellsgates. In an archway a standing woman, bent forward, her feet apart, pi sses cowily. Outside a shuttered
pub a bunch of loiterers listen to a tale which their brokensnouted
gaffer rasps out with raucous humo ur. An armless pair of them
flop wrestling, growling, in maimed sodden playfight.)
THE GAFFER: (Crouches, his voice twisted in his snout)
And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for
Derwanâs plasterers.
THE LOITERERS: (Guffaw with cleft palates) O jays!
(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Sp attered with size and lime of
their lodges they frisk limblessly about him.)
BLOOM: Coincidence too. They think it funny.
Anything but that. Broad day light. Trying to walk. Lucky
no woman.
Ulysses
811 of 1305 THE LOITERERS: Jays, thatâs a good one. Glauber
salts. O jays, into the menâs porter.
(Bloom passes. Cheap whore s, singly, coupled, shawled,
dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.)
THE WHORES:
Are you going far, queer fellow?
Howâs your middle leg?
Got a match on you? Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you.
(He plodges through their sump towards the lighted street
beyond. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a
battered brazen trunk. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the navvy and the two redcoats.)
THE NAVVY: (Belching) Whereâs the bloody house?
THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Purdon street. Shilling a
bottle of stout. Respectable woman.
THE NAVVY: (Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward
with them) Come on, you British army!
PRIVATE CARR: (Behind his back) He aint half
balmy.
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Laughs) What ho!
PRIVATE CARR: (To the navvy) Portobello barracks
canteen. You ask for Carr. Just Carr.
Ulysses
812 of 1305 THE NAVVY: (Shouts)
We are the boys. Of Wexford.
PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! What price the
sergeantmajor?
PRIVATE CARR: Bennett? He âs my pal. I love old
Bennett.
THE NAVVY: (Shouts)
The galling chain.
And free our native land.
(He staggers forward, dragging them with him. Bloom stops,
at fault. The dog approaches, hi s tongue outlolling, panting)
BLOOM: Wildgoose chase th is. Disorderly houses.
Lord knows where they are gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland row. Then jump in first class with third ticket. Then too far. Train
with engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night or collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. What am I following him for? Still, heâs the best of that lot. If I hadnât heard about Mrs Beaufoy
Purefoy I wouldnât have g one and wouldnât have met.
Kismet. Heâll lose that cash. Relieving office here. Good
Ulysses
Bloom and the Nighttime Beasts
- Bloom narrowly avoids a street accident and reflects on his own mortality and potential for insurance claims.
- He encounters a stray dog and, despite initial hesitation and fear of madness, decides to feed it his purchased food.
- The Watch confront Bloom for his actions, leading him to defend himself as a 'friend of man' and an advocate for animal welfare.
- The scene shifts into a surreal hallucination involving Bob Doran and a violent bulldog dripping with 'scumspittle'.
- Signor Maffei, a sinister lion tamer, appears to describe the brutal methods used to break and train wild animals.
- The narrative blurs the lines between Bloom's internal guilt, his desire for kindness, and the inherent cruelty of the world.
The bulldog growls, his scruff standing, a gobbet of pigâs knuckle between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.
813 of 1305 biz for cheapjacks, organs. What do ye lack? Soon got,
soon gone. Might have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. Canât always save you, though. If I had passed Truelockâs window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Absenc e of body. Still if bullet only
went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds. What was he? Kildare street club toff. God help his gamekeeper.
(He gazes ahead, reading on the wall a scrawled chalk legend
Wet Dream and a phallic design. ) Odd! Molly drawing on
the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. Whatâs that like?
(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the lighted doorways, in window embrasures, smoking birdseye cigarettes. The odour of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in slow round ovalling wreaths.)
THE WREATHS: Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin. BLOOM: My spineâs a bit limp. Go or turn? And this
food? Eat it and get all pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of
money. One and eightpence too much. (The retriever drives
a cold snivelling muzzle against his hand, wagging his tail.)
Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today.
Better speak to him first. Like women they like rencontres.
Stinks like a polecat. Chacun son gout . He might be mad.
Ulysses
814 of 1305 Dogdays. Uncertain in his movements. Good fellow! Fido!
Good fellow! Garryowen! (The wolfdog sprawls on his back,
wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his long black tongue lolling out.) Influence of his surroundings. Give and have
done with it. Provided nobody. (Calling encouraging words
he shambles back with a furtiv e poacherâs tread, dogged by the
setter into a dark stalestunk corner. He unrolls one parcel and goes
to dump the crubeen softly but ho lds back and feels the trotter.)
Sizeable for threepence. But then I have it in my left hand.
Calls for more effort. Why? Smaller from want of use. O, let it slide. Two and six.
(With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. The
mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. They murmur together.)
THE WATCH: Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom.
Bloom.
(Each lays hand on Bloomâs shoulder.)
FIRST WATCH: Caught in the act. Commit no
nuisance.
BLOOM: (Stammers) I am doing good to others.
(A covey of gulls, storm petrel s, rises hungrily from Liffey
slime with Banbury cakes in their beaks.)
THE GULLS: Kaw kave kankury kake.
Ulysses
815 of 1305 BLOOM: The friend of man. Trained by kindness.
(He points. Bob Doran, toppling from a high barstool, sways
over the munching spaniel.)
BOB DORAN: Towser. Give us the paw. Give the
paw.
(The bulldog growls, his scruff standing, a gobbet of pigâs
knuckle between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles. Bob Doran fills silently into an area.)
SECOND WATCH: Prevention of cruelty to animals.
BLOOM: (Enthusiastically) A noble work! I scolded that
tramdriver on Haroldâs cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his harness scab. Bad F rench I got for my pains.
Of course it was frosty and th e last tram. All tales of circus
life are highly demoralising.
(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in liontamerâs costume with
diamond studs in his shirtfront, steps forward, holding a circus
paperhoop, a curling carriagewhip and a revolver with which he
covers the gorging boarhound.)
SIGNOR MAFFEI: (With a sinister smile) Ladies and
gentlemen, my educated greyhound. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for
carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to
heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the
Ulysses
816 of 1305 Libyan maneater. A redhot crowbar and some liniment
rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of
Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. (He glares) I possess the
Bloom's Hallucinatory Trial
- Leopold Bloom attempts to evade the authorities by adopting a series of increasingly absurd and contradictory identities, including a dental surgeon and a naval gallant.
- The discovery of a business card for 'Henry Flower' leads to accusations of unlawful behavior and a lack of fixed residence.
- A veiled figure named Martha appears to accuse Bloom of breach of promise and emotional manipulation, threatening him with her brother's wrath.
- Bloom resorts to desperate defenses, invoking Masonic signs, his wife's military pedigree, and appeals to Irish nationalism to prove his respectability.
- The scene shifts rapidly between reality and a surreal courtroom drama where Bloom claims to be a 'man misunderstood' and a 'scapegoat.'
Henry! Leopold! Lionel, thou lost one! Clear my name.
Indian sign. The glint of my eye does it with these
breastsparklers. (With a bewitching smile) I now introduce
Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the ring.
FIRST WATCH: Come. Name and address. BLOOM: I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes!
(He takes off his high grade hat, saluting) Dr Bloom, Leopold,
dental surgeon. You have heard of von Blum Pasha.
Umpteen millions. Donnerwetter! Owns half Austria. Egypt.
Cousin.
FIRST WATCH: Proof.
(A card falls from inside the lea ther headband of Bloomâs hat.)
BLOOM: (In red fez, cadiâs dress coat with broad green
sash, wearing a false badge of th e Legion of Honour, picks up the
card hastily and offers it) Allow me. My club is the Junior
Army and Navy. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton,
27 Bachelorâs Walk.
FIRST WATCH: (Reads) Henry Flower. No fixed
abode. Unlawfully watching and besetting.
SECOND WATCH: An alibi. You are cautioned.
BLOOM: (Produces from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow
flower) This is the flower in question. It was given me by a
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817 of 1305 man I donât know his name. (Plausibly) You know that old
joke, rose of Castile. Bloom. The change of name. Virag.
(He murmurs privately and confidentially) We are engaged you
see, sergeant. Lady in the case. Love entanglement. (He
shoulders the second watch gently) Dash it all. Itâs a way we
gallants have in the navy. Uniform that does it. (He turns
gravely to the first watch) Still, of course, you do get your
Waterloo sometimes. Drop in some evening and have a
glass of old Burgundy. (To the second watch gaily) Iâll
introduce you, inspector. Sheâs game. Do it in the shake of a lambâs tail.
(A dark mercurialised face a ppears, leading a veiled figure.)
THE DARK MERCURY: The Castle is looking for
him. He was drummed out of the army.
MARTHA: (Thickveiled, a crimson halter round her neck, a
copy of the Irish Times in her hand, in tone of reproach,
pointing) Henry! Leopold! Lionel, thou lost one! Clear my
name.
FIRST WATCH: (Sternly) Come to the station.
BLOOM: (Scared, hats himself, steps back, then, plucking at
his heart and lifting his right forearm on the square, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft) No, no, worshipful master,
light of love. Mistaken identity. The Lyons mail.
Lesurques and Dubosc. You remember the Childs
Ulysses
818 of 1305 fratricide case. We medical men. By striking him dead
with a hatchet. I am wrongfully accused. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned.
MARTHA: (Sobbing behind her veil) Breach of promise.
My real name is Peggy Griffin. He wrote to me that he
was miserable. Iâll tell my brother, the Bective rugger fullback, on you, heartless flirt.
BLOOM: (Behind his hand) Sheâs drunk. The woman is
inebriated. (He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim)
Shitbroleeth.
SECOND WATCH: (Tears in his eyes, to Bloom) You
ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.
BLOOM: Gentlemen of the jury, let me explain. A
pure mareâs nest. I am a man misunderstood. I am being made a scapegoat of. I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. I live in Eccles street. My
wife, I am the daughter of a most distinguished commander, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britainâs fighting men who helped to win our battles. Got his
majority for the heroic defence of Rorkeâs Drift.
FIRST WATCH: Regiment.
BLOOM: (Turns to the gallery) The royal Dublins, boys,
the salt of the earth, known the world over. I think I see
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819 of 1305 some old comrades in arms up there among you. The R.
D. F., with our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our homes, the pluckiest lads and the finest body of men, as physique, in the service of our sovereign.
A VOICE: Turncoat! Up the Boers! Who booed Joe
Chamberlain?
BLOOM: (His hand on the shoulder of the first watch) My
The Trial of Leopold Bloom
- Bloom attempts to defend his character by claiming loyalty to the British Empire and citing his supposed military service and journalistic credentials.
- Myles Crawford appears in a surreal caricature, mockingly identifying his newspaper with vulgar epithets and demanding to know if Bloom is the author in question.
- Philip Beaufoy, a pretentious author, accuses Bloom of plagiarism and 'loathsome conduct,' dismissing him as a 'soapy sneak' and a 'jackdaw' lacking a university education.
- Bloom counters the elitist accusations of Beaufoy by claiming he attended the 'university of life' and criticizing Beaufoy's work as 'bad art.'
- The legal proceedings take a turn toward Bloom's private life as he is accused of being a 'house devil' and an 'archconspirator.'
- Mary Driscoll, a former servant, is called as a witness to testify against Bloom regarding his alleged 'carryings on' that forced her to leave her position.
Itâs perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion.
old dad too was a J. P. Iâm as staunch a Britisher as you
are, sir. I fought with the co lours for king and country in
the absentminded war under general Gough in the park
and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was
mentioned in dispatches. I did all a white man could.
(With quiet feeling) Jim Bludso. Hold her nozzle again the
bank.
FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade. BLOOM: Well, I follow a litera ry occupation, author-
journalist. In fact we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the inventor, something that is
an entirely new departure. I am connected with the British and Irish press. If you ring up ...
(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a quill between his teeth.
His scarlet beak blazes within th e aureole of his straw hat. He
dangles a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds with the
other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his ear.)
Ulysses
820 of 1305 MYLES CRAWFORD: (His cockâs wattles wagging)
Hello, seventyseven eightfour. Hello. Freemanâs Urinal and
Weekly Arsewipe here. Paralyse Europe. You which?
Bluebags? Who writes? Is it Bloom?
(Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands in the witnessbox, in
accurate morning dress, outbreast pock et with peak of handkerchief
showing, creased lavender trouse rs and patent boots. He carries a
large portfolio labelled Matchamâs Masterstrokes.)
BEAUFOY: (Drawls) No, you arenât. Not by a long
shot if I know it. I donât see it thatâs all. No born
gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome
conduct. One of those, my lord. A plagiarist. A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. Itâs perfectly obvious that with the most inherent ba seness he has cribbed some
of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. The
Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which
your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom.
BLOOM: (Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum) That
bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ...
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821 of 1305 BEAUFOY: (His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the
court) You funny ass, you! Youâre too beastly awfully
weird for words! I donât think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in t hat regard. My literary agent
Mr J. B. Pinker is in attendance. I presume, my lord, we shall receive the usual witnesse sâ fees, shanât we? We are
considerably out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rhei ms, who has not even been
to a university.
BLOOM: (Indistinctly) University of life. Bad art.
BEAUFOY: (Shouts) Itâs a damnably foul lie, showing
the moral rottenness of the man! (He extends his portfolio)
We have here damning evidence, the corpus delicti , my
lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the beast.
A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY:
Moses, Moses, king of the jews,
Wiped his arse in the Daily News.
BLOOM: (Bravely) Overdrawn.
BEAUFOY: You low cad! You ought to be ducked in
the horsepond, you rotter! (To the court) Why, look at the
manâs private life! Leading a quadruple existence! Street
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822 of 1305 angel and house devil. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed
society! The archconspirator of the age!
BLOOM: (To the court) And he, a bachelor, how ...
FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom. Call the
woman Driscoll.
THE CRIER: Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!
(Mary Driscoll, a slipshod se rvant girl, approaches. She has a
bucket on the crook of her arm an d a scouringbrush in her hand.)
SECOND WATCH: Another! Are you of the
unfortunate class?
MARY DRISCOLL: (Indignantly) Iâm not a bad one. I
bear a respectable character and was four months in my
last place. I was in a situati on, six pounds a year and my
chances with Fridays out and I had to leave owing to his carryings on.
The Trial of Leopold Bloom
- Mary Driscoll, a former servant, accuses Bloom of making inappropriate advances and physical assault while his wife was away.
- Bloom attempts to defend himself by claiming he treated her with generosity and 'white' conduct, citing gifts like emerald garters.
- The court proceedings devolve into a surreal, hallucinatory spectacle where Bloom delivers a long, rambling, and largely unintelligible speech.
- Bloom's defense shifts from denial to a sentimental plea for reform, invoking images of domestic bliss and his upbringing as a 'sevenmonthsâ child.'
- The scene transitions into a chaotic cross-examination involving embarrassing personal details and physical indignities, met with laughter and catcalls from the gallery.
He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your honour, when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety pin.
FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with? MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but
I thought more of myself as poor as I am.
BLOOM: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers,
heelless slippers, unshaven, his hair rumpled: softly) I treated
you white. I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Incautiously I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. Thereâs a medium in all things. Play cricket.
Ulysses
823 of 1305 MARY DRISCOLL: (Excitedly) As God is looking
down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!
FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? Did
something happen?
MARY DRISCOLL: He surprised me in the rere of
the premises, Your honour, when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety pin. He held me and I was discoloured in four places as a result. And he interfered twict with my clothing.
BLOOM: She counterassaulted. MARY DRISCOLL: (Scornfully) I had more respect for
the scouringbrush, so I had. I remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.
(General laughter.)
GEORGE FOTTRELL: (Clerk of the crown and peace,
resonantly) Order in court! The accused will now make a
bogus statement.
(Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a fullblown waterlily,
begins a long unintelligible speech. They would hear what counsel
had to say in his stirring addre ss to the grand jury. He was down
and out but, though branded as a black sheep, if he might say so,
he meant to reform, to retrieve the memory of the past in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a purely domestic animal. A
Ulysses
824 of 1305 sevenmonthsâ child, he ha d been carefully brought up and
nurtured by an aged bedridden parent. There might have been
lapses of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf
and now, when at long last in s ight of the whipping post, to lead
a homely life in the evening of his days, permeated by the affectionate surroundings of the heaving bosom of the family. An acclimatised Britisher, he had s een that summer eve from the
footplate of an engine cab of the Loop line railway company while
the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as it were, through the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the better land with Dockrellâs wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn
bairns lisping prayers to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary
round the crackling Yulelog whi le in the boreens and green lanes
the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever ...
(Renewed laughter. He mumbles incoherently. Reporters
complain that they cannot hear.)
LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Without looking
up from their notebooks) Loosen his boots.
Ulysses
825 of 1305 PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (From the presstable, coughs
and calls) Cough it up, man. Get it out in bits.
(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the bucket. A
large bucket. Bloom himself. Bowel trouble. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. Quite bad. A plasterer’s bucket. By walking stifflegged. Suffered untold misery. Deadly agony. About noon. Love or burgundy. Yes, so me spinach. Crucial moment.
He did not look in the buck et Nobody. Rather a mess. Not
completely. A Titbits back number .)
(Uproar and catcalls. Bloom in a torn frockcoat stained with
whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his head, a strip of stickingplaster across his nose, talks inaudibly.)
J. J. OâMOLLOY: (In barristerâs grey wig and stuffgown,
speaking with a voice of pained protest) This is no place for
indecent levity at the expens e of an erring mortal disguised
The Trial of Leopold Bloom
- J. J. O'Molloy delivers a surreal and contradictory legal defense for Bloom, characterizing him as a 'poor foreign immigrant' and an 'infant' of Mongolian extraction.
- The defense attributes Bloom's alleged misconduct to a 'momentary aberration of heredity' and atavism, claiming his actions are acceptable in his supposed native Egypt.
- Bloom appears in a dazed, subservient state, attempting to sing in a stereotypical 'oriental' pidgin before being aggressively silenced by the crowd.
- O'Molloy invokes the Mosaic code and portrays Bloom as a victim of systemic persecution, famously stating, 'When in doubt persecute Bloom.'
- The scene shifts into a hallucinatory slideshow of Asia Minor, featuring the figure of Moses Dlugacz, as the legal proceedings dissolve into shifting identities and imagery.
I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom.
in liquor. We are not in a bear garden nor at an Oxford rag
nor is this a travesty of justi ce. My client is an infant, a
poor foreign immigrant who st arted scratch as a stowaway
and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The trumped
up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrence be ing quite permitted in my
clientâs native place, the land of the Pharaoh. Prima facie , I
put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally
Ulysses
826 of 1305 knowing. Intimacy did not occur and the offence
complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited,
was not repeated. I would deal in especial with atavism.
There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my clientâs family. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfoldâone of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. He himself, my lord, is a physical wreck from cobblerâs weak chest. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and
irresponsible for his actions. Not all there, in fact.
BLOOM: (Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in lascarâs vest and
trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny moleâs eyes and
looks about him dazedly, passing a slow hand across his forehead.
Then he hitches his belt sailor fash ion and with a shrug of oriental
obeisance salutes the court, pointing one thumb heavenward.)
Him makee velly muchee fine night. (He begins to lilt
simply)
Li li poo lil chile
Blingee pigfoot evly night
Payee two shilly ...
(He is howled down.)
J. J. OâMOLLOY: (Hotly to the populace) This is a
lonehand fight. By Hades, I will not have any client of
Ulysses
827 of 1305 mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs
and laughing hyenas. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the jungle. I say it and I say it emphatically, without
wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own daughter.
(Bloom takes J. J. OâMolloyâs ha nd and raises it to his lips.) I
shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom. My client, an innately bashful man,
would be the last man in the world to do anything
ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or
cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. He wants to go straight. I
regard him as the whitest man I know. He is down on his luck at present owing to th e mortgaging of his extensive
property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides
of which will now be shown. (To Bloom) I suggest that
you will do the handsome thing.
BLOOM: A penny in the pound.
(The image of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle
cropping in silver haze is projected on the wall. Moses Dlugacz,
Ulysses
828 of 1305 ferreteyed albino, in blue dungarees, stands up in the gallery,
holding in each hand an orang e citron and a pork kidney.)
DLUGACZ: (Hoarsely) Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.
(J. J. OâMolloy steps on to a low plinth and holds the lapel of
his coat with solemnity. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with sunken eyes, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. He applies his handkerchief to his
mouth and scrutinises the gallo ping tide of rosepink blood.)
J.J.OâMOLLOY: (Almost voicelessly) Excuse me. I am
suffering from a severe chill, have recently come from a
sickbed. A few wellchosen words. (He assumes the avine
head, foxy moustache and p roboscidal eloquence of Seymour
Bushe.) When the angelâs book comes to be opened if
aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultrans figuring deserves to live I
The Trial of Leopold Bloom
- Leopold Bloom attempts to defend his character in a surreal court setting by citing his connections to Dublin's high society and elite officials.
- A series of high-society women, including Mrs. Yelverton Barry and Mrs. Bellingham, come forward to accuse Bloom of sending lewd anonymous letters.
- The accusations detail Bloom's voyeuristic tendencies and his attempts to solicit 'misconduct' through improper overtures and erotic literature.
- Mrs. Bellingham reveals Bloom's deceptive nature, noting he sent a common potato blossom while claiming it was a rare edelweiss from the heights.
- The Honourable Mrs. Mervyn Talboys joins the chorus of accusers, denouncing Bloom as a 'plebeian' for his unsolicited advances at a polo match.
- The scene shifts from a formal defense to a chaotic public shaming as a mob of 'sluts and ragamuffins' jeers at the accused prisoner.
I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was a blossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm.
say accord the prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the
doubt. (A paper with something written on it is handed into
court.)
BLOOM: (In court dress) Can give best references.
Messrs Callan, Coleman. Mr Wisdom Hely J. P. My old
chief Joe Cuffe. Mr V. B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. I have moved in the charmed circle of the highest ... Queens of Dublin society. (Carelessly) I was just chatting
this afternoon at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir
Ulysses
829 of 1305 Robert and lady Ball, astronom er royal at the levee. Sir
Bob, I said ...
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (In lowcorsaged opal
balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed
brickquilted dolman, a comb of brilli ants and panache of osprey in
her hair) Arrest him, constable. He wrote me an
anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch . He said that he had seen
from the gods my peerless glob es as I sat in a box of the
Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale . I
deeply inflamed him, he said. He made improper overtures to me to miscond uct myself at half past four
p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. He offered to send me through th e post a work of fiction by
Monsieur Paul de Kock, entitled The Girl with the Three
Pairs of Stays .
MRS BELLINGHAM: (In cap and seal coney mantle,
wrapped up to the nose, steps out of her brougham and scans
through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff) Also to me. Yes, I believe it is the
same objectionable person. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stokerâs one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninety three when even the grid
Ulysses
830 of 1305 of the wastepipe and the ballstop in my bath cistern were
frozen. Subsequently he en closed a bloom of edelweiss
culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour. I had it
examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him!
(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward)
THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Screaming)
Stop thief! Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Three cheers for Ikey
Mo!
SECOND WATCH: (Produces handcuffs) Here are the
darbies.
MRS BELLINGHAM: He addressed me in several
handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman
Palmer while in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garn ished sable, a buckâs head
couped or. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden
Ulysses
831 of 1305 treasures in priceless lace wh ich, he said, he could conjure
up. He urged me (stating that he felt it his mission in life
to urge me) to defile the ma rriage bed, to commit adultery
at the earliest possible opportunity.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS:
(In amazon costume, hard hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion
waistcoat, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and hunting crop with which she strikes her welt constantly) Also me. Because he saw me on the polo
ground of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus
the Rest of Ireland. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Inniskillings win
the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. This plebeian
The Trial of Bloom
- Leopold Bloom is confronted by a group of high-society Dublin women who accuse him of sending them obscene and masochistic letters.
- The Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys and her companions react with violent, performative fury, threatening to horsewhip and flay Bloom for his transgressions.
- Bloom exhibits a submissive and cringing demeanor, admitting to a desire for 'refined birching' to stimulate his circulation while simultaneously pleading for mercy.
- The scene shifts into a surreal public trial where Bloom's private fetishes and his status as a cuckold are broadcast to the city of Dublin.
- A jury of Dublin men appears in a fog-filled box to witness the spectacle, emphasizing the theme of public exposure and social judgment.
Iâll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. Iâll flay him alive.
Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelope s an obscene photograph, such
as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. I have it still. It represents a partially nude seĂąorita, frail and lovely (his wife, as he solemnly assured me, taken by him from nature), practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. He urged me to do likewise, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the garrison. He implored me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to chastise him as he richly deserves,
Ulysses
832 of 1305 to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious
horsewhipping.
MRS BELLINGHAM: Me too. MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Me too.
(Several highly respectable Dubl in ladies hold up improper
letters received from Bloom.)
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS:
(Stamps her jingling spurs in a sudden paroxysm of fury) I will,
by the God above me. Iâll scour ge the pigeonlivered cur as
long as I can stand over him. Iâll flay him alive.
BLOOM: (His eyes closing, quails expectantly) Here? (He
squirms) Again! (He pants cringing) I love the danger.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS:
Very much so! Iâll make it hot for you. Iâll make you
dance Jack Latten for that.
MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the
upstart! Write the stars and stripes on it!
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful! Thereâs
no excuse for him! A married man!
BLOOM: All these people. I meant only the spanking
idea. A warm tingling glow without effusion. Refined
birching to stimulate the circulation.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS:
(Laughs derisively) O, did you, my fine fellow? Well, by the
Ulysses
833 of 1305 living God, youâll get the surpri se of your life now, believe
me, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury.
MRS BELLINGHAM: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-
glasses vindictively) Make him smart, Hanna dear. Give him
ginger. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his life. The cat-oâ-nine-tails. Geld him. Vivisect him.
BLOOM: (Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands: with
hangdog mien) O cold! O shivery! It was your ambrosial
beauty. Forget, forgive. Kisme t. Let me off this once. (He
offers the other cheek)
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Severely) Donât do so
on any account, Mrs Talboys! He should be soundly trounced!
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS:
(Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently) Iâll do no such thing.
Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! To dare address me! Iâll flog him black and blue in the public streets. Iâll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. He is a
wellknown cuckold. (She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in
the air) Take down his trousers without loss of time. Come
here, sir! Quick! Ready?
Ulysses
834 of 1305 BLOOM: (Trembling, beginning to obey) The weather has
been so warm.
(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a bevy of barefoot
newsboys.)
DAVY STEPHENS: Messenger of the Sacred Heart and
Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrickâs Day supplement.
Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin.
(The very reverend Canon OâHanlon in cloth of gold cope
elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Before him Father Conroy and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.)
THE TIMEPIECE: (Unportalling)
Cuckoo.
Cuckoo.
Cuckoo.
(The brass quoits of a bed are heard to jingle.)
THE QUOITS: Jigjag. Jigajiga. Jigjag.
(A panel of fog rolls back rapid ly, revealing rap idly in the
jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted,
Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, MâCoy and the featureless face of a Nameless One.)
Ulysses
835 of 1305 THE NAMELESS ONE: Bareback riding. Weight for
age. Gob, he organised her.
THE JURORS: (All their heads turned to his voice)
Really?
THE NAMELESS ONE: (Snarls) Arse over tip.
Hundred shillings to five.
The Trial of Leopold Bloom
- Leopold Bloom is subjected to a surreal, nightmarish trial where he is accused of being a dynamitard, bigamist, and public nuisance.
- The Recorder of Dublin sentences Bloom to death by hanging, characterizing him as an 'odious pest' and a participant in white slave traffic.
- A sinister executioner named Rumbold appears, boasting of his lethal efficiency and demanding 'five guineas a jugular.'
- Bloom attempts to defend his character and appeals to acquaintances in the crowd, but he is met with cold rejection and further accusations of terrorism.
- The ghost of Paddy Dignam rises from the grave to testify, confirming his own death by natural causes and explaining his presence through metempsychosis.
- The scene blends legal procedure with gothic horror, featuring mutilated spirits and symbolic transformations that reflect Bloom's internal guilt.
The beagle lifts his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Paddy Dignam.
THE JURORS: (All their heads lowered in assent) Most
of us thought as much.
FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man. Another girlâs
plait cut. Wanted: Jack the Ripper. A thousand pounds
reward.
SECOND WATCH: (Awed, whispers) And in black. A
mormon. Anarchist.
THE CRIER: (Loudly) Whereas Leopold Bloom of no
fixed abode is a wellknown dy namitard, forger, bigamist,
bawd and cuckold and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this co mmission of assi zes the most
honourable ...
(His Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in
judicial garb of grey stone rises from the bench, stonebearded. He bears in his arms an umbrella scep tre. From his forehead arise
starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.)
THE RECORDER: I will put an end to this white
slave traffic and rid Dublin of th is odious pest. Scandalous!
Ulysses
836 of 1305 (He dons the black cap) Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff,
from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majestyâs pleasure and there be hanged by the ne ck until he is dead and
therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord have mercy
on your soul. Remove him. (A black skullcap descends upon
his head.)
(The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking a
pungent Henry Clay.)
LONG JOHN FANNING: (Scowls and calls with rich
rolling utterance) Whoâll hang Judas Iscariot?
(H. Rumbold, master barber, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and
tannerâs apron, a rope coiled over his shoulder, mounts the block. A life preserver and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his belt. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.)
RUMBOLD: (To the recorder with sinister familiarity)
Hanging Harry, your Majesty, the Mersey terror. Five
guineas a jugular. Neck or nothing.
(The bells of Georgeâs church toll slowly, loud dark iron.)
THE BELLS: Heigho! Heigho!
BLOOM: (Desperately) Wait. Stop. Gulls. Good heart. I
saw. Innocence. Girl in the monkeyhouse. Zoo. Lewd
chimpanzee. (Breathlessly) Pelvic basin. Her artless blush
Ulysses
837 of 1305 unmanned me. (Overcome with emotion) I left the precincts.
(He turns to a figure in the crowd, appealing) Hynes, may
I speak to you? You know me. That three shillings you can keep. If you want a little more ...
HYNES: (Coldly) You are a perfect stranger.
SECOND WATCH: (Points to the corner) The bomb is
here.
FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse. BLOOM: No, no. Pigâs feet. I was at a funeral. FIRST WATCH: (Draws his truncheon) Liar!
(The beagle lifts his snout, show ing the grey scorbutic face of
Paddy Dignam. He has gnawed all. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath. He grows to human size and shape. His dachshund coat becomes a brown mortuary habit. His green eye flashes bloodshot. Half of one ear, all the nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.)
PADDY DIGNAM: (In a hollow voice) It is true. It was
my funeral. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.
(He lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays
lugubriously.)
BLOOM: (In triumph) You hear?
PADDY DIGNAM: Bloom, I am Paddy Dignamâs
spirit. List, list, O list!
Ulysses
838 of 1305 BLOOM: The voice is the voice of Esau.
SECOND WATCH: (Blesses himself) How is that
possible?
FIRST WATCH: It is not in the penny catechism. PADDY DIGNAM: By mete mpsychosis. Spooks.
A VOICE: O rocks.
PADDY DIGNAM: (Earnestly) Once I was in the
employ of Mr J. H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelorâs Walk. Now I am
defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied. Hard lines.
The poor wife was awfully cu t up. How is she bearing it?
Keep her off that bottle of sherry. (He looks round him) A
lamp. I must satisfy an animal need. That buttermilk didnât agree with me.
(The portly figure of John OâConnell, caretaker, stands forth,
The Nighttown Hallucinations
- A surreal funeral scene unfolds featuring a distorted Father Coffey and the deceased Paddy Dignam, who appears as a dog-like figure listening for his burial details.
- Characters like Tom Rochford perform acrobatic, nonsensical leaps into coalholes, blending the mundane with the grotesque.
- Leopold Bloom wanders through a sensory fog where disembodied 'kisses' twitter and warble his name in a childlike, eroticized language.
- Bloom encounters Zoe Higgins outside a brothel, where she mistakes a shrivelled potato in his pocket for a physical ailment.
- The potato is revealed to be a talismanic heirloom, which Zoe playfully confiscates as they enter a state of shared intimacy.
- The atmosphere shifts into an orientalist fantasy as Bloom gazes into Zoe's eyes, triggered by the music and scents of the setting.
Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a hard black shrivelled potato.
holding a bunch of keys tied with crape. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wr ynecked, in a surplice and
bandanna nightcap, holding sleep ily a staff twisted poppies.)
FATHER COFFEY: (Yawns, then chants with a hoarse
croak) Namine. Jacobs. Vobiscuits. Amen.
JOHN OâCONNELL: (Foghorns stormily through his
megaphone) Dignam, Patrick T, deceased.
Ulysses
839 of 1305 PADDY DIGNAM: (With pricked up ears, winces)
Overtones. (He wriggles forward and places an ear to the
ground) My masterâs voice!
JOHN OâCONNELL: Burial docket letter number U.
P. eightyfive thousand. Field seventeen. House of Keys. Plot, one hundred and one.
(Paddy Dignam listens with visi ble effort, thinking, his tail
stiffpointcd, his ears cocked.)
PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul.
(He worms down through a coalhole, his brown habit trailing
its tether over rattling pebbles. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a grey carapace. Dignamâs voice, muffled, is heard baying under ground:
Dignamâs dead and gone below. Tom Rochford,
robinredbreasted, in cap and breeches, jumps from his twocolumned machine.)
TOM ROCHFORD: (A hand to his breastbone, bows)
Reuben J. A florin I find him. (He fixes the manhole with a
resolute stare) My turn now on. Follow me up to Carlow.
(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the air and is engulfed
in the coalhole. Two discs on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.
All recedes. Bloom plodges forw ard again through the sump.
Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog a piano sounds. He stands before
Ulysses
840 of 1305 a lighted house, listening. The kisses, winging from their bowers
fly about him, twittering, warbling, cooing.)
THE KISSES: (Warbling) Leo! (Twittering) Icky licky
micky sticky for Leo! (Cooing) Coo coocoo! Yummyyum,
Womwom! (Warbling) Big comebig! Pirouette!
Leopopold! (Twittering) Leeolee! (Warbling) O Leo!
(They rustle, flutter upon his garments, alight, bright giddy
flecks, silvery sequins.)
BLOOM: A manâs touch. Sad music. Church music.
Perhaps here.
(Zoe Higgins, a young whore in a sapphire slip, closed with
three bronze buckles, a slim black velvet fillet round her throat, nods, trips down the steps and accosts him.)
ZOE: Are you looking for someone? Heâs inside with
his friend.
BLOOM: Is this Mrs Mackâs? ZOE: No, eightyone. Mrs Cohenâs. You might go
farther and fare worse. Mother Slipperslapper. (Familiarly)
Sheâs on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in
Oxford. Working overtime but her luckâs turned today.
(Suspiciously) Youâre not his father, are you?
BLOOM: Not I!
Ulysses
841 of 1305 ZOE: You both in black. Ha s little mousey any tickles
tonight?
(His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. A hand glides
over his left thigh.)
ZOE: Howâs the nuts? BLOOM: Off side. Curiously they are on the right.
Heavier, I suppose. One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.
ZOE: (In sudden alarm) Youâve a hard chancre.
BLOOM: Not likely.
ZOE: I feel it.
(Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a
hard black shrivelled potato. She regards it and Bloom with dumb
moist lips.)
BLOOM: A talisman. Heirloom. ZOE: For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?
(She puts the potato greedily in to a pocket then links his arm,
cuddling him with supple warmth . He smiles uneasily. Slowly,
note by note, oriental music is played. He gazes in the tawny
crystal of her eyes, ringed with kohol. His smile softens.)
ZOE: Youâll know me the next time.
BLOOM: (Forlornly) I never loved a dear gazelle but it
was sure to ...
Ulysses
842 of 1305 (Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the mountains. Near are
lakes. Round their shores file sh adows black of cedargroves.
Aroma rises, a strong hairgrowth of resin. It burns, the orient, a
The Apotheosis of Bloom
- A sensory and surreal encounter between Bloom and Zoe in a Dublin brothel dissolves into a grand hallucinatory sequence.
- Bloom transitions from a submissive client to a populist political figure, donning various costumes including workman's overalls and mayoral robes.
- The narrative parodies political rhetoric as Bloom delivers a 'stump speech' attacking the vices of tobacco and the greed of 'capitalistic lusts.'
- The hallucination culminates in Bloom being hailed as the future Lord Mayor of Dublin by city magnates and the public.
- The scene blends Jewish identity with Irish civic pride, featuring Hebrew blessings alongside traditional Irish welcomes like 'Cead Mile Failte.'
- The transformation of 'Cow Parlour' into 'Boulevard Bloom' signifies the total, albeit imaginary, conquest of the city by Bloom's ego.
She bites his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, sending on him a cloying breath of stale garlic.
sky of sapphire, cleft by the bronze flight of eagles. Under it lies the womancity nude, white, sti ll, cool, in luxury. A fountain
murmurs among damask roses. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely
murmuring.)
ZOE: (Murmuring singsong with the music, her odalisk lips
lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.
BLOOM: (Fascinated) I thought you were of good
stock by your accent.
ZOE: And you know what thought did?
(She bites his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, sending
on him a cloying breath of stale garlic. The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.)
BLOOM: (Draws back, mechanically caressing her right bub
with a flat awkward hand) Are you a Dublin girl?
ZOE: (Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her coil)
No bloody fear. Iâm English. Have you a swaggerroot?
Ulysses
843 of 1305 BLOOM: (As before) Rarely smoke, dear. Cigar now
and then. Childish device. (Lewdly) The mouth can be
better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.
ZOE: Go on. Make a stump speech out of it.
BLOOM: (In workmanâs corduroy ove ralls, black gansy with
red floating tie and apache cap) Mankind is incorrigible. Sir
Walter Ralegh brought from the new world that potato
and that weed, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the other a poisoner of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will
understanding, all. That is to say he brought the poison a
hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Suicide. Lies . All our habits. Why, look
at our public life!
(Midnight chimes from distant steeples.)
THE CHIMES: Turn again, Leopold! Lord mayor of
Dublin!
BLOOM: (In aldermanâs gown and chain) Electors of
Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I say, from the cattlemarket to the river. Thatâs the music of the future. Thatâs my
programme. Cui bono ? But our bucaneering
Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance ...
AN ELECTOR: Three times three for our future chief
magistrate!
Ulysses
844 of 1305 (The aurora borealis of the t orchlight procession leaps.)
THE TORCHBEARERS: Hooray!
(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of
the city shake hands with Bloom and congratulate him. Timothy
Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. They nod vigorously in
agreement.)
LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (In scarlet
robe with mace, gold mayoral ch ain and large white silk scarf)
That alderman sir Leo Bloomâs speech be printed at the
expense of the ratepayers. That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.
COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Carried
unanimously.
BLOOM: (Impassionedly) These flying Dutchmen or
lying Dutchmen as they recline in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what reck they? Ma chines is their cry, their
chimera, their panacea. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactu red monsters for mutual
murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. The poor
Ulysses
845 of 1305 man starves while they are gr assing their royal mountain
stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev ...
(Prolonged applause. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal
arches spring up. A streamer bearing the legends Cead Mile
Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street. All the
windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies. Along the route the regiments of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the Kingâs own
Scottish Borderers, the Cameron Highlanders and the Welsh
The Coronation of Leopold Bloom
- A surreal and grand procession winds through Dublin, featuring an exhaustive list of civic, religious, and trade representatives.
- The crowd displays frantic devotion, with boys perched on every available architectural surface to witness the spectacle.
- Leopold Bloom appears as a messianic figure, riding a milk-white horse and adorned in royal regalia including a crimson mantle and ermine.
- The diverse guilds of Dublin, from chimney sweeps to bullion brokers, march in a display of total societal unity.
- Religious leaders from all denominations, including the Chief Rabbi and the Archbishop of Armagh, unite to recognize Bloom's authority.
- The Bishop of Down and Connor officially proclaims Bloom as the 'emperor-president and king-chairman' to the cheers of the masses.
Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, bareheaded, in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edwardâs staff the orb and sceptre with the dove, the curtana.
Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd. Boys from
High school are perched on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, ch imneypots, railings, rainspouts,
whistling and cheering the pillar of the cloud appears. A fife and
drum band is heard in the distan ce playing the Kol Nidre. The
beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the civic flag. The van of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal,
in a chessboard tabard, the Athl one Poursuivant and Ulster King
of Arms. They are followed by the Right Honourable Joseph
Hutchinson, lord mayor of Dublin, his lordship the lord mayor of
Cork, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish repres entative peers, sirdars, grandees
Ulysses
846 of 1305 and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the Dublin
Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the chapter of the saints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael card inal Logue, archbishop of
Armagh, primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the chief rabbi, the presby terian moderator, the heads of
the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the
honorary secretary of the society of friends. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colour s: coopers, bird
fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners,
masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, bullion brokers, cricket and
archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg an d potato factors, hosiers and
glovers, plumbing contractors. Afte r them march gentlemen of the
bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the master
of horse, the lord great chamberlain, the earl marshal, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephenâs iron crown, the chalice and bible. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Beefeaters reply, winding clarion s of welcome. Under an arch of
Ulysses
847 of 1305 triumph Bloom appears, bareheaded, in a crimson velvet mantle
trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edwardâs staff the orb and sceptre with the dove, the curtana. He is seated on a milkwhite
horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with golden headstall. Wild excitement. The ladies from their balconies throw down rosepetals. The air is perfumed with essences. The men cheer. Bloomâs boys run amid the bystanders with branches
of hawthorn and wrenbushes.)
BLOOMâS BOYS:
The wren, the wren,
The king of all birds,
Saint Stephenâs his day
Was caught in the furze.
A BLACKSMITH: (Murmurs) For the honour of God!
And is that Bloom? He scarcely looks thirtyone.
A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Thatâs the famous
Bloom now, the worldâs greatest reformer. Hats off!
(All uncover their heads. Wo men whisper eagerly.)
A MILLIONAIRESS: (Richly) Isnât he simply
wonderful?
A NOBLEWOMAN: (Nobly) All that man has seen!
A FEMINIST: (Masculinely) And done!
Ulysses
848 of 1305 A BELLHANGER: A classic face! He has the forehead
of a thinker.
(Bloomâs weather. A sunburst appears in the northwest.)
THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: I here
present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this realm. God save Leopold the First!
ALL: God save Leopold the First!
BLOOM: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to the bishop of
Down and Connor, with dignity) Thanks, somewhat eminent
sir.
The Coronation of Bloom
- Leopold Bloom undergoes a surreal and blasphemous coronation ceremony involving archbishops and the 'stone of destiny.'
- The protagonist assumes absolute power, appointing his horse as Grand Vizier and replacing his wife with the celestial Princess Selene.
- Bloom delivers a grandiloquent speech claiming military glory and promising a utopian future for Ireland, the 'promised land.'
- The vision culminates in the construction of 'Bloomusalem,' a colossal edifice shaped like a pork kidney that requires the mass destruction of Dublin.
- The scene blends high ritual with grotesque absurdity, as loyal subjects die cheering for a leader who lodges them in labeled boxes.
It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the shape of a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.
WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (In purple
stock and shovel hat) Will you to your power cause law and
mercy to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?
BLOOM: (Placing his right hand on his testicles, swears) So
may the Creator deal with me. All this I promise to do.
MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Pours a
cruse of hairoil over Bloomâs head) Gaudium magnum annuntio
vobis. Habemus carneficem. Leopold, Patrick, Andrew,
David, George, be thou anointed!
(Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold and puts on a ruby
ring. He ascends and stands on the stone of destiny. The representative peers put on at the same time their twentyeight
Ulysses
849 of 1305 crowns. Joybells ring in Christ ch urch, Saint Patrickâs, Georgeâs
and gay Malahide. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. The peers do homage, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)
THE PEERS: I do become your liege man of life and
limb to earthly worship.
(Bloom holds up his right hand on which sparkles the Koh-i-
Noor diamond. His palfrey neighs. Immediate silence. Wireless
intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for
reception of message.)
BLOOM: My subjects! We hereby nominate our
faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and
announce that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the splendour of night.
(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom is hastily removed in
the Black Maria. The princess S elene, in moonblue robes, a silver
crescent on her head, descends f rom a Sedan chair, borne by two
giants. An outburst of cheering.)
JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Raises the royal
standard) Illustrious Bloom! Successor to my famous
brother!
Ulysses
850 of 1305 BLOOM: (Embraces John Howard Parnell) We thank you
from our heart, John, for this right royal welcome to green
Erin, the promised land of our common ancestors.
(The freedom of the city is presented to him embodied in a
charter. The keys of Dublin, crossed on a crimson cushion, are given to him. He shows all that he is wearing green socks.)
TOM KERNAN: You des erve it, your honour.
BLOOM: On this day twenty years ago we overcame
the hereditary enemy at Lady smith. Our howitzers and
camel swivel guns played on hi s lines with telling effect.
Half a league onward! They charge! All is lost now! Do
we yield? No! We drive them headlong! Lo! We charge! Deploying to the left our light horse swept across the
heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry Bonafide
Sabaoth , sabred the Saracen gunners to a man.
THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS:
Hear! Hear!
JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Thereâs the man that got
away James Stephens.
A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Bravo! AN OLD RESIDENT: Youâre a credit to your
country, sir, thatâs what you are.
AN APPLEWOMAN: Heâs a man like Ireland wants.
Ulysses
851 of 1305 BLOOM: My beloved subjects, a new era is about to
dawn. I, Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand. Yea, on the word of a Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into
the golden city which is to be, the new Bloomusalem in the Nova Hibernia of the future.
(Thirtytwo workmen, wearing rosettes, from all the counties of
Ireland, under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new Bloomusalem. It is a colossal edif ice with crystal roof, built in
the shape of a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand
rooms. In the course of its extension several buildings and
monuments are demolished. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Nume rous houses are razed to the
ground. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red with the letters: L. B. several paupers fill from a
ladder. A part of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal
sightseers, collapses.)
THE SIGHTSEERS: (Dying) Morituri te salutant. (They
die)
(A man in a brown macintosh sp rings up through a trapdoor.
The Reign of Bloom
- A surreal confrontation occurs between Bloom and the Man in the Macintosh, resulting in the latter's sudden disappearance after a cannonshot.
- Bloom assumes a messianic role, striking down political and social enemies while his bodyguard distributes an absurdly eclectic range of gifts and bribes.
- The distribution includes everything from religious indulgences and 'Worldâs Twelve Worst Books' to rubber preservatives and sausages, satirizing populist philanthropy.
- Bloom performs a series of miraculous and grotesque acts of public service, including juggling, kissing bedsores, and dancing the Highland fling.
- The scene culminates in a mock-religious ceremony where Bloom recites Hebrew terms and establishes a 'Court of Conscience' for open-air justice.
- The public response is one of hysterical adoration, with women and children hailing him as a 'Little father' and a savior figure.
He performs jugglerâs tricks, draws red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his mouth.
He points an elongated finger at Bloom.)
THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Donât you
believe a word he says. That man is Leopold MâIntosh, the
notorious fireraiser. His real name is Higgins.
Ulysses
852 of 1305 BLOOM: Shoot him! Dog of a christian! So much for
MâIntosh!
(A cannonshot. The man in the macintosh disappears. Bloom
with his sceptre strikes down poppies. The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported. Bloomâs bodyguard
distribute Maundy money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, exp ensive Henry Clay cigars, free
cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied
with gold thread, butte r scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in
the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the
hole, bottles of Jeyesâ Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 daysâ indulgences, spurious coins, dairy fed pork sausages, theatre passes,
season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the Worldâs Twelv e Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz
(politic), Care of the Baby (infantilic), 50 Meals for 7/6 (culinic), Was Jesus a Sun Myth? (historic), Expel that Pain (medic), Infantâs Compendium of the Universe (cosmic), Letâs All Chortle (hilaric), Canvasserâs Vade Mecum (journalic),
Loveletters of Mother Assistan t (erotic), Whoâs Who in Space
(astric), Songs that Reached Our Heart (melodic), Pennywiseâs Way to Wealth (parsimonic). A general rush and scramble. Women press forward to touch the hem of Bloomâs robe. The
Ulysses
853 of 1305 Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts throu gh the throng, leaps on his
horse and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Babes and sucklings are held up.)
THE WOMEN: Little father! Little father! THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS:
Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home,
Cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.
(Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the
stomach.)
BABY BOARDMAN: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from
his mouth) Hajajaja.
BLOOM: (Shaking hands with a blind stripling) My more
than Brother! (Placing his arms round th e shoulders of an old
couple) Dear old friends! (He plays pussy fourcorners with
ragged boys and girls) Peep! Bopeep! (He wheels twins in a
perambulator) Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? (He performs
jugglerâs tricks, draws red, orange , yellow, green, blue, indigo and
violet silk handkerchiefs from his mouth) Roygbiv. 32 feet per
second. (He consoles a widow) Absence makes the heart
grow younger. (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque
antics) Leg it, ye devils! (He kisses the bedsores of a palsied
veteran ) Honourable wounds! (He trips up a fit policeman) U.
Ulysses
854 of 1305 p: up. U. p: up. (He whispers in the ear of a blushing waitress
and laughs kindly) Ah, naughty, naughty! (He eats a raw
turnip offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer) Fine! Splendid!
(He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Hynes, journalist) My dear fellow, not at all! (He gives his coat to a
beggar) Please accept. (He takes part in a stomach race with
elderly male and female cripples) Come on, boys! Wriggle it,
girls!
THE CITIZEN: (Choked with emotion, brushes aside a
tear in his emerald muffler) May the good God bless him!
(The ramsâ horns sound for silence. The standard of Zion is
hoisted.)
BLOOM: (Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls
a paper and reads solemnly) Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth
Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brit h Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth
Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.
(An official translation is re ad by Jimmy Henry, assistant
town clerk.)
JIMMY HENRY: The Court of Conscience is now
open. His Most Catholic Majesty will now administer
open air justice. Free medical and legal advice, solution of
Bloom's New Bloomusalem
- Leopold Bloom assumes a messianic and authoritative persona, dispensing legal, financial, and medical advice to a crowd of Dubliners.
- He outlines a utopian vision for 'The New Bloomusalem,' advocating for universal brotherhood, esperanto, and the abolition of war and poverty.
- His social reforms include eccentric modernizations such as electric dishscrubbers, saloon motor hearses, and 'three acres and a cow' for everyone.
- The crowd's reaction is volatile, shifting rapidly from reverent praise and legal consultation to accusations of heresy and plagiarism.
- The scene descends into surreal chaos as statues of naked goddesses representing modern muses like 'Publicity' and 'Painless Obstetrics' are paraded by.
- Despite being denounced as an 'anythingarian' by religious figures, Bloom maintains a humorous, performative rapport with the bystanders.
Free money, free rent, free love and a free lay church in a free lay state.
doubles and other problems. Al l cordially invited. Given at
Ulysses
855 of 1305 this our loyal city of Dublin in the year I of the
Paradisiacal Era.
PADDY LEONARD: What am I to do about my rates
and taxes?
BLOOM: Pay them, my friend. PADDY LEONARD: Thank you. NOSEY FLYNN: Can I raise a mortgage on my fire
insurance?
BLOOM: (Obdurately) Sirs, take notice that by the law
of torts you are bound over in your own recognisances for six months in the sum of five pounds.
J. J. OâMOLLOY: A Daniel did I say? Nay! A Peter
OâBrien!
NOSEY FLYNN: Where do I draw the five pounds?
PISSER BURKE: For bladder trouble? BLOOM:
Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims
Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims
Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.
Aq. dis. ter in die.
Ulysses
856 of 1305 CHRIS CALLINAN: What is the parallax of the
subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?
BLOOM: Pleased to hear from you, Chris. K. II. JOE HYNES: Why arenât you in uniform? BLOOM: When my progenitor of sainted memory
wore the uniform of the Austrian despot in a dank prison where was yours?
BEN DOLLARD: Pansies? BLOOM: Embellish (beautify) suburban gardens. BEN DOLLARD: When twins arrive? BLOOM: Father (pater, dad) starts thinking. LARRY OâROURKE: An eightday licence for my
new premises. You remember me, sir Leo, when you
were in number seven. Iâm sending around a dozen of stout for the missus.
BLOOM: (Coldly) You have the advantage of me. Lady
Bloom accepts no presents.
CROFTON: This is indeed a festivity.
BLOOM: (Solemnly) You call it a festivity. I call it a
sacrament.
ALEXANDER KEYES: When will we have our own
house of keys?
BLOOM: I stand for the reform of municipal morals
and the plain ten commandments. New worlds for old.
Ulysses
857 of 1305 Union of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Three acres and a
cow for all children of nature. Saloon motor hearses. Compulsory manual labour for all. All parks open to the public day and night. Electric dishscrubbers. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Free mone y, free rent, free love and a
free lay church in a free lay state.
OâMADDEN BURKE: Free fox in a free henroost.
DAVY BYRNE: (Yawning) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach!
BLOOM: Mixed races and mixed marriage.
LENEHAN: What about mixed bathing?
(bloom explains to those near him his schemes for social
regeneration. All agree with him. The keeper of the Kildare Street Museum appears, dragging a lorry on which are the shaking
statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosi s, and plaster figures, also
naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the People.)
Ulysses
858 of 1305 FATHER FARLEY: He is an episcopalian, an
agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith.
MRS RIORDAN: (Tears up her will) Iâm disappointed
in you! You bad man!
MOTHER GROGAN: (Removes her boot to throw it at
Bloom) You beast! You abominable person!
NOSEY FLYNN: Give us a tune, Bloom. One of the
old sweet songs.
BLOOM: (With rollicking humour)
I vowed that I never would leave her,
She turned out a cruel deceiver.
With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom
tooraloom.
HOPPY HOLOHAN: Good old Bloom! Thereâs nobody
like him after all.
PADDY LEONARD: Stage Irishman!
BLOOM: What railway opera is like a tramline in
Gibraltar? The Rows of Casteele. (Laughter.)
LENEHAN: Plagiarist! Down with Bloom!
THE VEILED SIBYL: (Enthusiastically) Iâm a Bloomite
and I glory in it. I believe in him in spite of all. Iâd give my life for him, the funniest man on earth.
Ulysses
859 of 1305 BLOOM: (Winks at the bystanders) I bet sheâs a bonny
lassie.
The Trial of Bloom
- A surreal and chaotic scene unfolds where Bloom is accused of moral depravity and 'infantile debauchery' by religious zealots.
- A mob of women and shopkeepers reacts with extreme violence, ranging from mass suicide to pelting Bloom with household refuse.
- Bloom attempts to defend himself by claiming a case of mistaken identity, blaming his supposed double, Henry.
- A panel of medical experts provides a series of absurd, contradictory, and pseudoscientific diagnoses regarding Bloom's physical and mental state.
- The testimony shifts from condemning Bloom as a 'stinking goat' to describing him as a 'womanly man' of simple and lovable moral nature.
- The passage satirizes the intersection of religious hysteria, medical authority, and the public's appetite for scandal.
Slander, the viper, has wrongfully accused me.
THEODORE PUREFOY: (In fishingcap and oilskin
jacket) He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the
sacred ends of nature.
THE VEILED SIBYL: (Stabs herself) My hero god! (She
dies)
(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit
suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite,
arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the top of Nelsonâs Pillar, into the great vat of Guinnessâs brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping from windows of different storeys.)
ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (ViolentlY) Fellowchristians
and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave
precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. This vile
hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. A worshipper of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the very breath of his nostrils. The
Ulysses
860 of 1305 stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him.
Caliban!
THE MOB: Lynch him! Roast him! Heâs as bad as
Parnell was. Mr Fox!
(Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom. Several
shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, ha mbones, condensed milk tins,
unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheepâs tails, odd pieces of fat.)
BLOOM: (Excitedly) This is midsummer madness, some
ghastly joke again. By heaven, I am guiltless as the
unsunned snow! It was my br other Henry. He is my
double. He lives in number 2 Dolphinâs Barn. Slander, the viper, has wrongfully accu sed me. Fellowcountrymen,
sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. I call on my old friend,
Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex spec ialist, to give medical
testimony on my behalf.
DR MULLIGAN: (In motor jerkin, green motorgoggles on
his brow) Dr Bloom is bisexually abnormal. He has recently
escaped from Dr Eustaceâs pr ivate asylum for demented
gentlemen. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. Traces of
elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Ambidexterity is also latent. He is prematurely bald from
Ulysses
861 of 1305 selfabuse, perversely idealisti c in consequence, a reformed
rake, and has metal teeth. In consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be more sinned against than sinning. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I
declare him to be virgo intacta.
(Bloom holds his high grade hat over his genital organs.)
DR MADDEN: Hypsospadia is also marked. In the
interest of coming generations I suggest that the parts
affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the
national teratological museum.
DR CROTTHERS: I have examined the patientâs
urine. It is albuminoid. Salivation is insufficient, the patellar reflex intermittent.
DR PUNCH COSTELLO: The fetor judaicus is most
perceptible.
DR DIXON: (Reads a bill of health) Professor Bloom is
a finished example of the new womanly man. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Many have found him a dear man, a dear person. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feeblemi nded in the medical sense.
He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to
the court missionary of the Reformed Priestsâ Protection
Ulysses
862 of 1305 Society which clears up everything. He is practically a
total abstainer and I can affirm that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most Spartan food, cold dried grocerâs peas. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter
and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He was,
The Miraculous Metamorphosis of Bloom
- In a surreal hallucinatory sequence, Bloom is defended against legal charges by the claim that he is about to give birth.
- Bloom undergoes a fantastical labor, producing eight 'metallic-faced' sons who are immediately installed as global financial leaders.
- The crowd questions Bloom's divinity, prompting him to perform a series of absurd miracles including eating oyster shells and eclipsing the sun.
- A mock-biblical genealogy traces Bloom's lineage through a chaotic mix of Jewish, Irish, and fictional ancestors.
- The atmosphere shifts from adoration to accusation as voices from Bloom's past confront him with his previous indiscretions.
- The scene ends with a violent turn as the crowd calls for Bloom to be 'sjamboked' or beaten for his past actions.
Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white children. They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.
I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. Another rep ort states that he was a
very posthumous child. I appeal for clemency in the name
of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been
called upon to speak. He is about to have a baby.
(General commotion and compassion. Women faint. A
wealthy American makes a street collection for Bloom. Gold and
silver coins, blank cheques, ban knotes, jewels, treasury bonds,
maturing bills of exchange, I. O. Uâs, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.)
BLOOM: O, I so want to be a mother.
MRS THORNTON: (In nursetenderâs gown) Embrace
me tight, dear. Youâll be soon over it. Tight, dear.
(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and
white children. They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sci ences. Each has his name printed
Ulysses
863 of 1305 in legible letters on his shir tfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger,
Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. They are immediately appointed to positions of high
public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates.)
A VOICE: Bloom, are you the Messiah ben Joseph or
ben David?
BLOOM: (Darkly) You have said it.
BROTHER BUZZ: Then perform a miracle like
Father Charles.
BANTAM LYONS: Prophesy who will win the Saint
Leger.
(Bloom walks on a net, covers hi s left eye with his left ear,
passes through several walls, clim bs Nelsonâs Pillar, hangs from
the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters (shells included), heals several sufferers f rom kingâs evil, contracts his face
so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Beaconsfield,
Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides,
Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson
Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously
in different directions, bids the tid e turn back, eclipses the sun by
extending his little finger.)
Ulysses
864 of 1305 BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (In papal zouaveâs uniform,
steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre) Leopoldi autem generatio. Moses begat Noah and Noah begat Eunuch and
Eunuch begat OâHalloran and OâHalloran begat Guggenheim and Guggenheim begat Agendath and Agendath begat Netaim and Netaim begat Le Hirsch and Le Hirsch begat Jesurum and Jesurum begat MacKay and
MacKay begat Ostrolopsky and Ostrolopsky begat
Smerdoz and Smerdoz begat Weiss and Weiss begat
Schwarz and Schwarz begat Adrianopoli and Adrianopoli begat Aranjuez and Aranjue z begat Lewy Lawson and
Lewy Lawson begat Ichabudonosor and Ichabudonosor begat OâDonnell Magnus and OâDonnell Magnus begat Christbaum and Christbaum begat ben Maimun and ben Maimun begat Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes begat Benamor and Benamor begat Jones-Smith and Jones-Smith begat Savorgnanovich and Savorgnanovich begat Jasperstone and Jasperstone begat Vingtetunieme and
Vingtetunieme begat Szombathely and Szombathely begat
Virag and Virag begat Bloom et vocabitur nomen eius
Emmanuel.
A DEADHAND: (Writes on the wall) Bloom is a cod.
Ulysses
865 of 1305 CRAB: (In bushrangerâs kit) What did you do in the
cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?
A FEMALE INFANT: (Shakes a rattle) And under
Ballybough bridge?
A HOLLYBUSH: And in the devilâs glen?
BLOOM: (Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates,
three tears filling from his left eye) Spare my past.
THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (In bodycoats,
kneebreeches, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs) Sjambok him!
The Martyrdom of Bloom
- Leopold Bloom is subjected to a surreal public shaming, placed in a pillory while being mocked by orphans and mission girls.
- Religious and historical figures denounce Bloom as a false Messiah, casting him as a scapegoat for the sins of the people.
- The scene shifts into a mock-religious execution where Bloom is burned at the stake, assuming a Christ-like persona amidst the flames.
- A litany of 'The Daughters of Erin' parodies Catholic prayer by canonizing mundane and absurd aspects of Bloom's life and identity.
- Following his symbolic destruction, Bloom reappears as a weary Irish emigrant, reflecting on the futility of patriotism and existence.
- The hallucination concludes with Zoe, a prostitute, puncturing Bloom's dramatic self-pity with a cynical and grounded remark.
Kidney of Bloom, pray for us. Flower of the Bath, pray for us. Wandering Soap, pray for us.
(Bloom with assesâ ears seats himself in the pillory with crossed
arms, his feet protruding. He whistles Don Giovanni, a cenar
teco. Artane orphans, joining hands, caper round him. Girls of
the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, caper round in the opposite direction.)
THE ARTANE ORPHANS:
You hig, you hog, you dirty dog!
You think the ladies love you!
THE PRISON GATE GIRLS:
If you see Kay
Tell him he may
See you in tea
Tell him from me.
Ulysses
866 of 1305 HORNBLOWER: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces)
And he shall carry the sins of the people to Azazel, the spirit which is in the wilderness, and to Lilith, the nighthag. And they shall stone him and defile him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and fr om Mizraim, the land of
Ham.
(All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom. Many
bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and defile him. Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing
long earlocks. They wag their beards at Bloom.)
MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Belial! Laemlein of
Istria, the false Messiah! Abulafia! Recant!
(George R Mesias, Bloomâs tailor, appears, a tailorâs goose
under his arm, presenting a bill)
MESIAS: To alteration one pair trousers eleven
shillings.
BLOOM: (Rubs his hands cheerfully) Just like old times.
Poor Bloom!
(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing
on his shoulders the drowned corp se of his son, approaches the
pillory.)
REUBEN J: (Whispers hoarsely) The squeak is out. A
split is gone for the flatties. Nip the first rattler.
THE FIRE BRIGADE: Pflaap!
Ulysses
867 of 1305 BROTHER BUZZ: (Invests Bloom in a yellow habit with
embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat. He places a bag of gunpowder round his neck and hands him over to the civil power, saying) Forgive him his trespasses.
(Lieutenant Myers of the Dublin Fire Brigade by general
request sets fire to Bloom. Lamentations.)
THE CITIZEN: Thank heaven! BLOOM: (In a seamless garment mark ed I. H. S. stands
upright amid phoenix flames) Weep not for me, O daughters
of Erin.
(He exhibits to Dublin rep orters traces of burning. The
daughters of Erin, in black g arments, with large prayerbooks and
long lighted candles in thei r hands, kneel down and pray.)
THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN:
Kidney of Bloom, pray for us
Flower of the Bath, pray for us
Mentor of Menton, pray for us Canvasser for the Freeman, pray for us Charitable Mason, pray for us
Wandering Soap, pray for us
Sweets of Sin, pray for us Music without Words, pray for us Reprover of the Citizen, pray for us
Friend of all Frillies, pray for us
Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us
Ulysses
868 of 1305 Potato Preservative against Plague and
Pestilence, pray for us.
(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent Oâbrien,
sings the chorus from Handelâs Messiah alleluia for the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the organ by Joseph Glynn. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)
ZOE: Talk away till youâre black in the face.
BLOOM: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in the band,
dusty brogues, an emigrantâs red handkerchief bundle in his hand,
leading a black bogoak pig by a sugaun, with a smile in his eye)
Let me be going now, woman of the house, for by all the goats in Connemara Iâm after having the father and
mother of a bating. (With a tear in his eye) All insanity.
Patriotism, sorrow for the dead, music, future of the race. To be or not to be. Lifeâs dream is oâer. End it peacefully.
They can live on. (He gazes far away mournfully) I am
ruined. A few pastilles of aconite. The blinds drawn. A
letter. Then lie back to rest. (He breathes softly) No more. I
have lived. Fare. Farewell.
ZOE: (Stiffly, her finger in her neckfillet) Honest? Till the
next time. (She sneers) Suppose you got up the wrong side
of the bed or came too quick with your best girl. O, I can read your thoughts!
Ulysses
Temptation in the Music Room
- Bloom expresses a cynical weariness regarding love and human relationships, comparing them to a simple 'cork and bottle.'
- Zoe, a prostitute, uses flattery and physical allure to lead Bloom toward a private room, negotiating a price for her time.
- The narrative shifts into a surreal, hallucinatory mode where Bloom regresses into an infant-like state, counting Zoe's buckles.
- The atmosphere is thick with sensory details, including the 'lion reek' of previous men and the 'sulphur of rut' exhaled by personified male brutes.
- Bloom experiences a moment of social anxiety and jealousy, fearing the 'greeneyed monster' while navigating the brothel's threshold.
- The setting of the music room is described as a chaotic mosaic of footmarks and moth-filled light, where other characters like Lynch and Kitty Ricketts wait.
She leads him towards the steps, drawing him by the odour of her armpits, the vice of her painted eyes, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all the male brutes that have possessed her.
869 of 1305 BLOOM: (Bitterly) Man and woman, love, what is it?
A cork and bottle. Iâm sick of it. Let everything rip.
ZOE: (In sudden sulks) I hate a rotter thatâs insincere.
Give a bleeding whore a chance.
BLOOM: (Repentantly) I am very disagreeable. You are
a necessary evil. Where are you from? London?
ZOE: (Glibly) Hogâs Norton where the pigs plays the
organs. Iâm Yorkshire born. (She holds his hand which is
feeling for her nipple) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. Stop that
and begin worse. Have you cash for a short time? Ten
shillings?
BLOOM: (Smiles, nods slowly) More, houri, more.
ZOE: And moreâs mother? (She pats him offhandedly
with velvet paws) Are you coming into the musicroom to
see our new pianola? Come and Iâll peel off.
BLOOM: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the
unparalleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her peeled pears) Somebody would be dreadfully
jealous if she knew. Th e greeneyed monster. (Earnestly)
You know how difficult it is. I neednât tell you.
ZOE: (Flattered) What the eye canât see the heart canât
grieve for. (She pats him) Come.
BLOOM: Laughing witch! The hand that rocks the
cradle.
Ulysses
870 of 1305 ZOE: Babby!
BLOOM: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a caul
of dark hair, fixes big eyes on her fluid slip and counts its bronze
buckles with a chubby finger, his moist tongue lolling and lisping)
One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.
THE BUCKLES: Love me. Lo ve me not. Love me.
ZOE: Silent means consent. (With little parted talons she
captures his hand, her forefinger giving to his palm the passtouch
of secret monitor, luring him to doom.) Hot hands cold gizzard.
(He hesitates amid scents, music, temptations. She leads him
towards the steps, drawing him by the odour of her armpits, the
vice of her painted eyes, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all the male brutes that have possessed her.)
THE MALE BRUTES: (Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung
and ramping in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their drugged heads swaying to and fro) Good!
(Zoe and Bloom reach the doorw ay where two sister whores
are seated. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hasty bow. He trips awkwardly.)
ZOE: (Her lucky hand instantly saving him) Hoopsa!
Donât fall upstairs.
BLOOM: The just man falls seven times. (He stands
aside at the threshold) After you is good manners.
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871 of 1305 ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after.
(She crosses the threshold. He hesitates. She turns and,
holding out her hands, draws him over. He hops. On the antlered rack of the hall hang a man âs hat and waterproof. Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, frowns, then smiles, preoccupied. A door on the return landing is flung open. A man in purple shirt and grey trouse rs, brownsocked, passes with an
apeâs gait, his bald head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full
waterjugjar, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. Averting his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the halltable the spaniel eyes of a running fox: then, his lifted head sniffing,
follows Zoe into the musicroom. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the chandelier . Round and round a moth flies,
colliding, escaping. The floor is cove red with an oilcloth mosaic of
jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Footmarks are stamped over it in all senses, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet
locked, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. The walls are tapestried with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. In the grate is spread a screen of
peacock feathers. Lynch squats cros slegged on the hearthrug of
matted hair, his cap back to the f ront. With a wand he beats time
slowly. Kitty Ricketts, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a chain purse in her hand, sits perched on the edge of the table swinging her leg
The Nighttown Intellectual Duel
- In a Dublin brothel, Stephen Dedalus engages in a fragmented, drunken philosophical discourse while surrounded by Kitty, Zoe, and Florry.
- Lynch mockingly observes the scene, using a brass poker as a wand to manipulate the women's clothing and belongings.
- Stephen attempts to articulate a complex theory of music and identity, touching on the relationship between the fundamental and the dominant.
- A personified cap challenges Stephen's intellect, dismissing his logic as 'woman's reason' and asserting that 'Jewgreek is greekjew.'
- The high-minded debate is punctuated by the mundane and the apocalyptic, as Florry mentions rumors of the coming Antichrist.
- The scene concludes with Stephen's struggle to define the 'self' against the backdrop of a blaring gramophone and shouting newsboys.
Jewgreek is greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest form of life. Bah!
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872 of 1305 and glancing at herself in the gilt mirror over the mantelpiece. A
tag of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the piano.)
KITTY: (Coughs behind her hand) Sheâs a bit imbecillic.
(She signs with a waggling forefinger) Blemblem. (Lynch lifts up
her skirt and white petticoat with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Respect yourself. (She hiccups, then bends quickly her
sailor hat under which her hair glows, red with henna) O,
excuse!
ZOE: More limelight, Charley. (She goes to the chandelier
and turns the gas full cock)
KITTY: (Peers at the gasjet) What ails it tonight?
LYNCH: (Deeply) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.
ZOE: Clap on the back for Zoe.
(The wand in Lynchâs hand fla shes: a brass poker. Stephen
stands at the pianola on which sprawl his hat and ashplant. With
two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths. Florry
Talbot, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadea gle in the sofacorner, her limp
forearm pendent over the bolster, listening. A heavy stye droops
over her sleepy eyelid.)
KITTY: (Hiccups again with a kick of her horsed foot) O,
excuse!
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873 of 1305 ZOE: (Promptly) Your boyâs thinking of you. Tie a
knot on your shift.
(Kitty Ricketts bends her head. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides
over her shoulder, back, arm, chair to the ground. Lynch lifts the
curled caterpillar on his wand. She snakes her neck, nestling. Stephen glances behind at the squa tted figure with its cap back to
the front.)
STEPHEN: As a matter of fact it is of no importance
whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. The rite is the poetâs rest. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or
also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. It is susceptible
of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and
mixolydian and of texts so div ergent as priests haihooping
round Davidâs that is Circeâs or what am I saying Ceresâ altar and Davidâs tip from the stable to his chief bassoonist
about the alrightness of his almightiness. Mais nom de nom,
that is another pair of trousers. Jetez la gourme. Faut que
jeunesse se passe. (He stops, po ints at Lynchâs cap, smiles,
laughs) Which side is your knowledge bump?
THE CAP: (With saturnine spleen) Bah! It is because it
is. Womanâs reason. Jewgreek is greekjew. Extremes meet.
Death is the highest form of life. Bah!
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874 of 1305 STEPHEN: You remember fairly accurately all my
errors, boasts, mistakes. How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? Whetstone!
THE CAP: Bah!
STEPHEN: Hereâs another for you. (He frowns) The
reason is because the fundam ental and the dominant are
separated by the greatest possible interval which ...
THE CAP: Which? Finish. You canât.
STEPHEN: (With an effort) Interval which. Is the
greatest possible ellipse. Cons istent with. The ultimate
return. The octave. Which.
THE CAP: Which?
(Outside the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City.)
STEPHEN: (Abruptly) What went forth to the ends of
the world to traverse not itself , God, the sun, Shakespeare,
a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Wait a moment. Wait a second. Damn that fellowâs noise in the street. Self which it itself
was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Ecco!
LYNCH: (With a mocking whinny of laughter grins at
Bloom and Zoe Higgins) What a learned speech, eh?
ZOE: (Briskly) God help your head, he knows more
than you have forgotten.
(With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.)
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875 of 1305 FLORRY: They say the last day is coming this
summer.
KITTY: No!
ZOE: (Explodes in laughter) Great unjust God!
FLORRY: (Offended) Well, it was in the papers about
Antichrist. O, my footâs tickling.
(Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past,
yelling.)
THE NEWSBOYS: Stop press edition. Result of the
The Cosmic Hallucination
- A surreal, apocalyptic vision unfolds in Nighttown, featuring the arrival of the Antichrist and a grotesque hobgoblin.
- The End of the World is personified as a two-headed octopus in Scottish attire performing a frantic dance.
- Elijah appears as a fast-talking American evangelist, blending religious fervor with the language of salesmanship and Coney Island showmanship.
- The characters are addressed as individual 'Christs,' urged to tap into a cosmic vibration and the 'higher self.'
- The scene collapses the boundaries between the sacred and the profane, using a gramophone and 'sunphone' to bridge the gap to eternity.
Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the World, a twoheaded octopus in gillieâs kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the murk, head over heels, in the form of the Three Legs of Man.
rockinghorse races. Sea serpent in the royal canal. Safe
arrival of Antichrist.
(Stephen turns and sees Bloom.)
STEPHEN: A time, times and half a time.
(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a clutching hand open
on his spine, stumps forward. Across his loins is slung a pilgrimâs wallet from which protrude prom issory notes and dishonoured
bills. Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long boatpole from the
hook of which the sodden huddled mass of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the slack of its breeches. A
hobgoblin in the image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with rece ding forehead and Ally Sloper
nose, tumbles in somersaults through the gathering darkness.)
ALL: What?
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876 of 1305 THE HOBGOBLIN: (His jaws chattering, capers to and
fro, goggling his eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, then all at once thrusts his lipless face
through the fork of his thighs) Il vient! Câest moi! Lâhomme qui
rit! Lâhomme primigene! (He whirls round and round with dervish howls) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux! (He crouches juggling. Tiny roulette planets fly from his hands.) Les jeux sont
faits! (The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks) Rien va
plus! (The planets, buoyant ball oons, sail swollen up and away.
He springs off into vacuum.)
FLORRY: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly)
The end of the world!
(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. Nebulous
obscurity occupies space. Through the drifting fog without the
gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.)
THE GRAMOPHONE: Jerusalem! Open your gates and sing Hosanna ...
(A rocket rushes up the sky and bursts. A white star fills from
it, proclaiming the consummation of all things and second coming
of Elijah. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to
nadir the End of the World, a twoh eaded octopus in gillieâs kilts,
busby and tartan filibegs, whir ls through the murk, head over
heels, in the form of the Three Legs of Man.)
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877 of 1305 THE END OF THE WORLD: (with a Scotch accent)
Whaâll dance the keel row, th e keel row, the keel row?
(Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijahâs
voice, harsh as a corncrakeâs, jars on high. Perspiring in a loose
lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a
rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped. He thumps the parapet.)
ELIJAH: No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake
Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I am operating all this trunk line. Boys, do it now. Godâs time is 12.25. Tell mother youâll be there. Rush your order and you play a slick ace. Join on right here. Book through to eternity junction, the nonstop run. Just one word more. Are you a god or a doggone clod? If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Florry Christ, Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Lynch Christ, itâs up to you to sense that cosmic force.
Have we cold feet about the cosmos? No. Be on the side of the angels. Be a prism. You have that something within, the higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Are you all in this vibration? I say
you are. You once nobble that, congregation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. You got me?
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878 of 1305 Itâs a lifebrightener, sure. The hottest stuff ever was. Itâs
the whole pie with jam in. Itâs just the cutest snappiest line
out. It is immense, supersumpt uous. It restores. It vibrates.
I know and I am some vibrat or. Joking apart and, getting
down to bedrock, A. J. Ch rist Dowie and the harmonial
philosophy, have you got that? O. K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Got me? Thatâs it. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Bumboosers, save your stamps.
(He shouts) Now then our glory song. All join heartily in
the singing. Encore! (He sings) Jeru ...
Hallucinations and Mockery in Nighttown
- Elijah delivers a frantic, mock-religious sermon to the prostitutes, blending American revivalist rhetoric with cynical winks to the audience.
- The women of the brothel offer absurd, parodic confessions of their 'ruination,' blaming everything from port wine to working plumbers.
- Stephen Dedalus and a group of medical students mock the Beatitudes through a nonsensical, rhythmic chant of 'beer beef battledog.'
- Literary figures like Best and John Eglinton appear in surreal costumes, debating the merits of aesthetics versus 'plain truth.'
- The Irish sea-god Mananaun Maclir manifests as a bizarre occult figure holding a bicycle pump and a crayfish marked with the zodiac.
- The scene shifts abruptly from high-concept spiritual parody back to the mundane reality of the brothel as Zoe asks for a cigarette.
He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his left hand. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the zodiac.
THE GRAMOPHONE: (Drowning his voice)
Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ... (The disc rasps gratingly
against the needle)
THE THREE WHORES: (Covering their ears, squawk)
Ahhkkk!
ELIJAH: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the face, shouts at
the top of his voice, his arms uplifted) Big Brother up there,
Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to
you. Certainly, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly seems to me I donât never s ee no wusser scared female
than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done seed you. Mr President, you come long and help me save
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879 of 1305 our sisters dear. (He winks at his audience) Our Mr
President, he twig the whole lot and he aint saying nothing.
KITTY-KATE: I forgot myself. In a weak moment I
erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. I was
confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the brown scapular. My motherâs sister married a Montmorency. It was a working plumber was my ruination when I was pure.
ZOE-FANNY: I let him larrup it into me for the fun
of it.
FLORRY-TERESA: It was in consequence of a
portwine beverage on top of Hennessyâs three star. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bed.
STEPHEN: In the beginning was the word, in the end
the world without end. Blessed be the eight beatitudes.
(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello,
Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white surgical studentsâ gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching)
THE BEATITUDES: (Incoherently) Beer beef battledog
buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.
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880 of 1305 LYSTER: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed
hat, says discreetly) He is our friend. I need not mention
names. Seek thou the light.
(He corantos by. Best enters in hairdresserâs attire, shinily
laundered, his locks in curlpape rs. He leads John Eglinton who
wears a mandarinâs kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and a high pagoda hat.)
BEST: (Smiling, lifts the hat and displays a shaven poll from
the crown of which bristles a pigta il toupee tied with an orange
topknot) I was just beautifying him, donât you know. A
thing of beauty, donât you know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says.
JOHN EGLINTON: (Produces a greencapped dark lantern
and flashes it towards a corner: with carping accent) Esthetics
and cosmetics are for the boudoir. I am out for truth. Plain truth for a plain man. Tand eragee wants the facts and
means to get them.
(In the cone of the searchlight be hind the coalscuttle, ollave,
holyeyed, the bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on
knees. He rises slowly. A cold seawind blows from his druid mouth. About his head writhe eels and elvers. He is encrusted with weeds and shells. His right hand holds a bicycle pump. His
left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its two talons.)
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881 of 1305 MANANAUN MACLIR: (With a voice of waves) Aum!
Hek! Wal! Ak! Lub! Mor! Ma! White yoghin of the gods.
Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. (With a voice of
whistling seawind) Punarjanam patsypunjaub! I wonât have
my leg pulled. It has been said by one: beware the left, the
cult of Shakti. (With a cry of stormbirds) Shakti Shiva,
darkhidden Father! (He smites with his bicycle pump the
crayfish in his left hand. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve
signs of the zodiac. He wails w ith the vehemence of the ocean.)
Aum! Baum! Pyjaum! I am the light of the homestead! I am the dreamery creamery butter.
(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. The green light
wanes to mauve. The gasjet wails whistling.)
THE GASJET: Pooah! Pfuiiiiiii!
(Zoe runs to the chandelier an d, crooking her leg, adjusts the
mantle.)
ZOE: Who has a fag as Iâm here?
LYNCH: (Tossing a cigarette on to the table) Here.
ZOE: (Her head perched aside in mock pride) Is that the
The Apparition of Lipoti Virag
- The scene depicts a surreal encounter in a brothel where Bloom's grandfather, Lipoti Virag, makes a fantastical entrance through a chimney flue.
- Virag acts as a cynical, clinical commentator on the physical attributes and 'meretricious finery' of the prostitutes present.
- The dialogue highlights Bloom's fetishistic interests and his tendency toward empathetic observation, contrasted against Virag's cold, predatory analysis.
- Virag uses pseudo-scientific and archaic language to deconstruct the women's appearances, pointing out flaws and deceptive clothing.
- The passage explores themes of voyeurism and the commodification of the female body through a hallucinatory, 'Circe'-esque lens.
Did you hear my brain go snap? Pollysyllabax!
way to hand the pot to a lady? (She stretches up to light the
cigarette over the flame, twirling it slowly, showing the brown tufts of her armpits. Lynch with his poker lifts boldly a side of her
slip. Bare from her garters up her flesh appears under the sapphire
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882 of 1305 a nixieâs green. She puffs calmly at her cigarette.) Can you see
the beautyspot of my behind?
LYNCH: Iâm not looking
ZOE: (Makes sheepâs eyes) No? You wouldnât do a less
thing. Would you suck a lemon?
(Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning
at Bloom, then twists round towards him, pulling her slip free of the poker. Blue fluid again flows over her flesh. Bloom stands,
smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. Kitty Ricketts licks her
middle finger with her spittle an d, gazing in the mirror, smooths
both eyebrows. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the left on gawky pink stilts. He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a brown macintosh under which he holds a roll of parchment. In
his left eye flashes the mon ocle of Cashel Boyle Oâconnor
Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. On his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. Two quills project over his ears.)
VIRAG: (Heels together, bows) My name is Virag Lipoti,
of Szombathely. (He coughs thoughtfully, drily) Promiscuous
nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Inadvertently her backview reve aled the fact that she is not
wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a
particular devotee. The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Good.
Ulysses
883 of 1305 BLOOM: Granpapachi. But ...
VIRAG: Number two on the other hand, she of the
cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I should opine. Backbone in front, so to say. Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. In a word. Hippogriff. Am I right?
BLOOM: She is rather lean.
VIRAG: (Not unpleasantly) Absolutely! Well observed
and those pannier pockets of the skirt and slightly pegtop
effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been
mulcted. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. Never put on you
tomorrow what you can wear today. Parallax! (With a
nervous twitch of his head) Did you hear my brain go snap?
Pollysyllabax!
BLOOM: (An elbow resting in a hand, a forefinger against
his cheek) She seems sad.
VIRAG: (Cynically, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws
down his left eye with a finger and barks hoarsely) Hoax!
Beware of the flapper and bogus mournful. Lily of the
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884 of 1305 alley. All possess bachelorâs button discovered by Rualdus
Columbus. Tumble her. Columble her. Chameleon. (More
genially) Well then, permit me to draw your attention to
item number three. There is plenty of her visible to the
naked eye. Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. What ho, she bumps! The ugly duckling of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.
BLOOM: (Regretfully) When you come out without
your gun.
VIRAG: We can do you a ll brands, mild, medium and
strong. Pay your money, take your choice. How happy
could you be with either ...
BLOOM: With ...?
VIRAG: (His tongue upcurling) Lyum! Look. Her beam
is broad. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of
fat. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the fore two protuberances of
very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the
noonday soupplate, while on h er rere lower down are two
Virag's Mnemotechnic and Biological Urges
- The character Virag delivers a frantic, pseudo-scientific lecture on physical ailments like styes and warts, suggesting folk remedies involving honey and nutmeg.
- Bloom struggles with his memory and mental fatigue, attempting to recall his father's 'mnemotechnic' lessons amidst a chaotic day of accidents.
- The dialogue shifts into a grotesque discussion of animal husbandry and the fattening of livers, blending biological observation with carnal metaphors.
- Virag mocks Bloomâs past intellectual ambitions, such as squaring the circle, while pivoting to lewd inquiries about women's undergarments.
- The passage concludes with a surreal meditation on the brief, sex-driven lives of insects, comparing human attraction to the way honey lures a bear.
Insects of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region.
additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and
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885 of 1305 gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea
endow them during their br ief existence with natural
pincushions of quite colossal blubber. That suits your book, eh? Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Wallow
in it. Lycopodium. (His throat twitches) Slapbang! There he
goes again.
BLOOM: The stye I dislike.
VIRAG: (Arches his eyebrows) Contact with a goldring,
they say. Argumentum ad feminam , as we said in old Rome
and ancient Greece in the consulship of Diplodocus and
Ichthyosauros. For the rest Eveâs sovereign remedy. Not
for sale. Hire only. Huguenot. (He twitches) It is a funny
sound. (He coughs encouragingly) But possibly it is only a
wart. I presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you on that head ? Wheatenmeal with honey
and nutmeg.
BLOOM: (Reflecting) Wheatenmeal with lycopodium
and syllabax. This searching ordeal. It has been an unusually fatiguing day, a c hapter of accidents. Wait. I
mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said ...
VIRAG: (Severely, his nose har dhumped, his side eye
winking) Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old
thunk. See, you have forgotten. Exercise your
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886 of 1305 mnemotechnic. La causa è santa . Tara. Tara. (Aside) He
will surely remember.
BLOOM: Rosemary also did I understand you to say
or willpower over parasitic tissu es. Then nay no I have an
inkling. The touch of a deadhand cures. Mnemo?
VIRAG: (Excitedly) I say so. I say so. Eâen so. Technic.
(He taps his parchmentroll energetically) This book tells you
how to act with all descriptiv e particulars. Consult index
for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic
pulsatilla. Virag is going to talk about amputation. Our old
friend caustic. They must be starved. Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. But, to change the venue to the Bulgar and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male
habiliments? (With a dry snigger) You intended to devote
an entire year to the study of the religious problem and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win
that million. Pomegranate! From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step. Pyjama s, let us say? Or stockingette
gussetted knickers, closed? Or, put we the case, those
complicated combinations, camiknickers? (He crows
derisively) Keekeereekee!
(Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the
veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.)
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887 of 1305 BLOOM: I wanted then to have now concluded.
Nightdress was never. Hence this. But tomorrow is a new day will be. Past was is today. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester.
VIRAG: (Prompts in a pigâs whisper) Insects of the day
spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region.
Pretty Poll! (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally) They had a
proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five
thousand five hundred and fifty of our era. One
tablespoonful of honey will attrac t friend Bruin more than
half a dozen barrels of first c hoice malt vinegar. Bearâs
buzz bothers bees. But of this apart. At another time we
may resume. We were very pleased, we others. (He coughs
and, bending his brow, rubs his no se thoughtfully with a scooping
hand) You shall find that these night insects follow the
Hallucinations of Virag and Flower
- The character Virag engages in a surreal, pseudo-scientific lecture on sexology and biological instincts.
- Bloom reflects on the 'cloven sex' and the mythological connection between serpents and women's milk.
- A personified moth enters the scene, singing of its transformation from a king to a tiny, fluttering creature.
- The dialogue shifts into a grotesque display of animalistic mimicry and gluttonous references to oysters and truffles.
- Henry Flower appears as a romantic, stylized apparition, embodying a courtly and musical persona.
- The scene emphasizes the dominance of instinct over reason in both life and death.
Serpents too are gluttons for womanâs milk. Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry.
light. An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. For all these knotty po ints see the seventeenth book
of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the year.
Some, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Perceive. That is his appropriate sun. Nightbird
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888 of 1305 nightsun nighttown. Chase me, Charley! (He blows into
bloomâs ear) Buzz!
BLOOM: Bee or bluebottle too other day butting
shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I ...
VIRAG: (His face impassive, laughs in a rich feminine key)
Splendid! Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his
dibble. (He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles) Bubbly
jock! Bubbly jock! Where are we? Open Sesame! Cometh
forth! (He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his
glowwormâs nose running backwards over the letters which he claws) Stay, good friend. I bring thee thy answer. Redbank
oysters will shortly be upon us. Iâm the best oâcook. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis.
Though they stink yet they sting. (He wags his head with
cackling raillery) Jocular. With my eyeglass in my ocular.
(He sneezes) Amen!
BLOOM: (Absently) Ocularly womanâs bivalve case is
worse. Always open sesame. The cloven sex. Why they fear vermin, creeping things . Yet Eve and the serpent
contradicts. Not a historical fact. Obvious analogy to my idea. Serpents too are gluttons for womanâs milk. Wind
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889 of 1305 their way through miles of omnivorous forest to
sucksucculent her breast dry. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.
VIRAG: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily
forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone) That the cows
with their those distended udd ers that they have been the
the known ...
BLOOM: I am going to scream. I beg your pardon.
Ah? So. (He repeats) Spontaneously to seek out the
saurianâs lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid
suction. Ant milks aphis. (Profoundly) Instinct rules the
world. In life. In death.
VIRAG: (Head askew, arches his back and hunched
wingshoulders, peers at the moth ou t of blear bulged eyes, points a
horning claw and cries) Whoâs moth moth? Whoâs dear
Gerald? Dear Ger, that you? O dear, he is Gerald. O, I much fear he shall be mo st badly burned. Will some
pleashe pershon not now impe diment so catastrophics mit
agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? (He mews) Puss puss
puss puss! (He sighs, draws back and stares sideways down with
dropping underjaw) Well, well. He doth rest anon. (he snaps
his jaws suddenly on the air)
THE MOTH:
Ulysses
890 of 1305 Iâm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round a ringaring.
Long ago I was a king
Now I do this kind of thing On the wing, on the wing!
Bing!
(He rushes against the mauve shade, flapping noisily) Pretty
pretty pretty pretty pr etty pretty petticoats.
(From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower
comes forward to left front cent re. He wears a dark mantle and
drooping plumed sombrero. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a longstemmed bam boo Jacobâs pipe, its clay bowl
fashioned as a female head. He wears dark velvet hose and
silverbuckled pumps. He has the romantic Saviourâs face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache. His spindlelegs and
sparrow feet are those of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. He settles down his goffered ruffs and mo istens his lips with a passage
of his amorous tongue.)
HENRY: (In a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his
guitar) There is a flower that bloometh.
(Virag truculent, his jowl set, stares at the lamp. Grave
Bloom regards Zoeâs neck. Henry gallant turns with pendant dewlap to the piano.)
Ulysses
Hallucinations and Reduplicated Personalities
- Stephen Dedalus grapples with his own intoxication and artistic identity, reflecting on his financial debts and his morning interview with Deasy.
- The narrative shifts into a surrealist mode featuring the 'Siamese twins' Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, who represent the internal conflict between fiscal responsibility and hedonism.
- The dialogue explores the 'reduplication of personality' as characters confront their past actions and the physical objects, like the ashplant, that define them.
- Zoe and Virag introduce themes of religious hypocrisy and primal sexuality, mocking the clergy and the 'fall of man' through grotesque imagery.
- The scene descends into a chaotic, diabolic critique of religious figures, characterized by Virag's aggressive and blasphemous outbursts.
The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the window embrasure.
891 of 1305 STEPHEN: (To himself) Play with your eyes shut.
Imitate pa. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Too
much of this. I will arise and go to my. Expect this is the.
Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Our interview of th is morning has left on me a
deep impression. Though our ages. Will write fully
tomorrow. Iâm partially drunk, by the way. (He touches the
keys again) Minor chord comes now. Yes. Not much
however.
(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with
vigorous moustachework.)
ARTIFONI: Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto.
FLORRY: Sing us something. Loveâs old sweet song. STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist.
Lynch, did I show you the letter about the lute?
FLORRY: (Smirking) The bird that can sing and wonât
sing.
(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two
Oxford dons with lawnmowers, a ppear in the window embrasure.
Both are masked with Matthew Arnoldâs face.)
PHILIP SOBER: Take a foolâs advice. All is not well.
Work it out with the buttend of a pencil, like a good
young idiot. Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew. Mooneyâs
Ulysses
892 of 1305 en ville, Mooneyâs sur mer, the Moira, Larchetâs, Holles
street hospital, Burkeâs. Eh? I am watching you.
PHILIP DRUNK: (Impatiently) Ah, bosh, man. Go to
hell! I paid my way. If I cou ld only find out about octaves.
Reduplication of personality. Who was it told me his
name? (His lawnmower begins to purr) Aha, yes. Zoe mou sas
agapo. Have a notion I was here before. When was it not
Atkinson his card I have somewhere. Mac Somebody. Unmack I have it. He told me about, hold on, Swinburne,
was it, no?
FLORRY: And the song? STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? Youâre like
someone I knew once.
STEPHEN: Out of it now. (To himself) Clever.
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Their
lawnmowers purring with a rigadoon of grasshalms) Clever ever.
Out of it out of it. By the bye have you the book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, th ere it, yes. Cleverever
outofitnow. Keep in condition. Do like us.
ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to
do his bit of business with his coat buttoned up. You
neednât try to hide, I says to him. I know youâve a Roman collar.
Ulysses
893 of 1305 VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of
man. (Harshly, his pupils waxing) To hell with the pope!
Nothing new under the sun. I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why I left the church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the
Confessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. (He wriggles)
Woman, undoing with sweet pu dor her belt of rushrope,
offers her allmoist yoni to manâs lingam. Short time after man presents woman with pie ces of jungle meat. Woman
shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves
her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. (He cries)
Coactus volui. Then giddy woman will run about. Strong
man grapses womanâs wrist. Wo man squeals, bites, spucks.
Man, now fierce angry, strikes womanâs fat yadgana. (He
chases his tail) Piffpaff! Popo! (He stops, sneezes) Pchp! (He
worries his butt) Prrrrrht!
LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance.
Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.
ZOE: (Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils) He
couldnât get a connection. Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush.
BLOOM: Poor man!
ZOE: (Lightly) Only for what happened him.
BLOOM: How?
Ulysses
894 of 1305 VIRAG: (A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his
visage, cranes his scraggy neck f orward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle
and howls.) Verfluchte Goim! He had a father, forty fathers.
He never existed. Pig God! He had two left feet. He was
Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the popeâs bastard. (He
Hallucinations and Cardinal Sins
- The narrative descends into a surreal, phantasmagoric sequence within a brothel setting, blending gritty reality with grotesque visions.
- Characters discuss disease and tragedy, specifically the death of a child born from a syphilitic encounter, highlighting the bleakness of their environment.
- The figure of Virag undergoes a monstrous transformation, exhibiting animalistic behaviors and spouting blasphemous, fragmented history.
- Stephen Dedalus engages in intellectual wordplay, punning on his identity as a 'spoiled priest' and the concept of 'cardinal sin.'
- The scene culminates in the grand, absurd appearance of Simon Dedalus as a cardinal, complete with a corkscrew cross and simian acolytes.
Virag unscrews his head in a trice and holds it under his arm.
leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his eye agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mute world) A
son of a whore. Apocalypse.
KITTY: And Mary Shortall th at was in the lock with
the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldnât swallow and was smothered with the convulsions in the ma ttress and we all subscribed
for the funeral.
PHILIP DRUNK: (Gravely) Qui vous a mis dans cette
fichue position, Philippe?
PHILIP SOBER: (Gaily) câĂŠtait le sacrĂŠ pigeon, Philippe.
(Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her
henna hair. And a prettier, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a whoreâs shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She whips it off.)
LYNCH: (Laughs) And to such delights has
Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.
FLORRY: (Nods) Locomotor ataxy.
ZOE: (Gaily) O, my dictionary.
Ulysses
895 of 1305 LYNCH: Three wise virgins.
VIRAG: (Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over
his bony epileptic lips) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax,
orangeflower. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her
with his genitories. (He sticks out a flickering phosphorescent
scorpion tongue, his hand on his fork) Messiah! He burst her
tympanum. (With gibbering baboonâs cries he jerks his hips in
the cynical spasm) Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk!
(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled,
hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggy chested, shockmaned, fat-
papped, stands forth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathing bagslops.)
BEN DOLLARD: (Nakkering castanet bones in his huge
padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone) When love
absorbs my ardent soul.
(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through
the ringkeepers and the ropes and mob him with open arms.)
THE VIRGINS: (Gushingly) Big Ben! Ben my Chree!
A VOICE: Hold that fellow with the bad breeches.
BEN DOLLARD: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter)
Hold him now.
HENRY: (Caressing on his breast a severed female head,
murmurs) Thine heart, mine love. (He plucks his lutestrings)
When first I saw ...
Ulysses
896 of 1305 VIRAG: (Sloughing his skins, his multitudinous plumage
moulting) Rats! (He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and
closes his jaws by an upward push of his parchmentroll) After
having said which I took my departure. Farewell. Fare
thee well. Dreck!
(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a
pocketcomb and gives a cowâs lick to his hair. Steered by his
rapier, he glides to the door, his wild harp slung behind him.
Virag reaches the door in two ung ainly stilthops, his tail cocked,
and deftly claps sideways on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his head.)
THE FLYBILL: K. II. Post No Bills. Strictly
confidential. Dr Hy Franks.
HENRY: All is lost now.
(Virag unscrews his head in a trice and holds it under his
arm.)
VIRAGâS HEAD: Quack!
(Exeunt severally.)
STEPHEN: (Over his shoulder to zoe) You would have
preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant
error. But beware Antisthenes, the dog sage, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. The agony in the closet.
LYNCH: All one and the same God to her.
Ulysses
897 of 1305 STEPHEN: (Devoutly) And sovereign Lord of all
things.
FLORRY: (To Stephen) Iâm sure youâre a spoiled
priest. Or a monk.
LYNCH: He is. A cardinalâs son. STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Monks of the screw.
(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of
all Ireland, appears in the doorway, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks. Seven dwarf si mian acolytes, also in red,
cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it. He wears a
battered silk hat sideways on his head. His thumbs are stuck in his armpits and his palms outspread. Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breas t in a corkscrew cross. Releasing
his thumbs, he invokes grace f rom on high with large wave
gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp:)
The Cardinal and the Chocolate
- A surreal performance by a Cardinal figure involves a mocking song about a murdered drake and a swarm of midges.
- Bloom nervously offers chocolate to Zoe while obsessively monitoring the sounds of male voices and footsteps outside the door.
- The women in the brothel share the chocolate, reminiscing about past encounters and social events like the bazaar.
- Bloom adopts various dramatic personas, including a Napoleonic pose, to mentally exorcise the presence of potential rivals.
- Bloom reflects on the psychological and physiological effects of colors and flavors, questioning if the chocolate acts as an aphrodisiac.
- The scene culminates in the arrival of Bella Cohen, the formidable mistress of the establishment.
By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were theyâd walk me off the face of the bloody globe.
THE CARDINAL:
Conservio lies captured
He lies in the lowest dungeon
With manacles and chains around his limbs
Weighing upwards of three tons.
(He looks at all for a moment, his right eye closed tight, his
left cheek puffed out. Then, unab le to repress his merriment, he
Ulysses
898 of 1305 rocks to and fro, arms akimbo, and sings with broad rollicking
humour:)
O, the poor little fellow
Hihihihihis legs they were yellow
He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a snake
But some bloody savage
To graize his white cabbage He murdered Nell Flahertyâs duckloving
drake.
(A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. He scratches
himself with crossed arms at his ribs, grimacing, and exclaims:)
Iâm suffering the agony of the damned. By the hoky
fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were th eyâd walk me off the face of
the bloody globe.
(His head aslant he blesses curt ly with fore and middle fingers,
imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the size of his trainbearers. The dwarf acolyte s, giggling, peeping, nudging,
ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious:)
Ulysses
899 of 1305 Shall carry my heart to thee,
Shall carry my heart to thee,
And the breath of the balmy night Shall carry my heart to thee!
(The trick doorhandle turns.)
THE DOORHANDLE: Theeee!
ZOE: The devil is in that door.
(A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard
taking the waterproof and hat from the rack. Bloom starts forward
involuntarily and, half closing the door as he passes, takes the
chocolate from his pocket an d offers it nervously to Zoe.)
ZOE: (Sniffs his hair briskly) Hmmm! Thank your
mother for the rabbits. Iâm very fond of what I like.
BLOOM: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the whores on
the doorstep, pricks his ears) If it were he? After? Or because
not? Or the double event?
ZOE: (Tears open the silverfoil) Fingers was made before
forks. (She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece to Kitty
Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch) No objection to
French lozenges? (He nods. She taunts him.) Have it now or
wait till you get it? (He opens his mouth, his head cocked. She
whirls the prize in left circle. His head follows. She whirls it back
in right circle. He eyes her.) Catch!
Ulysses
900 of 1305 (She tosses a piece. With an adro it snap he catches it and bites
it through with a crack.)
KITTY: (Chewing) The engineer I was with at the
bazaar does have lovely ones. Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there with his lady. The gas we had on the Toftâs hobbyhorses. Iâm giddy still.
BLOOM: (In Svengaliâs fur overcoat, with folded arms and
Napoleonic forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing
eagle glance towards the door. Then rigid with left foot advanced
he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master, drawing his right arm downwards from his left shoulder.) Go, go, go, I conjure you, whoever you are!
(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist
outside. Bloomâs features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat, posing calmly. Zoe offers him chocolate.)
BLOOM: (Solemnly) Thanks.
ZOE: Do as youâre bid. Here!
(A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the stairs.)
BLOOM: (Takes the chocolate) Aphrodisiac? Tansy and
pennyroyal. But I bought it. Vanilla calms or? Mnemo. Confused light confuses memory. Red influences lupus. Colours affect womenâs characters, any they have. This black makes me sad. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. (He
eats) Influence taste too, mauve. But it is so long since I.
Ulysses
901 of 1305 Seems new. Aphro. That priest. Must come. Better late
than never. Try truffles at Andrews.
(The door opens. Bella Cohen, a massive whoremistress,
enters. She is dressed in a threeq uarter ivory gown, fringed round
Bella Cohen and the Fan
- Bella Cohen, a formidable brothel madam, exerts a powerful and hypnotic dominance over Leopold Bloom through her physical presence and a personified fan.
- The dialogue shifts into a surreal psychological space where Bella's fan speaks for her, accusing Bloom of being under 'petticoat government.'
- Bloom expresses a weary desire for submission, describing himself as an 'exhausted' man standing before the 'too late box' of human life.
- The scene culminates in a fetishistic act where Bloom kneels to tie Bella's bootlace, reminiscing about his youthful fantasies of being a shoefitter.
- Bellaâs physical description is grotesque and masculine, featuring a 'sprouting moustache' and 'falcon eyes,' emphasizing her role as a dominant figure.
- The interaction highlights Bloom's preoccupation with his own aging, his family history of sciatica, and his submissive sexual inclinations.
Is me her was you dreamed before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now we?
the hem with tasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. On her left hand are
wedding and keeper rings. Her ey es are deeply carboned. She has
a sprouting moustache. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated
and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. She has large pendant
beryl eardrops.)
BELLA: My word! Iâm all of a mucksweat.
(She glances round her at the couples. Then her eyes rest on
Bloom with hard insistence. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Her falcon eyes glitter.)
THE FAN: (Flirting quickly, then slowly) Married, I see.
BLOOM: Yes. Partly, I have mislaid ...
THE FAN: (Half opening, then closing) And the missus is
master. Petticoat government.
BLOOM: (Looks down with a sheepish grin) That is so.
THE FAN: (Folding together, rests against her left eardrop)
Have you forgotten me?
BLOOM: Yes. Yo.
Ulysses
902 of 1305 THE FAN: (Folded akimbo against her waist) Is me her
was you dreamed before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now we?
(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan.)
BLOOM: (Wincing) Powerful being. In my eyes read
that slumber which women love.
THE FAN: (Tapping) We have met. You are mine. It is
fate.
BLOOM: (Cowed) Exuberant female. Enormously I
desiderate your domination. I am exhausted, abandoned,
no more young. I stand, so to speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family. Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regular barometer from it. He believed in animal
heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the end, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. A dogâs
spittle as you probably ... (He winces) Ah!
Ulysses
903 of 1305 RICHIE GOULDING: (Bagweighted, passes the door)
Mocking is catch. Best value in Dub. Fit for a princeâs. Liver and kidney.
THE FAN: (Tapping) All things end. Be mine. Now,
BLOOM: (Undecided) All now? I should not have
parted with my talisman. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the searocks, a peccadillo at my time of life. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.
THE FAN: (Points downwards slowly) You may.
BLOOM: (Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened
bootlace) We are observed.
THE FAN: (Points downwards quickly) You must.
BLOOM: (With desire, with reluctance) I can make a true
black knot. Learned when I s erved my time and worked
the mail order line for Kellettâs. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy. I knelt once before
today. Ah!
(Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to
the edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked. Bloom, stifflegged, a ging, bends over her hoof and
with gentle fingers draws out and in her laces.)
BLOOM: (Murmurs lovingly) To be a shoefitter in
Manfieldâs was my loveâs young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength
Ulysses
904 of 1305 the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly
small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris.
THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal
weight.
BLOOM: (Crosslacing) Too tight?
THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, Iâll kick
your football for you.
BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the
night of the bazaar dance. Ba d luck. Hook in wrong tache
of her ... person you mentioned. That night she met ...
Now!
(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom
The Dominance of Bello
- Bloom undergoes a surreal psychological transformation, adopting a submissive female persona under the command of the hyper-masculine Bello.
- Bello subjects Bloom to a series of verbal humiliations and physical threats, asserting total despotic control.
- The scene explores themes of masochism and gender fluidity as Bloom oscillates between terror and infatuation.
- The surrounding women in the brothel join in the ritualistic degradation, treating Bloom as an object for their amusement.
- Belloâs threats escalate from physical discipline to grotesque fantasies of slaughtering and consuming Bloom like a suckling pig.
Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your despotâs glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.
raises his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes grow dull, darker an d pouched, his nose thickens.)
BLOOM: (Mumbles) Awaiting your further orders we
remain, gentlemen, ...
BELLO: (With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)
Hound of dishonour!
BLOOM: (Infatuated) Empress!
BELLO: (His heavy cheekchops sagging) Adorer of the
adulterous rump!
BLOOM: (Plaintively) Hugeness!
Ulysses
905 of 1305 BELLO: Dungdevourer!
BLOOM: (With sinews semiflexed) Magmagnificence!
BELLO: Down! (He taps her on the shoulder with his fan)
Incline feet forward! Slide left foot one pace back! You will fall. You are falling. On the hands down!
BLOOM: (Her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration,
closing, yaps) Truffles!
(With a piercing epileptic cry sh e sinks on all fours, grunting,
snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead, with eyes
shut tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most excellent master.)
BELLO: (With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings
round his shaven mouth, in mountaineerâs puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with moorcockâs
feather, his hands stuck deep in his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in) Footstool! Feel my entire
weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your despotâs glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.
BLOOM: (Enthralled, bleats) I promise never to
disobey.
BELLO: (Laughs loudly) Holy smoke! You little know
whatâs in store for you. Iâm the Tartar to settle your little
lot and break you in! Iâll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I
Ulysses
906 of 1305 shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I dare you. If you
do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted in gym costume.
(Bloom creeps under the sofa an d peers out through the fringe.)
ZOE: (Widening her slip to screen her) Sheâs not here.
BLOOM: (Closing her eyes) Sheâs not here.
FLORRY: (Hiding her with her gown) She didnât mean
it, Mr Bello. Sheâll be good, sir.
KITTY: Donât be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you
wonât, maâamsir.
BELLO: (Coaxingly) Come, ducky dear, I want a word
with you, darling, just to administer correction. Just a little
heart to heart talk, sweety. (Bloom puts out her timid head)
Thereâs a good girly now. (Bello grabs her hair violently and
drags her forward) I only want to corre ct you for your own
good on a soft safe spot. Howâs that tender behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
BLOOM: (Fainting) Donât tear my ...
BELLO: (Savagely) The nosering, the pliers, the
bastinado, the hanging hook, the knout Iâll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. Youâre in for it this time! Iâll ma ke you remember me for the
balance of your natural life. (His forehead veins swollen, his
face congested) I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every
Ulysses
907 of 1305 morning after my thumping good breakfast of Mattersonâs
fat hamrashers and a bottl e of Guinnessâs porter. (He
belches) And suck my thumping good Stock Exchange
cigar while I read the Licensed Victuallerâs Gazette . Very
possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of yo u with crisp crackling from
the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice
and lemon or currant s auce. It will hurt you. (He twists her
arm. Bloom squeals, turning turtle.)
BLOOM: Donât be cruel, nurse! Donât!
BELLO: (Twisting) Another!
BLOOM: (Screams) O, itâs hell itself! Every nerve in my
body aches like mad!
BELLO: (Shouts) Good, by the rumping jumping
general! Thatâs the best bit of news I heard these six
weeks. Here, donât keep me waiting, damn you! (He slaps
her face)
BLOOM: (Whimpers) Youâre after hitting me. Iâll tell ...
BELLO: Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him. ZOE: Yes. Walk on him! I will. FLORRY: I will. Donât be greedy. KITTY: No, me. Lend him to me.
The Unmanning of Bloom
- Bello Cohen subjects Leopold Bloom to physical and psychological humiliation, treating him as a beast of burden in a sadistic role-play.
- The scene shifts from financial grievances and horse-racing metaphors to a forced gender transformation.
- Bello declares Bloom 'unmanned,' ordering him to discard male garments for luxurious, restrictive female attire.
- Bloom is rechristened 'Ruby Cohen' and 'Alice,' symbolizing his total subjugation to Bello's authority.
- The narrative explores Bloom's past fetishes and 'thrift,' revealing his history of secretly trying on women's clothing.
- The dialogue emphasizes themes of power, masochism, and the fluidity of identity within the surreal 'Circe' episode.
Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yoke.
(The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a
greasy bib, menâs grey and green socks and brogues, floursmeared,
Ulysses
908 of 1305 a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her bare red arm and hand,
appears at the door.)
MRS KEOGH: (Ferociously) Can I help? (They hold and
pinion Bloom.)
BELLO: (Squats with a grunt on Bloomâs upturned face,
puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg) I see Keating Clay is
elected vicechairman of the Richmond asylum and by the
by Guinnessâs preference shares are at sixteen three
quaffers. Curse me for a fool that didnât buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Just my infernal luck, curse it.
And that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to
one. (He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloomâs ear) Whereâs
that Goddamned cursed ashtray?
BLOOM: (Goaded, buttocksmothered) O! O! Monsters!
Cruel one!
BELLO: Ask for that every ten minutes. Beg. Pray for
it as you never prayed before. (He thrusts out a figged fist and
foul cigar) Here, kiss that. Both. Kiss. (He throws a leg astride
and, pressing with horsemanâs knees, calls in a hard voice) Gee
up! A cockhorse to Banbury cross. Iâll ride him for the
Eclipse stakes. (He bends sideways and squeezes his mountâs
testicles roughly, shouting) Ho! Off we pop! Iâll nurse you in
proper fashion. (He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the saddle)
The lady goes a pace a pace and the coachman goes a trot
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909 of 1305 a trot and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a
gallop.
FLORRY: (Pulls at Bello) Let me on him now. You
had enough. I asked before you.
ZOE: (Pulling at florry) Me. Me. Are you not finished
with him yet, suckeress?
BLOOM: (Stifling) Canât.
BELLO: Well, Iâm not. Wait. (He holds in his breath)
Curse it. Here. This bungâs about burst. (He uncorks himself
behind: then, contorting his features, farts loudly) Take that!
(He recorks himself) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.
BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him) Not man. (He
sniffs) Woman.
BELLO: (Stands up) No more blow hot and cold. What
you longed for has come to pass. Henceforth you are
unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yoke. Now for your punishment froc k. You will shed your male
garments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? and don the shot silk luxuriously rustling over head and shoulders. And quickly too!
BLOOM: (Shrinks) Silk, mistress said! O crinkly!
scrapy! Must I tiptouch it with my nails?
BELLO: (Points to his whores) As they are now so will
you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered,
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910 of 1305 with smoothshaven armpits. Tape measurements will be
taken next your skin. You will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone
busk to the diamondtrimmed pe lvis, the absolute outside
edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce
petticoats and fringes and th ings stamped, of course, with
my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice. Alic e will feel the pullpull. Martha
and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsi ness of lace round your bare
knees will remind you ...
BLOOM: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard
hair and large male hands and nose, leering mouth) I tried her
things on only twice, a sma ll prank, in Holles street. When
we were hard up I washed th em to save the laundry bill.
My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift.
BELLO: (Jeers) Little jobs that make mother pleased,
eh? And showed off coquettish ly in your domino at the
mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoatâs udders in various po ses of surrender, eh? Ho! ho!
I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last
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911 of 1305 rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the
Shelbourne hotel, eh?
The Trial of Bloom
- Bloom undergoes a surreal, hallucinatory interrogation by Bello, who assumes a dominant and sadistic persona.
- The dialogue explores Bloom's history of gender non-conformity, including his past as a female impersonator and his fascination with corsetry.
- A chorus representing 'The Sins of the Past' enumerates Bloom's various sexual transgressions and voyeuristic habits.
- Bello subjects Bloom to a ritual of humiliation, demanding confessions of obscenity and threatening him with menial, degrading labor.
- The scene culminates in a symbolic marriage of servitude where Bello 'owns' Bloom, marking a total reversal of traditional power dynamics.
The sins of your past are rising against you. Many. Hundreds.
BLOOM: Miriam. Black. Demimondaine.
BELLO: (Guffaws) Christ Almighty itâs too tickling,
this! You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by
lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M. P., signor Laci Daremo, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the quadroon Croesus, the varsity wetbob eight
from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and
Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. (He guffaws
again) Christ, wouldnât it make a Siamese cat laugh?
BLOOM: (Her hands and features working) It was Gerald
converted me to be a true co rsetlover when I was female
impersonator in the High School play Vice Versa . It was
dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated by sisterâs stays. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Cult of the beautiful.
BELLO: (With wicked glee) Beautiful! Give us a
breather! When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the smoothworn throne.
Ulysses
912 of 1305 BLOOM: Science. To compa re the various joys we
each enjoy. (Earnestly) And really itâs better the position ...
because often I used to wet ...
BELLO: (Sternly) No insubordination! The sawdust is
there in the corner for you. I gave you strict instructions, didnât I? Do it standing, sir! Iâll teach you to behave like a jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your swaddles. Aha! By the ass of the Dorans youâll find Iâm a martinet. The sins of your past are rising against you. Many. Hundreds.
THE SINS OF THE PAST: (In a medley of voices) He
went through a form of clande stine marriage with at least
one woman in the shadow of the Black church. Unspeakable messages he te lephoned mentally to Miss
Dunn at an address in DâOli er street while he presented
himself indecently to the in strument in the callbox. By
word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary
outhouse attached to empty premises. In five public conveniences he wrote pe ncilled messages offering his
nuptial partner to all strongmembered males. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how much he could see? Did he not lie in bed, the
gross boar, gloating over a naus eous fragment of wellused
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913 of 1305 toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated
by gingerbread and a postal order?
BELLO: (Whistles loudly) Say! What was the most
revolting piece of obscenity in all your career of crime? Go the whole hog. Puke it out! Be candid for once.
(Mute inhuman faces throng forward, leering, vanishing,
gibbering, Booloohoom. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny
Cassidyâs hag, blind stripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the girl, the woman, the whore, the other, the ...)
BLOOM: Donât ask me! Our mutual faith. Pleasants
street. I only thought the half of the ... I swear on my sacred oath ...
BELLO: (Peremptorily) Answer. Repugnant wretch! I
insist on knowing. Tell me so mething to amuse me, smut
or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of poetry, quick, quick, quick! Where? How? What time? With how many? I give you just three seconds. One! Two! Thr ...
BLOOM: (Docile, gurgles) I rererepugnosed in
rerererepugnant
BELLO: (Imperiously) O, get out, you skunk! Hold
your tongue! Speak when youâre spoken to.
BLOOM: (Bows) Master! Mistress! Mantamer!
(He lifts his arms. His bangle bracelets fill.)
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914 of 1305 BELLO: (Satirically) By day you will souse and bat our
smelling underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and swab out our latrines with d ress pinned up and a dishclout
tied to your tail. Wonât that be nice? (He places a ruby ring
on her finger) And there now! With this ring I thee own.
Say, thank you, mistress.
The Humiliation of Bloom
- Bello Cohen subjects Bloom to a series of degrading domestic and sexual commands, forcing him into the role of a 'maid of all work.'
- The narrative shifts into a surreal auction where Bloom is treated as livestock, with his physical 'points' and 'milk record' evaluated by bidders.
- Bloom is forcibly feminized and instructed in the art of 'Gomorrahan vices' to appeal to the instincts of the 'blasĂŠ man about town.'
- Bello mocks Bloom's impotence and physical inadequacy, contrasting him unfavorably with the 'man of brawn' currently occupying his home.
- The scene explores themes of power reversal, gender fluidity, and the psychological manifestation of Bloom's deep-seated anxieties and masochism.
Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth.
BLOOM: Thank you, mistress. BELLO: You will make the beds, get my tub ready,
empty the pisspots in the di fferent rooms, including old
Mrs Keoghâs the cookâs, a sandy one. Ay, and rinse the
seven of them well, mind, or lap it up like champagne. Drink me piping hot. Hop! You will dance attendance or Iâll lecture you on your misd eeds, Miss Ruby, and spank
your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush. Youâll be taught the error of your ways. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hand s will wear fortythreebutton
gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. For such favours knights of old laid
down their lives. (He chuckles) My boys will be no end
charmed to see you so lady like, the colonel, above all,
when they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. First Iâll have a go at you myself. A man I know on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh (I wa s in bed with him just now
Ulysses
915 of 1305 and another gentleman out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag
office) is on the lookout for a maid of all work at a short
knock. Swell the bust. Smile. Droop shoulders. What
offers? (He points) For that lot. Trained by owner to fetch
and carry, basket in mouth. (He bares his arm and plunges it
elbowdeep in Bloomâs vulva) Thereâs fine depth for you!
What, boys? That give you a hardon? (He shoves his arm in
a bidderâs face) Here wet the deck and wipe it round!
A BIDDER: A florin.
(Dillonâs lacquey rings his handbell.)
THE LACQUEY: Barang! A VOICE: One and eightpence too much. CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Must be virgin.
Good breath. Clean.
BELLO: (Gives a rap with his gavel) Two bar.
Rockbottom figure and cheap at the price. Fourteen hands high. Touch and examine his points. Handle him. This
downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. If I had
only my gold piercer here! And quite easy to milk. Three newlaid gallons a day. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. His sireâs milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Whoa my jewel!
Beg up! Whoa! (He brands his initial C on Bloomâs croup) So!
Warranted Cohen! What adv ance on two bob, gentlemen?
Ulysses
916 of 1305 A DARKVISAGED MAN: (In disguised accent)
Hoondert punt sterlink.
VOICES: (Subdued) For the Caliph. Haroun Al
Raschid.
BELLO: (Gaily) Right. Let them all come. The scanty,
daringly short skirt, riding up at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the better instincts of the blasĂŠ man about town. Learn the smooth mincing
walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. Bring all y our powers of fascination to
bear on them. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.
BLOOM: (Bends his blushing face into his armpit and
simpers with forefinger in mouth) O, I know what youâre
hinting at now!
BELLO: What else are you good for, an impotent
thing like you? (He stoops and, peering, pokes with his fan
rudely under the fat suet folds of Bloomâs haunches) Up! Up!
Manx cat! What have we here ? Whereâs your curly teapot
gone to or who docked it on you, cockyolly? Sing, birdy,
sing. Itâs as limp as a boy of sixâs doing his pooly behind a
Ulysses
917 of 1305 cart. Buy a bucket or sell your pump. (Loudly) Can you do
a manâs job?
BLOOM: Eccles street ...
BELLO: (Sarcastically) I wouldnât hurt your feelings for
the world but thereâs a man of brawn in possession there. The tables are turned, my gay young fellow! He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Well for you, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps
and warts all over it. He shot his bolt, I can tell you! Foot
to foot, knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Heâs
The Humiliation of Leopold Bloom
- Bello taunts Bloom with visions of his domestic life being usurped by other men in his absence.
- Bloom is cast as a Rip Van Winkle figure, returning to find his home and family unrecognizable after a metaphorical twenty-year sleep.
- The text highlights Bloom's paternal anxiety as he mistakes his grown daughter, Milly, for his wife, Molly.
- Bello accuses Bloom of being a 'male prostitute' and a voyeur, turning his past indiscretions against him.
- The scene culminates in a grotesque threat of death and erasure, where Bloom is told he will be buried in a 'shrubbery jakes' alongside other discarded husbands.
- Bloom's psychological collapse is depicted through his loss of willpower and his 'tearless' weeping as he faces total social and domestic displacement.
You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.
no eunuch. A shock of red hair he has sticking out of him
behind like a furzebush! Wait for nine months, my lad! Holy ginger, itâs kicking and coughing up and down in her guts already! That makes you wild, donât it? Touches
the spot? (He spits in contempt) Spittoon!
BLOOM: I was indecently treated, I ... Inform the
police. Hundred pounds. Unmentionable. I ...
BELLO: Would if you could, lame duck. A downpour
we want not your drizzle.
BLOOM: To drive me mad! Moll! I forgot! Forgive!
Moll ... We ... Still ...
BELLO: (Ruthlessly) No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed
by womanâs will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years. Return and see.
Ulysses
918 of 1305 (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wold.)
SLEEPY HOLLOW: Rip van Wink! Rip van Winkle!
BLOOM: (In tattered mocassins with a rusty fowlingpiece,
tiptoeing, fingertipping, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the diamond panes, cries out) I see her! It âs she! The
first night at Mat Dillonâs! But that dress, the green! And her hair is dyed gold and he ...
BELLO: (Laughs mockingly) Thatâs your daughter, you
owl, with a Mullingar student.
(Milly Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her blue
scarf in the seawind simply swir ling, breaks from the arms of her
lover and calls, her young eyes wonderwide.)
MILLY: My! Itâs Papli! But, O Papli, how old youâve
grown!
BELLO: Changed, eh? Our whatnot, our writingtable
where we never wrote, aunt Hegartyâs armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man and his menfriends
are living there in clover. The Cuckoosâ Rest! Why not?
How many women had you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting th em by your smothered grunts,
what, you male prostitute? Blameless dames with parcels of
groceries. Turn about. Sauce for the goose, my gander O.
BLOOM: They ... I ...
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919 of 1305 BELLO: (Cuttingly) Their heelmarks will stamp the
Brusselette carpet you bought at Wrenâs auction. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for artâ sake. They will violate the secrets of your bottom drawer. Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. And they will spit in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedomâs.
BLOOM: Ten and six. The act of low scoundrels. Let
me go. I will return. I will prove ...
A VOICE: Swear!
(Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, a bowieknife
between his teeth.)
BELLO: As a paying guest or a kept man? Too late.
You have made your secondbe st bed and others must lie
in it. Your epitaph is writte n. You are down and out and
donât you forget it, old bean.
BLOOM: Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody
...? (He bites his thumb)
BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any
sense of decency or grace about you. I can give you a rare old wine thatâll send you skipping to hell and back. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have! If you have none see
Ulysses
920 of 1305 you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! Weâll bury you in our
shrubbery jakes where youâll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my stepnephew I married, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his neck,
and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the
buggersâ names were, suffocated in the one cesspool. (He
explodes in a loud phlegmy laugh) Weâll manure you, Mr
Flower! (He pipes scoffingly) Byby, Poldy! Byby, Papli!
BLOOM: (Clasps his head) My willpower! Memory! I
have sinned! I have suff ...
(He weeps tearlessly)
BELLO: (Sneers) Crybabby! Crocodile tears!
(Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face to
The Nymph and the Recreant
- A group of Jewish figures perform a ritualistic mourning chant over Bloom, casting 'dead sea fruit' instead of flowers.
- A nymph descends from a framed picture above Bloom's marriage bed to confront him in a surreal, hallucinatory encounter.
- The nymph recounts being rescued by Bloom from the 'stale smut' of cheap advertisements and 'Photo Bits' magazines.
- Bloom attempts to romanticize their connection as a spiritual meeting on another star, while the nymph focuses on the mundane vulgarity of his life.
- The dialogue shifts to the domestic squalor of Bloom's bedroom, including mentions of soiled linen and a broken commode.
- Nature itself becomes sentient and vocal, with whispering yew trees and a cascading waterfall providing a rhythmic backdrop to the scene.
You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch.
the earth. The passing bell is heard. Darkshawled figures of the circumcised, in sackcloth and ashe s, stand by the wailing wall. M.
Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Reverend Leop old Abramovitz, Chazen. With
swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the recreant Bloom.)
THE CIRCUMCISED: (In dark guttural chant as they
cast dead sea fruit upon him, no flowers) Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.
Ulysses
921 of 1305 VOICES: (Sighing) So heâs gone. Ah yes. Yes, indeed.
Bloom? Never heard of him. No? Queer kind of chap. Thereâs the widow. That so? Ah, yes.
(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. The
pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. Out of her oakframe a
nymph with hair unbound, ligh tly clad in teabrown artcolours,
descends from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom.)
THE YEWS: (Their leaves whispering) Sister. Our sister.
Ssh!
THE NYMPH: (Softly) Mortal! (Kindly) Nay, dost not
weepest!
BLOOM: (Crawls jellily forward und er the boughs, streaked
by sunlight, with dignity) This position. I felt it was expected
of me. Force of habit.
THE NYMPH: Mortal! You found me in evil
company, highkickers, cost er picnicmakers, pugilists,
popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Auro ra and Karini, musical act,
the hit of the century. I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. I was surrounded by the stale smut
of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary
Ulysses
922 of 1305 articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from
ruptured gentleman. Useful hints to the married.
BLOOM: (Lifts a turtle head towards her lap) We have
met before. On another star.
THE NYMPH: (Sadly) Rubber goods. Neverrip brand
as supplied to the aristocracy. Corsets for men. I cure fits or money refunded. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmannâs wonderful chest exuber. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.
BLOOM: You mean Photo Bits?
THE NYMPH: I do. You bore me away, framed me
in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.
BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her long hair) Your classic
curves, beautiful immortal, I was glad to look on you, to praise you, a thing of beauty, almost to pray.
THE NYMPH: During dark nights I heard your praise.
BLOOM: (Quickly) Yes, yes. You mean that I ... Sleep
reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. I know I fell out of bed or rather was pushed.
Steel wine is said to cure snorin g. For the rest there is that
Ulysses
923 of 1305 English invention, pamphlet of which I received some
days ago, incorrectly addressed. It claims to afford a
noiseless, inoffensive vent. (He sighs) âTwas ever thus.
Frailty, thy name is marriage.
THE NYMPH: (Her fingers in her ears) And words.
They are not in my dictionary.
BLOOM: You understood them? THE YEWS: Ssh!
THE NYMPH: (Covers her face with her hands) What
have I not seen in that chamber? What must my eyes look
down on?
BLOOM: (Apologetically) I know. Soiled personal linen,
wrong side up with care. Th e quoits are loose. From
Gibraltar by long sea long ago.
THE NYMPH: (Bends her head) Worse, worse!
BLOOM: (Reflects precautiously) That antiquated
commode. It wasnât her weight. She scaled just eleven stone nine. She put on nine pounds after weaning. It was a crack and want of glue. Eh? And that absurd orangekeyed
utensil which has only one handle.
(The sound of a waterfall is heard in bright cascade.)
THE WATERFALL:
Ulysses
924 of 1305 Poulaphouca Poulaphouca
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.
THE YEWS: (Mingling their boughs) Listen. Whisper. She is
Bloom's Hallucinatory Youth
- The narrative shifts into a surreal, hallucinatory landscape where personified trees and waterfalls confront Bloom with his past.
- Bloom regresses into a juvenile state, wearing a schoolcap and recalling the 'halcyon days' of his teenage years at High School.
- The dialogue explores themes of adolescent voyeurism and sexual awakening, including Bloom's memories of spying on Lotty Clarke.
- Nature itself acts as a moral witness, with the Yews and a sniveling calf named Staggering Bob accusing Bloom of 'profaning' the shade.
- The sequence ends with a dark premonition of death as a 'dummy' of Bloom falls from a cliff into the water, mimicking a suicide or accident.
Faces of hamadryads peep out from the boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.
right, our sister. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. We
gave shade on languorous summer days.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (In the background, in Irish
National Foresterâs uniform, doffs his plumed hat) Prosper!
Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!
THE YEWS: (Murmuring) Who came to Poulaphouca
with the High School excursion? Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?
BLOOM: (Scared) High School of Poula? Mnemo? Not
in full possession of faculties. Concussion. Run over by tram.
THE ECHO: Sham!
BLOOM: (Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in
nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, too small for him,
white tennis shoes, bordered stock ings with turnover tops and a
red schoolcap with badge) I was in my teens, a growing boy.
A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the mingling odours of the ladiesâ cloakroom and la vatory, the throng penned
tight on the old Royal stairs (for they love crushes, instinct of the herd, and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice), even a pricelist of their hosiery. And then the heat.
Ulysses
925 of 1305 There were sunspots that summer. End of school. And
tipsycake. Halcyon days.
(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue and white football
jerseys and shorts, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a clearing of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)
THE HALCYON DAYS: Mackerel! Live us again.
Hurray! (They cheer)
BLOOM: (Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered,
starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise) Again! I feel
sixteen! What a lark! Letâs ring all the bells in Montague
street. (He cheers feebly) Hurray for the High School!
THE ECHO: Fool!
THE YEWS: (Rustling) She is right, our sister.
Whisper. (Whispered kisses are heard in all the wood. Faces of
hamadryads peep out from the boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Who profaned our silent
shade?
THE NYMPH: (Coyly, through parting fingers) There? In
the open air?
THE YEWS: (Sweeping downward) Sister, yes. And on
our virgin sward.
THE WATERFALL:
Ulysses
926 of 1305 Poulaphouca Poulaphouca
Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.
THE NYMPH: (With wide fingers) O, infamy!
BLOOM: I was precocious. Youth. The fauna. I
sacrificed to the god of the forest. The flowers that bloom
in the spring. It was pairing time. Capillary attraction is a natural phenomenon. Lotty Cl arke, flaxenhaired, I saw at
her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papaâs operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. She rolled downhill at Rialto br idge to tempt me with her
flow of animal spirits. She climbed their crooked tree and I
... A saint couldnât resist it. The demon possessed me.
Besides, who saw?
(Staggering Bob, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head
with humid nostrils through the foliage.)
STAGGERING BOB: (LARGE TEARDROPS
ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS) Me. Me see.
BLOOM: Simply satisfying a need I ... (With pathos)
No girl would when I went girling. Too ugly. They wouldnât play ...
(High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat
passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)
Ulysses
927 of 1305 THE NANNYGOAT: (Bleats) Megeggaggegg!
Nannannanny!
BLOOM: (Hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of
thistledown and gorsespine) Regularly engaged.
Circumstances alter cases. (He gazes intently downwards on
the water) Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Press
nightmare. Giddy Elijah. Fall from cliff. Sad end of
government printerâs clerk. (Through silversilent summer air
the dummy of Bloom, rolled in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from
the Lionâs Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.)
THE DUMMYMUMMY: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!
(Far out in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erinâs
King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her
funnel towards the land.)
COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Alone on deck, in dark
The Nymph and the Profane
- A surreal confrontation occurs between Bloom and a Nymph who claims a state of cold, ethereal purity.
- Bloom confesses to various base physical acts and fetishes, contrasting his carnal reality with the Nymph's divine pretensions.
- The Nymph attempts to maintain a facade of sanctity, eventually transforming into a nun-like figure to denounce desire.
- The tension breaks when Bloom's trouser button snaps, leading him to mock the Nymph's hypocrisy and hidden physical needs.
- The encounter ends in a violent outburst as the Nymph attempts to castrate Bloom before fleeing in a cloud of stench as her plaster form cracks.
We are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light.
alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his ha nd in his waistcoat opening,
declaims) When my country takes her place among the
nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph
be written. I have ...
BLOOM: Done. Prff!
THE NYMPH: (Loftily) We immortals, as you saw
today, have not such a plac e and no hair there either. We
are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light. (She arches her
body in lascivious crispation, placi ng her forefinger in her mouth)
Ulysses
928 of 1305 Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How then could you
...?
BLOOM: (Pawing the heather abjectly) O, I have been a
perfect pig. Enemas too I hav e administered. One third of
a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Up the fundament. With Hamilton Longâs syringe, the ladiesâ friend.
THE NYMPH: In my presence. The powderpuff. (She
blushes and makes a knee) And the rest!
BLOOM: (Dejected) Yes. Peccavi! I have paid homage
on that living altar where the back changes name. (With
sudden fervour) For why should the dainty scented jewelled
hand, the hand that rules ...?
(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the
treestems, cooeeing)
THE VOICE OF KITTY: (In the thicket) Show us one
of them cushions.
THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Here.
(A grouse wings clumsily through the underwood.)
THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (In the thicket) Whew!
Piping hot!
THE VOICE OF ZOE: (From the thicket) Came from a
hot place.
Ulysses
929 of 1305 THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and
feathered in war panoply with hi s assegai, striding through a
crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns) Hot! Hot! Ware
Sitting Bull!
BLOOM: It overpowers me. The warm impress of her
warm form. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially
with divaricated thighs, as thou gh to grant the last favours,
most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen
coatpans. So womanly, full. It fills me full.
THE WATERFALL:
Phillaphulla Poulaphouca
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.
THE YEWS: Ssh! Sister, speak!
THE NYMPH: (Eyeless, in nunâs white habit, coif and
hugewinged wimple, softly, with remote eyes) Tranquilla
convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The apparitions of
Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (She reclines her head,
sighing) Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull
waves oâer the waters dull.
(Bloom half rises. His back trouserbutton snaps.)
THE BUTTON: Bip!
(Two sluts of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling
flatly.)
THE SLUTS:
Ulysses
930 of 1305 O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers
He didnât know what to do,
To keep it up, To keep it up.
BLOOM: (Coldly) You have broken the spell. The last
straw. If there were only ethereal where would you all be,
postulants and novices? Shy but willing like an ass pissing.
THE YEWS: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their
skinny arms aging and swaying) Deciduously!
THE NYMPH: (Her features hardening, gropes in the folds
of her habit) Sacrilege! To attempt my virtue! (A large moist
stain appears on her robe) Sully my innocence! You are not
fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. (She clutches
again in her robe) Wait. Satan, youâll sing no more
lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. (She draws a
poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins) Nekum!
BLOOM: (Starts up, seizes her hand) Hoy! Nebrakada!
Cat oâ nine lives! Fair play, madam. No pruningknife. The
fox and the grapes, is it? What do you lack with your
barbed wire? Crucifix not thick enough? (He clutches her
veil) A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the lame gardener,
or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier, or good mother
Alphonsus, eh Reynard?
Ulysses
931 of 1305 THE NYMPH: (With a cry flees from him unveiled, her
plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks)
Poli ...!
BLOOM: (Calls after her) As if you didnât get it on the
Nighttown Confrontations and Transactions
- Bloom engages in a sharp, insulting verbal sparring match with the madam, Bella Cohen, critiquing her appearance and character.
- The dialogue shifts between aggressive vulgarity and moments of strange vulnerability, particularly regarding Bloom's sentimental attachment to a potato.
- Stephen Dedalus intervenes with philosophical musings and literary allusions, eventually paying for the group's entertainment with exaggerated politeness.
- The scene captures the chaotic atmosphere of the brothel, blending physical comedy, musical interruptions, and financial disputes.
- A collective squabble ensues over the payment and the duration of the stay, highlighting the transactional nature of the encounter.
Your eyes are as vapid as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox.
double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it. Your st rength our weakness. Whatâs
our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee
mendancers on the Riviera, I read. (The fleeing nymph raises
a keen) Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour
behind me. And would a jury give me five shillings
alimony tomorrow, eh? Fool someone else, not me. (He
sniffs) Rut. Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease.
(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.)
BELLA: Youâll know me the next time.
BLOOM: (Composed, regards her) PassĂŠe. Mutton dressed
as lamb. Long in the tooth and superfluous hair. A raw
onion the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes are as vapid as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. They have the dimensions of your other features, thatâs all. Iâm not a triple screw propeller.
BELLA: (Contemptuously) Youâre not game, in fact.
(Her sowcunt barks) Fbhracht!
Ulysses
932 of 1305 BLOOM: (Contemptuously) Clean your nailless middle
finger first, your bullyâs cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.
BELLA: I know you, canvasser! Dead cod! BLOOM: I saw him, kipkeeper! Pox and gleet vendor!
BELLA: (Turns to the piano) Which of you was playing
the dead march from Saul?
ZOE: Me. Mind your cornflowers. (She darts to the
piano and bangs chords on it with crossed arms) The catâs
ramble through the slag. (She glances back) Eh? Whoâs
making love to my sweeties? (She darts back to the table)
Whatâs yours is mine and whatâs mine is my own.
(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the silver paper.
Bloom approaches Zoe.)
BLOOM: (Gently) Give me back that potato, will you?
ZOE: Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing.
BLOOM: (With feeling) It is nothing, but still, a relic of
poor mamma.
ZOE:
Give a thing and take it back
Godâll ask you where is that
Youâll say you donât know Godâll send you down below.
Ulysses
933 of 1305 BLOOM: There is a memory a ttached to it. I should
like to have it.
STEPHEN: To have or not to have that is the
question.
ZOE: Here. (She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her
bare thigh, and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking)
Those that hides knows where to find.
BELLA: (Frowns) Here. This isnât a musical peepshow.
And donât you smash that piano. Whoâs paying here?
(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and,
taking out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her.)
STEPHEN: (With exaggerated politeness) This silken
purse I made out of the sowâs ear of the public. Madam,
excuse me. If you allow me. (He indicates vaguely Lynch and
Bloom) We are all in the same sweepstake, Kinch and
Lynch. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre ĂŠtat .
LYNCH: (Calls from the hearth) Dedalus! Give her your
blessing for me.
STEPHEN: (Hands Bella a coin) Gold. She has it.
BELLA: (Looks at the money, then at Stephen, then at Zoe,
Florry and Kitty) Do you want three girls? Itâs ten shillings
here.
Ulysses
934 of 1305 STEPHEN: (Delightedly) A hundred thousand
apologies. (He fumbles again and takes out and hands her two
crowns) Permit, brevi manu , my sight is somewhat troubled.
(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen
talks to himself in monosyllables. Zoe bends over the table. Kitty leans over Zoeâs neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and, clasping Kittyâs waist, adds his head to the group.)
FLORRY: (Strives heavily to rise) Ow! My footâs asleep.
(She limps over to the table. Bloom approaches.)
BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM:
(Chattering and squabbling) The gentleman ... ten shillings ...
paying for the three ... allow me a moment ... this gentleman pays separate ... w hoâs touching it? ... ow! ...
mind who youâre pinching ... are you staying the night or a short time?... who did?... youâre a liar, excuse me ... the gentleman paid down like a gentleman ... drink ... itâs long after eleven.
Nighttown Debts and Delusions
- Bloom takes charge of Stephen's finances to prevent him from being overcharged or losing his money in the brothel.
- Stephen reflects on his broken glasses and the 'ineluctable modality of the visible,' struggling with his physical perception of the world.
- The group discusses the fate of Georgina Johnson, leading Stephen to mockingly compare her marriage to the 'Lamb of God.'
- Zoe attempts to read Stephen's palm, identifying traits of courage while Lynch mocks Stephen's lack of true fortitude.
- The atmosphere shifts into a surreal hallucination as a 'pandybat' cracks and the head of Father Dolan springs from the pianola.
Brain thinks. Near: far . Ineluctable modality of the visible. (He frowns mysteriously) Hm. Sphinx. The beast that has twobacks at midnight.
STEPHEN: (At the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence)
No bottles! What, eleven? A riddle!
ZOE: (Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign
into the top of her stocking) Hard earned on the flat of my
back.
LYNCH: (Lifting Kitty from the table) Come!
KITTY: Wait. (She clutches the two crowns)
Ulysses
935 of 1305 FLORRY: And me?
LYNCH: Hoopla! (He lifts her, carries her and bumps her
down on the sofa.)
STEPHEN:
The fox crew, the cocks flew,
The bells in heaven
Were striking eleven.
âTis time for her poor soul
To get out of heaven.
BLOOM: (Quietly lays a half sovereign on the table between
bella and florry) So. Allow me. (He takes up the poundnote)
Three times ten. Weâre square.
BELLA: (Admiringly) Youâre such a slyboots, old cocky.
I could kiss you.
ZOE: (Points) Him? Deep as a drawwell. (Lynch bends
Kitty back over the sofa and kisses her. Bloom goes with the poundnote to Stephen.)
BLOOM: This is yours.
STEPHEN: How is that? Les distrait or absentminded
beggar. (He fumbles again in his pocket and draws out a handful
of coins. An object fills.) That fell.
BLOOM: (Stooping, picks up and hands a box of matches)
This.
Ulysses
936 of 1305 STEPHEN: Lucifer. Thanks.
BLOOM: (Quietly) You had better hand over that cash
to me to take care of. Why pay more?
STEPHEN: (Hands him all his coins) Be just before you
are generous.
BLOOM: I will but is it wise? (He counts) One, seven,
eleven, and five. Six. Eleven. I donât answer for what you
may have lost.
STEPHEN: Why striking eleven? Proparoxyton.
Moment before the next Lessing says. Thirsty fox. (He
laughs loudly) Burying his grandmother. Probably he killed
her.
BLOOM: That is one pound six and eleven. One
pound seven, say.
STEPHEN: Doesnât matter a rambling damn. BLOOM: No, but ...
STEPHEN: (Comes to the table) Cigarette, please. (Lynch
tosses a cigarette from the sofa to the table) And so Georgina
Johnson is dead and married. (A cigarette appears on the table.
Stephen looks at it) Wonder. Parlour magic. Married. Hm.
(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with
enigmatic melancholy)
LYNCH: (Watching him) You would have a better
chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.
Ulysses
937 of 1305 STEPHEN: (Brings the match near his eye) Lynx eye.
Must get glasses. Broke them yesterday. Sixteen years ago.
Distance. The eye sees all flat. (He draws the match away. It
goes out.) Brain thinks. Near: far . Ineluctable modality of
the visible. (He frowns mysteriously) Hm. Sphinx. The beast
that has twobacks at midnight. Married.
ZOE: It was a commercial traveller married her and
took her away with him.
FLORRY: (Nods) Mr Lambe from London.
STEPHEN: Lamb of London, who takest away the sins
of our world.
LYNCH: (Embracing Kitty on the sofa, chants deeply)
Dona nobis pacem.
(The cigarette slips from Stephen âs fingers. Bloom picks it up
and throws it in the grate.)
BLOOM: Donât smoke. You ought to eat. Cursed dog
I met. (To Zoe) You have nothing?
ZOE: Is he hungry?
STEPHEN: (Extends his hand to her smiling and chants to
the air of the bloodoath in the Dusk of the Gods)
Hangende Hunger,
Fragende Frau,
Macht uns alle kaputt.
Ulysses
938 of 1305 ZOE: (Tragically) Hamlet, I am thy fatherâs gimlet! (She
takes his hand) Blue eyes beauty Iâll read your hand. (She
points to his forehead) No wit, no wrinkles. (She counts)
Two, three, Mars, thatâs courage. (Stephen shakes his head)
No kid.
LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. The youth who
could not shiver and shake. (To Zoe) Who taught you
palmistry?
ZOE: (Turns) Ask my ballocks that I havenât got. (To
Stephen) I see it in your face. The eye, like that. (She frowns
with lowered head)
LYNCH: (Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice) Like that.
Pandybat.
(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the coffin of the pianola flies
open, the bald little round jack-in- the-box head of Father Dolan
springs up.)
Palmistry and Cuckoldry
- The scene shifts between palm reading in a brothel and a surreal, hallucinatory confrontation with infidelity.
- Zoe and Bella examine the palms of Stephen and Bloom, interpreting their futures and character flaws through physical traits.
- Stephen reflects on the synchronicity of time and age, noting a mathematical symmetry between his and Bloom's pasts.
- A hallucinatory Blazes Boylan appears, crudely boasting of his sexual encounter with Bloom's wife, Molly.
- Bloom is transformed into a submissive servant in his own home, facilitating Boylan's entry to see his wife.
- The passage highlights Bloom's psychological humiliation as he accepts a tip from his wife's lover while she calls out for her 'darling'.
He hangs his hat smartly on a peg of Bloomâs antlered head.
FATHER DOLAN: Any boy want flogging? Broke his
glasses? Lazy idle little schemer. See it in your eye.
(Mild, benign, rectorial, rep roving, the head of Don John
Conmee rises from the pianola coffin.)
DON JOHN CONMEE: Now, Father Dolan! Now.
Iâm sure that Stephen is a very good little boy!
ZOE: (Examining Stephenâs palm) Womanâs hand.
Ulysses
939 of 1305 STEPHEN: (Murmurs) Continue. Lie. Hold me.
Caress. I never could read His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock.
ZOE: What day were you born? STEPHEN: Thursday. Today.
ZOE: Thursdayâs child has far to go. (She traces lines on
his hand) Line of fate. Influential friends.
FLORRY: (Pointing) Imagination.
ZOE: Mount of the moon. Youâll meet with a ... (She
peers at his hands abruptly) I wonât tell you whatâs not good
for you. Or do you want to know?
BLOOM: (Detaches her fingers and offers his palm) More
harm than good. Here. Read mine.
BELLA: Show. (She turns up bloomâs hand) I thought so.
Knobby knuckles for the women.
ZOE: (Peering at bloomâs palm) Gridiron. Travels beyond
the sea and marry money.
BLOOM: Wrong.
ZOE: (Quickly) O, I see. Short little finger. Henpecked
husband. That wrong?
(Black Liz, a huge rooster hatching in a chalked circle, rises,
stretches her wings and clucks.)
BLACK LIZ: Gara. Klook. Klook. Klook.
(She sidles from her newlaid egg and waddles off)
Ulysses
940 of 1305 BLOOM: (Points to his hand) That weal there is an
accident. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago. I was sixteen.
ZOE: I see, says the blind man. Tell us news. STEPHEN: See? Moves to one great goal. I am
twentytwo. Sixteen years ag o he was twentytwo too.
Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Twentytwo years
ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. (He winces) Hurt my
hand somewhere. Must see a dentist. Money?
(Zoe whispers to Florry. they giggle. Bloom releases his hand
and writes idly on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)
FLORRY: What?
(A hackneycar, number three hu ndred and twentyfour, with a
gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past. Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the sideseat s. The Ormond boots crouches
behind on the axle. Sadly over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)
THE BOOTS: (Jogging, mocks them with thumb and
wriggling wormfingers) Haw haw have you the horn?
(Bronze by gold they whisper.)
ZOE: (To Florry) Whisper.
(They whisper again)
Ulysses
941 of 1305 (Over the well of the car Blazes Boylan leans, his boater straw
set sideways, a red flower in his mouth. Lenehan in yachtsmanâs
cap and white shoes officiously detaches a long hair from Blazes Boylanâs coat shoulder.)
LENEHAN: Ho! What do I here behold? Were you
brushing the cobwebs off a few quims?
BOYLAN: (Seated, smiles) Plucking a turkey.
LENEHAN: A good nightâs work. BOYLAN: (Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers,
winks) Blazes Kate! Up to sam ple or your money back. (He
holds out a forefinger) Smell that.
LENEHAN: (Smells gleefully) Ah! Lobster and
mayonnaise. Ah!
ZOE AND FLORRY: (Laugh together) Ha ha ha ha.
BOYLAN: (Jumps surely from the car and calls loudly for all
to hear) Hello, Bloom! Mrs Bloom dressed yet?
BLOOM: (In flunkeyâs prune plush coat and kneebreeches,
buff stockings and powdered wig) Iâm afraid not, sir. The last
articles ...
BOYLAN: (Tosses him sixpence) Here, to buy yourself a
gin and splash. (He hangs his hat smartly on a peg of Bloomâs
antlered head) Show me in. I have a little private business
with your wife, you understand?
Ulysses
942 of 1305 BLOOM: Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. Madam Tweedy is
in her bath, sir.
MARION: He ought to feel himself highly honoured.
(She plops splashing out of the water) Raoul darling, come
and dry me. Iâm in my pelt. Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.
BOYLAN: (A merry twinkle in his eye) Topping!
BELLA: What? What is it?
(Zoe whispers to her.)
The Mirror of Cuckoldry
- Bloom adopts a submissive and voyeuristic role as Boylan prepares to engage with Marion, even offering lubricants for the act.
- The prostitutes in the brothel provide a chorus of sensory commentary, imagining the sexual encounter in vivid, food-based metaphors.
- A hallucinatory vision occurs in a mirror where the face of William Shakespeare appears, crowned by reindeer antlers symbolizing cuckoldry.
- The apparition of Shakespeare mocks Bloom's attempts at invisibility and references the betrayal themes of Othello through 'Iago' wordplay.
- The scene shifts into a surreal procession involving the widowed Mrs. Dignam and her children, blending mourning with grotesque domesticity.
- Stephen Dedalus provides a scholarly but cynical commentary on lust, referencing mythology and biblical transgressions to contextualize the chaos.
The face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the reflection of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall.
MARION: Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp! And
scourge himself! Iâll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.
BOYLAN: (clasps himself) Here, I canât hold this little
lot much longer. (he strides off on stiff cavalry legs)
BELLA: (Laughing) Ho ho ho ho.
BOYLAN: (To Bloom, over his shoulder) You can apply
your eye to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few times.
BLOOM: Thank you, sir. I will, sir. May I bring two
men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? (He
holds out an ointment jar) Vaseline, sir? Orangeflower ...?
Lukewarm water ...?
Ulysses
943 of 1305 KITTY: (From the sofa) Tell us, Florry. Tell us. What.
(Florry whispers to her. Whispering lovewords murmur,
liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)
MINA KENNEDY: (Her eyes upturned) O, it must be
like the scent of geraniums an d lovely peaches! O, he
simply idolises every bit of her! Stuck together! Covered with kisses!
LYDIA DOUCE: (Her mouth opening) Yumyum. O,
heâs carrying her round the room doing it! Ride a
cockhorse. You could hear them in Paris and New York. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.
KITTY: (Laughing) Hee hee hee.
BOYLANâS VOICE: (Sweetly, hoarsely, in the pit of his
stomach) Ah! Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!
MARIONâS VOICE: (Hoarsely, sweetly, rising to her
throat) O! Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?
BLOOM: (His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself) Show!
Hide! Show! Plough her! More! Shoot!
BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Ho ho! Ha ha!
Hee hee!
LYNCH: (Points) The mirror up to nature. (He laughs)
Hu hu hu hu hu!
(Stephen and Bloom gaze in th e mirror. The face of William
Shakespeare, beardless, appears ther e, rigid in facial paralysis,
Ulysses
944 of 1305 crowned by the reflection of the re indeer antlered hatrack in the
hall.)
SHAKESPEARE: (In dignified ventriloquy) âTis the loud
laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. (To Bloom) Thou
thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Gaze. (He crows
with a black caponâs laugh) Iagogo! How my Oldfellow
chokit his Thursdaymornun. Iagogogo!
BLOOM: (Smiles yellowly at the three whores) When will
I hear the joke?
ZOE: Before youâre twice married and once a
widower.
BLOOM: Lapses are cond oned. Even the great
Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death ...
(Mrs Dignam, widow woman, her snubnose and cheeks
flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunneyâs tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, a pen ch ivvying her brood of cygnets.
Beneath her skirt appear her late husbandâs everyday trousers and
turnedup boots, large eights. She holds a Scottish widowsâ insurance policy and a large marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his collar
loose, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy
Ulysses
945 of 1305 with a crying codâs mouth, Alic e struggling with the baby. She
cuffs them on, her streamers flaunting aloft.)
FREDDY: Ah, ma, youâre dragging me along! SUSY: Mamma, the beeftea is fizzing over!
SHAKESPEARE: (With paralytic rage) Weda seca
whokilla farst.
(The face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures
Shakespeareâs beardless face. The marquee umbrella sways
drunkenly, the children run asid e. Under the umbrella appears
Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and kimono gown. She glides sidling and bowing, twirling japanesily.)
MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Sings)
And they call me the jewel of Asia!
MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (Gazes on her, impassive)
Immense! Most bloody awful demirep!
STEPHEN: Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Queens lay with
prize bulls. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first confessionbox. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the house of Lambert. And Noah was drunk with wine. And his ark was open.
Stephen's Parisian Pantomime
- Stephen Dedalus performs a grotesque, broken-English caricature of Parisian nightlife for the amusement of Lynch and the prostitutes.
- The performance blends descriptions of high-fashion 'cocottes' with dark, blasphemous imagery of 'vampire men' and 'debauched nuns.'
- Stephenâs monologue descends into increasingly absurd and bestial sexual imagery, culminating in a joke about an omelette that sends Bella into fits of laughter.
- The scene shifts from the brothel's reality into a hallucinatory sequence where Stephen recalls a prophetic dream of a 'fubsy widow' in the street of harlots.
- A vision of Stephen's father, Simon Dedalus, appears as a soaring bird of prey, urging his son to maintain his pride and 'keep our flag flying.'
- The narrative dissolves into a surreal hunt sequence involving wallpaper patterns transforming into a fox fleeing across the countryside.
Break my spirit, will he? O merde alors! (He cries, his vulture talons sharpened) Hola! Hillyho!
BELLA: None of that here. Come to the wrong shop.
Ulysses
946 of 1305 LYNCH: Let him alone. Heâs back from Paris.
ZOE: (Runs to stephen and links him) O go on! Give us
some parleyvoo.
(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the fireplace
where he stands with shrugged sh oulders, finny hands outspread,
a painted smile on his face.)
LYNCH: (Oommelling on the sofa) Rmm Rmm Rmm
Rrrrrrmmmm.
STEPHEN: (Gabbles with marionette jerks) Thousand
places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashi onable house very eccentric
where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about
princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there
parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor englis h how much smart they are on
things love and sensations vo luptuous. Misters very selects
for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. Perfectly shocking terrific of religionâs things mockery seen in universal world. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see
vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous
Ulysses
947 of 1305 troublants . (He clacks his tongue loudly) Ho, la la! Ce pif quâil
a!
LYNCH: Vive le vampire!
THE WHORES: Bravo! Parleyvoo!
STEPHEN: (Grimacing with head back, laughs loudly,
clapping himself) Great success of laughing. Angels much
prostitutes like and holy ap ostles big damn ruffians.
Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds
very amiable costumed. Or do you are fond better what
belongs they moderns plea sure turpitude of old mans? (He
points about him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the whores reply to) Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or
lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcherâs boy pollutes in warm
veal liver or omlet on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.
BELLA: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa, with a
shout of laughter) An omelette on the ... Ho! ho! ho! ho! ...
omelette on the ...
STEPHEN: (Mincingly) I love you, sir darling. Speak
you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. O yes,
mon loup . How much cost? Waterloo. Watercloset. (He
ceases suddenly and holds up a forefinger)
Ulysses
948 of 1305 BELLA: (Laughing) Omelette ...
THE WHORES: (Laughing) Encore! Encore!
STEPHEN: Mark me. I dreamt of a watermelon. ZOE: Go abroad and love a foreign lady. LYNCH: Across the world for a wife. FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries.
STEPHEN: (Extends his arms) It was here. Street of
harlots. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Whereâs the red carpet spread?
BLOOM: (Approaching Stephen) Look ...
STEPHEN: No, I flew. My foes beneath me. And ever
shall be. World without end. (He cries) Pater! Free!
BLOOM: I say, look ...
STEPHEN: Break my spirit, will he? O merde alors! (He
cries, his vulture talons sharpened) Hola! Hillyho!
(Simon Dedalusâ voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but
ready.)
SIMON: Thatâs all right. (He swoops uncertainly through
the air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings) Ho, boy! Are you going to win? Hoop!
Pschatt! Stable with those hal fcastes. Wouldnât let them
within the bawl of an ass. Head up! Keep our flag flying! An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed. Ulster
Ulysses
949 of 1305 king at arms! Haihoop! (He makes the beagleâs call, giving
tongue) Bulbul! Burblblburblbl! Hai, boy!
(The fronds and spaces of the wallpaper file rapidly across
country. A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the leaves. The pack of staghounds
The Nighttown Waltz
- A chaotic, hallucinatory horse race unfolds featuring phantom mounts, skeleton horses, and Garrett Deasy riding the favorite, Cock of the North.
- The crowd is a cacophony of bookies, touts, and gamblers shouting odds and betting slogans in a feverish atmosphere.
- Garrett Deasy is pelted with a torrent of mutton broth as he gallops past, brandishing a hockey stick and shouting Latin mottos.
- The scene shifts abruptly to a brothel interior where Zoe, Stephen, and Lynch prepare for a dance as the pianola is activated.
- Professor Goodwin, appearing as an incredibly aged figure in court dress, mimimes playing the piano with handless arms.
- Stephen seizes Zoe to begin a waltz to the tune of 'My Girlâs a Yorkshire Girl' amidst shifting colored lights and theatrical entrances.
A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost, his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars.
follows, nose to the ground, sni ffing their quarry, beaglebaying,
burblbrbling to be blooded. Ward Union huntsmen and
huntswomen live with them, hot for a kill. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lasso s, flockmasters with stockwhips,
bearbaiters with tomtoms, toread ors with bullswords, greynegroes
waving torches. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsm en. Crows and touts, hoarse
bookies in high wizard ha ts clamour deafeningly.)
THE CROWD:
Card of the races. Racing card!
Ten to one the field!
Tommy on the clay here! Tommy on the
clay!
Ten to one bar one! Ten to one bar one! Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Ten to one bar one! Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!
Ulysses
950 of 1305 Iâll give ten to one!
Ten to one bar one!
(A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the
winningpost, his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars. The field follows, a bunch of bucking mo unts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre,
Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the Duke of Westminsterâs
Shotover, Repulse, the Duke of Beaufortâs Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping, leaping in their,
in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain on a brokenwinded
isabelle nag, Cock of the North, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a hockeystick at the ready. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.)
THE ORANGE LODGES: (Jeering) Get down and
push, mister. Last lap! Youâll be home the night!
GARRETT DEASY: (Bolt upright, his nailscraped face
plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in the prism of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop)
Per vias rectas!
(A yoke of buckets leopards a ll over him and his rearing nag a
torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley,
onions, turnips, potatoes.)
Ulysses
951 of 1305 THE GREEN LODGES: Soft day, sir John! Soft day,
your honour!
(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass
beneath the windows, singing in discord.)
STEPHEN: Hark! Our friend noise in the street.
ZOE: (Holds up her hand) Stop!
PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND
CISSY CAFFREY:
Yet Iâve a sort a
Yorkshire relish for ...
ZOE: Thatâs me. (She claps her hands) Dance! Dance!
(She runs to the pianola) Who has twopence?
BLOOM: Whoâll ...?
LYNCH: (Handing her coins) Here.
STEPHEN: (Cracking his fingers impatiently) Quick!
Quick! Whereâs my augurâs rod? (He runs to the piano and
takes his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium)
ZOE: (Turns the drumhandle) There.
(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet
lights start forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. Professor Goodwin, in a bowkno tted periwig, in court dress,
wearing a stained inverness cape, b ent in two from incredible age,
totters across the room, his hands flutte ring. He sits tinily on the
Ulysses
952 of 1305 pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the
keyboard, nodding with damsel âs grace, his bowknot bobbing)
ZOE: (Twirls round herself, heeltapping) Dance. Anybody
here for there? Whoâll dance? Clear the table.
(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the
prelude of My Girlâs a Yorkshire Girl. Stephen throws his
ashplant on the table and seizes Zoe round the waist. Florry and
Bella push the table towards the fireplace. Stephen, arming Zoe
with exaggerated grace, begins to waltz her round the room. Bloom stands aside. Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat. With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown and
jauntyhatted skates in. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk
lapels, a gorget of cream tulle, a green lowcut waistcoat, stock
The Poetry of Motion
- Professor Maginni, a flamboyant dance instructor, directs a surreal and highly choreographed sequence of calisthenics and deportment.
- The passage personifies the hours of the dayâmorning, noon, twilight, and nightâas dancers who shift in mood from innocent play to weary, masked movements.
- A pianola provides a popular musical backdrop, triggering nostalgic memories of bazaars and 'Yorkshire girls' among the characters.
- Stephen Dedalus moves through a series of dance partnersâZoe, Florry, and Kittyâamidst shifting, hallucinatory lighting and colors.
- The scene culminates in a chaotic, mechanical whirligig motion where the physical room seems to rotate like a fairground attraction.
- The frantic energy leads Stephen to abandon the formal dance, seizing his ashplant as the atmosphere reaches a fever pitch.
The night hours, one by one, steal to the last place. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them. They are masked, with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells.
collar with white kerchief, tight l avender trousers, patent pumps
and canary gloves. In his buttonho le is an immense dahlia. He
twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then wedges it tight in his oxter. He places a hand ligh tly on his breastbone, bows, and
fondles his flower and buttons.)
MAGINNI: The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.
No connection with Madam Legget Byrneâs or Levenstonâs. Fancy dress balls arranged. Deportment. The Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsichorean
Ulysses
953 of 1305 abilities. (He minuets forward three paces on tripping beeâs feet)
Tout le monde en avant! RĂŠvĂŠrence! Tout le monde en place!< /p>
(The prelude ceases. Profess or Goodwin, beating vague arms
shrivels, sinks, his live cape filling about the stool. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Stephen and Zoe circle freely. The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.)
THE PIANOLA:
Two young fellows were talking about
their girls, girls, girls, Sweethearts theyâd left behind ...
(From a corner the morning hours run out, goldhaired,
slimsandalled, in girlish blue, wa spwaisted, with innocent hands.
Nimbly they dance, twirling th eir skipping ropes. The hours of
noon follow in amber gold. Laug hing, linked, high haircombs
flashing, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their
arms.)
MAGINNI: (Clipclaps glovesilent hands) CarrĂŠ! Avant
deux! Breathe evenly! Balance!
(The morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turning,
advancing to each other, shap ing their curves, bowing visavis.
Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with hands
descending to, touching, rising from their shoulders.)
Ulysses
954 of 1305 HOURS: You may touch my.
CAVALIERS: May I touch your? HOURS: O, but lightly! CAVALIERS: O, so lightly! THE PIANOLA:
My little shy little lass has a waist.
(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly wi th looser swing. The twilight
hours advance from long land shadows, dispersed, lagging,
languideyed, their cheeks delicat e with cipria and false faint
bloom. They are in grey gauze w ith dark bat sleeves that flutter
in the land breeze.)
MAGINNI: Avant huit! TraversĂŠ! Salut! Cours de mains!
CroisĂŠ!
(The night hours, one by one, steal to the last place. Morning,
noon and twilight hours retreat before them. They are masked,
with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells. Weary they
curchycurchy under veils.)
THE BRACELETS: Heigho! Heigho!
ZOE: (Twirling, her hand to her brow) O!
MAGINNI: Les tiroirs! ChaĂŽne de dames! La corbeille! Dos
Ă dos!
Ulysses
955 of 1305 (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the floor,
weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling.)
ZOE: Iâm giddy!
(She frees herself, droops on a ch air. Stephen seizes Florry and
turns with her.)
MAGINNI: Boulangère! Les ronds! Les ponts!
Chevaux de bois! Escargots!
(Twining, receding, with inte rchanging hands the night hours
link each each with arching ar ms in a mosaic of movements.
Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.)
MAGINNI: Dansez avec vos dames! Changez de dames!
Donnez le petit bouquet Ă votre dame! Remerciez!
THE PIANOLA:
Best, best of all,
Baraabum!
KITTY: (JUMPS UP) O, they played that on the
hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!
(She runs to Stephen. He le aves florry brusquely and seizes
Kitty. A screaming bitternâs h arsh high whistle shrieks.
Groangrousegurgling Toftâs cumberso me whirligig turns slowly the
room right roundabout the room.)
THE PIANOLA:
Ulysses
956 of 1305 My girlâs a Yorkshire girl.
ZOE:
Yorkshire through and through.
Come on all!
(She seizes Florry and waltzes her.)
STEPHEN: Pas seul!
(He wheels Kitty into Lynchâs arm s, snatches up his ashplant
A Spectral Confrontation
- The scene erupts into a chaotic, hallucinatory dance where Stephen Dedalus loses control of his physical surroundings.
- Stephen's deceased mother appears as a gruesome, decaying specter, confronting him with the physical reality of death.
- The apparition demands religious repentance and reminds Stephen of her maternal sacrifices and his past actions.
- Buck Mulligan appears in a jester's costume to mock the solemnity of the moment, intensifying Stephen's psychological distress.
- Stephen reacts with a mixture of desperate curiosity about the afterlife and violent repulsion toward the 'ghoul' of his memory.
- The sequence highlights the crushing weight of Stephen's guilt and his struggle to break free from the influence of family and faith.
Stephenâs mother, emaciated, rises stark through the floor, in leper grey with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a torn bridal veil, her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould.
from the table and takes the floor. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Stephen with
hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green y ellow flashes Toftâs cumbersome
turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.)
THE PIANOLA:
Though sheâs a factory lass
And wears no fancy clothes.
(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they
scootlootshoot lumbering by. Baraabum!)
TUTTI: Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!
Ulysses
957 of 1305 SIMON: Think of your motherâs people!
STEPHEN: Dance of death.
(Bang fresh barang bang of lacqueyâs bell, horse, nag, steer,
piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in
cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through. Baraabum! On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene
swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two
trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling
gum heâs a champion. Fuseblue peer from barrel rev. evensong
Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. Then in last switchback lumbering up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Baraabum!)
(The couples fall aside. Stephen whirls giddily. Room whirls
back. Eyes closed he totters. Red rails fly spacewards. Stars all around suns turn roundabout. Bright midges dance on walls. He stops dead.)
STEPHEN: Ho!
(Stephenâs mother, emaciated, rise s stark through the floor, in
leper grey with a wreath of fa ded orangeblossoms and a torn bridal
veil, her face worn and nosele ss, green with gravemould. Her hair
is scant and lank. She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on
Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. A
choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.)
Ulysses
958 of 1305 THE CHOIR:
Liliata rutilantium te confessorum ...
Iubilantium te virginum ...
(from the top of a tower Buck Mulligan, in particoloured
jesterâs dress of puce and yellow and clownâs cap with curling bell,
stands gaping at her, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand.)
BUCK MULLIGAN: Sheâs beastly dead. The pity of
it! Mulligan meets the afflicted mother. (He upturns his
eyes) Mercurial Malachi!
THE MOTHER: (With the subtle smile of deathâs
madness) I was once the beautiful May Goulding. I am
dead.
STEPHEN: (Horrorstruck) Lemur, who are you? No.
What bogeymanâs trick is this?
BUCK MULLIGAN: (Shakes his curling capbell) The
mockery of it! Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody. She
kicked the bucket. (Tears of molten butter fall from his eyes on
to the scone) Our great sweet mother! Epi oinopa ponton.
THE MOTHER: (Comes nearer, breathing upon him
softly her breath of wetted ashes) All must go through it,
Stephen. More women than me n in the world. You too.
Time will come.
Ulysses
959 of 1305 STEPHEN: (Choking with fright, remorse and horror) They
say I killed you, mother. He offended your memory. Cancer did it, not I. Destiny.
THE MOTHER: (A green rill of bile trickling from a side
of her mouth) You sang that song to me. Loveâs bitter
mystery.
STEPHEN: (Eagerly) Tell me the word, mother, if you
know now. The word known to all men.
THE MOTHER: Who saved you the night you
jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? Who had pity for you when you were sad among the strangers? Prayer is allpowerful. Prayer for the suffering souls in the Ursuline manual and forty daysâ indulgence. Repent, Stephen.
STEPHEN: The ghoul! Hyena! THE MOTHER: I pray for you in my other world.
Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. Years and year s I loved you, O, my son,
my firstborn, when you lay in my womb.
ZOE: (Fanning herself with the grate fan) Iâm melting!
Stephen's Defiance and the Broken Lamp
- Stephen Dedalus experiences a terrifying hallucination of his deceased mother, who pleads for his repentance and warns of divine judgment.
- In a fit of existential rage and intellectual defiance, Stephen shouts 'Non serviam!' and smashes the chandelier with his ashplant cane.
- The act of destruction causes immediate chaos in the brothel, leading Stephen to flee the scene while the inhabitants panic.
- Bella Cohen, the brothel owner, demands exorbitant compensation for the damage, leading to a tense confrontation with Bloom.
- Leopold Bloom attempts to de-escalate the situation by using his wits, masonic signs, and social leverage to protect Stephen from the police.
- The scene concludes with Bloom paying a small fee and rushing out to find Stephen as a street brawl begins to brew outside.
Timeâs livid final flame leaps and, in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.
FLORRY: (Points to Stephen) Look! Heâs white.
BLOOM: (Goes to the window to open it more) Giddy.
THE MOTHER: (With smouldering eyes) Repent! O,
the fire of hell!
Ulysses
960 of 1305 STEPHEN: (Panting) His noncorrosive sublimate! The
corpsechewer! Raw head and bloody bones.
THE MOTHER: (Her face drawing near and nearer,
sending out an ashen breath) Beware! (She raises her blackened
withered right arm slowly to wards Stephenâs breast with
outstretched finger) Beware Godâs hand! (A green crab with
malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephenâs
heart.)
STEPHEN: (Strangled with rage) Shite! (His features grow
drawn grey and old)
BLOOM: (At the window) What?
STEPHEN: Ah non, par exemple! The intellectual
imagination! With me all or not at all. Non serviam!
FLORRY: Give him some cold water. Wait. (She
rushes out)
THE MOTHER: (Wrings her hands slowly, moaning
desperately) O Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him!
Save him from hell, O Divine Sacred Heart!
STEPHEN: No! No! No! Break my spirit, all of you, if
you can! Iâll bring you all to heel!
THE MOTHER: (In the agony of her deathrattle) Have
mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! Inexpressible was
my anguish when expiring wit h love, grief and agony on
Mount Calvary.
Ulysses
961 of 1305 STEPHEN: Nothung !
(He lifts his ashplant high with both hands and smashes the
chandelier. Timeâs livid final flame leaps and, in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shatte red glass and toppling masonry.)
THE GASJET: Pwfungg! BLOOM: Stop!
LYNCH: (Rushes forward and seizes Stephenâs hand)
Here! Hold on! Donât run amok!
BELLA: Police!
(Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, his head and arms thrown
back stark, beats the ground and flies from the room, past the
whores at the door.)
BELLA: (Screams) After him!
(The two whores rush to the halldoor. Lynch and Kitty and
Zoe stampede from the room. They talk excitedly. Bloom follows,
returns.)
THE WHORES: (Jammed in the doorway, pointing)
Down there.
ZOE: (Pointing) There. Thereâs something up.
BELLA: Who pays for the lamp? (She seizes Bloomâs
coattail) Here, you were with him. The lampâs broken.
BLOOM: (Rushes to the hall, rushes back) What lamp,
woman?
A WHORE: He tore his coat.
Ulysses
962 of 1305 BELLA: (Her eyes hard with an ger and cupidity, points)
Whoâs to pay for that? Ten shillings. Youâre a witness.
BLOOM: (Snatches up Stephenâs ashplant) Me? Ten
shillings? Havenât you lifted e nough off him? Didnât he ...?
BELLA: (Loudly) Here, none of your tall talk. This isnât
a brothel. A ten shilling house.
BLOOM: (His head under the lamp, pulls the chain.
Puling, the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade. He
raises the ashplant.) Only the chimneyâs broken. Here is all
he ...
BELLA: (Shrinks back and screams) Jesus! Donât!
BLOOM: (Warding off a blow) To show you how he hit
the paper. Thereâs not sixpenceworth of damage done. Ten shillings!
FLORRY: (With a glass of water, enters) Where is he?
BELLA: Do you want me to call the police? BLOOM: O, I know. Bulldog on the premises. But
heâs a Trinity student. Patr ons of your establishment.
Gentlemen that pay the rent. (He makes a masonic sign)
Know what I mean? Nephew of the vice-chancellor. You donât want a scandal.
BELLA: (Angrily) Trinity. Coming down here ragging
after the boatraces and paying nothing. Are you my
Ulysses
963 of 1305 commander here or? Where is he? Iâll charge him!
Disgrace him, I will! (She Shouts) Zoe! Zoe!
BLOOM: (Urgently) And if it were your own son in
Oxford? (Warningly) I know.
BELLA: (Almost speechless) Who are. Incog!
ZOE: (In the doorway) Thereâs a row on.
BLOOM: What? Where? (He throws a shilling on the
table and starts) Thatâs for the chimney. Where? I need
mountain air.
(He hurries out through the hall. The whores point. Florry
follows, spilling water from her tilted tumbler. On the doorstep all
The Hue and Cry
- Bloom attempts a stealthy exit from the brothel, adopting the persona of Haroun al Raschid to evade Corny Kelleher and other arrivals.
- A surreal, hallucinatory chase ensues where Bloom is pursued by a massive 'hue and cry' consisting of nearly every character encountered in the novel.
- The pursuit is characterized by a cacophony of voices and a barrage of symbolic objects being hurled at Bloom as he zigzags through the streets.
- The scene shifts abruptly to a confrontation involving Stephen Dedalus, Cissy Caffrey, and two British soldiers outside the house.
- Stephen, in a drunken and philosophical state, attempts to explain his presence through historical and grammatical abstractions while tensions rise with the soldiers.
Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the silent lechers and hastens on by the railings with fleet step of a pard strewing the drag behind him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.
the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing to the right where the
fog has cleared off. From the left arrives a jingling hackney car. It
slows to in front of the house. Bloom at the halldoor perceives
Corny Kelleher who is about to dismount from the car with two
silent lechers. He averts his face. Bella from within the hall urges on her whores. They blow ickylic kysticky yumyum kisses. Corny
Kelleher replies with a ghastly lewd smile. The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Zoe and Kitty still point right. Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws his caliphâs hood and poncho and hurries down the steps with sideways face. Incog Haroun al Raschid he
flits behind the silent lechers and hastens on by the railings with
fleet step of a pard strewing the drag behind him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. The ashplant marks his stride. A pack of
Ulysses
964 of 1305 bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a
dogwhip in tallyho cap and an old pair of grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the scent, ne arer, baying, panting, at fault,
breaking away, throwing their tongue s, biting his heels, leaping at
his tail. He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. He is
pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes, dead codfish, womanâs slippersla ppers. After him freshfound the
hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65
C, 66 C, night watch, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V. B. Dillon, Councillor Nanne tti, Alexander Keyes, Larry
Oârourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs Oâdowd, Pisser Burke, The Nameless One, Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callina n, Sir Charles Cameron,
Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell dâArcy, Joe Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T. M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Howard Parnell, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Breen, Denis Breen, Th eodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy,
the Westland Row postmistress, C. P. MâCoy, friend of Lyons,
Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet,
Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne,
Mrs Ellen MâGuinness, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Collector-g eneralâs, Dan Dawson, dental
Ulysses
965 of 1305 surgeon Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Kennefick,
Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwidebehindinClonskeatram, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad,
Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the managing clerk of Drimmieâs, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog,
Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Galbraith, the
constable off Eccles Street corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the mystery man on the beach, a retriever, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.)
THE HUE AND CRY: (Helterskelterpelterwelter) Heâs
Bloom! Stop Bloom! Stopabloom! Stopperrobber! Hi! Hi! Stophim on the corner!
(At the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding Bloom
panting stops on the fringe of the noisy quarrelling knot, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! hi! row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether.)
STEPHEN: (With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and
slowly) You are my guests. Uninvited. By virtue of the
fifth of George and seventh of Edward. History to blame.
Fabled by mothers of memory.
PRIVATE CARR: (To Cissy Caffrey) Was he insulting
you?
Ulysses
966 of 1305 STEPHEN: Addressed her in vocative feminine.
Probably neuter. Ungenitive.
VOICES: No, he didnât. I seen him. The girl there. He
was in Mrs Cohenâs. Whatâs up? Soldier and civilian.
CISSY CAFFREY: I was in company with the soldiers
and they left me to doâyou know, and the young man run up behind me. But Iâm faithful to the man thatâs treating me though Iâm only a shilling whore.
The Displaced Centre of Gravity
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a drunken, intellectualized confrontation with two British soldiers, Private Carr and Private Compton.
- The tension escalates as the soldiers perceive Stephen's abstract philosophical rambling as a personal or political insult.
- Bloom attempts to intervene and usher Stephen away, but Stephen insists on his right to speak to any human being on the 'oblate orange.'
- Stephen declares a personal internal revolution, stating he must 'kill the priest and the king' within his own mind.
- A surreal hallucination of King Edward VII appears, dressed in eclectic masonic and royal regalia, ironically calling for 'peace, perfect peace' while encouraging a fight.
- The scene highlights the volatile intersection of Irish intellectualism, British military presence, and the absurdity of colonial loyalty.
But in here it is I must kill the priest and the king.
STEPHEN: (Catches sight of Lynchâs and Kittyâs heads)
Hail, Sisyphus. (He points to himself and the others) Poetic.
Uropoetic.
VOICES: Shes faithfultheman. CISSY CAFFREY: Yes, to go with him. And me with
a soldier friend.
PRIVATE COMPTON: He doesnât half want a thick
ear, the blighter. Biff him one, Harry.
PRIVATE CARR: (To Cissy) Was he insulting you
while me and him was having a piss?
LORD TENNYSON: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack
blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded) Theirs
not to reason why.
PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry.
STEPHEN: (To Private Compton) I donât know your
name but you are quite right. Doctor Swift says one man
Ulysses
967 of 1305 in armour will beat ten men in their shirts. Shirt is
synechdoche. Part for the whole.
CISSY CAFFREY: (To The Crowd) No, I was with the
privates.
STEPHEN: (Amiably) Why not? The bold soldier boy.
In my opinion every lady for example ...
PRIVATE CARR: (His cap awry, advances to Stephen)
Say, how would it be, governor , if I was to bash in your
jaw?
STEPHEN: (Looks up to the sky) How? Very
unpleasant. Noble art of selfpretence. Personally, I detest
action. (He waves his hand) Hand hurts me slightly. Enfin ce
sont vos oignons. (To Cissy Caffrey) Some trouble is on here.
What is it precisely?
DOLLY GRAY: (From her balcony waves her
handkerchief, giving the sign of the heroine of Jericho) Rahab.
Cookâs son, goodbye. Safe home to Dolly. Dream of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.
(The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.)
BLOOM: (Elbowing through the crowd, plucks Stephenâs
sleeve vigorously) Come now, professor, that carman is
waiting.
STEPHEN: (Turns) Eh? (He disengages himself) Why
should I not speak to him or to any human being who
Ulysses
968 of 1305 walks upright upon this oblate orange? (He points his finger)
Iâm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. Retaining the perpendicular.
(He staggers a pace back)
BLOOM: (Propping him) Retain your own.
STEPHEN: (Laughs emptily) My centre of gravity is
displaced. I have forgotten the trick. Let us sit down
somewhere and discuss. Struggle for life is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the king of England, have invented arbitration. (He taps his
brow) But in here it is I must kill the priest and the king.
BIDDY THE CLAP: Did you hear what the professor
said? Heâs a professor out of the college.
CUNTY KATE: I did. I heard that. BIDDY THE CLAP: He expresses himself with such
marked refinement of phraseology.
CUNTY KATE: Indeed, yes. And at the same time
with such apposite trenchancy.
PRIVATE CARR: (Pulls himself free and comes forward)
Whatâs that youâre saying about my king?
(Edward the Seventh appears in an archway. He wars a white
jersey on which an image of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of
Denmark, Skinnerâs and Probynâs horse, Lincolnâs Inn bencher
Ulysses
969 of 1305 and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.
He sucks a red jujube. He is robed as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, marked made in
Germany. In his left hand he holds a plastererâs bucket on which
is printed DĂŠfense dâuriner. A roar of welcome greets him.)
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Slowly, solemnly but
indistinctly) Peace, perfect peace. For identification, bucket
in my hand. Cheerio, boys. (He turns to his subjects) We
have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men th e best of good luck. Mahak
makar a bak.
(He shakes hands with Private Carr, Private Compton,
Stephen, Bloom and Lynch. G eneral applause. Edward the
Seventh lifts his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.)
PRIVATE CARR: (To Stephen) Say it again.
STEPHEN: (Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up) I
Nationalism and Nighttown Hallucinations
- Stephen Dedalus engages in a tense, drunken philosophical confrontation with British soldiers, Private Carr and Private Compton.
- The narrative dissolves into a surreal hallucination featuring King Edward VII and various figures of Irish revolutionary history.
- Leopold Bloom attempts to mediate the conflict, characterizing Stephen as a harmless poet to de-escalate the soldiers' growing aggression.
- The scene juxtaposes violent Irish nationalist rhetoric with the grotesque execution of the Croppy Boy, highlighting the brutality of political martyrdom.
- The sequence concludes with a macabre display of death and fetishism as Rumbold the hangman desecrates the remains of the executed.
To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.
understand your point of view though I have no king myself for the moment. This is the age of patent medicines. A discussion is difficu lt down here. But this is
the point. You die for your country. Suppose. (He places
his arm on Private Carrâs sleeve) Not that I wish it for you.
But I say: Let my country die for me. Up to the present it
has done so. I didnât want it to die. Damn death. Long
live life!
Ulysses
970 of 1305 EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Levitates over heaps of
slain, in the garb and with the halo of Joking Jesus, a white
jujube in his phosphorescent face)
My methods are new and are causing
surprise.
To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.
STEPHEN: Kings and unicorns! (He fills back a pace)
Come somewhere and weâll ... What was that girl saying?
...
PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Ha rry, give him a kick
in the knackers. Stick one into Jerry.
BLOOM: (To the privates, softly) He doesnât know what
heâs saying. Taken a little more than is good for him. Absinthe. Greeneyed monst er. I know him. Heâs a
gentleman, a poet. Itâs all right.
STEPHEN: (Nods, smiling and laughing) Gentleman,
patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.
PRIVATE CARR: I donât give a bugger who he is. PRIVATE COMPTON: We donât give a bugger who
he is.
STEPHEN: I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.
Ulysses
971 of 1305 (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and
peep-oâ-day boyâs hat signs to Stephen.)
KEVIN EGAN: Hâlo! Bonjour! The vieille ogresse with
the dents jaunes .
(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his rabbitface nibbling a
quince leaf.)
PATRICE: Socialiste!
DON EMILE PATRIZ1O FRANZ RUPERT POPE
HENNESSY: (In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on
his helm, with noble indignation po ints a mailed hand against the
privates) Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos
of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!
BLOOM: (To Stephen) Come home. Youâll get into
trouble.
STEPHEN: (Swaying) I donât avoid it. He provokes my
intelligence.
BIDDY THE CLAP: One immediately observes that
he is of patrician lineage.
THE VIRAGO: Green above the red, says he. Wolfe
Tone.
THE BAWD: The redâs as g ood as the green. And
better. Up the soldiers! Up King Edward!
A ROUGH: (Laughs) Ay! Hands up to De Wet.
Ulysses
972 of 1305 THE CITIZEN: (With a huge emerald muffler and
shillelagh, calls)
May the God above
Send down a dove
With teeth as sharp as razors To slit the throats
Of the English dogs
That hanged our Irish leaders.
THE CROPPY BOY: (The ropenoose round his neck,
gripes in his issuing bowels with both hands)
I bear no hate to a living thing,
But I love my country beyond the king.
RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Accompanied by
two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens) Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy
to slay Mogg. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a compatriot and hid remains in a sheet in the
cellar, the unfortunate femaleâs throat being cut from ear
to ear. Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows.
Ulysses
973 of 1305 (He jerks the rope. the assistants leap at the victimâs legs and
drag him downward, grunting the croppy boyâs tongue protrudes violently.)
THE CROPPY BOY:
Horhot ho hray hor hotherâs hest.
(He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends
gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the
cobblestones. Mrs Bellingham, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)
RUMBOLD: Iâm near it myself. (He undoes the noose)
Rope which hanged the awful rebel. Ten shillings a time.
As applied to Her Royal Highness. (He plunges his head into
the gaping belly of the hanged and draws out his head again
clotted with coiled and smoking entrails) My painful duty has
now been done. God save the king!
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Dances slowly, solemnly,
A Nighttown Confrontation
- A tense standoff erupts between Stephen Dedalus and British soldiers Private Carr and Private Compton over perceived insults to the King.
- The hallucinatory figure of Old Gummy Granny appears, personifying Ireland as the 'old sow that eats her farrow.'
- Leopold Bloom attempts to de-escalate the violence by citing Irish loyalty and military service in the Boer War.
- The scene dissolves into a chaotic blend of historical military references, nationalist fervor, and apocalyptic imagery.
- Cissy Caffrey becomes the focal point of the dispute, representing a 'link between nations' amidst the rising aggression.
- The conflict escalates into a symbolic pandemonium with cries of 'Dublin's burning' and the sound of Gatling guns.
The old sow that eats her farrow!
rattling his bucket, and sings with soft contentment)
On coronation day, on coronation day,
O, wonât we have a merry time,
Drinking whisky, beer and wine!
Ulysses
974 of 1305 PRIVATE CARR: Here. What are you saying about
my king?
STEPHEN: (Throws up his hands) O, this is too
monotonous! Nothing. He wan ts my money and my life,
though want must be his master, for some brutish empire
of his. Money I havenât. (He searches his pockets vaguely)
GAVE IT TO SOMEONE.
PRIVATE CARR: Who wants your bleeding money?
STEPHEN: (Tries to move off) Will someone tell me
where I am least likely to m eet these necessary evils? Ăa se
voit aussi Ă paris. Not that I ... But, by Saint Patrick ...!
(The womenâs heads coalesce. Old Gummy Granny in
sugarloaf hat appears seated on a toadstool, the deathflower of the
potato blight on her breast.)
STEPHEN: Aha! I know you, gammer! Hamlet,
revenge! The old sow that eats her farrow!
OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Rocking to and fro)
Irelandâs sweetheart, the king of Spainâs daughter, alanna.
Strangers in my house, bad manners to them! (She keens
with banshee woe) Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! (She
wails) You met with poor old Ireland and how does she
stand?
Ulysses
975 of 1305 STEPHEN: How do I stand you? The hat trick!
Whereâs the third person of the Blessed Trinity? Soggarth Aroon? The reverend Carrion Crow.
CISSY CAFFREY: (Shrill) Stop them from fighting!
A ROUGH: Our men retreated.
PRIVATE CARR: (Tugging at his belt) Iâll wring the
neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.
BLOOM: (Terrified) He said nothing. Not a word. A
pure misunderstanding.
THE CITIZEN: Erin go bragh!
(Major Tweedy and the Citizen exhi bit to each other medals,
decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Both salute with fierce hostility.)
PRIVATE COMPTON: Go it, Harry. Do him one in
the eye. Heâs a proboer.
STEPHEN: Did I? When?
BLOOM: (To the redcoats) We fought for you in South
Africa, Irish missile troops. Isnât that history? Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Honoured by our monarch.
THE NAVVY: (Staggering past) O, yes! O God, yes! O,
make the kwawr a krowawr! O! Bo!
(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of
gutted spearpoints. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the
terrible, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with
Ulysses
976 of 1305 epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabre taches, his breast bright with
medals, toes the line. He gives the pilgrim warriorâs sign of the knights templars.)
MAJOR TWEEDY: (Growls gruffly) Rorkeâs Drift! Up,
guards, and at them! Mahar shalal hashbaz.
PRIVATE CARR: Iâll do him in.
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Waves the crowd back) Fair
play, here. Make a bleeding butcherâs shop of the bugger.
(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)
CISSY CAFFREY: Theyâre going to fight. For me! CUNTY KATE: The brave and the fair. BIDDY THE CLAP: Methinks yon sable knight will
joust it with the best.
CUNTY KATE: (Blushing deeply) Nay, madam. The
gules doublet and merry saint George for me!
STEPHEN:
The harlotâs cry from street to street
Shall weave Old Irelandâs windingsheet.
PRIVATE CARR: (Loosening his belt, shouts) Iâll wring
the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.
Ulysses
977 of 1305 BLOOM: (Shakes Cissy Caffreyâs shoulders) Speak, you!
Are you struck dumb? You are the link between nations and generations. Speak, woman, sacred lifegiver!
CISSY CAFFREY: (Alarmed, seizes Private Carrâs sleeve)
Amnât I with you? Amnât I your girl? Cissyâs your girl.
(She cries) Police!
STEPHEN: (Ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey)
White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.
VOICES: Police!
DISTANT VOICES: Dublinâs burning! Dublinâs
burning! On fire, on fire!
(Brimstone fires spring up. Dense clouds roll past. Heavy
Gatling guns boom. Pandemoniu m. Troops deploy. Gallop of
The Nightmarish Black Mass
- A chaotic, hallucinatory landscape unfolds where the dead of Dublin rise from their graves in a surreal procession.
- Irish political history is parodied through a series of absurd duels between famous nationalist figures and their counterparts.
- A blasphemous 'Black Mass' is performed by Father Malachi OâFlynn and Reverend Mr Haines Love over a naked, fettered Mrs. Purefoy.
- The scene descends into linguistic and spiritual inversion, featuring a backward liturgy and the voice of Adonai calling out 'Dooooooooooog!'
- Amidst the escalating violence and sectarian discord, Bloom attempts to rescue Stephen from a brewing physical confrontation.
- Stephen Dedalus rejects his walking stick in favor of 'reason' even as the world around him collapses into a feverish, irrational nightmare.
On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her swollen belly.
hoofs. Artillery. Hoarse commands. Bells clang. Backers shout.
Drunkards bawl. Whores screech. Fo ghorns hoot. Cries of valour.
Shrieks of dying. Pikes clash on cu irasses. Thieves rob the slain.
Birds of prey, winging from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins,
blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. The midnight sun is darkened. The earth trembles. The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mo unt Jerome in white sheepskin
Ulysses
978 of 1305 overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. A
chasm opens with a noiseless ya wn. Tom Rochford, winner, in
athleteâs singlet and breeches, arrives at the head of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into th e void. He is followed by a race
of runners and leapers. In wild attitudes they spring from the brink. Their bodies plunge. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss
redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Society la dies lift their skirts above
their heads to protect themselves. Laughing witches in red cutty
sarks ride through the air on broo msticks. Quakerlyster plasters
blisters. It rains dragonsâ teeth. Armed heroes spring up from
furrows. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the red
cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith OâBrien against Daniel OâConnell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin MâCarthy against Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John OâLeary against Lear OâJohnny, Lord Ed ward Fitzgerald against Lord
Gerald Fitzedward, The OâDonogh ue of the Glens against The
Glens of The OâDonoghue. On an eminence, the centre of the earth, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara. Black candles rise from
its gospel and epistle horns. From the high barbacans of the tower
two shafts of light fall on the smokepalled altarstone. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her swollen belly. Father Malachi
OâFlynn in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his two left feet
Ulysses
979 of 1305 back to the front, celebrates cam p mass. The Reverend Mr Hugh
C Haines Love M. A. in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his head and collar back to the front, holds over the celebrantâs head
an open umbrella.)
FATHER MALACHI OâFLYNN: Introibo ad altare
diaboli.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: To the
devil which hath made glad my young days.
FATHER MALACHI OâFLYNN: (Takes from the
chalice and elevates a blooddr ipping host) Corpus meum.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Raises high
behind the celebrantâs petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy
buttocks between which a carrot is stuck) My body.
THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Htengier
Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!
(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.)
ADONAI: Dooooooooooog! THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Alleluia, for
the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!
(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.)
ADONAI: Goooooooooood!
(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and
Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to
Mary.)
Ulysses
980 of 1305 PRIVATE CARR: (With ferocious articulation) Iâll do
him in, so help me fucking Ch rist! Iâll wring the bastard
fuckerâs bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!
OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Thrusts a dagger towards
Stephenâs hand) Remove him, acushla. At 8.35 a.m. you
will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. (She prays) O
good God, take him!
(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE
OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.)
BLOOM: (Runs to lynch) Canât you get him away?
LYNCH: He likes dialectic, the universal language.
Kitty! (To Bloom) Get him away, you. He wonât listen to
me.
(He drags Kitty away.)
STEPHEN: (Points) exit Judas. Et laqueo se suspendit.
BLOOM: (Runs to Stephen) Come along with me now
before worse happens. Hereâs your stick.
STEPHEN: Stick, no. Reason. This feast of pure
reason.
The Altercation and the Aftermath
- Private Carr violently assaults Stephen Dedalus, striking him in the face and leaving him unconscious on the ground.
- A chaotic crowd gathers, with various bystanders debating the morality of the soldier's actions and the victim's status.
- Leopold Bloom attempts to intervene and protect Stephen, acting as a witness against the soldiers when the police arrive.
- The arrival of the Watch creates a legal threat for the soldiers, who are urged by their comrades to flee before being detained.
- Corny Kelleher arrives and uses his social influence and casual bribery to convince the police to drop the matter.
- Bloom works to manage the social fallout, framing Stephen's behavior as 'wild oats' to protect the Dedalus family reputation.
Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. He lies prone, his face to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall.
CISSY CAFFREY: (Pulling Private Carr) Come on,
youâre boosed. He insulted me but I forgive him. (Shouting
in his ear) I forgive him for insulting me.
BLOOM: (Over Stephenâs shoulder) Yes, go. You see
heâs incapable.
Ulysses
981 of 1305 PRIVATE CARR: (Breaks loose) Iâll insult him.
(He rushes towards Stephen, fist outstretched, and strikes him
in the face. Stephen totters, co llapses, falls, stunned. He lies
prone, his face to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom follows and picks it up.)
MAJOR TWEEDY: (Loudly) Carbine in bucket! Cease
fire! Salute!
THE RETRIEVER: (Barking furiously) Ute ute ute ute
ute ute ute ute.
THE CROWD: Let him up! Donât strike him when
heâs down! Air! Who? The soldier hit him. Heâs a professor. Is he hurted? Donât manhandle him! Heâs
fainted!
A HAG: What call had the redcoat to strike the
gentleman and he under the influence. Let them go and fight the Boers!
THE BAWD: Listen to whoâs talking! Hasnât the
soldier a right to go with his girl? He gave him the cowardâs blow.
(They grab at each otherâs hair, claw at each other and spit)
THE RETRIEVER: (Barking) Wow wow wow.
BLOOM: (Shoves them back, loudly) Get back, stand
back!
Ulysses
982 of 1305 PRIVATE COMPTON: (Tugging his comrade) Here.
Bugger off, Harry. Hereâs the cops! (Two raincaped watch,
tall, stand in the group.)
FIRST WATCH: Whatâs wrong here? PRIVATE COMPTON: We we re with this lady. And
he insulted us. And assaulted my chum. (The retriever barks)
Who owns the bleeding tyke?
CISSY CAFFREY: (With expectation) Is he bleeding!
A MAN: (Rising from his knees) No. Gone off. Heâll
come to all right.
BLOOM: (Glances sharply at the man) Leave him to me.
I can easily ...
SECOND WATCH: Who are you? Do you know
him?
PRIVATE CARR: (Lurches towards the watch) He
insulted my lady friend.
BLOOM: (Angrily) You hit him without provocation.
Iâm a witness. Constable, take his regimental number.
SECOND WATCH: I donât w ant your instructions in
the discharge of my duty.
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Pulling his comrade) Here,
bugger off Harry. Or Bennettâll shove you in the lockup.
Ulysses
983 of 1305 PRIVATE CARR: (Staggering as he is pulled away) God
fuck old Bennett. Heâs a whitea rsed bugger. I donât give a
shit for him.
FIRST WATCH: (Takes out his notebook) Whatâs his
name?
BLOOM: (Peering over the crowd) I just see a car there. If
you give me a hand a second, sergeant ...
FIRST WATCH: Name and address.
(Corny Kelleker, weepers round his hat, a death wreath in his
hand, appears among the bystanders.)
BLOOM: (Quickly) O, the very man! (He whispers)
Simon Dedalusâ son. A bit sprung. Get those policemen to move those loafers back.
SECOND WATCH: Night, Mr Kelleher.
CORNY KELLEHER: (To the watch, with drawling eye)
Thatâs all right. I know him. Won a bit on the races. Gold
cup. Throwaway. (He laughs) Twenty to one. Do you
follow me?
FIRST WATCH: (Turns to the crowd) Here, what are
you all gaping at? Move on out of that.
(The crowd disperses slowly, muttering, down the lane.)
CORNY KELLEHER: Leave it to me, sergeant.
Thatâll be all right. (He laughs, shaking his head) We were
often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. What? Eh, what?
Ulysses
984 of 1305 FIRST WATCH: (Laughs) I suppose so.
CORNY KELLEHER: (Nudges the second watch) Come
and wipe your name off the slate. (He lilts, wagging his head)
With my tooraloom tooral oom tooraloom tooraloom.
What, eh, do you follow me?
SECOND WATCH: (Genially) Ah, sure we were too.
CORNY KELLEHER: (Winking) Boys will be boys.
Iâve a car round there.
SECOND WATCH: All right, Mr Kelleher. Good
night.
CORNY KELLEHER: Iâll see to that.
BLOOM: (Shakes hands with both of the watch in turn)
Thank you very much, gentlemen. Thank you. (He
mumbles confidentially) We donât want any scandal, you
understand. Father is a wellknown highly respected citizen. Just a little wild oats, you understand.
A Providential Encounter
- The watchmen depart after Corny Kelleher intervenes, sparing Bloom and Stephen from further official scrutiny.
- Kelleher recounts his night of transporting commercial travelers to a brothel before happening upon the scene.
- Bloom fabricates a story about visiting an old friend to explain his presence in the red-light district.
- Kelleher offers a lift but ultimately departs, leaving Bloom to care for the unconscious and disoriented Stephen.
- The departure of the car is marked by a surreal, rhythmic exchange of silent gestures and 'tooraloom' sounds.
- Bloom is left alone in the night, attempting to rouse Stephen by name as the young man remains in a deep stupor.
The car jingles tooraloom round the corner of the tooraloom lane. Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand. Bloom with his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher that he is reassuraloomtay.
FIRST WATCH: O. I understand, sir. SECOND WATCH: Thatâs all right, sir. FIRST WATCH: It was onl y in case of corporal
injuries Iâd have to report it at the station.
BLOOM: (Nods rapidly) Naturally. Quite right. Only
your bounden duty.
SECOND WATCH: Itâs our duty. CORNY KELLEHER: Good night, men.
Ulysses
985 of 1305 THE WATCH: (Saluting together) Night, gentlemen.
(They move off with slow heavy tread)
BLOOM: (Blows) Providential you came on the scene.
You have a car? ...
CORNY KELLEHER: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over
his right shoulder to the car brou ght up against the scaffolding)
Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammetâs.
Like princes, faith. One of them lost two quid on the race.
Drowning his grief. And were on for a go with the jolly
girls. So I landed them up on Behanâs car and down to
nighttown.
BLOOM: I was just going home by Gardiner street
when I happened to ...
CORNY KELLEHER: (Laughs) Sure they wanted me
to join in with the mots. No, by God, says I. Not for old
stagers like myself and yourself. (He laughs again and leers
with lacklustre eye) Thanks be to God we have it in the
house, what, eh, do you follow me? Hah, hah, hah!
BLOOM: (Tries to laugh) He, he, he! Yes. Matter of
fact I was just visiting an old friend of mine there, Virag,
you donât know him (poor fellow, heâs laid up for the past week) and we had a liquor together and I was just making my way home ...
(The horse neighs.)
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986 of 1305 THE HORSE: Hohohohohohoh! Hohohohome!
CORNY KELLEHER: Sure it was Behan our jarvey
there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohenâs and I told him to pull up and got off to see.
(He laughs) Sober hearsedrivers a speciality. Will I give him
a lift home? Where does he hang out? Somewhere in Cabra, what?
BLOOM: No, in Sandycove, I believe, from what he
let drop.
(Stephen, prone, breathes to the stars. Corny Kelleher,
asquint, drawls at the horse. Bloom, in gloom, looms down.)
CORNY KELLEHER: (Scratches his nape) Sandycove!
(He bends down and calls to Stephen) Eh! (He calls again) Eh!
Heâs covered with shavings anyhow. Take care they didnât lift anything off him.
BLOOM: No, no, no. I have his money and his hat
here and stick.
CORNY KELLEHER: Ah, well, heâll get over it. No
bones broken. Well, Iâll shove along. (He laughs) Iâve a
rendezvous in the morning. Bu rying the dead. Safe home!
THE HORSE: (Neighs) Hohohohohome.
BLOOM: Good night. Iâll just wait and take him along
in a few ...
Ulysses
987 of 1305 (Corny Kelleher returns to the outside car and mounts it. The
horse harness jingles.)
CORNY KELLEHER: (From the car, standing) Night.
BLOOM: Night.
(The jarvey chucks the reins and raises his whip
encouragingly. The car and horse back slowly, awkwardly, and
turn. Corny Kelleher on the sideseat sways his head to and fro in
sign of mirth at Bloomâs plight. The jarvey joins in the mute
pantomimic merriment nodding from the farther seat. Bloom shakes his head in mute mirth ful reply. With thumb and palm
Corny Kelleher reassures that the two bobbies will allow the sleep
to continue for what else is to be done. With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. The
car jingles tooraloom round the corner of the tooraloom lane. Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand. Bloom with his hand assuralooms Corny Kellehe r that he is reassuraloomtay.
The tinkling hoofs and jingling h arness grow fainter with their
tooralooloo looloo lay. Bloom, holding in his hand Stephenâs hat, festooned with shavings, and ashplant, stands irresolute. Then he bends to him and shakes him by the shoulder.)
BLOOM: Eh! Ho! (There is no answer; he bends again)
Mr Dedalus! (There is no answer) The name if you call.
Somnambulist. (He bends again and hesitating, brings his
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988 of 1305 mouth near the face of the prostrate form) Stephen! (There is no
answer. He calls again.) Stephen!
A Samaritan in Nighttown
- Bloom tends to a semi-conscious Stephen, brushing woodshavings from his clothes and ensuring he is not physically harmed.
- Stephen deliriously recites fragments of Yeats's poetry, leading Bloom to reflect on the young man's education and potential.
- In a moment of profound grief and longing, Bloom experiences a vision of his deceased son, Rudy, appearing as a silent, ethereal figure.
- Bloom assumes a paternal role, deciding to guide the unsteady Stephen toward a cabman's shelter for refreshment.
- The narrative shifts into a more clinical, verbose prose style as the pair begins their late-night trek through the streets of Dublin.
- Bloom searches for a conveyance to transport them, navigating the 'fetid atmosphere' of the city's livery stables and lanes.
Against the dark wall a figure appears slowly, a fairy boy of eleven, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an eton suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding a book in his hand.
STEPHEN: (Groans) Who? Black panther. Vampire.
(He sighs and stretches himself, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels)
Who ... drive... Fergus now
And pierce ... woodâs woven shade? ...
(He turns on his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.)
BLOOM: Poetry. Well educated. Pity. (He bends again
and undoes the buttons of Stephenâs waistcoat) To breathe. (He
brushes the woodshavings from Ste phenâs clothes with light hand
and fingers) One pound seven. Not hurt anyhow. (He
listens) What?
STEPHEN: (Murmurs)
... shadows ... the woods
... white breast... dim sea.
(He stretches out his arms, sighs again and curls his body.
Bloom, holding the hat and ashplant, stands erect. A dog barks
in the distance. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the
ashplant. He looks down on Stephenâs face and form.)
Ulysses
989 of 1305 BLOOM: (Communes with the night) Face reminds me
of his poor mother. In the shady wood. The deep white breast. Ferguson, I think I caught. A girl. Some girl. Best
thing could happen him. (He murmurs) ... swear that I will
always hail, ever conceal, neve r reveal, any part or parts,
art or arts ... (He murmurs) ... in the rough sands of the sea
... a cabletowâs length from the shore ... where the tide ebbs ... and flows ...
(Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on guard, his fingers at his
lips in the attitude of secret mast er. Against the dark wall a figure
appears slowly, a fairy boy of eleven, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an eton suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding a book in his hand. He read s from right to left inaudibly,
smiling, kissing the page.)
BLOOM: (Wonderstruck, calls inaudibly) Rudy!
RUDY: (Gazes, unseeing, into Bloo mâs eyes and goes on
reading, kissing, smiling. He has a delicate mauve face. On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons. In his free left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a violet bowknot. A white lambkin peeps out of his waistcoat pocket.)
Ulysses
990 of 1305 III
Preparatory to anything else Mr Bloom brushed off the
greater bulk of the shavings and handed Stephen the hat and ashplant and bucked him up generally in orthodox Samaritan fashion which he very badly needed. His (Stephenâs) mind was not exactly what you would call wandering but a bit unsteady and on his expressed desire
for some beverage to drink Mr Bloom in view of the hour it was and there being no pump of Vartry water available for their ablutions let alone drinking purposes hit upon an
expedient by suggesting, off the reel, the propriety of the
cabmanâs shelter, as it was called, hardly a stonesthrow away near Butt bridge where they might hit upon some
drinkables in the shape of a milk and soda or a mineral. But how to get there was the rub. For the nonce he was rather nonplussed but inasmuch as the duty plainly devolved upon him to take some measures on the subject he pondered suitable ways and means during which Stephen repeatedly yawned. So far as he could see he was
rather pale in the face so that it occurred to him as highly
advisable to get a conveyanc e of some description which
would answer in their then cond ition, both of them being
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991 of 1305 e.d.ed, particularly Stephen, always assuming that there
was such a thing to be found. Accordingly after a few such preliminaries as brushing, in spite of his having forgotten to take up his rather soapsuddy handkerchief after it had done yeoman service in the s having line, they both walked
together along Beaver street or, more properly, lane as far
as the farrierâs and the distinctly fetid atmosphere of the livery stables at the corner of Montgomery street where
they made tracks to the left from thence debouching into Amiens street round by the corner of Dan Berginâs. But as he confidently anticipated th ere was not a sign of a Jehu
plying for hire anywhere to be seen except a fourwheeler,
probably engaged by some fellows inside on the spree,
A Late Night Wander
- Mr. Bloom and Stephen Dedalus are forced to travel on foot after failing to hail a stationary cab outside the North Star hotel.
- Bloom suffers a minor wardrobe malfunction with a lost trouser button but maintains his composure as they walk through the refreshing night air.
- The pair passes several Dublin landmarks, including the morgue and the Great Northern railway station, while Stephen's mind drifts to the playwright Ibsen.
- Bloom, described as 'disgustingly sober,' provides a cautionary lecture to Stephen regarding the dangers of 'nighttown,' including predatory criminals and unscrupulous police.
- Bloom reflects on the providential intervention of Corny Kelleher, which saved Stephen from potential injury or legal ruin earlier in the evening.
- The narrative highlights Bloom's distrust of the police, whom he characterizes as being prepared to 'swear a hole through a ten gallon pot' to secure a conviction.
Bread, the staff of life, earn your bread, O tell me where is fancy bread, at Rourkeâs the bakerâs it is said.
outside the North Star hotel and there was no symptom of its budging a quarter of an inch when Mr Bloom, who was anything but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by emitting a kind of a whistle, holding his arms
arched over his head, twice.
This was a quandary but, bringing common sense to
bear on it, evidently there wa s nothing for it but.put a
good face on the matter and foot it which they accordingly did. So, bevelling ar ound by Mullettâs and the
Signal House which they shortly reached, they proceeded perforce in the direction of Amiens street railway
Ulysses
992 of 1305 terminus, Mr Bloom being handicapped by the
circumstance that one of the back buttons of his trousers
had, to vary the timehonoured adage, gone the way of all buttons though, entering thoroughly into the spirit of the thing, he heroically made light of the mischance. So as neither of them were particular ly pressed for time, as it
happened, and the temperature refreshing since it cleared up after the recent visitation of Jupiter Pluvius, they dandered along past by where the empty vehicle was waiting without a fare or a jarvey. As it so happened a Dublin United Tramways Companyâs sandstrewer
happened to be returning and the elder man recounted to his companion Ă propos of the incident his own truly
miraculous escape of some little while back. They passed the main entrance of the Great Northern railway station, the starting point for Belfast, where of course all traffic was
suspended at that late hour and passing the backdoor of
the morgue (a not very enticing locality, not to say gruesome to a degree, more especially at night) ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in due course turned into
Store street, famous for its C division police station.
Between this point and the high at present unlit warehouses of Beresford place St ephen thought to think of
Ibsen, associated with Bairdâs the stonecutterâs in his mind
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993 of 1305 somehow in Talbot place, first turning on the right, while
the other who was acting as his fidus Achates inhaled with
internal satisfaction the smell of James Rourkeâs city bakery, situated quite close to where they were, the very
palatable odour indeed of our daily bread, of all commodities of the public the primary and most indispensable. Bread, the staff of life, earn your bread, O tell me where is fancy bread, at Rourkeâs the bakerâs it is said.
En route to his taciturn and, not to put too fine a point
on it, not yet perfectly sober companion Mr Bloom who
at all events was in complete possession of his faculties, never more so, in fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which, barely permissible once in a while though not as a habitual practice, was of the nature of a regular deathtrap for young fellows of his age particularly if they had acquired drinking habits under the influence of liquor unless you knew a little jiujitsu for every contingency as even a fellow on the broad of his back could administer a nasty ki ck if you didnât look out.
Highly providential was the appearance on the scene of Corny Kelleher when Stephen was blissfully unconscious but for that man in the gap turning up at the eleventh
Ulysses
994 of 1305 hour the finis might have been that he might have been a
candidate for the accident ward or, failing that, the bridewell and an appearance in the court next day before
Mr Tobias or, he being the so licitor rather, old Wall, he
meant to say, or Mahony wh ich simply spelt ruin for a
chap when it got bruited about. The reason he mentioned the fact was that a lot of those policemen, whom he cordially disliked, were admittedly unscrupulous in the service of the Crown and, as Mr Bloom put it, recalling a
case or two in the A division in Clanbrassil street, prepared to swear a hole through a ten gallon pot. Never on the spot when wanted but in qu iet parts of the city, Pembroke
road for example, the
Nighttime Encounters and Social Critiques
- Bloom reflects on the systemic bias of law enforcement and the inherent dangers of arming soldiers against civilians.
- The narrative explores the physical and moral decay associated with excessive drinking and the 'squandermania' of fast living.
- Bloom expresses disapproval of Stephenâs medical companions for abandoning him, which Stephen cynically likens to the betrayal of Judas.
- While navigating the dark streets near the Customhouse, the pair encounters a watchman and a suspicious figure lurking under the railway arches.
- Bloom remains on high alert for 'desperadoes' and 'marauders' who might terrorize pedestrians for their money.
- Stephen recognizes the man accosting them as Corley, a man of fallen status whose breath smells of 'rotten cornjuice'.
Though unusual in the Dublin area he knew that it was not by any means unknown for desperadoes who had next to nothing to live on to be abroad waylaying and generally terrorising peaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their head in some secluded spot outside the city proper.
guardians of the law were we ll in evidence, the obvious
reason being they were paid to protect the upper classes. Another thing he commented on was equipping soldiers with firearms or sidearms of any description liable to go off at any time which was tantamount to inciting them against civilians should by any chance they fall out over anything. You frittered away your time, he very sensibly maintained,
and health and also char acter besides which, the
squandermania of the thin g, fast women of the demimonde
ran away with a lot of l s. d. into the bargain and the greatest danger of all was who you got drunk with though,
Ulysses
995 of 1305 touching the much vexed question of stimulants, he
relished a glass of choice old wine in season as both
nourishing and bloodmaking and possessing aperient
virtues (notably a good burgundy which he was a staunch believer in) still never beyond a certain point where he invariably drew the line as it simply led to trouble all round to say nothing of your being at the tender mercy of others practically. Most of a ll he commented adversely on
the desertion of Stephen by all his pubhunting confreres but
one, a most glaring piece of ratting on the part of his brother medicos under all the circs.
âAnd that one was Judas, Stephen said, who up to
then had said nothing whatsoever of any kind.
Discussing these and kindred topics they made a beeline
across the back of the Cu stomhouse and passed under the
Loop Line bridge where a brazi er of coke burning in front
of a sentrybox or something like one attracted their rather
lagging footsteps. Stephen of his own accord stopped for no special reason to look at the heap of barren
cobblestones and by the light emanating from the brazier he could just make out the darker figure of the corporation watchman inside the gloom of the sentrybox. He began to remember that this had happened or had been mentioned as having happe ned before but it cost him
Ulysses
996 of 1305 no small effort before he rem embered that he recognised
in the sentry a quondam friend of his fatherâs, Gumley. To avoid a meeting he drew nearer to the pillars of the railway bridge.
âSomeone saluted you, Mr Bloom said. A figure of middle height on the prowl evidently under
the arches saluted again, calling:
âNight!
Stephen of course started ra ther dizzily and stopped to
return the compliment. Mr Bloom actuated by motives of inherent delicacy inasmuch as he always believed in
minding his own business moved off but nevertheless
remained on the qui vive with just a shade of anxiety
though not funkyish in the le ast. Though unusual in the
Dublin area he knew that it was not by any means
unknown for desperadoes who had next to nothing to live
on to be abroad waylaying and generally terrorising peaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their head in
some secluded spot outside the city proper, famished loiterers of the Thames embank ment category they might
be hanging about there or simply marauders ready to decamp with whatever boodle they could in one fell swoop at a momentâs notice, your money or your life,
leaving you there to point a moral, gagged and garrotted.
Ulysses
997 of 1305 Stephen, that is when the accosting figure came to close
quarters, though he was not in an over sober state himself recognised Corleyâs breath redolent of rotten cornjuice. Lord John Corley some called him and his genealogy came about in this wise. He was the eldest son of inspector Corley of the G division, lately deceased, who had married a certain Katherine Brophy, the daughter of a Louth farmer. His grandfather Patrick Michael Corley of New Ross had married the widow of a publican there whose maiden name had been Katherine (also) Talbot.
Rumour had it (though not proved) that she descended from the house of the lords Talbot de Malahide in whose
mansion, really an unquestionably fine residence of its
Corley's Doleful Ditty
- Stephen Dedalus is approached by Corley, a dissolute man with a dubious claim to noble lineage through a relative's service in a washkitchen.
- Corley presents a familiar hard-luck story, claiming to be homeless, jobless, and abandoned by his former associates like Lenehan.
- Stephen suggests a teaching position at Mr. Deasy's school in Dalkey, but Corley admits he lacks the academic aptitude for such work.
- Despite his own exhaustion and lack of a place to sleep, Stephen feels a sense of pity for Corley's desperate situation.
- Stephen searches his pockets for a small loan and, after finding only broken biscuits, discovers two coins he mistakes for pennies.
- Corley identifies the coins as half-crowns, and Stephen generously lends him one despite his own precarious financial state.
A few broken biscuits were all the result of his investigation.
kind and well worth seeing, her mother or aunt or some relative, a woman, as the ta le went, of extreme beauty,
had enjoyed the distinction of being in service in the washkitchen. This therefore was the reason why the still comparatively young though dissolute man who now addressed Stephen was spoken of by some with facetious
proclivities as Lord John Corley.
Taking Stephen on one side he had the customary
doleful ditty to tell. Not as much as a farthing to purchase a nightâs lodgings. His friends had all deserted him. Furthermore he had a row with Lenehan and called him
Ulysses
998 of 1305 to Stephen a mean bloody sw ab with a sprinkling of a
number of other uncalledfor expressions. He was out of a job and implored of Stephen to tell him where on Godâs earth he could get something, anything at all, to do. No, it was the daughter of the mother in the washkitchen that was fostersister to the heir of the house or else they were
connected through the moth er in some way, both
occurrences happening at the sa me time if the whole thing
wasnât a complete fabrication fr om start to finish. Anyhow
he was all in.
âI wouldnât ask you only, pursued he, on my solemn
oath and God knows Iâm on the rocks.
âThereâll be a job tomorrow or next day, Stephen
told him, in a boysâ school at Dalkey for a gentleman usher. Mr Garrett Deasy. Tr y it. You may mention my
name.
âAh, God, Corley replied, sure I couldnât teach in a
school, man. I was never one of your bright ones, he added with a half laugh. I got stuck twice in the junior at the christian brothers.
âI have no place to sleep myself, Stephen informed
him.
Corley at the first go-off was inclined to suspect it was
something to do with Stephen being fired out of his digs
Ulysses
999 of 1305 for bringing in a bloody tart off the street. There was a
dosshouse in Marlborough street, Mrs Maloneyâs, but it was only a tanner touch and full of undesirables but MâConachie told him you got a decent enough do in the Brazen Head over in Winetavern street (which was distantly suggestive to the person addressed of friar Bacon) for a bob. He was starving too though he hadnât said a
word about it.
Though this sort of thing went on every other night or
very near it still Stephenâs feelings got the better of him in a sense though he knew that Corleyâs brandnew rigmarole
on a par with the others was hardly deserving of much credence. However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere
disco etcetera as the Latin poet remarks especially as luck
would have it he got paid his screw after every middle of the month on the sixteenth which was the date of the month as a matter of fact though a good bit of the wherewithal was demolished. But the cream of the joke was nothing would get it out of Corleyâs head that he was living in affluence and hadnât a thing to do but hand out
the needful. Whereas. He put his hand in a pocket anyhow not with the idea of finding any food there but thinking he might lend him anyth ing up to a bob or so in
lieu so that he might ende avour at all events and get
Ulysses
1000 of 1305 sufficient to eat but the result was in the negative for, to
his chagrin, he found his ca sh missing. A few broken
biscuits were all the result of his investigation. He tried his hardest to recollect for the mome nt whether he had lost as
well he might have or left because in that contingency it was not a pleasant lookout, very much the reverse in fact. He was altogether too fagged out to institute a thorough search though he tried to recollect. About biscuits he
dimly remembered. Who now exactly gave them he wondered or where was or did he buy. However in another pocket he came across what he surmised in the dark were pennies, erroneously however, as it turned out.
âThose are halfcrowns, man, Corley corrected him.
And so in point of fact they turned out to be. Stephen
anyhow lent him one of them.
âThanks, Corley answered, youâre a gentleman. Iâll
Encounters in the Dublin Night
- A destitute acquaintance approaches Stephen Dedalus, pleading for help securing menial work through a mutual connection named Boylan.
- The encounter highlights the extreme economic desperation in Dublin, where even sandwich-board positions require weeks of advance booking.
- Mr. Bloom observes the interaction with a shrewd, skeptical eye, noting the stranger's dilapidated appearance and chronic impecuniosity.
- Bloom reflects on the social hierarchy of 'parasites' and the cycle of people preying on their neighbors for survival.
- Stephen admits to giving the man half a crown, prompting Bloom to question Stephen's own precarious living situation for the night.
God, youâve to book ahead, man, youâd think it was for the Carl Rosa.
pay you back one time. Whoâs that with you? I saw him a few times in the Bleeding Ho rse in Camden street with
Boylan, the billsticker. You migh t put in a good word for
us to get me taken on there. Iâd carry a sandwichboard only the girl in the office told me theyâre full up for the next three weeks, man. God, youâve to book ahead, man, youâd think it was for the Carl Rosa. I donât give a shite
anyway so long as I get a job, even as a crossing sweeper.
Ulysses
1001 of 1305 Subsequently being not quit e so down in the mouth
after the two and six he got he informed Stephen about a fellow by the name of Bags Comisky that he said Stephen knew well out of Fullamâs, the shipchandlerâs, bookkeeper there that used to be often round in Nagleâs back with OâMara and a little chap with a stutter the name of Tighe. Anyhow he was lagged the night before last and fined ten bob for a drunk and disorderly and refusing to go with the constable.
210 Mr Bloom in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the
vicinity of the cobblestones near the brazier of coke in
front of the corporation watchmanâs sentrybox who
evidently a glutton for work, it struck him, was having a quiet forty winks for all intents and purposes on his own private account while Dublin slept. He threw an odd eye at the same time now and then at Stephenâs anything but immaculately attired interlocutor as if he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other though where he was not in a position to truthfully state nor had he the remotest idea when. Being a levelheaded individual who could give points to not a few in point of shrewd observation he also
remarked on his very dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally testifying to a chronic impecuniosity.
Ulysses
1002 of 1305 Palpably he was one of his hangerson but for the matter of
that it was merely a question of one preying on his nextdoor neighbour all round, in every deep, so to put it, a deeper depth and for the matter of that if the man in the street chanced to be in the dock himself penal servitude with or without the option of a fine would be a very rara avis altogether. In any case he had a consummate amount
of cool assurance intercepting people at that hour of the night or morning. Pretty thick that was certainly.
The pair parted company and Stephen rejoined Mr
Bloom who, with his practised eye, was not without perceiving that he had succ umbed to the blandiloquence
of the other parasite. Alluding to the encounter he said,
laughingly, Stephen, that is:
âHe is down on his luck. He asked me to ask you to
ask somebody named Boylan, a billsticker, to give him a job as a sandwichman.
At this intelligence, in which he seemingly evinced
little interest, Mr Bloom gazed abstractedly for the space of
a half a second or so in th e direction of a bucketdredger,
rejoicing in the farfamed name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse quay and quite possibly out of
repair, whereupon he observed evasively:
Ulysses
1003 of 1305 âEverybody gets their own ration of luck, they say.
Now you mention it his fac e was familiar to me. But,
leaving that for the moment, how much did you part with, he queried, if I am not too inquisitive?
âHalf a crown, Stephen responded. I daresay he needs
it to sleep somewhere.
âNeeds! Mr Bloom ejaculated, professing not the least
surprise at the intelligence, I can quite credit the assertion
and I guarantee he invariably does. Everyone according to
his needs or everyone according to his deeds. But, talking about things in general, wh ere, added he with a smile, will
you sleep yourself? Walking to Sandycove is out of the
question. And even supposing you did you wonât get in
after what occurred at Westl and Row station. Simply fag
Bloom's Counsel and Stephen's Poverty
- Bloom questions Stephen about leaving his father's house, to which Stephen cynically replies that he left to seek misfortune.
- Bloom praises the elder Dedalus as a gifted raconteur while subtly suggesting that Stephen return home to escape his current companions.
- Stephen recalls a bleak domestic scene of his sisters eating cheap herrings and drinking cocoa made with oatmeal water in a soot-coated kettle.
- Bloom warns Stephen against trusting Buck Mulligan, suggesting Mulligan is opportunistic and may have even drugged Stephen's drink.
- Despite acknowledging Mulligan's medical talent and bravery, Bloom concludes that Mulligan is merely 'picking' Stephen's brains out of jealousy.
Stephenâs mindâs eye being too busily engaged in repicturing his family hearth the last time he saw it with his sister Dilly sitting by the ingle, her hair hanging down, waiting for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was in the sootcoated kettle to be done.
out there for nothing. I donât mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your fatherâs house?
âTo seek misfortune, was Stephenâs answer. âI met your respected father on a recent occasion, Mr
Bloom diplomatically returned, today in fact, or to be strictly accurate, on yesterday. Where does he live at present? I gathered in the cour se of conversation that he
had moved.
Ulysses
1004 of 1305 âI believe he is in Dublin somewhere, Stephen
answered unconcernedly. Why?
âA gifted man, Mr Bloom said of Mr Dedalus senior,
in more respects than one and a born raconteur if ever there
was one. He takes great pride, quite legitimate, out of you.
You could go back perhaps, he hasarded, still thinking of
the very unpleasant scene at Westland Row terminus when it was perfectly evident that the other two, Mulligan, that is, and that En glish tourist friend of his,
who eventually euchred their third companion, were patently trying as if the whole bally station belonged to
them to give Stephen the slip in the confusion, which they
did.
There was no response forthcoming to the suggestion
however, such as it was, Stephenâs mindâs eye being too busily engaged in repicturing his family hearth the last time he saw it with his sister Dilly sitting by the ingle, her hair hanging down, waiting for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was in the sootcoated kettle to be done so that
she and he could drink it with the oatmealwater for milk after the Friday herrings they had eaten at two a penny with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the cat meanwhile under the mangle devouring a mess of eggshells and charred fish heads and bones on a square of
Ulysses
1005 of 1305 brown paper, in accordance with the third precept of the
church to fast and abstain on the days commanded, it
being quarter tense or if not, ember days or something like that.
âNo, Mr Bloom repeated again, I wouldnât personally
repose much trust in that boon companion of yours who
contributes the humorous el ement, Dr Mulligan, as a
guide, philosopher and friend if I were in your shoes. He
knows which side his bread is buttered on though in all probability he never realised what it is to be without regular meals. Of course y ou didnât notice as much as I
did. But it wouldnât occasion me the least surprise to learn
that a pinch of tobacco or some narcotic was put in your
drink for some ulterior object.
He understood however from all he heard that Dr
Mulligan was a versatile allround man, by no means confined to medicine only, who was rapidly coming to the fore in his line and, if the report was verified, bade fair to enjoy a flourishing practice in the not too distant future as a tony medical practitioner dr awing a handsome fee for his
services in addition to whic h professional status his rescue
of that man from certain drowni ng by artificial respiration
and what they call first aid at Skerries, or Malahide was it?, was, he was bound to admit, an exceedingly plucky deed
Ulysses
1006 of 1305 which he could not too highly praise, so that frankly he
was utterly at a loss to fat hom what earthly reason could
be at the back of it except he put it down to sheer cussedness or jealousy, pure and simple.
âExcept it simply amounts to one thing and he is
what they call picking your brains, he ventured to throw o.ut.
The guarded glance of half solicitude half curiosity
augmented by friendliness whic h he gave at Stephenâs at
present morose expression of features did not throw a flood of light, none at all in fact on the problem as to
whether he had let himself be badly bamboozled to judge
by two or three lowspirited remarks he let drop or the
Shelter from the Night
- Bloom and Stephen enter a cabman's shelter, a modest wooden structure rumored to be run by the infamous 'Skin-the-Goat' Fitzharris.
- The pair encounters a diverse group of 'waifs and strays' whose curiosity is piqued by the arrival of the two noctambules.
- Bloom attempts to care for a fatigued Stephen by ordering him coffee and a bun, despite the questionable quality of the fare.
- A heated argument in Italian outside prompts Bloom to praise the language's musicality, which Stephen cynically dismisses as mere haggling over money.
- Stephen reflects on the arbitrary nature of names and sounds, suggesting that even the most famous figures are defined by labels that are essentially 'impostures'.
- Bloom reveals that his own family name was changed, highlighting themes of identity and assimilation.
Sounds are impostures, Stephen said after a pause of some little time, like names.
other way about saw through the affair and for some reason or other best known to himself allowed matters to more or less. Grinding poverty did have that effect and he more than conjectured that, high educational abilities though he possessed, he experi enced no little difficulty in
making both ends meet.
Adjacent to the menâs public urinal they perceived an
icecream car round which a group of presumably Italians in heated altercation were getting rid of voluble expressions in their vivacious language in a particularly
Ulysses
1007 of 1305 animated way, there being some little differences between
the parties.
âPuttana madonna, che ci dia i quattrini! Ho ragione? Culo
rotto!
âIntendiamoci. Mezzo sovrano piu ... âDice lui, pero! âMezzo. âFarabutto! Mortacci sui!
âMa ascolta! Cinque la testa piu ... Mr Bloom and Stephen entered the cabmanâs shelter,
an unpretentious wooden structure, where, prior to then, he had rarely if ever been before, the former having previously whispered to the latter a few hints anent the
keeper of it said to be th e once famous Skin-the-Goat
Fitzharris, the invincible, though he could not vouch for the actual facts which quit e possibly there was not one
vestige of truth in. A few moments later saw our two noctambules safely seated in a discreet corner only to be greeted by stares from the decidedly miscellaneous collection of waifs and strays and other nondescript
specimens of the genus homo already there engaged in
eating and drinking diversified by conversation for whom they seemingly formed an object of marked curiosity.
Ulysses
1008 of 1305 âNow touching a cup of coffee, Mr Bloom ventured
to plausibly suggest to break the ice, it occurs to me you
ought to sample something in the shape of solid food, say, a roll of some description.
Accordingly his first act was with characteristic sangfroid
to order these commodities quietly. The hoi polloi of
jarvies or stevedores or whatever they were after a cursory examination turned their eyes apparently dissatisfied, away
though one redbearded bibulous individual portion of whose hair was greyish, a sailor probably, still stared for
some appreciable time before transferring his rapt attention
to the floor. Mr Bloom, availing himself of the right of free speech, he having just a bowing acquaintance with the language in dispute, though, to be sure, rather in a
quandary over voglio, remarked to his protĂŠgĂŠ in an audible
tone of voice a propos of the battle royal in the street
which was still raging fast and furious:
âA beautiful language. I mean for singing purposes.
Why do you not write your poetry in that language? Bella
Poetria ! It is so melodious and full. Belladonna. Voglio.
Stephen, who was trying his dead best to yawn if he
could, suffering from lassitude generally, replied:
âTo fill the ear of a cow elephant. They were
haggling over money.
Ulysses
1009 of 1305 âIs that so? Mr Bloom asked. Of course, he subjoined
pensively, at the inward reflection of there being more
languages to start with than w ere absolutely necessary, it
may be only the southern glamour that surrounds it.
The keeper of the shelter in the middle of this tête-â-tête
put a boiling swimming cup of a choice concoction
labelled coffee on the table and a rather antediluvian specimen of a bun, or so it seemed. After which he beat a
retreat to his counter, Mr Bl oom determining to have a
good square look at him later on so as not to appear to.
For which reason he encouraged Stephen to proceed with
his eyes while he did the honours by surreptitiously
pushing the cup of what was temporarily supposed to be called coffee gradually nearer him.
âSounds are impostures, Stephen said after a pause of
some little time, like names. Cicero, Podmore. Napoleon,
Mr Goodbody. Jesus, Mr Doyle. Shakespeares were as common as Murphies. Whatâs in a name?
âYes, to be sure, Mr Bl oom unaffectedly concurred.
Of course. Our name was chang ed too, he added, pushing
The Sailor's Tall Tales
- A red-bearded sailor named D.B. Murphy initiates a conversation with Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom in a late-night shelter.
- Upon hearing Stephen's surname, the sailor claims to have known a Simon Dedalus who was a world-class marksman in a traveling circus.
- The sailor provides a dramatic, physical reenactment of Simon Dedalus shooting eggs off bottles over his shoulder in Stockholm.
- Stephen remains aloof and cynical about his father's reputation, while Bloom attempts to navigate the social awkwardness of the encounter.
- Murphy reveals his origins in Carrigaloe and claims he is returning to a wife he has not seen in seven years.
- Bloom reflects on the literary tropes of the returning mariner, comparing the sailor's story to figures like Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle.
He turned his body half round, shut up his right eye completely. Then he screwed his features up someway sideways and glared out into the night with an unprepossessing cast of countenance.
the socalled roll across.
The redbearded sailor who had his weather eye on the
newcomers boarded Stephen, whom he had singled out for attention in particular, squarely by asking:
Ulysses
1010 of 1305 âAnd what might your name be?
Just in the nick of time Mr Bloom touched his
companionâs boot but Stephen, apparently disregarding the warm pressure from an unexpected quarter, answered:
âDedalus. The sailor stared at him heavily from a pair of drowsy
baggy eyes, rather bunged up from excessive use of boose, preferably good old Hollands and water.
âYou know Simon Dedalus? he asked at length. âIâve heard of him, Stephen said. Mr Bloom was all at sea for a moment, seeing the
others evidently eavesdropping too.
âHeâs Irish, the seaman bold affirmed, staring still in
much the same way and nodding. All Irish.
âAll too Irish, Stephen rejoined. As for Mr Bloom he could neit her make head or tail of
the whole business and he was just asking himself what possible connection when the sailor of his own accord turned to the other occupa nts of the shelter with the
remark:
âI seen him shoot two eggs off two bottles at fifty
yards over his shoulder. The lefthand dead shot.
Ulysses
1011 of 1305 Though he was slightly hampered by an occasional
stammer and his gestures being also clumsy as it was still he
did his best to explain.
âBottles out there, say. Fifty yards measured. Eggs on
the bottles. Cocks his gun over his shoulder. Aims.
He turned his body half round, shut up his right eye
completely. Then he screwed his features up someway sideways and glared out into the night with an unprepossessing cast of countenance.
âPom! he then shouted once. The entire audience waited, anticipating an additional
detonation, there being still a further egg.
âPom! he shouted twice.
Egg two evidently demolished, he nodded and winked,
adding bloodthirstily:
âBuffalo Bill shoots to kill,
Never missed nor he never will.
A silence ensued till Mr Bloom for agreeablenessâ sake
just felt like asking him wheth er it was for a marksmanship
competition like the Bisley.
âBeg pardon, the sailor said. âLong ago? Mr Bloom pursued without flinching a
hairsbreadth.
Ulysses
1012 of 1305 âWhy, the sailor replied, relaxing to a certain extent
under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it might be a matter of ten year s. He toured the wide world
with Henglerâs Royal Circus. I seen him do that in Stockholm.
âCurious coincidence, Mr Bloom confided to
Stephen unobtrusively.
âMurphyâs my name, the sailor continued. D. B.
Murphy of Carrigaloe. Know where that is?
âQueenstown harbour, Stephen replied. âThatâs right, the sailor said. Fort Camden and Fort
Carlisle. Thatâs where I hails from. I belongs there. Thatâs
where I hails from. My little womanâs down there. Sheâs
waiting for me, I know. For England, home and beauty .
Sheâs my own true wife I hav enât seen for seven years
now, sailing about.
Mr Bloom could easily picture his advent on this scene,
the homecoming to the marinerâs roadside shieling after having diddled Davy Jones, a rainy night with a blind moon. Across the world for a wife. Quite a number of
stories there were on that partic ular Alice Ben Bolt topic,
Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember Caoc OâLeary, a favourite and most trying declamation piece by the way of poor John Casey
Ulysses
The Sailor's Tall Tales
- A sailor named D.B. Murphy recounts a melodramatic scenario of a husband returning home to find his wife has moved on with another man.
- Murphy provides proof of his identity and recent discharge from the ship Rosevean, which arrived carrying bricks from Bridgwater.
- The sailor boasts of his global travels, claiming to have visited the Red Sea, China, and Russia, while witnessing pirates and icebergs.
- He shares sensational stories of nature, including a crocodile biting an anchor and maneaters in Peru who consume horse livers.
- The group examines a postcard from Bolivia showing indigenous women, which the sailor uses to justify his graphic and exoticized claims.
- Mr. Bloom remains skeptical and observant, quietly checking the postcard's address and postmark for inconsistencies.
I seen a crocodile bite the fluke of an anchor same as I chew that quid.
1013 of 1305 and a bit of perfect poetry in its own small way. Never
about the runaway wife coming back, however much devoted to the absentee. The face at the window! Judge of
his astonishment when he finally did breast the tape and the awful truth dawned upon him anent his better half, wrecked in his affections. You little expected me but Iâve come to stay and make a fresh start. There she sits, a grasswidow, at the selfsame fireside. Believes me dead,
rocked in the cradle of the deep. And there sits uncle Chubb or Tomkin, as the case might be, the publican of the Crown and Anchor, in shirtsleeves, eating rumpsteak and onions. No chair for father. Broo! The wind! Her brandnew arrival is on her knee, post mortem child. With a
high ro! and a randy ro! and my galloping tearing tandy, O! Bow to the inevitable. Grin and bear it. I remain with much love your brokenhearted husband D B Murphy.
The sailor, who scarcely seemed to be a Dublin
resident, turned to one of the jarvies with the request:
âYou donât happen to have such a thing as a spare
chaw about you?
The jarvey addressed as it happened had not but the
keeper took a die of plug from his good jacket hanging on a nail and the desired obje ct was passed from hand to
hand.
Ulysses
1014 of 1305 âThank you, the sailor said.
He deposited the quid in his gob and, chewing and
with some slow stammers, proceeded:
âWe come up this morning eleven oâclock. The
threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks. I
shipped to get over. Paid off this afternoon. Thereâs my discharge. See? D. B. Murphy. A. B. S.
In confirmation of which stat ement he extricated from
an inside pocket and handed to his neighbour a not very
cleanlooking folded document.
âYou must have seen a fai r share of the world, the
keeper remarked, leaning on the counter.
âWhy, the sailor answered upon reflection upon it,
Iâve circumnavigated a bit since I first joined on. I was in the Red Sea. I was in China and North America and South America. We was chased by pirates one voyage. I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. I was in Stockholm and the Black Sea, the Dardanelles under Captain Dalton, the best bloody man that ever scuttled a ship. I seen Russia.
Gospodi pomilyou . Thatâs how the Russians prays.
âYou seen queer sights, donât be talking, put in a
jarvey.
âWhy, the sailor said, shifti ng his partially chewed
plug. I seen queer things too, ups and downs. I seen a
Ulysses
1015 of 1305 crocodile bite the fluke of an anc hor same as I chew that
quid.
He took out of his mouth the pulpy quid and, lodging
it between his teeth, bit ferociously:
âKhaan! Like that. And I seen maneaters in Peru that
eats corpses and the livers of horses. Look here. Here they are. A friend of mine sent me.
He fumbled out a picture postcard from his inside
pocket which seemed to be in its way a species of repository and pushed it along the table. The printed
matter on it stated: Choza de Indios. Beni, Bolivia.
All focussed their attention at the scene exhibited, a
group of savage women in str iped loincloths, squatted,
blinking, suckling, frowning , sleeping amid a swarm of
infants (there must have been quite a score of them) outside some primitive shanties of osier.
âChews coca all day, the communicative tarpaulin
added. Stomachs like breadg raters. Cuts off their diddies
when they canât bear no more children.
See them sitting there stark ballocknaked eating a dead
horseâs liver raw.
His postcard proved a ce ntre of attraction for Messrs
the greenhorns for several minutes if not more.
âKnow how to keep them off? he inquired generally.
Ulysses
1016 of 1305 Nobody volunteering a statement he winked, saying:
âGlass. That boggles âem. Glass. Mr Bloom, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously
turned over the card to p eruse the partially obliterated
address and postmark. It ran as follows: Tarjeta Postal, SeĂąor
A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. There was no
Bloom's Grand Tour Ambitions
- Bloom harbors a long-cherished plan to travel to London by sea, despite his limited experience as a 'landlubber' whose longest voyage was to Holyhead.
- He envisions the trip as a health-restoring journey through Plymouth and Southampton, culminating in a tour of the 'modern Babylon' of London.
- A secondary scheme involves organizing a high-end concert tour of English seaside resorts featuring an all-star Irish cast and his wife, Molly, as the leading lady.
- Bloom critiques the bureaucratic 'red tape' and 'effete fogeydom' that hinder the development of new travel routes like the Fishguard-Rosslare line.
- He laments the social inequality that prevents the average man from seeing the world due to the lack of a few 'paltry pounds.'
But even suppose it did come to planking down the needful and breaking Boydâs heart it was not so dear, purse permitting, a few guineas at the outside considering the fare to Mullingar where he figured on going was five and six, there and back.
message evidently, as he took particular notice. Though not an implicit believer in th e lurid story narrated (or the
eggsniping transaction for t hat matter despite William Tell
and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in Maritana on which occasion the formerâs ball passed
through the latterâs hat) having detected a discrepancy between his name (assuming he was the person he represented himself to be and not sailing under false colours after having boxed th e compass on the strict q.t.
somewhere) and the fictitious addressee of the missive which made him nourish some suspicions of our friendâs
bona fides nevertheless it reminded him in a way of a
longcherished plan he meant to one day realise some
Wednesday or Saturday of trav elling to London via long
sea not to say that he had ev er travelled extensively to any
great extent but he was at heart a born adventurer though by a trick of fate he had cons istently remained a landlubber
except you call going to Holy head which was his longest.
Ulysses
1017 of 1305 Martin Cunningham frequently said he would work a pass
through Egan but some deuced hitch or other eternally cropped up with the net result that the scheme fell through. But even suppose it did come to planking down
the needful and breaking Boydâs heart it was not so dear, purse permitting, a few guinea s at the outside considering
the fare to Mullingar where he figured on going was five and six, there and back. The trip would benefit health on account of the bracing ozone and be in every way thoroughly pleasurable, especia lly for a chap whose liver
was out of order, seeing the different places along the
route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so on
culminating in an instructive tour of the sights of the great
metropolis, the spectacle of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would see the greatest improvement, tower, abbey, wealth of Park lane to renew acquaintance with. Another thing just struck him as a by no means bad notion was he might have a gaze around on the spot to see about
trying to make arrangemen ts about a concert tour of
summer music embracing the most prominent pleasure resorts, Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate and so on, beautiful Bournemouth, the Channel islands and similar bijou spots, which might prove highly remunerative. Not,
Ulysses
1018 of 1305 of course, with a hole and corner scratch company or local
ladies on the job, witness Mrs C P MâCoy type lend me
your valise and Iâll post you the ticket. No, something top notch, an all star Irish caste, the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company with his own lega l consort as leading lady
as a sort of counterblast to the Elster Grimes and Moody-
Manners, perfectly simple matter and he was quite sanguine of success, providing puffs in the local papers could be managed by some fellow with a bit of bounce who could pull the indispensa ble wires and thus combine
business with pleasure. But w ho? That was the rub.Also,
without being actually positive, it struck him a great field
was to be opened up in the line of opening up new routes
to keep pace with the times apropos of the Fishguard-
Rosslare route which, it was mooted, was once more on
the tapis in the circumlocution departments with the usual
quantity of red tape and dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally. A great opportunity there certainly was for push and ent erprise to meet the travelling
needs of the public at large, the average man, i.e. Brown,
Robinson and Co.
It was a subject of regret and absurd as well on the face
of it and no small blame to our vaunted society that the
man in the street, when the sy stem really needed toning
Ulysses
1019 of 1305 up, for the matter of a couple of paltry pounds was
debarred from seeing more of the world they lived in instead of being always and ever cooped up since my old stick-in-the-mud took me for a wife. After all, hang it,
Vacations and Violent Tales
- The narrative contrasts the necessity of a 'radical change of venue' for city dwellers with the scenic, though sometimes inaccessible, beauty of the Irish countryside.
- A traveler shares exotic and unsettling anecdotes, ranging from Chinese novelty 'pills' that bloom in water to xenophobic remarks about dietary habits.
- The atmosphere shifts to violence as the narrator describes a lethal stabbing in a Trieste brothel, brandishing a clasp-knife to illustrate the murder.
- The listeners discuss the local perception of knife crimes, incorrectly attributing historical political assassinations to foreigners due to the choice of weapon.
- Bloom and Stephen share a silent, knowing glance regarding the presence of 'Skin-the-Goat,' a man linked to the Invincibles, who remains stoically indifferent to the conversation.
Prepare to meet your God, says he. Chuk! It went into his back up to the butt.
they had their eleven and more humdrum months of it
and merited a radical change of venue after the grind of city
life in the summertime for choice when dame Nature is at her spectacular best constitu ting nothing short of a new
lease of life. There were equally excellent opportunities for
vacationists in the home island, delightful sylvan spots for rejuvenation, offering a plethor a of attractions as well as a
bracing tonic for the system in and around Dublin and its
picturesque environs even, Poulaphouca to which there was a steamtram, but also farther away from the madding crowd in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland, an ideal neighbourhood for elderly wheelmen so long as it didnât come down, and in the wilds of Donegal where if
report spoke true the coup dâoeil was exceedingly grand
though the lastnamed locality was not easily getatable so that the influx of visitors was not as yet all that it might be considering the signal benefits to be derived from it while Howth with its historic associ ations and otherwise, Silken
Thomas, Grace OâMalley, George IV, rhododendrons several hundred feet above se alevel was a favourite haunt
Ulysses
1020 of 1305 with all sorts and conditions of men especially in the
spring when young menâs fancy, though it had its own toll
of deaths by falling off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the way, on their left leg, it being only about three quarters of an hourâs run from the pillar. Because of course uptodate tour ist travelling was as yet merely in its
infancy, so to speak, and the accommodation left much to
be desired. Interesting to fatho m it seemed to him from a
motive of curiosity, pure and simple, was whether it was the traffic that created the r oute or viceversa or the two
sides in fact. He turned back the other side of the card,
picture, and passed it along to Stephen.
âI seen a Chinese one time, related the doughty
narrator, that had little pills like putty and he put them in the water and they opened and every pill was something different. One was a ship, another was a house, another was a flower. Cooks rats in your soup, he appetisingly added, the chinks does.
Possibly perceiving an expression of dubiosity on their
faces the globetrotter went on, adhering to his adventures.
âAnd I seen a man killed in Trieste by an Italian chap.
Knife in his back. Knife like that.
Ulysses
1021 of 1305 Whilst speaking he produced a dangerouslooking
claspknife quite in keeping wit h his character and held it
in the striking position.
âIn a knockingshop it was count of a tryon between
two smugglers. Fellow hid behind a door, come up behind
him. Like that. Prepare to meet your God , says he. Chuk! It
went into his back up to the butt.
His heavy glance drowsily roaming about kind of
defied their further questions even should they by any chance want to.
âThatâs a good bit of steel, repeated he, examining his
formidable stiletto .
After which harrowing denouement sufficient to appal
the stoutest he snapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question away as before in his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket.
âTheyâre great for the cold steel, somebody who was
evidently quite in the dark said for the benefit of them all. That was why they thought the park murders of the invincibles was done by forei gners on account of them
using knives.
At this remark passed obvi ously in the spirit of where
ignorance is bliss Mr B. and Stephen, each in his own
particular way, both instinctively exchanged meaning
Ulysses
1022 of 1305 glances, in a religious silence of the strictly entre nous
variety however, towards where Skin-the-Goat, alias the
keeper, not turning a hair, was drawing spurts of liquid from his boiler affair. His inscrutable face which was really a work of art, a perfect study in itself, beggaring description, conveyed the impression that he didnât
understand one jot of what was going on. Funny, very!
The Weary Old Salt
- Mr. Bloom reflects on the land troubles of the early eighties while observing a group of men in a quiet, pensive atmosphere.
- Bloom attempts to engage a sailor in conversation about the Rock of Gibraltar, but the man responds with lazy scorn and indifference.
- The sailor expresses a deep, physical exhaustion with the sea, ships, and the repetitive diet of salt junk.
- Bloom contemplates the vastness of the oceans and the psychological toll they take on those who spend their lives upon them.
- The narrative explores the societal tendency to offload the dangers of the sea onto others, much like the concepts of hell, lotteries, or insurance.
- The sailor reveals he is wearing the clothes of a former shipmate who abandoned the sea for a comfortable life as a valet.
Iâm tired of all them rocks in the sea, he said, and boats and ships.
There ensued a somewhat le ngthy pause. One man was
reading in fits and starts a stained by coffee evening
journal, another the card with the natives choza de , another
the seamanâs discharge. Mr Bloom, so far as he was
personally concerned, was just pondering in pensive mood. He vividly recollected when the occurrence alluded to took place as we ll as yesterday, roughly some
score of years previously in the days of the land troubles, when it took the civilised world by storm, figuratively speaking, early in the eighties, eightyone to be correct, when he was just turned fifteen.
âAy, boss, the sailor broke in. Give us back them
papers.
The request being complied with he clawed them up
with a scrape.
âHave you seen the rock of Gibraltar? Mr Bloom
inquired.
Ulysses
1023 of 1305 The sailor grimaced, chewing, in a way that might be
read as yes, ay or no.
âAh, youâve touched there too, Mr Bloom said,
Europa point, thinking he had, in the hope that the rover might possibly by some reminiscences but he failed to do so, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the sawdust, and shook his head with a sort of lazy scorn.
âWhat year would that be about? Mr B interrogated.
Can you recall the boats?
Our soi-disant sailor munched heavily awhile hungrily
before answering:
âIâm tired of all them rocks in the sea, he said, and
boats and ships. Salt junk all the time.
Tired seemingly, he ceased. His questioner perceiving
that he was not likely to get a great deal of change out of
such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the enormous dimensions of the water about the globe, suffice it to say that, as a casual glance at the map revealed, it
covered fully three fourths of it and he fully realised accordingly what it meant to rule the waves. On more than one occasion, a dozen at the lowest, near the North
Bull at Dollymount he had remarked a superannuated old salt, evidently derelict, seated habitually near the not particularly redolent sea on the wall, staring quite
Ulysses
1024 of 1305 obliviously at it and it at him, dreaming of fresh woods
and pastures new as someone somewhere sings. And it left him wondering why. Possibly he had tried to find out the secret for himself, floundering up and down the antipodes and all that sort of thing and over and under, well, not exactly under, tempting the fates. And the odds were twenty to nil there was really no secret about it at all.
Nevertheless, without going into the minutiae of the
business, the eloquent fact remained that the sea was there in all its glory and in th e natural course of things
somebody or other had to sail on it and fly in the face of
providence though it merely we nt to show how people
usually contrived to load that sort of onus on to the other
fellow like the hell idea and the lottery and insurance which were run on identically the same lines so that for that very reason if no other lifeboat Sunday was a highly laudable institution to which th e public at large, no matter
where living inland or seaside, as the case might be, having
it brought home to them like that should extend its gratitude also to the harbourma sters and coastguard service
who had to man the rigging and push off and out amid the
elements whatever the season when duty called Ireland
expects that every man and so on and sometimes had a
terrible time of it in the wintertime not forgetting the Irish
Ulysses
1025 of 1305 lights, Kish and others, liable to capsize at any moment,
rounding which he once with his daughter had experienced some remarkably choppy, not to say stormy, weather.
âThere was a fellow sailed wit h me in the Rover, the
old seadog, himself a rover, proceeded, went ashore and took up a soft job as gentlemanâs valet at six quid a month. Them are his trousers Iâve on me and he gave me an
oilskin and that jackknife. Iâ m game for that job, shaving
The Sailor's Living Tattoo
- A sailor in a Dublin shelter recounts his distaste for roaming and his son Danny's decision to go to sea against his mother's wishes.
- The mariner displays a tattoo on his chest featuring an anchor, the number 16, and the face of a Greek man named Antonio.
- By manipulating his skin, the sailor makes the tattooed face of Antonio appear to shift from a frown to a forced smile, impressing the onlookers.
- The sailor reveals that Antonio met a grim end, having been eaten by sharks after the tattoo was inked during a calm in the Black Sea.
- The atmosphere is interrupted by a haggard streetwalker peering into the shelter, prompting a flustered Mr. Bloom to hide behind a newspaper.
- Bloom reflects on the woman's identity and her previous offer to do his washing, leading to a private thought about laundering his wife's undergarments.
And in point of fact the young man named Antonioâs livid face did actually look like forced smiling and the curious effect excited the unreserved admiration of everybody.
and brushup. I hate roaming about. Thereâs my son now, Danny, run off to sea and his mother got him took in a
draperâs in Cork where he c ould be drawing easy money.
âWhat age is he? queried one hearer who, by the
way, seen from the side, bore a distant resemblance to
Henry Campbell, the townclerk, away from the carking cares of office, unwashed of course and in a seedy getup and a strong suspicion of nos epaint about the nasal
appendage.
âWhy, the sailor answered with a slow puzzled
utterance, my son, Danny? Heâd be about eighteen now, way I figure it.
The Skibbereen father hereupon tore open his grey or
unclean anyhow shirt with his two hands and scratched away at his chest on which was to be seen an image
Ulysses
1026 of 1305 tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an
anchor.
âThere was lice in that bunk in Bridgwater, he
remarked, sure as nuts. I must get a wash tomorrow or next day. Itâs them black lads I objects to. I hate those buggers. Suck your blood dry, they does.
Seeing they were all looking at his chest he
accommodatingly dragged his shirt more open so that on top of the timehonoured symbol of the marinerâs hope and rest they had a full view of the figure 16 and a young manâs sideface looking frowningly rather.
âTattoo, the exhibitor explained. That was done
when we were Iying becalmed off Odessa in the Black Sea
under Captain Dalton. Fellow, the name of Antonio, done that. There he is himself, a Greek.
âDid it hurt much doing it? one asked the sailor. That worthy, however, was busily engaged in
collecting round the. Someway in his. Squeezing or.
âSee here, he said, showin g Antonio. There he is
cursing the mate. And there he is now, he added, the same
fellow, pulling the skin with his fingers, some special
knack evidently, and he laughing at a yarn.
And in point of fact the young man named Antonioâs
livid face did actually look like forced smiling and the
Ulysses
1027 of 1305 curious effect excited the unreserved admiration of
everybody including Skin-the-Goat, who this time stretched over.
âAy, ay, sighed the sailor , looking down on his manly
chest. Heâs gone too. Ate by sharks after. Ay, ay.
He let go of the skin so that the profile resumed the
normal expression of before.
âNeat bit of work, one longshoreman said. âAnd whatâs the number for? loafer number two
queried.
âEaten alive? a third asked the sailor. âAy, ay, sighed again the latter personage, more
cheerily this time with some sort of a half smile for a brief
duration only in the direction of the questioner about the number. Ate. A Greek he was.
And then he added with rather gallowsbird humour
considering his alleged end:
âAs bad as old Antonio,
For he left me on my ownio.
The face of a streetwalker glazed and haggard under a
black straw hat peered askew r ound the door of the shelter
palpably reconnoitring on her own with the object of bringing more grist to her mill. Mr Bloom, scarcely knowing which way to look, turned away on the moment
Ulysses
1028 of 1305 flusterfied but outwardly calm, and, picking up from the
table the pink sheet of the Abbey street organ which the jarvey, if such he was, had la id aside, he picked it up and
looked at the pink of the paper though why pink. His reason for so doing was he recognised on the moment round the door the same face he had caught a fleeting glimpse of that afternoon on Ormond quay, the partially idiotic female, namely, of the lane who knew the lady in
the brown costume does be with you (Mrs B.) and begged the chance of his washing. Also why washing which
seemed rather vague than not, y our washing. Still candour
compelled him to admit he had washed his wifeâs
undergarments when soiled in Holles street and women
would and did too a manâs si milar garments initialled with
Body, Soul, and Social Scandal
- Bloom expresses disgust and pity for a diseased woman from the Lock hospital, blaming men for her condition while fearing the health risks she poses.
- Stephen indifferent to the woman herself, offers a cynical philosophical critique of Irish society, suggesting people sell much more than just their bodies.
- Bloom advocates for the state licensing and medical inspection of sex workers, framing it as a necessary public health measure for a 'paterfamilias' to support.
- The conversation shifts to a theological debate regarding the nature of the soul versus the biological functions of the brain and 'grey matter.'
- Stephen uses scholastic logic to describe the soul as an incorruptible substance, though he mockingly suggests God might annihilate it as a 'practical joke.'
- The two men find themselves 'poles apart' as Bloom struggles to reconcile scientific progress, like X-rays, with the existence of a supernatural deity.
Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. She is a bad merchant. She buys dear and sells cheap.
Bewley and Draperâs marking ink (hers were, that is) if they really loved him, that is to say, love me, love my dirty shirt. Still just then, being on tenterhooks, he desired the femaleâs room more than h er company so it came as a
genuine relief when the keeper made her a rude sign to take herself off. Round the s ide of the Evening Telegraph
he just caught a fleeting glimpse of her face round the side of the door with a kind of demented glassy grin showing that she was not exactly a ll there, viewing with evident
Ulysses
1029 of 1305 amusement the group of gaz ers round skipper Murphyâs
nautical chest and then there was no more of her.
âThe gunboat, the keeper said. âIt beats me, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen,
medically I am speaking, how a wretched creature like that from the Lock hospital reeking with disease can be barefaced enough to solicit or how any man in his sober
senses, if he values his health in the least. Unfortunate creature! Of course I suppose some man is ultimately responsible for her condition. Still no matter what the cause is from ...
Stephen had not noticed her and shrugged his
shoulders, merely remarking:
âIn this country people sell much more than she ever
had and do a roaring trade. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. She is a bad merchant. She buys dear and sells cheap.
The elder man, though not by any manner of means an
old maid or a prude, said it was nothing short of a crying
scandal that ought to be put a stop to instanter to say that
women of that stamp (quite apart from any oldmaidish squeamishness on the subject), a necessary evil, w ere not
licensed and medically inspecte d by the proper authorities,
a thing, he could trut hfully state, he, as a paterfamilias , was
Ulysses
1030 of 1305 a stalwart advocate of from the very first start. Whoever
embarked on a policy of the sort, he said, and ventilated the matter thoroughly would confer a lasting boon on everybody concerned.
âYou as a good catholic, he observed, talking of body
and soul, believe in the soul. Or do you mean the intelligence, the brainpower as such, as distinct from any outside object, the table, let us say, that cup. I believe in that myself because it has been explained by competent
men as the convolutions of th e grey matter. Otherwise we
would never have such inventions as X rays, for instance. Do you?
Thus cornered, Stephen had to make a superhuman
effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he could say:
âThey tell me on the best aut hority it is a simple
substance and therefore in corruptible. It would be
immortal, I understand, but for the possibility of its annihilation by its First Cause W ho, from all I can hear, is
quite capable of adding that to the number of His other
practical jokes, corruptio per se and corruptio per accidens both
being excluded by court etiquette.
Mr Bloom thoroughly acquie sced in the general gist of
this though the mystical fine sse involved was a bit out of
Ulysses
1031 of 1305 his sublunary depth still he felt bound to enter a demurrer
on the head of simple, promptly rejoining:
âSimple? I shouldnât think that is the proper word. Of
course, I grant you, to concede a point, you do knock across a simple soul once in a blue moon. But what I am anxious to arrive at is it is one thing for instance to invent
those rays Rontgen did or the telescope like Edison, though I believe it was before his time Galileo was the man, I mean, and the same applies to the laws, for example, of a farreaching natur al phenomenon such as
electricity but itâs a horse of quite another colour to say you believe in the existe nce of a supernatural God.
âO that, Stephen expostulated, has been proved
conclusively by several of th e bestknown passages in Holy
Writ, apart from circumstantial evidence.
On this knotty point however the views of the pair,
poles apart as they were both in schooling and everything
Coffee and Literary Forgeries
- Bloom and Stephen engage in a weary dialogue about historical authenticity and the authorship of Shakespeare.
- Bloom attempts to coax Stephen into eating a stale bun and drinking coffee, reflecting on the poor quality of temperance shelters.
- The narrative highlights Bloom's skepticism toward the Coffee Palace, noting its lucrative nature and poor pay for his wife's musical services.
- Stephen expresses a visceral, psychological aversion to a simple table knife, claiming it reminds him of Roman history.
- Bloom privately doubts the veracity of the sailor's tall tales while simultaneously considering the strange coincidences of life.
- The interaction underscores the physical and mental exhaustion of both men as they navigate the late-night shelter.
Liquids I can eat, Stephen said. But O, oblige me by taking away that knife. I canât look at the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history.
else with the marked difference in their respective ages, clashed.
âHas been? the more experienced of the two
objected, sticking to his orig inal point with a smile of
unbelief. Iâm not so sure about that. Thatâs a matter for
everymanâs opinion and, without dragging in the sectarian
side of the business, I beg to differ with you in toto there.
Ulysses
1032 of 1305 My belief is, to tell you the candid truth, that those bits
were genuine forgeries all of them put in by monks most probably or itâs the big que stion of our national poet over
again, who precisely wrote them like Hamlet and Bacon,
as, you who know your Shakespeare infinitely better than I, of course I neednât tell you. Canât you drink that coffee, by the way? Let me stir it. And take a piece of that bun. Itâs like one of our skipperâs bricks disguised. Still no-one can give what he hasnât got. Try a bit.
âCouldnât, Stephen contrive d to get out, his mental
organs for the moment refusing to dictate further.
Faultfinding being a proverbially bad hat Mr Bloom
thought well to stir or try to the clotted sugar from the
bottom and reflected with something approaching acrimony on the Coffee Palace and its temperance (and lucrative) work. To be sure it was a legitimate object and
beyond yea or nay did a world of good, shelters such as
the present one they were in run on teetotal lines for
vagrants at night, concerts, dramatic evenings and useful lectures (admittance free) by qualified men for the lower
orders. On the other hand he had a distinct and painful recollection they paid his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy who had been prominently associated with it at one time, a very modest remuneration indeed for her pianoplaying.
Ulysses
1033 of 1305 The idea, he was strongly inc lined to believe, was to do
good and net a profit, there be ing no competition to speak
of. Sulphate of copper poison SO4 or something in some dried peas he remembered reading of in a cheap eatinghouse somewhere but he couldnât remember when
it was or where. Anyhow inspection, medical inspection, of all eatables seemed to him more than ever necessary which possibly accounted for the vogue of Dr Tibbleâs Vi-
Cocoa on account of the medical analysis involved.
âHave a shot at it now, he ventured to say of the
coffee after being stirred.
Thus prevailed on to at any rate taste it Stephen lifted
the heavy mug from the brown puddle it clopped out of
when taken up by the handle and took a sip of the offending beverage.
âStill itâs solid food, his good genius urged, Iâm a
stickler for solid food, his one and only reason being not
gormandising in the least but regular meals as the sine qua
non for any kind of proper wor k, mental or manual. You
ought to eat more solid food. You would feel a different man.
âLiquids I can eat, Stephen said. But O, oblige me by
taking away that knife. I canâ t look at the point of it. It
reminds me of Roman history.
Ulysses
1034 of 1305 Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the
incriminated article, a blunt hornhandled ordinary knife with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it to the lay eye, observing that the point was the least conspicuous point about it.
âOur mutual friendâs stories are like himself, Mr
Bloom apropos of knives remarked to his confidante sotto
voce. Do you think they are genuine? He could spin those
yarns for hours on end all night long and lie like old boots. Look at him.
Yet still though his eyes w ere thick with sleep and sea
air life was full of a host of th ings and coincidences of a
terrible nature and it was quite within the bounds of
possibility that it was not an entire fabrication though at first blush there was not much inherent probability in all the spoof he got off his chest being strictly accurate gospel.
He had been meantime taking stock of the individual
in front of him and Sherlockholmesing him up ever since he clapped eyes on him. T hough a wellpreserved man of
National Character and Tall Tales
- Bloom reflects on the suspicious appearance of the sailor, suspecting he might be a former convict or simply a 'mariner' prone to exaggeration.
- The narrative explores the nature of self-mythologizing, suggesting the lies a man tells about himself are minor compared to the rumors spread by others.
- Bloom recalls various curiosities and 'simple souls' from his past, including midget queens and Aztecs displayed in waxworks as gods.
- The conversation shifts to ethnic stereotypes, specifically the supposed volatility of 'italianos' and Spaniards driven by hot climates.
- Bloom mentions his wife Molly's Spanish heritage via her birth in Gibraltar to explain her dark features and temperament.
- Stephen Dedalus interrupts the rambling discourse with a cryptic Italian remark about money and theft.
And when all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himself couldnât probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him.
no little stamina, if a trifle prone to baldness, there was
something spurious in the cut of his jib that suggested a jail
delivery and it required no vi olent stretch of imagination
to associate such a weirdlooking specimen with the oakum and treadmill fraternity. He might even have done for his
Ulysses
1035 of 1305 man supposing it was his own case he told, as people often
did about others, namely, that he killed him himself and had served his four or five goodlooking years in durance vile to say nothing of the Antonio personage (no relation to the dramatic personage of identical name who sprang from the pen of our national poet) who expiated his crimes in the melodramatic manner above described. On the other hand he might be only bluffing, a pardonable weakness because meeting unmistakable mugs, Dublin
residents, like those jarvies waiting news from abroad would tempt any ancient mariner who sailed the ocean
seas to draw the long bow about the schooner Hesperus
and etcetera. And when all wa s said and done the lies a
fellow told about himself couldnât probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him.
âMind you, Iâm not saying that itâs all a pure
invention, he resumed. Analog ous scenes are occasionally,
if not often, met with. Giants, though that is rather a far
cry, you see once in a way, Ma rcella the midget queen. In
those waxworks in Henry street I myself saw some Aztecs,
as they are called, sitting bowlegged, they couldnât straighten their legs if you paid them because the muscles here, you see, he proceede d, indicating on his companion
Ulysses
1036 of 1305 the brief outline of the sinews or whatever you like to call
them behind the right knee, were utterly powerless from
sitting that way so long cram ped up, being adored as gods.
Thereâs an example again of simple souls.
However reverting to friend Sinbad and his horrifying
adventures (who reminded him a bit of Ludwig, alias
Ledwidge, when he occupied the boards of the Gaiety when Michael Gunn was identified with the management
in the Flying Dutchman , a stupendous success, and his host
of admirers came in large numbers, everyone simply
flocking to hear him though sh ips of any sort, phantom or
the reverse, on the stage usually fell a bit flat as also did
trains) there was nothing intrin sically incompatible about
it, he conceded. On the contra ry that stab in the back
touch was quite in keeping with those italianos though
candidly he was none the less free to admit those icecreamers and friers in the fish way not to mention the
chip potato variety and so forth over in little Italy there near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit too give n to pothunting the harmless
necessary animal of the feline persuasion of others at night
so as to have a good old su cculent tuckin with garlic de
rigueur off him or her next day on the quiet and, he added,
on the cheap.
Ulysses
1037 of 1305 âSpaniards, for instance, he continued, passionate
temperaments like that, impet uous as Old Nick, are given
to taking the law into their own hands and give you your quietus doublequick with those poignards they carry in the abdomen. It comes from the great heat, climate generally.
My wife is, so to speak, Spanish, half that is. Point of fact she could actually claim Spani sh nationality if she wanted,
having been born in (technically) Spain, i.e. Gibraltar. She has the Spanish type. Quite da rk, regular brunette, black. I
for one certainly believe clim ate accounts for character.
Thatâs why I asked you if you wrote your poetry in
Italian.
âThe temperaments at the door, Stephen interposed
with, were very passionate about ten shillings. Roberto ruba
roba sua .
âQuite so, Mr Bloom dittoed. âThen, Stephen said staring and rambling on to
himself or some unknown listener somewhere, we have
Maritime Tales and Rum Swigs
- Mr. Bloom discusses the aesthetic superiority of antique statues compared to the poorly dressed local women.
- The conversation shifts toward maritime disasters, including collisions with icebergs and ships lost in fog.
- A sailor credits his survival through various monsoons and perils of the deep to a pious medal.
- The group recalls the tragic wreck of the Norwegian barque Palme and the loss of the s.s. Lady Cairns.
- The sailor exits the shelter to relieve himself, secretly consuming ship's rum from flasks hidden in his pockets.
- Bloom observes the sailor's disorientation as he navigates the modernized city infrastructure after his long absence at sea.
Rumpled stockings, it may be, possibly is, a foible of mine but still itâs a thing I simply hate to see.
the impetuosity of Dante and the isosceles triangle miss Portinari he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino.
âItâs in the blood, Mr Bloom acceded at once. All are
washed in the blood of the sun. Coincidence I just happened to be in the Kilda re street museum 890 today,
Ulysses
1038 of 1305 shortly prior to our meeting if I can so call it, and I was
just looking at those antique statues there. The splendid proportions of hips, bosom. You simply donât knock against those kind of women here. An exception here and there. Handsome yes, pretty in a way you find but what
Iâm talking about is the female form. Besides they have so little taste in dress, most of them, which greatly enhances a womanâs natural beauty, no matter what you say. Rumpled stockings, it may be, possibly is, a foible of mine
but still itâs a thing I simply hate to see.
Interest, however, was starting to flag somewhat all
round and then the others got on to talking about
accidents at sea, ships lost in a fog, goo collisions with
icebergs, all that sort of thin g. Shipahoy of course had his
own say to say. He had doubled the cape a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a kind of wind, in the China
seas and through all those perils of the deep there was one thing, he declared, stood to hi m or words to that effect, a
pious medal he had that saved him.
So then after that they dr ifted on to the wreck off
Dauntâs rock, wreck of that illfated Norwegian barque nobody could think of her name for the moment till the jarvey who had really quite a look of Henry Campbell
remembered it Palme on Booterstown str and. That was the
Ulysses
1039 of 1305 talk of the town that year (Albert William Quill wrote a
fine piece of original vers e of 910 distinctive merit on the
topic for the Irish Times ), breakers running over her and
crowds and crowds on the s hore in commotion petrified
with horror. Then someone said something about the case
of the s. s. Lady Cairns of Swansea run into by the Mona
which was on an opposite tack in rather muggyish weather and lost with all hands on deck. No aid was given. Her
master, the Monaâs , said he was afraid his collision
bulkhead would give way. She had no water, it appears, in
her hold.
At this stage an incident happened. It having become
necessary for him to unfurl a reef the sailor vacated his
seat.
âLet me cross your bows mate, he said to his
neighbour who was just gently dropping off into a peaceful doze.
He made tracks heavily, slowly with a dumpy sort of a
gait to the door, stepped heavily down the one step there was out of the shelter and bo re due left. While he was in
the act of getting his bear ings Mr Bloom who noticed
when he stood up that he had two flasks of presumably shipâs rum sticking one out of each pocket for the private consumption of his burning interior, saw him produce a
Ulysses
1040 of 1305 bottle and uncork it or unscrew and, applying its nozz1e
to his lips, take a good old de lectable swig out of it with a
gurgling noise. The irrepressible Bloom, who also had a shrewd suspicion that the old stager went out on a manoeuvre after the counterattraction in the shape of a female who however had disappeared to all intents and purposes, could by straining just perceive him, when duly refreshed by his rum puncheon exploit, gaping up at the piers and girders of the Loop line rather out of his depth as of course it was all radically al tered since his last visit and
greatly improved. Some person or persons invisible directed him to the male urinal erected by the cleansing
committee all over the place for the purpose but after a
brief space of time during wh ich silence reigned supreme
The Decline of Irish Commerce
- The narrative follows Gumley, a man of former means now reduced to a night watchman due to his own financial recklessness and alcoholism.
- A group of men laments the decay of Irish shipping, noting that despite having natural harbors, almost no ships call at them anymore.
- A conspiracy theory is floated regarding a ship that struck a rock in Galway Bay, suggesting the captain was bribed by the British government to sabotage Irish maritime schemes.
- The sailor returns from his private drinking and urination, boisterously singing a crude sea chanty about the poor quality of ship rations.
- Skin-the-Goat delivers a passionate but weary speech about Ireland's natural wealth being drained by English taxation and exploitation.
The biscuits was as hard as brass / And the beef as salt as Lotâs wifeâs arse.
the sailor, evidently giving it a wide berth, eased himself closer at hand, the noise of his bilgewater some little time subsequently splashing on the ground where it apparently awoke a horse of the cabrank. A hoof scooped anyway for new foothold after sleep and harness jingled. Slightly disturbed in his sentrybox by the brazier of live coke the watcher of the corporation stones who, though now broken down and fast breaking up, was none other in stern reality than the Gumley aforesaid, now practically on the parish rates, given the temporary job by Pat Tobin in
Ulysses
1041 of 1305 all human probability from di ctates of humanity knowing
him before shifted about and shuffled in his box before composing his limbs again in to the arms of Morpheus, a
truly amazing piece of hard lines in its most virulent form on a fellow most respectably connected and familiarised with decent home comforts all his life who came in for a cool 100 pounds a year at one time which of course the
doublebarrelled ass proceeded to make general ducks and drakes of. And there he was at the end of his tether after
having often painted the town tolerably pink without a beggarly stiver. He drank needless to be told and it pointed only once more a moral when he might quite
easily be in a large way of business ifâa big if, howeverâ
he had contrived to cure himself of his particular partiality.
All meantime were loudly lamenting the falling off in
Irish shipping, coastwise and fo reign as well, which was all
part and parcel of the same th ing. A Palgrave Murphy boat
was put off the ways at Alexandra basin, the only launch that year. Right enough the harbours were there only no ships ever called.
There were wrecks and wrec kers, the keeper said, who
was evidently au fait .
What he wanted to ascert ain was why that ship ran
bang against the only rock in Galway bay when the
Ulysses
1042 of 1305 Galway harbour scheme was mooted by a Mr
Worthington or some name like that, eh? Ask the then captain, he advised them, how much palmoil the British
government gave him for that dayâs work, Captain John
Lever of the Lever Line.
âAm I right, skipper? he queried of the sailor, now
returning after his private potation and the rest of his exertions.
That worthy picking up th e scent of the fagend of the
song or words growled in wouldbe music but with great vim some kind of chanty or other in seconds or thirds. Mr Bloomâs sharp ears heard hi m then expectorate the plug
probably (which it was), so th at he must have lodged it for
the time being in his fist while he did the drinking and making water jobs and found it a bit sour after the liquid fire in question. Anyhow in he rolled after his successful
libation- cum-potation, introducing an atmosphere of drink
into the soirĂŠe, boisterously trolling, li ke a veritable son of a
seacook:
âThe biscuits was as hard as brass
And the beef as salt as Lotâs wifeâs arse. O, Johnny Lever! Johnny Lever, O!
Ulysses
1043 of 1305 After which effusion the red oubtable specimen duly
arrived on the scene and regaining his seat he sank rather
than sat heavily on the form provided. Skin-the-Goat, assuming he was he, evidently with an axe to grind, was airing his grievances in a forcible-feeble philippic anent the natural resources of Ireland or something of that sort
which he described in his lengthy dissertation as the richest country bar none on the face of Godâs earth, far and away
superior to England, with coal in large quantities, six million pounds worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs and all the riches drained
out of it by England levying taxes on the poor people that
paid through the nose always and gobbling up the best
The Achilles Heel of Empire
- A heated debate erupts in a shelter regarding the inevitable downfall of the British Empire and Ireland's role as its 'Achilles heel'.
- One speaker argues that England's crimes will lead to a historic collapse at the hands of rising powers like Germany and Japan.
- A veteran counters by claiming the Irish Catholic peasant is actually the 'backbone' of the British Empire, providing its best soldiers and leaders.
- The keeper of the establishment expresses disdain for all empires, arguing that no Irishman is worthy of his salt if he serves the British crown.
- Leopold Bloom privately dismisses the talk of imminent collapse as 'egregious balderdash', noting that England likely conceals its true strength.
- Bloom reflects on the irony that Irish soldiers have historically fought for England more often than against her, viewing the political posturing as a performance.
Brummagem England was toppling already and her downfall would be Ireland, her Achilles heel, which he explained to them about the vulnerable point of Achilles, the Greek hero, a point his auditors at once seized as he completely gripped their attention by showing the tendon referred to on his boot.
meat in the market and a lot more surplus steam in the same vein. Their conversation accordingly became general and all agreed that that was a fact. You could grow any
mortal thing in Irish soil, he stated, and there was that colonel Everard down there in Navan growing tobacco. Where would you find anywhere the like of Irish bacon?
But a day of reckoning, he stated crescendo with no
uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the conversation, was in store for mighty England, despite her power of pelf on account of h er crimes. There would be a
fall and the greatest fall in hi story. The Germans and the
Ulysses
1044 of 1305 Japs were going to have their little lookin, he affirmed.
The Boers were the beginning of the end. Brummagem England was toppling already and her downfall would be Ireland, her Achilles heel, which he explained to them about the vulnerable point of Achilles, the Greek hero, a
point his auditors at once seiz ed as he completely gripped
their attention by showing the tendon referred to on his boot. His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the land of your birth and work for Ireland and live for Ireland. Ireland, Parnell said, could not spare a single one of her sons.
Silence all round marked the termination of his finale.
The impervious navigator heard these lurid tidings,
undismayed.
âTake a bit of doing, boss, retaliated that rough
diamond palpably a bit peeved in response to the foregoing truism.
To which cold douche referring to downfall and so on
the keeper concurred but ne vertheless held to his main
view.
âWhoâs the best troops in the army? the grizzled old
veteran irately interrogated. And the best jumpers and racers? And the best admirals and generals weâve got? Tell me that.
Ulysses
1045 of 1305 âThe Irish, for choice, retorted the cabby like
Campbell, facial blemishes apart.
âThatâs right, the old ta rpaulin corroborated. The
Irish catholic peasant. Heâs the backbone of our empire.
You know Jem Mullins?
While allowing him his individual opinions as
everyman the keeper added he cared nothing for any empire, ours or his, and considered no Irishman worthy of his salt that served it. Th en they began to have a few
irascible words when it waxe d hotter, both, needless to
say, appealing to the listeners who followed the passage of arms with interest so long as they didnât indulge in
recriminations and come to blows.
From inside information extending over a series of
years Mr Bloom was rather inclined to poohpooh the suggestion as egregious balderdash for, pending that consummation devoutly to be or not to be wished for, he
was fully cognisant of the fact that their neighbours across
the channel, unless they were much bigger fools than he took them for, rather concea led their strength than the
opposite. It was quite on a par with the quixotic idea in certain quarters that in a hundred million years the coal seam of the sister island would be played out and if, as time went on, that turned out to be how the cat jumped
Ulysses
1046 of 1305 all he could personally say on th e matter was that as a host
of contingencies, equally relevant to the issue, might occur ere then it was highly advisable in the interim to try to make the most of both countries even though poles apart. Another little interesting point, the amours of whores and chummies, to put it in common parlance, reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, more so, in fact. And now, why? So the scene between the pair of them, the licensee of the place rumoured to be or have been Fitzharris, the famous invincible, and the other, ob viously bogus, reminded him
forcibly as being on all fours with the confidence trick,
supposing, that is, it was prearranged as the lookeron, a
student of the human soul if anything, the others seeing
least of the game. And as for the lessee or keeper, who probably wasnât the other pers on at all, he (B.) couldnât
Bloom's Philosophy of Tolerance
- Bloom reflects on the nature of crime and political violence, expressing a detached admiration for conviction while personally repudiating physical harm.
- The narrative recounts Bloom's encounter with anti-Semitism, where he countered an insult by pointing out that Christ and his family were Jews.
- Bloom advocates for a gradualist approach to social change, suggesting that revolution should occur on a 'due instalments plan' rather than through sudden violence.
- He emphasizes the absurdity of xenophobia and nationalistic hatred, arguing that it is illogical to hate neighbors simply for speaking a different 'vernacular.'
- The dialogue between Bloom and Stephen highlights a shared intellectual space where they discuss the humanity of religious figures 'secundum carnem.'
- Bloom concludes that while every country has the government it deserves, improvement is possible through mutual equality and goodwill rather than claims of superiority.
So I without deviating from plain facts in the least told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too and all his family like me though in reality Iâm not.
help feeling and most properly it was better to give people
like that the goby unless you were a blithering idiot altogether and refuse to have anything to do with them as a golden rule in private life and their felonsetting, there always being the offchance of a Dannyman coming forward and turning queenâs evidence or kingâs now like Denis or Peter Carey, an idea he utterly repudiated. Quite apart from that he disliked those careers of wrongdoing
Ulysses
1047 of 1305 and crime on principle. Yet, though such criminal
propensities had never been an inmate of his bosom in any
shape or form, he certainly did feel and no denying it (while inwardly remaining what he was) a certain kind of admiration for a man who had actually brandished a knife, cold steel, with the courage of his political convictions (though, personally, he would never be a party to any such thing), off the same bat as those love vendettas of the
south, have her or swing for her, when the husband
frequently, after some words passed between the two concerning her relations with the other lucky mortal (he
having had the pair watched), inflicted fatal injuries on his adored one as a result of an alternative postnuptial liaison
by plunging his knife into her, until it just struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat, merely drove the car for the actual perpetrators of the outrage and so was not, if he
was reliably informed, actually party to the ambush which, in point of fact, was the plea some legal luminary saved his
skin on. In any case that was very ancient history by now and as for our friend, the pseudo Skin-the-etcetera, he had transparently outlived his welcome. He ought to have either died naturally or on the scaffold high. Like actresses, always farewell positively last performance then come up smiling again. Generous to a fault of course,
Ulysses
1048 of 1305 temperamental, no economisin g or any idea of the sort,
always snapping at the bone for the shadow. So similarly he had a very shrewd suspicion that Mr Johnny Lever got rid of some l s d. in the course of his perambulations
round the docks in the congenial atmosphere of the Old
Ireland tavern, come back to Erin and so on. Then as for
the other he had heard not so long before the same identical lingo as he told Stephen how he simply but effectually silenced the offender.
âHe took umbrage at some thing or other, that
muchinjured but on the whole eventempered person
declared, I let slip. He called me a jew and in a heated
fashion offensively. So I without deviating from plain facts in the least told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too and all his family like me though in reality Iâm not. That was one for him. A soft answer turns away wrath. He hadnât a word to say for himself as everyone saw. Am I not right?
He turned a long you are wrong gaze on Stephen of
timorous dark pride at the soft impeachment with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed to glean in a kind of a way that it wasnât all exactly.
Ulysses
1049 of 1305 âEx quibus , Stephen mumbled in a noncommittal
accent, their two or four eyes conversing, Christus or
Bloom his name is or after all any other, secundum carnem .
âOf course, Mr B. proceeded to stipulate, you must
look at both sides of the question. It is hard to lay down any hard and fast rules as to right and wrong but room for improvement all round there certainly is though every country, they say, our own dis tressful included, has the
government it deserves. But with a little goodwill all
round. Itâs all very fine to boast of mutual superiority but
what about mutual equality. I resent violence and intolerance in any shape or for m. It never reaches anything
or stops anything. A revolution must come on the due instalments plan. Itâs a patent absurdity on the face of it to hate people because they liv e round the corner and speak
another vernacular, in the next house so to speak.
âMemorable bloody bridge battle and seven minutesâ
The Economics of Patriotism
- Mr. Bloom argues that global conflicts and 'wretched quarrels' are driven by greed and economic factors rather than honor or flags.
- Bloom defends the Jewish contribution to national prosperity, citing the historical decline of Spain and the rise of England as evidence.
- He critiques religious dogma, suggesting that the promise of an afterlife prevents people from improving their current material conditions.
- Bloom defines true patriotism as ensuring every citizen, regardless of creed, has a comfortable annual income of 300 pounds.
- Stephen Dedalus expresses a cynical detachment from the concept of work, prompting Bloom to defend intellectual and literary labor as essential to the nation.
- The dialogue highlights the contrast between Bloom's practical, materialistic idealism and Stephen's weary, abstract intellectualism.
He could hear, of course, all kinds of words changing colour like those crabs about Ringsend in the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the same sand.
war, Stephen assented, between Skinnerâs alley and Ormond market.
Yes, Mr Bloom thoroughly agreed, entirely endorsing
the remark, that was overwhelmingly right. And the whole world was full of that sort of thing.
Ulysses
1050 of 1305 âYou just took the words out of my mouth, he said.
A hocuspocus of conflicting evidence that candidly you
couldnât remotely ...
All those wretched quarrels, in his humble opinion,
stirring up bad blood, from some bump of combativeness or gland of some kind, erroneously supposed to be about a punctilio of honour and a fl ag, were very largely a
question of the money question which was at the back of
everything greed and jealousy, people never knowing when to stop.
âThey accuse, remarked he audibly. He turned away from the others who probably and
spoke nearer to, so as the others in case they.
âJews, he softly imparted in an aside in Stephenâs ear,
are accused of ruining. Not a vestige of truth in it, I can safely say. History, would you be surprised to learn, proves up to the hilt Spain deca yed when the inquisition
hounded the jews out and England prospered when Cromwell, an uncommonly able ruffian who in other respects has much to answer for, imported them. Why? Because they are imbued with the proper spirit. They are practical and are proved to be so. I donât want to indulge
in any because you know the standard works on the
subject and then orthodox as you are. But in the
Ulysses
1051 of 1305 economic, not touching religion, domain the priest spells
poverty. Spain again, you saw in the war, compared with goahead America. Turks. Itâs in the dogma. Because if
they didnât believe theyâd go st raight to heaven when they
die theyâd try to live better, at least so I think. Thatâs the juggle on which the p.pâs raise the wind on false pretences. Iâm, he resumed with dramatic force, as good an Irishman as that rude person I told y ou about at the outset and I
want to see everyone, concluded he, all creeds and classes
pro rata having a comfortable tidysized income, in no
niggard fashion either, something in the neighbourhood of
300 pounds per annum. Thatâs the vital issue at stake and
itâs feasible and would be provocative of friendlier
intercourse between man and man. At least thatâs my idea
for what itâs worth. I call that patriotism. Ubi patria , as we
learned a smattering of in our classical days in Alma Mater,
vita bene . Where you can live well, the sense is, if you
work.
Over his untastable apology for a cup of coffee,
listening to this synopsis of things in general, Stephen
stared at nothing in particular . He could hear, of course,
all kinds of words changing colour like those crabs about Ringsend in the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of th e same sand where they had
Ulysses
1052 of 1305 a home somewhere beneath or seemed to. Then he
looked up and saw the eyes that said or didnât say the words the voice he heard said, if you work.
âCount me out, he managed to remark, meaning
work.
The eyes were surprised at th is observation because as
he, the person who owned them pro tem. observed or rather his voice speaking did, all must work, have to, together.
âI mean, of course, the other hastened to affirm, work
in the widest possible sense. Also literary labour not merely for the kudos of the thing. Writing for the
newspapers which is the readiest channel nowadays. Thatâs
work too. Important work. After all, from the little I
know of you, after all the money expended on your education you are entitled to recoup yourself and command your price. You have every bit as much right to
live by your pen in pursuit of your philosophy as the peasant has. What? You both belong to Ireland, the brain and the brawn. Each is equally important.
âYou suspect, Stephen retorted with a sort of a half
laugh, that I may be import ant because I belong to the
Stephen's Rebuke and Bloom's Reflections
- Stephen Dedalus dismisses the conversation about Ireland with a sharp, possessive claim that the country belongs to him.
- Mr. Bloom, confused by Stephen's cryptic and irritable tone, attempts to navigate the young man's 'crosstempered' mood.
- Bloom reflects on the tragic decline of promising, cultured young men who succumb to 'premature decay' and social scandal.
- The narrative shifts into a stream of consciousness regarding public morality, legal scandals, and the hypocrisy of the upper classes.
- Bloom contrasts those who fail through eccentricity with the 'natural genius' of self-made men who rise from the lowest rungs.
- The passage highlights the generational and temperamental gap between the weary Bloom and the cynical, intoxicated Stephen.
But I suspect, Stephen interrupted, that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me.
faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short.
âI would go a step farther, Mr Bloom insinuated.
Ulysses
1053 of 1305 âBut I suspect, Stephen interrupted, that Ireland must
be important because it belongs to me.
âWhat belongs, queried Mr Bloom bending, fancying
he was perhaps under some misapprehension. Excuse me. Unfortunately, I didnât catch th e latter portion. What was
it you ...?
Stephen, patently crosstempered, repeated and shoved
aside his mug of coffee or what ever you like to call it none
too politely, adding: 1170
âWe canât change the country. Let us change the
subject.
At this pertinent suggestion Mr Bloom, to change the
subject, looked down but in a quandary, as he couldnât tell
exactly what construction to put on belongs to which
sounded rather a far cry. The rebuke of some kind was clearer than the other part. Nee dless to say the fumes of
his recent orgy spoke then with some asperity in a curious bitter way foreign to his sober state. Probably the homelife to which Mr B attached the utmost importance had not been all that was needful or he hadnât been familiarised
with the right sort of people. With a touch of fear for the young man beside him whom he furtively scrutinised with
an air of some consternation remembering he had just come back from Paris, the ey es more especially reminding
Ulysses
1054 of 1305 him forcibly of father and sister, failing to throw much
light on the subject, however, he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly
nipped in the bud of premature decay and nobody to blame but themselves. For in stance there was the case of
OâCallaghan, for one, the halfcrazy faddist, respectably connected though of inadequate means, with his mad vagaries among whose other gay doings when rotto and
making himself a nuisance to everybody all round he was in the habit of ostentatiously sporting in public a suit of
brown paper (a fact). And then the usual denouement after
the fun had gone on fast and furious he got 1190 landed
into hot water and had to be spirited away by a few friends, after a strong hint to a blind horse from John Mallon of Lower Castle Yar d, so as not to be made
amenable under section two of the criminal law amendment act, certain names of those subpoenaed being
handed in but not divulged for reasons which will occur to anyone with a pick of brains. Briefly, putting two and two together, six sixteen which he pointedly turned a deaf ear to, Antonio and so forth, jockeys and esthetes and the tattoo which was all the go in the seventies or thereabouts even in the house of lords because early in life the occupant of the throne, then heir apparent, the other
Ulysses
1055 of 1305 members of the upper ten and other high personages
simply following in the footsteps of the head of the state, he reflected about the errors of notorieties and crowned
heads running counter to mora lity such as the Cornwall
case a number of years before under their veneer in a way
scarcely intended by nature, a thing good Mrs Grundy, as the law stands, was terribly do wn on though not for the
reason they thought they were probably whatever it was
except women chiefly who were always fiddling more or less at one another it being largely a matter of dress and all the rest of it. Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should, and every welltailored man must, trying to make
the gap wider between them by innuendo and give more
of a genuine filip to acts of impropriety between the two, she unbuttoned his and then he untied her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the cannibal islands, say, at ninety degrees in the shade not cari ng a continental. However,
reverting to the original, there were on the other hand
others who had forced their way to the top from the
lowest rung by the aid of their bootstraps. Sheer force of natural genius, that. With brains, sir.
For which and further reasons he felt it was his interest
The Daily Press and Misprints
- Bloom reflects on the intellectual stimulation provided by chance encounters and the 'miniature cameo' of diverse human experiences.
- He considers writing a literary piece titled 'My Experiences in a Cabmanâs Shelter' for profit, inspired by the success of other writers.
- While scanning the newspaper, he encounters a chaotic mix of headlines ranging from international disasters to local sporting results.
- Bloom reads the obituary of Patrick Dignam and notices several typographical errors and factual inaccuracies in the list of mourners.
- He is particularly annoyed by being listed as 'L. Boom' and notes the inclusion of people who were not actually present at the funeral.
- Stephen Dedalus reacts to the newspaper's contents with a cynical joke about the 'first epistle to the Hebrews' and putting one's foot in one's mouth.
Nettled not a little by L. Boom (as it incorrectly stated) and the line of bitched type but tickled to death simultaneously by C. P. MâCoy and Stephen Dedalus B. A. who were conspicuous, needless to say, by their total absence.
and duty even to wait on and profit by the unlookedfor occasion though why he could not exactly tell being as it
Ulysses
1056 of 1305 was already several shillings to the bad having in fact let
himself in for it. Still to cu ltivate the acquaintance of
someone of no uncommon calibre who could provide food for reflection would amply repay any small. Intellectual stimulation, as such , was, he felt, from time to
time a firstrate tonic for the mind. Added to which was the coincidence of meeting, discussion, dance, row, old salt of the here today and gone tomorrow type, night loafers, the whole galaxy of events, all went to make up a miniature cameo of the world we live in especially as the
lives of the submerged tenth, viz. coalminers, divers, scavengers etc., were very much under the microscope
lately. To improve the shining hour he wondered whether
he might meet with anything approaching the same luck
as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in writing suppose he were to pen something out of the common groove (as he fully intended doing) at the rate of one guinea per column.
My Experiences , let us say, in a Cabmanâs Shelter .
The pink edition extra sporting of the Telegraph tell a
graphic lie lay, as luck wou ld have it, beside his elbow and
as he was just puzzling again, far from satisfied, over a country belonging to him and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater and the postcard was addressed A. Boudin find the captainâs age, his eyes went
Ulysses
1057 of 1305 aimlessly over the respective captions which came under
his special province the allembracing give us this day our daily press. First he got a bit of a start but it turned out to
be only something about somebody named H. du Boyes, agent for typewriters or someth ing like that. Great battle,
Tokio. Lovemaking in Irish, 200 pounds damages. Gordon Bennett. Emigration Swindle. Letter from His Grace. William . Ascot meetin g, the Gold Cup. Victory of
outsider Throwaway recalls Derby of â92 when Capt.
Marshallâs dark horse Sir Hugo captured the blue ribband at
long odds. New York disaster. Thousand lives lost. Foot
and Mouth. Funeral of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.
So to change the subject he read about Dignam R. I. P.
which, he reflected, was anything but a gay sendoff. Or a change of address anyway.
âThis morning (Hynes put it in of course) the remains of
the late Mr Patrick Dignam were re moved from his residence, no
9 Newbridge Avenue, Sandymount, for interment in Glasnevin. The deceased gentleman was a most popular and genial personality in city life and his de mise after a brief illness came as a
great shock to citizens of all cl asses by whom he is deeply
regretted. The obsequies, at whic h many friends of the deceased
were present, were carried out (certainly Hynes wrote it with a
nudge from Corny) by Messrs H. J. OâNeill and Son, 164
Ulysses
1058 of 1305 North Strand Road. The mourners included: Patk. Dignam
(son), Bernard Corrigan (brother-in-law), Jno. Henry Menton, solr, Martin Cunningham, John Power, .)eatondph 1/8 ador dorador douradora (must be where he called Monks the
dayfather about Keyesâs ad) Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus,
Stephen Dedalus B. ,4., Edw. J. Lambert, Cornelius T. Kelleher, Joseph MâC Hyne s, L. Boom, CP MâCoy,â
Mâlntosh and several others .
Nettled not a little by L. Boom (as it incorrectly stated)
and the line of bitched type but tickled to death simultaneously by C. P. Mâ Coy and Stephen Dedalus B.
A. who were conspicuous, needless to say, by their total absence (to say nothing of MâIn tosh) L. Boom pointed it
out to his companion B. A. engaged in stifling another yawn, half nervousness, not for getting the usual crop of
nonsensical howlers of misprints.
âIs that first epistle to the Hebrews, he asked as soon
as his bottom jaw would let him, in? Text: open thy mouth and put thy foot in it.
âIt is. Really, Mr Bloom sa id (though fir st he fancied
The Return of Parnell
- Bloom reads the racing results in the newspaper, noting that the rank outsider Throwaway won the Gold Cup at Ascot.
- The victory of Throwaway proves Lenehanâs earlier tips and Bantam Lyonsâs frantic betting to be incorrect.
- A cabman asserts that the Irish leader Charles Stewart Parnell is not actually dead but has merely absconded.
- Conspiracy theories circulate that Parnell's coffin was filled with stones and that he is currently living as a Boer general named De Wet.
- Bloom reflects on the fickle nature of public memory and the unlikely possibility of a political leader returning after twenty years of oblivion.
- Bloom considers the mundane reality of Parnell's death from pneumonia versus the dramatic myths created by his grieving followers.
The coffin they brought over was full of stones.
he alluded to the archbishop till he added about foot and mouth with which there could be no possible connection)
overjoyed to set his mind at rest and a bit flabbergasted at Myles Crawfordâs after all managing to. There.
Ulysses
1059 of 1305 While the other was reading it on page two Boom (to
give him for the nonce his new misnomer) whiled away a few odd leisure moments in fits and starts with the account of the third event at Ascot on page three, his side. Value 1000 sovs with 3000 sovs in sp ecie added. For entire colts
and fillies. Mr F. Alexanderâs Throwaway , b. h. by
Rightaway , 5 yrs, 9 st 4 lbs (W. Lane) 1, lord Howard de
Waldenâs Zinfandel (M. Cannon) z, Mr W. Bassâs Sceptre 3.
Betting 5 to 4 on Zinfandel , 20 to 1 Throwaway (off).
Sceptre a shade heavier, 5 to 4 on Zinfandel , 20 to 1
Throwaway (off). Throwaway and Zinfandel stood close
order. It was anybodyâs race then the rank outsider drew
to the fore, got long lead, beating lord Howard de Waldenâs chestnut colt and Mr W. Bassâs bay filly Sceptre on a 2 1/2 mile course. Winner trained by Braime so that
Lenehanâs version of the business was all pure buncombe. Secured the verdict cleverly by a length. 1000 sovs with 3000 in specie. Also ran: J de Bremondâs (French horse Bantam Lyons was anxiously inquiring after not in yet but
expected any minute) Maximum II . Different ways of
bringing off a coup. Lovema king damages. Though that
halfbaked Lyons ran off at a t angent in his impetuosity to
get left. Of course gambling em inently lent itself to that
sort of thing though as the event turned out the poor fool
Ulysses
1060 of 1305 hadnât much reason to congratulate himself on his pick,
the forlorn hope. Guesswork it reduced itself to eventually.
âThere was every indication they would arrive at that,
he, Bloom, said.
âWho? the other, whose hand by the way was hurt,
said.
One morning you would open the paper, the cabman
affirmed, and read: Return of Parnell . He bet them what
they liked. A Dublin fusilier was in that shelter one night and said he saw him in South Africa. Pride it was killed
him. He ought to have done away with himself or lain
low for a time after committee room no 15 until he was
his old self again with no-one to point a finger at him. Then they would all to a m an have gone down on their
marrowbones to him to come back when he had recovered his senses. Dead he wasnât. Simply absconded somewhere. The coffin they brought over was full of stones. He changed his name to De Wet, the Boer general. He made a mistake to fight the priests. And so forth and so on.
All the same Bloom (properly so dubbed) was rather
surprised at their memories for in nine cases out of ten it
was a case of tarbarrels and not singly but in their
Ulysses
1061 of 1305 thousands and then complete oblivion because it was
twenty odd years. Highly unlikely of course there was even a shadow of truth in the stones and, even supposing, he thought a return highly inadvisable, all things considered. Something evidently riled them in his death.
Either he petered out too tame ly of acute pneumonia just
when his various different political arrangements were nearing completion or whether it transpired he owed his death to his having neglected to change his boots and clothes-after a wetting when a cold resulted and failing to
consult a specialist he being confined to his room till he eventually died of it am id widespread regret before a
fortnight was at an end or quite possibly they were
distressed to find the job was taken out of their hands. Of course nobody being acquainted with his movements even before there was absolutely no clue as to his whereabouts
which were decidedly of the Alice, where art thou order
even prior to his starting to go under several aliases such as Fox and Stewart so the remark which emanated from friend cabby might be withi n the bounds of possibility.
Naturally then it would prey on his mind as a born leader
The Fall of a Leader
- Bloom reflects on the physical presence and eventual betrayal of a commanding political figure by his own henchmen.
- The conversation shifts to the inevitability of returning to the scene of a crime or a past life, drawing parallels to the Tichborne claimant case.
- The men in the shelter discuss the scandal involving a woman who allegedly caused the leader's downfall, mixing crude admiration with condemnation.
- Bloom considers the transition of the affair from a Platonic relationship to a public scandal that 'electrified' the court.
- The narrative highlights the sensationalism of the legal proceedings, specifically the vivid image of the leader escaping a bedroom via a ladder in his nightclothes.
It certainly pointed a moral, the idol with feet of clay, and then seventytwo of his trusty henchmen rounding on him with mutual mudslinging.
of men which undoubtedly he was and a commanding figure, a sixfooter or at any rate five feet ten or eleven in
his stockinged feet, whereas Messrs So and So who,
Ulysses
1062 of 1305 though they werenât even a patch on the former man,
ruled the roost after their redeeming features were very few and far between. It certai nly pointed a moral, the idol
with feet of clay, and then seventytwo of his trusty henchmen rounding on him with mutual mudslinging.
And the identical same with murderers. You had to come
back. That haunting sense kind of drew you. To show the
understudy in the title rĂ´le how to. He saw him once on
the auspicious occasion when they broke up the type in
the Insuppressible or was it United Ireland , a privilege he
keenly appreciated, and, in point of fact, handed him his
silk hat when it was knocked off and he said Thank you ,
excited as he undoubtedly was under his frigid exterior notwithstanding the little misadventure mentioned between the cup and the lip: whatâs bred in the bone. Still as regards return. You were a lucky dog if they didnât set
the terrier at you directly y ou got back. Then a lot of
shillyshally usually followed, Tom for and Dick and Harry against. And then, number one, you came up against the man in possession and had to produce your credentials like the claimant in the Tichborne case, Roger Charles
Tichborne, Bella was the boatâs name to the best of his
recollection he, the heir, went down in as the evidence went to show and there was a tattoo mark too in Indian
Ulysses
1063 of 1305 ink, lord Bellew was it, as he might very easily have
picked up the details from some pal on board ship and then, when got up to tally with the description given,
introduce himself with: Excuse me, my name is So and So or
some such commonplace rem ark. A more prudent course,
as Bloom said to the not over effusive, in fact like the distinguished personage under discussion beside him, would have been to sound the lie of the land first.
âThat bitch, that English whore, did for him, the
shebeen proprietor commented. She put the first nail in his coffin.
âFine lump of a woman all the same, the soi-disant
townclerk Henry Campbell remarked, and plenty of her. She loosened many a manâs thighs. I seen her picture in a barberâs. The husband was a captain or an officer.
âAy, Skin-the-Goat amusingly added, he was and a
cottonball one.
This gratuitous contribu tion of a humorous character
occasioned a fair amount of laughter among his entourage .
As regards Bloom he, without th e faintest suspicion of a
smile, merely gazed in the direction of the door and reflected upon the historic story which had aroused extraordinary interest at the ti me when the facts, to make
matters worse, were made public with the usual
Ulysses
1064 of 1305 affectionate letters that passed between them full of sweet
nothings. First it was strictly Platonic till nature intervened
and an attachment sprang up between them till bit by bit
matters came to a climax and the matter became the talk of the town till the staggering blow came as a welcome intelligence to not a few evildisposed, however, who were resolved upon encompassing his downfall though the thing was public property all along though not to anything like
the sensational extent that it subsequently blossomed into.
Since their names were coupled, though, since he was her declared favourite, where was the particular necessity to proclaim it to the rank and file from the housetops, the
fact, namely, that he had s hared her bedroom which came
out in the witnessbox on oath when a thrill went through
the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the shape of witnesses swearing to having witnessed him on such and such a particular da te in the act of scrambling out
of an upstairs apartment with the assistance of a ladder in night apparel, having gained admittance in the same fashion, a fact the weeklies, addi cted to the lubric a little,
Passion and the Fallen Leader
- The narrative reflects on the downfall of a political leader whose career was ruined by a scandalous extramarital affair.
- A comparison is drawn between the 'magnificent specimen' of the lover and the unremarkable nature of the husband.
- The clergy and former supporters are criticized for turning against their benefactor once his private life became public.
- Bloom and Stephen discuss the influence of 'blood and the sun' on passionate temperaments, specifically regarding Spanish heritage.
- The passage explores the 'eternal question' of whether real love can survive within a marriage when a third party is involved.
- Bloom produces a faded photograph of his wife, Molly, to ask Stephen if she fits the 'Spanish type' they are discussing.
North or south, however, it was just the wellknown case of hot passion, pure and simple, upsetting the applecart with a vengeance and just bore out the very thing he was saying as she also was Spanish or half so, types that wouldnât do things by halves, passionate abandon of the south, casting every shred of decency to the winds.
simply coined shoals of mone y out of. Whereas the simple
fact of the case was it was simply a case of the husband not being up to the scratch, with nothing in common between
them beyond the name, and then a real man arriving on
Ulysses
1065 of 1305 the scene, strong to the verge of weakness, falling a victim
to her siren charms and forgetting home ties, the usual sequel, to bask in the love d oneâs smiles. The eternal
question of the life connubial, needless to say, cropped up. Can real love, supposing there happens to be another chap in the case, exist between married folk? Poser. Though it was no concern of theirs absolu tely if he regarded her with
affection, carried away by a wave of folly. A magnificent specimen of manhood he was truly augmented obviously by gifts of a high order, as compared with the other military supernumerary that is (who was just the usual
everyday farewell, my gallant captain kind of an individual in
the light dragoons, the l8th hussars to be accurate) and
inflammable doubtless (the fallen leader, that is, not the other) in his own peculiar way which she of course, woman, quickly perceived as hi ghly likely to carve his way
to fame which he almost bid fair to do till the priests and ministers of the gospel as a whole, his erstwhile staunch adherents, and his beloved evicted tenants for whom he had done yeoman service in the rural parts of the country by taking up the cudgels on their behalf in a way that exceeded their most sanguine expectations, very effectually
cooked his matrimonial goos e, thereby heaping coals of
fire on his head much in the same way as the fabled assâs
Ulysses
1066 of 1305 kick. Looking back now in a retrospective kind of
arrangement all seemed a kind of dream. And then coming
back was the worst thing you ever did because it went without saying you would feel out of place as things always moved with the times. Why, as he reflected, Irishtown strand, a locality he had not been in for quite a
number of years looked differen t somehow since, as it
happened, he went to reside on the north side. North or
south, however, it was just the wellknown case of hot passion, pure and simple, upsetting the applecart with a vengeance and just bore out the very thing he was saying as she also was Spanish or hal f so, types that wouldnât do
things by halves, passionate abandon of the south, casting
every shred of decency to the winds.
âJust bears out what I was saying, he, with glowing
bosom said to Stephen, about blood and the sun. And, if I
donât greatly mistake she was Spanish too.
âThe king of Spainâs daughter, Stephen answered,
adding something or other rather muddled about farewell and adieu to you Spanish onions and the first land called the Deadman and from Ramhead to Scilly was so and so many.
âWas she? Bloom ejaculated, surprised though not
astonished by any means, I never heard that rumour
Ulysses
1067 of 1305 before. Possible, especially there, it was as she lived there.
So, Spain.
Carefully avoiding a book in his pocket Sweets of ,
which reminded him by the by of that Cap l street library book out of date, he took out his pocketbook and, turning
over the various cont ents it contained rapidly finally he.
âDo you consider, by the by, he said, thoughtfully
selecting a faded photo which he laid on the table, that a Spanish type?
Stephen, obviously addressed, looked down on the
photo showing a large sized lady with her fleshy charms
Bloom's Photographic Pride
- Leopold Bloom presents a photograph of his wife, Molly, to Stephen Dedalus, highlighting her status as a professional singer and daughter of a Major.
- Bloom critiques the limitations of photography, arguing that it fails to capture the 'opulent curves' and 'symmetry' of the female form as effectively as Greek marble statues.
- The narrative explores Bloom's internal conflict between wanting to display his wife's beauty and maintaining social and professional etiquette.
- Bloom reflects on the physical changes in his wife since the photo was taken in 1896, noting she is now 'distinctly stouter' but dismissing societal judgments on such matters.
- The scene captures Bloom's intellectualized appreciation of the female body, which he views through the lens of an amateur artist and museum-goer.
- The interaction reveals Bloom's deep relish for Stephen's company, viewing the young man as 'distinguĂŠ' and the 'pick of the bunch' among his acquaintances.
She could without difficulty, he said, have posed for the ensemble, not to dwell on certain opulent curves of the.
on evidence in an open fashi on as she was in the full
bloom of womanhood in evening dress cut ostentatiously low for the occasion to give a liberal display of bosom, with more than vision of breasts, her full lips parted and some perfect teeth, standing near, ostensibly with gravity,
a piano on the rest of which was In Old Madrid , a ballad,
pretty in its way, which was then all the vogue. Her (the ladyâs) eyes, dark, large, looked at Stephen, about to smile about something to be admired, Lafayette of Westmoreland street, Dublinâs premier photographic artist, being responsible for the esthetic execution.
Ulysses
1068 of 1305 âMrs Bloom, my wife the prima donna Madam Marion
Tweedy, Bloom indicated. Taken a few years since. In or
about ninety six. Very like her then.
Beside the young man he looked also at the photo of
the lady now his 1440 legal wife who, he intimated, was the accomplished daughter of Major Brian Tweedy and displayed at an early age remarka ble proficiency as a singer
having even made her bow to the public when her years numbered barely sweet sixteen . As for the face it was a
speaking likeness in expression bu t it did not do justice to
her figure which came in for a lot of notice usually and
which did not come out to the best advantage in that
getup. She could without diffi culty, he said, have posed
for the ensemble, not to dwell on certain opulent curves of the. He dwelt, being a bit of an artist in his spare time, on the female form in general developmentally because, as it so happened, no later than that afternoon he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of art, in the National Muse um. Marble could give the
original, shoulders, back, all the symmetry, all the rest. Yes, puritanisme, it does though Saint Josephâs sovereign thievery alors (Bandez!) Figne toi trop. Whereas no photo could because it simply wasnât art in a word.
Ulysses
1069 of 1305 The spirit moving him he would much have liked to
follow Jack Tarâs good example and leave the likeness there for a very few minutes to speak for itself on the plea he so that the other could drink in the beauty for himself, her stage presence being, frankly , a treat in itself which the
camera could not at all do ju stice to. But it was scarcely
professional etiquette so. Thoug h it was a warm pleasant
sort of a night now yet wonderfully cool for the season considering, for sunshine after storm. And he did feel a kind of need there and then to follow suit like a kind of inward voice and satisfy a possible need by moving a motion. Nevertheless he sat tight just viewing the slightly
soiled photo creased by opulent curves, none the worse
for wear however, and looked away thoughtfully with the intention of not further inc reasing the otherâs possible
embarrassment while gauging her symmetry of heaving
embonpoint . In fact the slight soiling was only an added
charm like the case of linen slightly soiled, good as new, much better in fact with the starch out. Suppose she was gone when he? I looked for the lamp which she told me came into his mind but merely as a passing fancy of his because he then recollecte d the morning littered bed
etcetera and the book ab out Ruby with met him pike
hoses ( sic) in it which must have fell down sufficiently
Ulysses
1070 of 1305 appropriately beside the domestic chamberpot with
apologies to Lindley Murray.
The vicinity of the young man he certainly relished,
educated, distinguĂŠ and impulsive into the bargain, far and
away the pick of the bunch though you wouldnât think he had it in him yet you would. Besides he said the picture was handsome which, say what you like, it was though at the moment she was distinctl y stouter. And why not? An
awful lot of makebelieve went on about that sort of thing
involving a lifelong slur with the usual splash page of gutterpress about the same old matrimonial tangle alleging
misconduct with professional golfer or the newest stage
Parnell and the Fallen Idol
- The narrative recounts the public scandal and legal proceedings surrounding Charles Stewart Parnellâs adulterous affair and subsequent divorce case.
- A violent confrontation is described where Parnellâs supporters raided a newspaper office to destroy typecases in retaliation for attacks on his private life.
- Despite the controversy, Parnell is depicted as a commanding figure of 'settled purpose' even as his political followers realized their idol had 'feet of clay.'
- Bloom recalls a personal encounter during a chaotic protest where he retrieved Parnellâs fallen silk hat and returned it to him.
- Parnellâs aristocratic upbringing is highlighted by his composed and gentlemanly 'perfect aplomb' when thanking Bloom amidst the physical struggle.
- The episode contrasts this dignified interaction with the crude jokes of the common cabmen and the earlier, less graceful encounter with a legal professional.
His hat (Parnellâs) a silk one was inadvertently knocked off and, as a matter of strict history, Bloom was the man who picked it up in the crush after witnessing the occurrence meaning to return it to him (and return it to him he did with the utmost celerity).
favourite instead of being hone st and aboveboard about
the whole business. How they were fated to meet and an attachment sprang up between the two so that their names
were coupled in the public eye was told in court with letters containing the habitual mushy and compromising expressions leaving no loophole to show that they openly cohabited two or three times a week at some wellknown seaside hotel and relations, when the thing ran its normal course, became in due course intimate. Then the decree
nisi and the Kingâs proctor tries to show cause why and, he
failing to quash it, nisi was made absolute. But as for that
the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they largely were
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1071 of 1305 in one another, could safely affor d to ignore it as they very
largely did till the matter was pu t in the hands of a solicitor
who filed a petition for the party wronged in due course. He, B, enjoyed the distinction of being close to Erinâs uncrowned king in the flesh when the thing occurred on
the historic fracas when the fallen leaderâs, who notoriously
stuck to his guns to the last drop even when clothed in the mantle of adultery, (leaderâs) trusty henchmen to the number of ten or a dozen or possibly even more than that
penetrated into the printing works of the Insuppressible or
no it was United Ireland ( a b y n o m e a n s b y t h e b y
appropriate appellative) and broke up the typecases with hammers or something like that all on account of some scurrilous effusions from the facile pens of the OâBrienite
scribes at the usual mudslinging occupation reflecting on the erstwhile tribuneâs private morals. Though palpably a radically altered man he was still a commanding figure though carelessly garbed as usual with that look of settled purpose which went a long wa y with the shillyshallyers till
they discovered to their vast discomfiture that their idol had feet of clay after placing him upon a pedestal which she, however, was the first to perceive. As those were particularly hot times in the general hullaballoo Bloom sustained a minor injury from a nasty prod of some chapâs
Ulysses
1072 of 1305 elbow in the crowd that of course congregated lodging
some place about the pit of the stomach, fortunately not of a grave character. His hat (Parnellâs) a silk one was
inadvertently knocked off and, as a matter of strict history, Bloom was the man who picked it up in the crush after witnessing the occurrence meaning to return it to him (and return it to him he did with the utmost celerity) who
panting and hatless and whos e thoughts were miles away
from his hat at the time all the same being a gentleman born with a stake in the country he, as a matter of fact, having gone into it more for the kudos of the thing than anything else, whatâs bred in the bone instilled into him in
infancy at his motherâs knee in the shape of knowing what
good form was came out at on ce because he turned round
to the donor and thanked him with perfect aplomb , saying:
Thank you, sir , though in a very different tone of voice
from the ornament of the legal profession whose headgear Bloom also set to rights earlier in the course of the day, history repeating itself with a difference, after the burial of a mutual friend when they had left him alone in his glory after the grim task of having committed his remains to the grave.
On the other hand what incensed him more inwardly
was the blatant jokes of the cabman and so on who passed
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Domestic Rumpus and Starving Scholars
- Bloom reflects on the inevitability of infidelity, suggesting that even the best wives often have a 'waiting list' of suitors looking for a flutter in polite debauchery.
- The narrative explores the typical cycle of discovery in affairs, involving anonymous letters, domestic scenes of tearful begging, and the eventual hollow promise of reform.
- Bloom expresses paternal concern for Stephen, worrying that the young man is wasting his intellect on 'profligate women' and risky liaisons.
- The stark reality of Stephen's physical neglect is revealed when he admits he has not eaten since the day before yesterday.
- Despite their differences, Bloom senses a mental kinship with Stephen, recalling his own youthful flirtation with radical politics and 'ultra ideas' twenty years prior.
âThe day before yesterday, Stephen said, improving on himself.
1073 of 1305 it all off as a jest, laughing 1530 immoderately, pretending
to understand everything, the why and the wherefore, and in reality not knowing their own minds, it being a case for the two parties themselves unless it ensued that the legitimate husband happened to be a party to it owing to
some anonymous letter from the usual boy Jones, who happened to come across them at the crucial moment in a loving position locked in one anotherâs arms, drawing attention to their illicit proc eedings and leading up to a
domestic rumpus and the erring fair one begging forgiveness of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever the connection and not receive his
visits any more if only the aggrieved husband would
overlook the matter and let bygones be bygones with tears in her eyes though possibly with her tongue in her fair
cheek at the same time as quite possibly there were several others. He personally, being of a sceptical bias, believed
and didnât make the smallest b ones about saying so either
that man or men in the plura l were always hanging around
on the waiting list about a lady, even supposing she was the best wife in the world and they got on fairly well together for the sake of argument, when, neglecting her duties, she chose to be tired of wedded life and was on for a little flutter in polite debauchery to press their attentions
Ulysses
1074 of 1305 on her with improper intent, the upshot being that her
affections centred on another, the cause of many liaisons
between still attractive married women getting on for fair and forty and younger men, no doubt as several famous
cases of feminine infatuation proved up to the hilt.
It was a thousand pities a young fellow, blessed with an
allowance of brains as his neighbour obviously was, should waste his valuable time wit h profligate women who might
present him with a nice dose to last him his lifetime. In the nature of single blessedness he would one day take unto himself a wife when Miss Right came on the scene but in the interim ladiesâ society was a conditio sine qua non
though he had the gravest po ssible doubts, not that he
wanted in the smallest to pump Stephen about Miss Ferguson (who was very possibly the particular lodestar who brought him down to Irishtown so early in the morning), as to whether he would find much satisfaction basking in the boy and girl courtship idea and the company of smirking misses without a penny to their names bi or triweekly with the orthodox preliminary
canter of complimentplaying and walking out leading up to fond loversâ ways and fl owers and chocs. To think of
him house and homeless, rooked by some landlady worse than any stepmother, was really too bad at his age. The
Ulysses
1075 of 1305 queer suddenly things he popped out with attracted the
elder man who was several years the otherâs senior or like his father but something substantial he certainly ought to eat even were it only an eggflip made on unadulterated maternal nutriment or, failin g that, the homely Humpty
Dumpty boiled.
âAt what oâclock did you din e? he questioned of the
slim form and tired though unwrinkled face.
âSome time yesterday, Stephen said. âYesterday! exclaimed Bloom till he remembered it
was already tomorrow Friday. Ah, you mean itâs after twelve!
âThe day before yesterday, Stephen said, improving
on himself.
Literally astounded at this piece of intelligence Bloom
reflected. Though they didnât see eye to eye in everything a certain analogy there somehow was as if both their minds were travelling, so to speak, in the one train of thought. At his age when dabbling in politics roughly
some score of years previously when he had been a quasi
aspirant to parliamentary honour s in the Buckshot Foster
days he too recollected in retrospect (which was a source of keen satisfaction in itself) he had a sneaking regard for those same ultra ideas. For instance when the evicted
Ulysses
Bloom's Perplexing Hospitality
- Bloom reflects on his past political sympathies with the 'backtothelander' movement and his resentment toward being misunderstood during the confrontation at Barney Kiernanâs.
- He contemplates the physical and social casualties of political propaganda, lamenting the 'destruction of the fittest' caused by mutual animosity.
- A logistical dilemma arises regarding where Stephen Dedalus should spend the night, as it is too late for transit to Sandymount or Sandycove.
- Bloom hesitates to bring Stephen home due to the potential temper of his wife, Molly, recalling a past incident involving a stray dog that caused domestic friction.
- He ultimately decides to offer Stephen a 'shakedown' for the night, including cocoa and a rug, prioritizing safety and warmth over rigid social precedent.
- Bloom privately mocks the 'blood and ouns' champion and the dubious character of the sailor, whom he suspects will end up in a low-quality brothel.
The crux was it was a bit risky to bring him home as eventualities might possibly ensue (somebody having a temper of her own sometimes) and spoil the hash altogether as on the night he misguidedly brought home a dog (breed unknown) with a lame paw.
1076 of 1305 tenants question, then at its first inception, bulked largely
in peopleâs mind though, it goes without saying, not contributing a copper or pinning his faith absolutely to its dictums, some of which wouldnât exactly hold water, he at the outset in principle at all events was in thorough sympathy with peasant possession as voicing the trend of modern opinion (a partiality, however, which, realising his
mistake, he was subsequently partially cured of) and even was twitted with going a step farther than Michael Davitt in the striking views he at one time inculcated as a backtothelander, which was one reason he strongly resented the innuendo put upon him in so barefaced a
fashion by our friend at th e gathering of the clans in
Barney Kiernanâs so that he , though often considerably
misunderstood and the least pu gnacious of mortals, be it
repeated, departed from his customary habit to give him (metaphorically) one in the gizzard though, so far as politics themselves were c oncerned, he was only too
conscious of the casualties invariably resulting from
propaganda and displays of mu tual animosity and the
misery and suffering it enta iled as a foregone conclusion
on fine young fellows, chiefly, destruction of the fittest, in
a word.
Ulysses
1077 of 1305 Anyhow upon weighing up the pros and cons, getting
on for one, as it was, it was high time to be retiring for the
night. The crux was it was a bit risky to bring him home as eventualities might possibly ensue (somebody having a temper of her own sometimes) and spoil the hash altogether as on the night he misguidedly brought home a dog (breed unknown) with a lame paw (not that the cases were either identical or the reverse though he had hurt his hand too) to Ontario Terrace as he very distinctly remembered, having been there, so to speak. On the other
hand it was altogether far and away too late for the Sandymount or Sandycove suggestion so that he was in
some perplexity as to whic h of the two alternatives.
Everything pointed to the fact that it behoved him to avail himself to the full of the opportunity, all things considered. His initial impression was he was a shade standoffish or not over effusive but it grew on him someway. For one thing he mightnât what you call jump at the idea, if approached, and what mostly worried him was he didnât know how to lead up to it or word it exactly, supposing he did entertain the proposal, as it would afford him very great personal pleasure if he would allow him to help to put co in in his way or some
wardrobe, if found suitable. At all events he wound up by
Ulysses
1078 of 1305 concluding, eschewing for the nonce hidebound
precedent, a cup of Eppsâs cocoa and a shakedown for the night plus the use of a rug or two and overcoat doubled into a pillow at least he would be in safe hands and as warm as a toast on a trivet he failed to perceive any very vast amount of harm in that always with the proviso no rumpus of any sort was kicked up. A move had to be made because that merry old soul, the grasswidower in question who appeared to be glued to the spot, didnât appear in any particular hu rry to wend his way home to
his dearly beloved Queenstown and it was highly likely
some spongerâs bawdyhouse of retired beauties where age
was no bar off Sheriff street lower would be the best clue
to that equivocal characterâs whereabouts for a few days to come, alternately racking thei r feelings (the mermaidsâ)
with sixchamber revolver anecdotes verging on the tropical calculated to freeze the marrow of anybodyâs bones and mauling their larg esized charms betweenwhiles
with rough and tumble gusto to the accompaniment of large potations of potheen and the usual blarney about himself for as to who he in reality was let x equal my right
name and address, as Mr Algebra remarks passim . At the
same time he inwardly chuc kled over his gentle repartee
to the blood and ouns champion about his god being a
Ulysses
A Proposed Departure
- Bloom reflects on the irony of religious prejudice, noting that people are most offended by perceived betrayals from those they consider harmless.
- Seeking to escape the 'stuffy' atmosphere of the shelter, Bloom invites Stephen back to his home for cocoa and conversation.
- Bloom's mind teems with ambitious 'Utopian plans' for Stephenâs future, envisioning a career in journalism, literature, or musical tours.
- The surrounding patrons engage in mundane activities, such as reading trivial news about the former viceroy and the chief secretary.
- An old sailor with damaged eyes from 'sand in the Red Sea' shares his literary preferences while struggling to read the newspaper.
- Bloom quietly settles the bill and prepares to lead Stephen away, hoping to capitalize on Stephen's vocal talent as a 'slice of luck'.
All kinds of Utopian plans were flashing through his (Bâs) busy brain, education (the genuine article), literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to date billing, concert tours in English watering resorts packed with hydros and seaside theatres, turning money away, duets in Italian with the accent perfectly true to nature and a quantity of other things.
1079 of 1305 jew. People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but
what properly riled them wa s a bite from a sheep. The
most vulnerable point too of tender Achilles. Your god was a jew. Because mostly they appeared to imagine he came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhereabouts in
the county Sligo.
âI propose, our hero eventually suggested after mature
reflection while prudently pocketing her photo, as itâs rather stuffy here you just come home with me and talk things over. My diggings are quite close in the vicinity. You canât drink that stuff. Do you like cocoa? Wait. Iâll
just pay this lot.
The best plan clearly being to clear out, the remainder
being plain sailing, he beckoned, while prudently pocketing the photo, to the keeper of the shanty who didnât seem to.
âYes, thatâs the best, he assured Stephen to whom for
the matter of that Brazen Head or him or anywhere else was all more or less.
All kinds of Utopian plans were flashing through his
(Bâs) busy brain, education (the genuine article), literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to date billing, concert tours in
English watering resorts packed with hydros and seaside theatres, turning money away, duets in Italian with the
Ulysses
1080 of 1305 accent perfectly true to nature and a quantity of other
things, no necessity, of course , to tell the world and his
wife from the housetops about it , and a slice of luck. An
opening was all was wanted. Because he more than suspected he had his fatherâs voice to bank his hopes on which it was quite on the cards he had so it would be just as well, by the way no harm, to trail the conversation in the direction of that particular red herring just to.
The cabby read out of the paper he had got hold of
that the former viceroy, earl Cadogan, had presided at the
cabdriversâ association di nner in London somewhere.
Silence with a yawn or two accompanied this thrilling
announcement. Then the old specimen in the corner who
appeared to have some spark of vitality left read out that sir Anthony MacDonnell had left Euston for the chief secretaryâs lodge or words to that effect. To which
absorbing piece of intelligence echo answered why.
âGive us a squint at that literature, grandfather, the
ancient mariner put in, manifesting some natural impatience.
âAnd welcome, answered the elderly party thus
addressed.
Ulysses
1081 of 1305 The sailor lugged out from a case he had a pair of
greenish goggles which he very slowly hooked over his nose and both ears.
âAre you bad in the eyes? the sympathetic personage
like the townclerk queried.
âWhy, answered the seafarer with the tartan beard,
who seemingly was a bit of a lit erary cove in his own small
way, staring out of seagreen portholes as you might well describe them as, I uses goggles reading. Sand in the Red Sea done that. One time I could read a book in the dark,
manner of speaking. The Arabian Nights Entertainment was
my favourite and Red as a Rose is She.
Hereupon he pawed the journal open and pored upon
Lord only knows what, found dr owned or the exploits of
King Willow, Iremonger having made a hundred and something second wicket not out for Notts, during which time (completely regardless of Ire) the keeper was intensely occupied loosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinched him as he muttered against whoever it was sold it, all of them who were sufficiently awake enough to be picked out by their facial expressions, that is to say, either simply looking on
glumly or passing a trivial remark.
Ulysses
1082 of 1305 To cut a long story short Bloom, grasping the situation,
was the first to rise from his se at so as not to outstay their
welcome having first and forem ost, being as good as his
word that he would foot the bill for the occasion, taken
the wise precaution to unobtr usively motion to mine host
as a parting shot a scarcely perceptible sign when the
others were not looking to th e effect that the amount due
A Nocturnal Departure
- Bloom pays the modest bill for their refreshments, spending his final fourpence before leading Stephen out of the shelter.
- Stephen questions the mundane practice of placing chairs on tables at night, receiving a literal and practical answer from Bloom.
- The two men walk arm in arm through the night air, with Bloom offering physical support to a weak and unsteady Stephen.
- Bloom reflects on the political betrayal of Parnell by the 'belauded peasant class' as they pass a sleeping watchman.
- The conversation shifts to music, where Bloom expresses his preference for Italianate sacred works and light opera over Wagner.
- Bloom fondly recalls his wife Molly's sensational performance of Rossini's Stabat Mater at Gardiner Street church.
Yes, Stephen said uncertainly because he thought he felt a strange kind of flesh of a different man approach him, sinewless and wobbly and all that.
was forthcoming, making a grand total of fourpence (the
amount he deposited unobtrusively in four coppers, literally the last of the Mohica ns), he having previously
spotted on the printed price list for all who ran to read
opposite him in unmistakable figures, coffee 2d,
confectionery do, and honestly well worth twice the
money once in a way, as Wetherup used to remark.
âCome, he counselled to close the sĂŠance .
Seeing that the ruse worked and the coast was clear
they left the shelter or shanty together and the ĂŠlite society
of oilskin and company w hom nothing short of an
earthquake would move out of their dolce far niente .
Stephen, who confessed to still feeling poorly and fagged out, paused at the, for a moment, the door.
âOne thing I never understood, he said to be original
on the spur of the moment. Why they put tables upside down at night, I mean chairs upside down, on the tables in
Ulysses
1083 of 1305 cafes. To which imprompt u the neverfailing Bloom
replied without a momentâs hesitation, saying straight off:
âTo sweep the floor in the morning. So saying he skipped around, nimbly considering,
frankly at the same time apologetic to get on his companionâs right, a habit of his, by the bye, his right side being, in classical idiom, his tender Achilles. The night air was certainly now a treat to breathe though Stephen was a bit weak on his pins.
âIt will (the air) do you good, Bloom said, meaning
also the walk, in a moment. The only thing is to walk
then youâll feel a different man. Come. Itâs not far. Lean
on me.
Accordingly he passed his left arm in Stephenâs right
and led him on accordingly.
âYes, Stephen said uncertainly because he thought he
felt a strange kind of flesh of a different man approach him, sinewless and wobbly and all that.
Anyhow they passed the sent rybox with stones, brazier
etc. where the municipal supernumerary, ex Gumley, was still to all intents and purp oses wrapped in the arms of
Murphy, as the adage has it, dreaming of fresh fields and
pastures new. And apropos of coffin of stones the analogy
was not at all bad as it was in fact a stoning to death on the
Ulysses
1084 of 1305 part of seventytwo out of eighty odd constituencies that
ratted at the time of the split and chiefly the belauded
peasant class, probably the se lfsame evicted tenants he had
put in their holdings.
So they turned on to chatting about music, a form of
art for which Bloom, as a pure amateur, possessed the greatest love, as they made tracks arm in arm across
Beresford place. Wagnerian music, though confessedly grand in its way, was a bit too heavy for Bloom and hard to follow at the first go-off but the music of Mercadanteâs
Huguenots , Meyerbeerâs Seven Last Words on the Cross and
Mozartâs Twelfth Mass he simply revelled in, the Gloria in
that being, to his mind, the acme of first class music as such, literally knocking everything else into a cocked hat. He infinitely preferred the sacred music of the catholic church to anything the opposite shop could offer in that
line such as those Moody and Sankey hymns or Bid me to
live and i will live thy protestant to be . He also yielded to
none in his admiration of Rossiniâs Stabat Mater , a work
simply abounding in immortal numbers, in which his wife,
Madam Marion Tweedy, made a hit, a veritable sensation, he might safely say, greatly adding to her other laureis and putting the others totally in the shade, in the jesuit fathersâ church in upper Gardiner street, the sacred edifice being
Ulysses
1085 of 1305 thronged to the doors to hear her with virtuosos, or
virtuosi rather. There was the unanimous opinion that
there was none to come up to her and suffice it to say in a place of worship for music of a sacred character there was a generally voiced desire for an encore. On the whole
though favouring preferably light opera of the Don
Giovanni description and Martha , a gem in its line, he had a
Musical Musings and Street Hazards
- Bloom praises Stephen's father's rendition of 'Mâappari' while Stephen pivots the conversation toward Elizabethan lutenists and composers.
- Stephen expresses interest in purchasing a sixty-five guinea instrument from Arnold Dolmetsch, a figure Bloom does not immediately recognize.
- A passing horse-drawn sweeper creates a momentary distraction, leading Bloom to confuse the composer John Bull with the political caricature.
- Bloom reflects on the nature of animals, considering how most creatures can be tamed or outwitted by human ingenuity.
- The encounter with the horse prompts Bloom to jokingly warn Stephen of peril, highlighting his cautious and protective nature.
- Bloom transitions the conversation toward a potential meeting between Stephen and Molly, noting her deep passion for music.
He was just a big nervous foolish noodly kind of a horse, without a second care in the world.
penchant , though with only a surface knowledge, for the
severe classical school such as Mendelssohn. And talking of
that, taking it for granted he knew all about the old
favourites, he mentioned par excellence Lionelâs air in
Martha, Mâappari , which, curiously enough, he had heard
or overheard, to be more accurate, on yesterday, a privilege he keenly apprecia ted, from the lips of Stephenâs
respected father, sung to perfection, a study of the number, in fact, which made all the others take a back seat. Stephen, in reply to a politely put query, said he
didnât sing it but launched out into praises of Shakespeareâs songs, at least of in or about that period, the lutenist Dowland who lived in Fetter lane near Gerard the
herbalist, who anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus , an instrument
he was contemplating purchasing from Mr Arnold Dolmetsch, whom B. did not quite recall though the name certainly sounded familiar, for sixtyfive guineas and
Ulysses
1086 of 1305 Farnaby and son with their dux and comes conceits and
Byrd (William) who played the virginals, he said, in the Queenâs chapel or anywhere else he found them and one Tomkins who made toys or airs and John Bull.
On the roadway which they were approaching whilst
still speaking beyond the swingchains a horse, dragging a sweeper, paced on the paven ground, brushing a long swathe of mire up so that with the noise Bloom was not perfectly certain whether he had caught aright the allusion to sixtyfive guineas and John Bull. He inquired if it was John Bull the political celebrity of that ilk, as it struck him,
the two identical names, as a striking coincidence.
By the chains the horse slowly swerved to turn, which
perceiving, Bloom, who was keeping a sharp lookout as usual, plucked the otherâs sleeve gently, jocosely
remarking:
âOur lives are in peril tonight. Beware of the
steamroller.
They thereupon stopped. Bloom looked at the head of
a horse not worth anything like sixtyfive guineas, suddenly in evidence in the dark quite ne ar so that it seemed new, a
different grouping of bones and even flesh because palpably it was a fourwalker, a hipshaker, a blackbuttocker, a taildangler, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost
Ulysses
1087 of 1305 the while the lord of his creation sat on the perch, busy
with his thoughts. But such a good poor brute he was sorry he hadnât a lump of sugar but, as he wisely reflected, you could scarcely be prepa red for every emergency that
might crop up. He was just a big nervous foolish noodly
kind of a horse, without a second care in the world. But even a dog, he reflected, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernanâs, of the same size, would be a holy horror to face. But it was no animalâs fault in particular if he was built that way like the camel, ship of the desert, distilling
grapes into potheen in his hu mp. Nine tenths of them all
could be caged or trained, nothing beyond the art of man
barring the bees. Whale with a harpoon hairpin, alligator
tickle the small of his back and he sees the joke, chalk a
circle for a rooster, tiger my eagle eye. These timely reflections anent the brutes of the field occupied his mind somewhat distracted from Stephenâs words while the ship of the street was manoeuvring and Stephen went on about the highly interesting old.
âWhatâs this I was sayin g? Ah, yes! My wife, he
intimated, plunging in medias res , would have the greatest
of pleasure in making your acquaintance as she is passionately attached to music of any kind.
Ulysses
1088 of 1305 He looked sideways in a friendly fashion at the sideface
of Stephen, image of his moth er, which was not quite the
same as the usual handsome blackguard type they unquestionably had an insatiable hankering after as he was
perhaps not that way built.
Still, supposing he had his fatherâs gift as he more than
The Tenor's Potential
- Bloom is deeply impressed by the rare quality of Stephenâs tenor voice, viewing it as a valuable asset in a market saturated with common baritones.
- He envisions Stephen using his musical talent and university degree to gain entry into the elite social circles of Dublin's financial and titled classes.
- Bloom reflects on the importance of social presentation, noting that Stephenâs attire must be improved to successfully 'worm his way' into high society.
- The potential for financial gain is highlighted as a practical benefit that would support Stephen without compromising his dignity or intellectual standing.
- Bloom believes Stephenâs performance of original, unconventional music would provide a refreshing novelty to a public tired of hackneyed popular solos.
- Despite the optimistic outlook, Bloom recognizes the need for a 'backerup' to provide the necessary momentum to overcome Stephen's tendency toward procrastination.
Even more he liked an old German song of Johannes Jeep about the clear sea and the voices of sirens, sweet murderers of men, which boggled Bloom a bit.
suspected, it opened up new vistas in his mind such as Lady Fingallâs Irish industries, concert on the preceding Monday, and aristocracy in general.
Exquisite variations he was now describing on an air
Youth here has End by Jans Pieter Sweelinck, a Dutchman
of Amsterdam where the frows come from. Even more he
liked an old German song of Johannes Jeep about the clear
sea and the voices of sirens, sweet murderers of men, which boggled Bloom a bit:
Von der Sirenen Listigkeit
Tun die Poeten dichten.
These opening bars he sang and translated extempore .
Bloom, nodding, said he perfectly understood and begged him to go on by all means which he did.
A phenomenally beautiful tenor voice like that, the
rarest of boons, which Bloom appr eciated at the very first
note he got out, could easily, if properly handled by some
recognised authority on voice production such as
Ulysses
1089 of 1305 Barraclough and being able to read music into the bargain,
command its own price where baritones were ten a penny and procure for its fortunate possessor in the near future an
entrĂŠe into fashionable houses in the best residential
quarters of financial magnates in a large way of business and titled people where with his university degree of B. A.
(a huge ad in its way) and gentlemanly bearing to all the more influence the good impression he would infallibly score a distinct success, bein g blessed with brains which
also could be utilised for the purpose and other requisites, if his clothes were properly atte nded to so as to the better
worm his way into their good graces as he, a youthful tyro
inâsocietyâs sartorial niceties, hardly understood how a little thing like that could m ilitate against you. It was in
fact only a matter of months and he could easily foresee
him participating in their musical and artistic conversaziones
during the festivities of the Christmas season, for choice, causing a slight flutter in the dovecotes of the fair sex and being made a lot of by ladies out for sensation, cases of
which, as he happened to know, were on recordâin fact, without giving the show away, he himself once upon a time, if he cared to, could easily have. Added to which of course would be the pecuniary emolument by no mean.s to be sneezed at, going hand in hand with his tuition fees.
Ulysses
1090 of 1305 Not, he parenthesised, that for the sake of filthy lucre he
need necessarily embrace the lyric platform as a walk in
life for any lengthy space of time. But a step in the required direction it was beyond yea or nay and both monetarily and mentally it contained no reflection on his dignity in the smallest and it often turned in uncommonly handy to be handed a cheque at a muchneeded moment when every little helped. Bes ides, though taste latterly had
deteriorated to a degree, orig inal music like that, different
from the conventional rut, would rapidly have a great vogue as it would be a decided novelty for Dublinâs musical world after the usual hackneyed run of catchy
tenor solos foisted on a confidin g public by Ivan St Austell
and Hilton St Just and their genus omne . Yes, beyond a
shadow of a doubt he could with all the cards in his hand and he had a capital opening to make a name for himself
and win a high place in the cityâs esteem where he could
command a stiff figure and, booking ahead, give a grand concert for the patrons of the King street house, given a backerup, if one were forthcoming to kick him upstairs, so
to speak, a big if, however, with some impetus of the
goahead sort to obviate the inevitable procrastination
which often tripped-up a too much fĂŞted prince of good
fellows. And it need not detr act from the other by one
Ulysses
The Parallel Courses of Bloom and Stephen
- Bloom contemplates advising Stephen to distance himself from a disparaging acquaintance, viewing the young man's literary and vocal potential as a 'ball at his feet'.
- The narrative captures a visceral moment of a horse relieving itself in the street, serving as a mundane, earthy interruption to the characters' lofty intellectual journey.
- The duo's physical movement is tracked with mathematical precision as they navigate the streets of Dublin, moving from a united pace to a more disparate, relaxed walk.
- Their conversation, described as a 'duumvirate deliberation', spans an encyclopedic range of topics including music, prostitution, gaslight, and the Roman Catholic Church.
- The text identifies shared sensibilities between the two men, noting their mutual preference for musical over pictorial art and a continental over an insular lifestyle.
- The driver of a sweeper car silently observes the two figuresâone full, one leanâas they recede into the distance, highlighting their isolation from the surrounding world.
The horse having reached the end of his tether, so to speak, halted and, rearing high a proud feathering tail, added his quota by letting fall on the floor which the brush would soon brush up and polish, three smoking globes of turds.
1091 of 1305 iota as, being his own master, he would have heaps of time
to practise literature in his spare moments when desirous of so doing without its clashing with his vocal career or containing anything derogatory whatsoever as it was a matter for himself alone. In fact, he had the ball at his feet and that was the very reason why the other, possessed of a
remarkably sharp nose for smelling a rat of any sort, hung on to him at all.
The horse was just then. And later on at a propitious
opportunity he purposed (Bloom did), without anyway
prying into his private affairs on the fools step in where angels
principle, advising him to sever his connection with a
certain budding practitioner who, he noticed, was prone
to disparage and even to a slight extent with some hilarious pretext when not present, deprecate him, or whatever you like to call it which in Bloomâs humble opinion threw a nasty sidelight on that side of a personâs character, no pun intended.
The horse having reached the end of his tether, so to
speak, halted and, rearing high a proud feathering tail, added his quota by letting fall on the floor which the
brush would soon brush up and polish, three smoking globes of turds. Slowly three times, one after another,
Ulysses
1092 of 1305 from a full crupper he mi red. And humanely his driver
waited till he (or she) had ended, patient in his scythed car.
Side by side Bloom, profiting by the contretemps , with
Stephen passed through the gap of the chains, divided by the upright, and, stepping over a strand of mire, went across towards Gardiner street lower, Stephen singing more boldly, but not loudly, the end of the ballad.
Und alle Schiffe brĂźcken.
The driver never said a word, good, bad or indifferent,
but merely watched the two figures, as he sat on his
lowbacked car, both black, one full, one lean, walk
towards the railway bridge, to be married by Father Maher .
As they walked they at times stopped and walked again
continuing their tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞte (which, of course, he was
utterly out of) about sirens enemies of manâs reason, mingled with a number of other topics of the same category, usurpers, historical cases of the kind while the man in the sweeper car or you might as well call it in the
sleeper car who in any case couldnât possibly hear because they were too far simply sat in his seat near the end of
lower Gardiner street and looked after their lowbacked car .
* * * * *
Ulysses
1093 of 1305 What parallel courses did Bloom and Stephen follow
returning?
Starting united both at normal walking pace from
Beresford place they followed in the order named Lower and Middle Gardiner streets and Mountjoy square, west: then, at reduced pace, each bearing left, Gardinerâs place
by an inadvertence as far as the farther corner of Temple street: then, at reduced pace with interruptions of halt,
bearing right, Temple street, north, as far as Hardwicke place. Approaching, disparate, at relaxed walking pace they
crossed both the circus before Georgeâs church diametrically, the chord in any circle being less than the
arc which it subtends.
Of what did the duumvirate deliberate during their
itinerary?
Music, literature, Ireland, Dublin, Paris, friendship,
woman, prostitution, diet, the influence of gaslight or the
light of arc and glowlamps on the growth of adjoining paraheliotropic trees, exposed corporation emergency dustbuckets, the Roman catholic church, ecclesiastical celibacy, the Irish nation, jesu it education, careers, the
study of medicine, the past day, the maleficent influence of the presabbath, Stephenâs collapse.
Ulysses
1094 of 1305 Did Bloom discover common factors of similarity
between their respective like and unlike reactions to experience?
Both were sensitive to artistic impressions, musical in
preference to plastic or pictorial. Both preferred a
continental to an insular manner of life, a cisatlantic to a transatlantic place of residenc e. Both indurated by early
Divergent Views and Forgotten Keys
- Bloom and Stephen compare their heterodox beliefs, finding common ground in their resistance to orthodox religious and social doctrines.
- The two men hold divergent views on civic self-help and the spiritual affirmation of literature, though they agree on certain historical anachronisms.
- Bloom reflects on his history of nocturnal intellectual discussions, noting a chronological decline in the frequency of his interpersonal relations.
- A philosophical meditation occurs regarding the transition from existence to nonexistence and the eventual fading of individual perception by others.
- Upon arriving at 7 Eccles Street, Bloom realizes he has forgotten his latchkey in the pocket of a different pair of trousers.
- The frustration of the forgotten key is doubled by Bloom's memory of specifically reminding himself not to forget it.
He reflected that the progressive extension of the field of individual development and experience was regressively accompanied by a restriction of the converse domain of interindividual relations.
domestic training and an inh erited tenacity of heterodox
resistance professed their disbelief in many orthodox religious, national, social and ethical doctrines. Both admitted the alternately stimulating and obtunding influence of heterosexual magnetism.
Were their views on some points divergent?
Stephen dissented openly from Bloomâs views on the
importance of dietary and ci vic selfhelp while Bloom
dissented tacitly from Step henâs views on the eternal
affirmation of the spirit of man in literature. Bloom assented covertly to Stephenâs rectification of the anachronism involved in assigning the date of the conversion of the Irish nation to christianity from druidism
by Patrick son of Calpornus, son of Potitus, son of Odyssus, sent by pope Celestine I in the year 432 in the reign of Leary to the year 260 or thereabouts in the reign of Cormac MacArt (died 266 A.D.), suffocated by
Ulysses
1095 of 1305 imperfect deglutition of aliment at Sletty and interred at
Rossnaree. The collapse which Bloom ascribed to gastric
inanition and certain chemical compounds of varying degrees of adulteration and alcoholic strength, accelerated by mental exertion and the velocity of rapid circular motion in a relaxing atmosph ere, Stephen attributed to the
reapparition of a matutinal cloud (perceived by both from two different points of observ ation Sandycove and Dublin)
at first no bigger than a womanâs hand.
Was there one point on which their views were equal
and negative?
The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth
of adjoining paraheliotropic trees.
Had Bloom discussed similar subjects during nocturnal
perambulations in the past?
In 1884 with Owen Goldberg and Cecil Turnbull at
night on public thoroughfares between Longwood avenue
and Leonardâs corner and Leonardâs corner and Synge street and Synge street and Bloomfield avenue.
In 1885 with Percy Apjohn in the evenings, reclined
against the wall between Gibraltar villa and Bloomfield house in Crumlin, barony of Uppercross. In 1886 occasionally with casual acquaintances and prospective purchasers on doorsteps, in front parlours, in third class
Ulysses
1096 of 1305 railway carriages of suburban lines. In 1888 frequently
with major Brian Tweedy and his daughter Miss Marion Tweedy, together and separately on the lounge in Matthew Dillonâs house in Roundtown. Once in 1892 and once in 1893 with Julius (Ju da) Mastiansky, on both
occasions in the parlour of his (Bloomâs) house in Lombard street, west.
What reflection concerning the irregular sequence of
dates 1884, 1885, 1886, 1888, 1892, 1893, 1904 did Bloom make before their arrival at their destination?
He reflected that the progressive extension of the field
of individual development and experience was regressively
accompanied by a restriction of the converse domain of
interindividual relations.
As in what ways? From inexistence to existence he came to many and
was as one received: existenc e with existence he was with
any as any with any: from e xistence to nonexistence gone
he would be by all as none perceived. What act did Bloom make on their arrival at their destination?
At the housesteps of the 4th Of the equidifferent
uneven numbers, number 7 Eccles street, he inserted his
Ulysses
1097 of 1305 hand mechanically into the back pocket of his trousers to
obtain his latchkey.
Was it there? It was in the correspondin g pocket of the trousers
which he had worn on the day but one preceding.
Why was he doubly irritated? Because he had forgotten and because he remembered
that he had reminded himself twice not to forget.
What were then the alternatives before the,
premeditatedly (respectively) and inadvertently, keyless
couple?
To enter or not to enter. To knock or not to knock.
Bloomâs decision?
A stratagem. Resting his feet on the dwarf wall, he
The Physics of Homecoming
- Bloom executes a calculated physical descent into his own home, bypassing a locked door through a display of athletic and mechanical precision.
- The narrative adopts a hyper-clinical tone, cataloging Bloomâs exact weight, the date across multiple calendars, and the specific physics of leverage used to gain entry.
- Stephen observes the domestic ritual from outside, watching the silent progression of light as Bloom moves through the dark kitchen to open the front door.
- The act of lighting a fire is described as a chemical release of potential energy, grounding a simple chore in the language of universal scientific laws.
- The warmth of the newly kindled hearth triggers a series of memories for Stephen, recalling various figures from his past who provided him with fire and shelter.
Regaining new stable equilibrium he rose uninjured though concussed by the impact, raised the latch of the area door by the exertion of force at its freely moving flange and by leverage of the first kind applied at its fulcrum.
climbed over the area railings, compressed his hat on his head, grasped two points at the lower union of rails and stiles, lowered his body gradually by its length of five feet nine inches and a half to withi n two feet ten inches of the
area pavement and allowed his body to move freely in space by separating himself from the railings and crouching in preparation for the impact of the fall.
Did he fall? By his bodyâs known weight of eleven stone and four
pounds in avoirdupois measure, as certified by the
Ulysses
1098 of 1305 graduated machine for periodical selfweighing in the
premises of Francis Froedman, pharmaceutical chemist of 19 Frederick street, north, on the last feast of the Ascension, to wit, the twelfth day of May of the bissextile year one thousand nine hundred and four of the christian era (jewish era five thousand six hundred and sixtyfour, mohammadan era one thou sand three hundred and
twentytwo), golden number 5, epact 13, solar cycle 9, dominical letters C B, Roman indiction 2, Julian period 6617, MCMIV.
Did he rise uninjured by concussion? Regaining new stable equilibrium he rose uninjured
though concussed by the impa ct, raised the latch of the
area door by the exertion of force at its freely moving flange and by leverage of the first kind applied at its fulcrum, gained retarded access to the kitchen through the subadjacent scullery, ignited a lu cifer match by friction, set
free inflammable coal gas by turningon the ventcock, lit a high flame which, by regulating, he reduced to quiescent candescence and lit finally a portable candle.
What discrete succession of images did Stephen
meanwhile perceive?
Reclined against the area railings he perceived through
the transparent kitchen panes a man regulating a gasflame
Ulysses
1099 of 1305 of 14 CP, a man lighting a candle of 1 CP, a man
removing in turn each of his two boots, a man leaving the kitchen holding a candle.
Did the man reappear elsewhere? After a lapse of four minutes the glimmer of his candle
was discernible through the semitransparent semicircular glass fanlight over the halldoor. The halldoor turned gradually on its hinges. In the open space of the doorway the man reappeared without his hat, with his candle.
Did Stephen obey his sign? Yes, entering softly, he helped to close and chain the
door and followed softly along the hallway the manâs back
and listed feet and lighted candle past a lighted crevice of
doorway on the left and carefu lly down a turning staircase
of more than five steps into the kitchen of Bloomâs house.
What did Bloom do? He extinguished the candle by a sharp expiration of
breath upon its flame, drew two spoonseat deal chairs to the hearthstone, one for Stephe n with its back to the area
window, the other for himself when necessary, knelt on one knee, composed in the grate a pyre of crosslaid resintipped sticks and various coloured papers and irregular polygons of best Abram coal at twentyone shillings a ton
from the yard of Messrs Flower and MâDonald of 14
Ulysses
1100 of 1305 DâOlier street, kindled it at three projecting points of
paper with one ignited lucifer match, thereby releasing the potential energy contained in the fuel by allowing its carbon and hydrogen elements to enter into free union with the oxygen of the air.
Of what similar apparitions did Stephen think? Of others elsewhere in other times who, kneeling on
one knee or on two, had kindled fires for him, of Brother Michael in the infirmary of the college of the Society of Jesus at Clongowes Wood, Sallins, in the county of Kildare: of his father, Simon Dedalus, in an unfurnished room of his first residence in Dublin, number thirteen
Fitzgibbon street: of his godmother Miss Kate Morkan in
the house of her dying sister Miss Julia Morkan at 15 Usherâs Island: of his aunt Sa ra, wife of Richie (Richard)
Goulding, in the kitchen of th eir lodgings at 62 Clanbrassil
street: of his mother Mary, wif e of Simon Dedalus, in the
The Universality of Water
- Stephen and Bloom observe the domestic details of the kitchen, including laundry drying and the specific arrangement of cooking vessels on the range.
- The narrative provides a highly technical account of Dublin's water infrastructure, tracing the flow from the Roundwood reservoir through miles of pipeage to the city.
- A bureaucratic conflict is revealed involving water conservation orders and the legal conviction of the South Dublin Guardians for significant nocturnal wastage.
- Bloom, described as a 'waterlover,' contemplates the physical and metaphysical properties of water, from its democratic nature to its vast oceanic depths.
- The text transitions from the mundane act of filling a kettle to a grand catalog of water's global hegemony and its capacity to dissolve and sustain.
What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire? Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level.
kitchen of number twelve North Richmond street on the morning of the feast of Saint Francis Xavier 1898: of the dean of studies, Father Butt, in the physicsâ theatre of university College, 16 Stephenâs Green, north: of his sister Dilly (Delia) in his fatherâs house in Cabra.
What did Stephen see on raising his gaze to the height
of a yard from the fire towards the opposite wall?
Ulysses
1101 of 1305 Under a row of five coiled spring housebells a
curvilinear rope, stretched between two holdfasts athwart across the recess beside the chimney pier, from which hung four smallsized square handkerchiefs folded unattached consecutively in adjacent rectangles and one
pair of ladiesâ grey hose with Lisle suspender tops and feet in their habitual position clamped by three erect wooden pegs two at their outer extrem ities and the third at their
point of junction.
What did Bloom see on the range? On the right (smaller) hob a blue enamelled saucepan:
on the left (larger) hob a black iron kettle.
What did Bloom do at the range?
He removed the saucepan to the left hob, rose and
carried the iron kettle to the sink in order to tap the current by turning the faucet to let it flow.
Did it flow? Yes. From Roundwood reservoir in county Wicklow
of a cubic capacity of 2400 million gallons, percolating
through a subterranean aqueduct of filter mains of single and double pipeage constructed at an initial plant cost of 5 pounds per linear yard by way of the Dargle, Rathdown, Glen of the Downs and Callowhill to the 26 acre reservoir
at Stillorgan, a distance of 22 statute miles, and thence,
Ulysses
1102 of 1305 through a system of relieving tanks, by a gradient of 250
feet to the city boundary at Eustace bridge, upper Leeson
street, though from prolong ed summer drouth and daily
supply of 12 1/2 million gall ons the water had fallen
below the sill of the overflow weir for which reason the borough surveyor and waterworks engineer, Mr Spencer Harty, C. E., on the instructions of the waterworks committee had prohibited the use of municipal water for
purposes other than those of consumption (envisaging the possibility of recourse being had to the impotable water of
the Grand and Royal canals as in 1893) particularly as the South Dublin Guardians, notwithstanding their ration of
15 gallons per day per pauper supplied through a 6 inch
meter, had been convicted of a wastage of 20,000 gallons per night by a reading of thei r meter on the affirmation of
the law agent of the corporation, Mr Ignatius Rice, solicitor, thereby acting to the detriment of another
section of the public, selfsuppo rting taxpayers, solvent,
sound. What in water did Bloom, wat erlover, drawer of water,
watercarrier, returning to the range, admire?
Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to
its nature in seeking its own level: its vastness in the ocean
Ulysses
1103 of 1305 of Mercatorâs projection: its unplumbed profundity in the
Sundam trench of the Paci fic exceeding 8000 fathoms: the
restlessness of its waves and surface particles visiting in turn all points of its seaboard: the in dependence of its units: the
variability of states of sea: its hydrostatic quiescence in calm: its hydrokinetic turgidity in neap and spring tides: its subsidence after devastation: its sterility in the circumpolar
icecaps, arctic and antarctic: its climatic and commercial significance: its preponderance of 3 to 1 over the dry land of the globe: its indisputable hegemony extending in square leagues over all the region below the subequatorial tropic of Capricorn: the mu ltisecular stability of its
primeval basin: its luteofulvous bed: its capacity to dissolve
The Properties of Water
- A comprehensive catalog of water's physical properties, from its chemical composition of hydrogen and oxygen to its vast geological power.
- The text explores water's dual nature as both a docile tool for industry and a violent force of nature capable of deluges and maelstroms.
- Bloom observes the ubiquity of water, noting its presence in the human body and its various states as vapor, mist, snow, and ice.
- Stephen Dedalus reveals his hydrophobia, expressing a deep-seated distrust of both physical water and 'aquacities' of thought and language.
- Bloom refrains from offering hygiene advice to Stephen, concluding that the discipline of cleanliness is incompatible with the erratic nature of genius.
That he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by immersion or total by submersion in cold water, (his last bath having taken place in the month of October of the preceding year), disliking the aqueous substances of glass and crystal, distrusting aquacities of thought and language.
and hold in solution all soluble substances including millions of tons of the most precious metals: its slow erosions of peninsulas and island s, its persistent formation
of homothetic islands, peninsulas and downwardtending promontories: its alluvial depo sits: its weight and volume
and density: its imperturbability in lagoons and highland tarns: its gradation of colours in the torrid and temperate and frigid zones: its vehicular ramifications in continental
lakecontained streams and confluent oceanflowing rivers with their tributaries and trans oceanic currents, gulfstream,
north and south equatorial co urses: its violence in
Ulysses
1104 of 1305 seaquakes, waterspouts, Arte sian wells, eruptions, torrents,
eddies, freshets, spates, groundswells, watersheds,
waterpartings, geysers, cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, cloudbursts: its vast circumterrestrial ahorizontal curve: its secrecy in springs and latent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instruments and exemplified by the well by the hole in the wall at Ashtown gate, saturati on of air, distillation of dew:
the simplicity of its composition, two constituent parts of hydrogen with one constituent part of oxygen: its healing
virtues: its buoyancy in the waters of the Dead Sea: its persevering penetrativeness in runnels, gullies, inadequate
dams, leaks on shipboard: its properties for cleansing,
quenching thirst and fire, nourishing vegetation: its infallibility as paradigm and paragon: its metamorphoses as vapour, mist, cloud, rain, sleet, snow, hail: its strength in rigid hydrants: its variety of forms in loughs and bays and
gulfs and bights and guts and lagoons and atolls and archipelagos and sounds and fj ords and minches and tidal
estuaries and arms of sea: its solidity in glaciers, icebergs,
icefloes: its docility in wo rking hydraulic millwheels,
turbines, dynamos, electric power stations, bleachworks, tanneries, scutchmills: its ut ility in canals, rivers, if
navigable, floating and graving docks: its potentiality
Ulysses
1105 of 1305 derivable from harnessed tides or watercourses falling from
level to level: its submarin e fauna and flora (anacoustic,
photophobe), numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the globe: its ubiquity as constituting 90 percent of the human body: the noxiousness of its effluvia in lacustrine
marshes, pestilential fens, faded flowerwater, stagnant pools in the waning moon.
Having set the halffilled kettle on the now burning
coals, why did he return to the stillflowing tap?
To wash his soiled hands with a partially consumed
tablet of Barringtonâs lemonflavoured soap, to which paper still adhered, (bought thirteen hours previously for
fourpence and still unpaid for), in fresh cold
neverchanging everchanging water and dry them, face and hands, in a long redbordered holland cloth passed over a wooden revolving roller.
What reason did Stephen give for declining Bloomâs
offer?
That he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by
immersion or total by submersion in cold water, (his last bath having taken place in the month of October of the preceding year), disliking the aqueous substances of glass
and crystal, distrusting aquacities of thought and language.
Ulysses
1106 of 1305 What impeded Bloom from giving Stephen counsels of
hygiene and prophylactic to which should be added suggestions concerning a preliminary wetting of the head and contraction of the muscles with rapid splashing of the face and neck and thoracic and epigastric region in case of
sea or river bathing, the parts of the human anatomy most sensitive to cold being the nape, stomach and thenar or sole of foot?
The incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic
originality of genius.
What additional didactic counsels did he similarly
repress?
Dietary: concerning the respective percentage of
protein and caloric energy in bacon, salt ling and butter,
The Physics of Boiling Water
- Bloom observes the scientific process of ebullition, tracing the energy of burning coal back to its origins in primeval forests and solar radiation.
- The text details the precise thermal expenditure required to raise water temperature to the boiling point for the purpose of shaving.
- Bloom reflects on the tactical advantages of shaving at night, including the avoidance of morning distractions and the benefit of a softer beard.
- The narrative highlights Bloom's 'masculine feminine' hand, which possesses surgical precision but is governed by a reluctance to shed blood.
- A meticulous inventory of the kitchen dresser reveals a domestic landscape of chipped eggcups, tea, and a half-empty bottle of invalid port.
A double falciform ejection of water vapour from under the kettlelid at both sides simultaneously.
the absence of the former in the lastnamed and the abundance of the latter in the firstnamed.
Which seemed to the host to be the predominant
qualities of his guest?
Confidence in himself, an equal and opposite power of
abandonment and recuperation.
What concomitant phenomenon took place in the
vessel of liquid by the agency of fire?
The phenomenon of ebulliti on. Fanned by a constant
updraught of ventilation between the kitchen and the
Ulysses
1107 of 1305 chimneyflue, ignition was communicated from the faggots
of precombustible fuel to polyhe dral masses of bituminous
coal, containing in compressed mineral form the foliated fossilised decidua of primeval forests which had in turn
derived their vegetative existence from the sun, primal source of heat (radiant), tr ansmitted through omnipresent
luminiferous diathermanous ether. Heat (convected), a mode of motion developed by such combustion, was constantly and increasingly conveyed from the source of calorification to the liquid contained in the vessel, being radiated through the uneven unpolished dark surface of the metal iron, in part reflected, in part absorbed, in part
transmitted, gradually raising the temperature of the water
from normal to boiling poin t, a rise in temperature
expressible as the result of an expenditure of 72 thermal units needed to raise 1 pound of water from 50 degrees to 212 degrees Fahrenheit.
What announced the accomplishment of this rise in
temperature?
A double falciform ejection of water vapour from
under the kettlelid at both sides simultaneously.
For what personal purpose could Bloom have applied
the water so boiled?
To shave himself.
Ulysses
1108 of 1305 What advantages attended shaving by night?
A softer beard: a softer brush if intentionally allowed to
remain from shave to shave in its agglutinated lather: a softer skin if unexpectedly encountering female acquaintances in remote places at incustomary hours: quiet reflections upon the course of th e day: a cleaner sensation
when awaking after a fresher sleep since matutinal noises, premonitions and perturbations, a clattered milkcan, a postmanâs double knock, a paper read, reread while lathering, relathering the same spot, a shock, a shoot, with
thought of aught he sought though fraught with nought
might cause a faster rate of shaving and a nick on which
incision plaster with precision cut and humected and
applied adhered: which was to be done.
Why did absence of light disturb him less than presence
of noise?
Because of the surety of the sense of touch in his firm
full masculine feminine passive active hand.
What quality did it (his hand) possess but with what
counteracting influence?
The operative surgical quality but that he was reluctant
to shed human blood even when the end justified the means, preferring, in their natural order, heliotherapy, psychophysicotherapeutics, osteopathic surgery.
Ulysses
1109 of 1305 What lay under exposure on the lower, middle and
upper shelves of the kitchen dresser, opened by Bloom?
On the lower shelf five vertical breakfast plates, six
horizontal breakfast saucers on which rested inverted breakfast cups, a moustachec up, uninverted, and saucer of
Crown Derby, four white goldrimmed eggcups, an open shammy purse displaying coins, mostly copper, and a phial of aromatic (violet) comfits. On the middle shelf a chipped
eggcup containing pepper, a drum of table salt, four conglomerated black olives in oleaginous paper, an empty
pot of Plumtreeâs potted meat, an oval wicker basket bedded with fibre and containing one Jersey pear, a
halfempty bottle of William Gilbey and Coâs white invalid
port, half disrobed of its swathe of coralpink tissue paper, a
packet of Eppsâs soluble co coa, five ounces of Anne
Lynchâs choice tea at 2/- p er lb in a crinkled leadpaper
bag, a cylindrical canister cont aining the best crystallised
The Cocoa of Reconciliation
- Bloom inspects his kitchen pantry, noting a collection of mundane food items and empty jam jars that reflect his domestic reality.
- The discovery of torn betting tickets triggers a series of memories regarding the day's horse race and the strange coincidences surrounding the winner.
- Bloom reflects on the 'Elijah' throwaway and a chance encounter with Bantam Lyons, realizing he inadvertently provided a winning tip he did not use himself.
- Despite missing a financial opportunity, Bloom feels a sense of satisfaction in having sustained no loss while providing 'light to the gentiles.'
- The host prepares Eppsâs soluble cocoa for his guest, Stephen Dedalus, following the instructions with ritualistic precision.
- In a gesture of extreme hospitality, Bloom relinquishes his favorite cup and shares the premium cream usually reserved for his wife.
He had not risked, he did not expect, he had not been disappointed, he was satisfied.
lump sugar, two onions, one, the larger, Spanish, entire, the other, smaller, Irish, bisected with augmented surface and more redolent, a jar of Irish Model Dairyâs cream, a jug of brown crockery containing a naggin and a quarter of soured adulterated milk, converted by heat into water, acidulous serum and semisolidif ied curds, which added to
the quantity subtracted for Mr Bloomâs and Mrs Flemingâs
Ulysses
1110 of 1305 breakfasts, made one imperial pint, the total quantity
originally delivered, two cloves, a halfpenny and a small dish containing a slice of fresh ribsteak. On the upper shelf
a battery of jamjars (empty) of various sizes and proveniences.
What attracted his attention lying on the apron of the
dresser?
Four polygonal fragments of two lacerated scarlet
betting tickets, numbered 8 87, 88 6.
What reminiscences temporarily corrugated his brow? Reminiscences of coincidenc es, truth stranger than
fiction, preindicative of the result of the Gold Cup flat
handicap, the official and defini tive result of which he had
read in the Evening Telegraph , late pink edition, in the
cabmanâs shelter, at Butt bridge.
Where had previous intimations of the result, effected
or projected, been received by him?
In Bernard Kiernanâs licensed premises 8, 9 and 10 little
Britain street: in David Byrneâ s licensed premises, 14 Duke
street: in OâConnell street lower, outside Graham Lemonâs when a dark man had placed in his hand a throwaway (subsequently thrown away), advertising Elijah, restorer of the church in Zion: in Lincoln place outside the premises of F. W. Sweny and Co (Limited), dispensing chemists,
Ulysses
1111 of 1305 when, when Frederick M. (Bantam) Lyons had rapidly and
successively requested, perused and restituted the copy of
the current issue of the Freemanâs Journal and National Press
which he had been about to throw away (subsequently thrown away), he had proceeded towards the oriental edifice of the Turkish and Warm Baths, 11 Leinster street, with the light of inspirati on shining in his countenance
and bearing in his arms the se cret of the race, graven in
the language of prediction. What qualifying considerations allayed his perturbations?
The difficulties of interpretation since the significance
of any event followed its occurrence as variably as the acoustic report followed the electrical discharge and of counterestimating against an actual loss by failure to
interpret the total sum of possible losses proceeding originally from a successful interpretation.
His mood? He had not risked, he did not expect, he had not been
disappointed, he was satisfied.
What satisfied him? To have sustained no positive loss. To have brought a
positive gain to others. Light to the gentiles.
How did Bloom prepare a collation for a gentile?
Ulysses
1112 of 1305 He poured into two teacups two level spoonfuls, four
in all, of Eppsâs soluble cocoa and proceeded according to the directions for use printed on the label, to each adding after sufficient time for infusi on the prescribed ingredients
for diffusion in the manner and in the quantity prescribed.
What supererogatory marks of special hospitality did
the host show his guest?
Relinquishing his symposiarchal right to the moustache
cup of imitation Crown Derby presented to him by his only daughter, Millicent (Milly), he substituted a cup identical with that of his gue st and served extraordinarily
to his guest and, in reduced measure, to himself the
viscous cream ordinarily reser ved for the breakfast of his
wife Marion (Molly).
Was the guest conscious of and did he acknowledge
these marks of hospitality?
His attention was directed to them by his host jocosely,
and he accepted them seriously as they drank in jocoserious silence Eppsâs ma ssproduct, the creature cocoa.
Were there marks of hospita lity which he contemplated
but suppressed, reserving them for another and for himself on future occasions to complete the act begun?
Bloom's Literary and Social Reflections
- Bloom observes his guest while reflecting on his own preference for literature of instruction over amusement, specifically citing his use of Shakespeare to solve life's problems.
- The narrative details Bloom's early poetic ambitions, including a prize-seeking verse written at age eleven and a romantic acrostic sent to Molly Tweedy.
- Bloom identifies four fundamental separating forces between himself and his guest: name, age, race, and creed.
- The text explores Bloom's youthful experiments with his identity through various anagrams of his own name, ranging from 'Ellpodbomool' to 'Old Ollebo, M. P.'
- A complex list of distractions is provided to explain Bloom's failure to complete a commissioned topical song, involving political tensions and the physical allure of a performer.
An ambition to squint / At my verses in print / Makes me hope that for these youâll find room?.
The reparation of a fissure of the length of 1 1/2 inches
in the right side of his guestâs jacket. A gift to his guest of
Ulysses
1113 of 1305 one of the four ladyâs handkerchiefs, if and when
ascertained to be in a presentable condition.
Who drank more quickly? Bloom, having the advantage of ten seconds at the
initiation and taking, from the concave surface of a spoon along the handle of which a steady flow of heat was conducted, three sips to his o pponentâs one, six to two,
nine to three.
What cerebration accompanied his frequentative act? Concluding by inspection but erroneously that his
silent companion was engaged in mental composition he
reflected on the pleasures derived from literature of
instruction rather than of amusement as he himself had
applied to the works of William Shakespeare more than once for the solution of difficult problems in imaginary or
real life.
Had he found their solution? In spite of careful and repeated reading of certain
classical passages, aided by a glossary, he had derived
imperfect conviction from the text, the answers not bearing in all points.
What lines concluded his first piece of original verse
written by him, potential po et, at the age of 11 in 1877 on
the occasion of the offering of three prizes of 10/-, 5/-
Ulysses
1114 of 1305 and 2/6 respectively for competition by the Shamrock , a
weekly newspaper?
An ambition to squint
At my verses in print Makes me hope that for these youâll find room?. If you so condescend Then please place at the end
The name of yours truly, L. Bloom.
Did he find four separating forces between his
temporary guest and him?
Name, age, race, creed. What anagrams had he made on his name in youth?
Leopold Bloom
Ellpodbomool
Molldopeloob Bollopedoom
Old Ollebo, M. P.
What acrostic upon the abbreviation of his first name
had he (kinetic poet) sent to Miss Marion (Molly) Tweedy on the 14 February 1888?
Ulysses
1115 of 1305 Poets oft have sung in rhyme
Of music sweet their praise divine. Let them hymn it nine times nine. Dearer far than song or wine. You are mine. The world is mine.
What had prevented him fr om completing a topical
song (music by R. G. Johnston) on the events of the past,
or fixtures for the actual, years, entitled If Brian Boru could
but come back and see old Dublin now , commissioned by
Michael Gunn, lessee of the Gaiety Theatre, 46, 47, 48, 49 South King street, and to be introduced into the sixth
scene, the valley of diamonds, of the second edition (30 January 1893) of the grand annual Christmas pantomime
Sinbad the Sailor (produced by R Shelton 26 December
1892, written by Greenleaf Whittier, scenery by George A. Jackson and Cecil Hicks, costumes by Mrs and Miss
Whelan under the personal supervision of Mrs Michael Gunn, ballets by Jessie Noir, harlequinade by Thomas Otto) and sung by Nelly Bouverist, principal girl?
Firstly, oscillation between events of imperial and of
local interest, the anticipated diamond jubilee of Queen Victoria (born 1820, acceded 1837) and the posticipated
Ulysses
1116 of 1305 opening of the new municipal fish market: secondly,
apprehension of opposition from extreme circles on the questions of the respective visits of Their Royal Highnesses the duke and duchess of York (real) and of His Majesty King Brian Boru (imaginary): thirdly, a conflict between professional etiquette and professional emulation
concerning the recent erections of the Grand Lyric Hall on Burgh Quay and the Theatre Royal in Hawkins street: fourthly, distraction resultant from compassion for Nelly Bouveristâs non-intellectual, non-political, non-topical expression of countenance and concupiscence caused by
Nelly Bouveristâs revelations of white articles of non-
intellectual, non-political, non-topical underclothing while
she (Nelly Bouverist) was in the articles: fifthly, the difficulties of the selection of appropriate music and
humorous allusions from Everybodyâs Book of Jokes (1000
Calculations of Age and Acquaintance
- The text explores the mathematical relationship between Bloom and Stephen's ages, projecting their relative growth into the distant future.
- A series of hypothetical calculations demonstrates how their age ratio would shift if they lived to extreme, even antediluvian, ages.
- The narrative acknowledges that these mathematical projections could be nullified by death, the end of the world, or a change in the calendar.
- Two prior encounters between the protagonists are recalled: one in a garden in 1887 and another in a hotel coffee room in 1892.
- A third connection is revealed through Mrs. Riordan, a mutual acquaintance who lived in the same hotel as Bloom and the same house as Stephen.
- Bloom politely declines an invitation to dinner, expressing his refusal with an escalating series of redundant, appreciative formalities.
In 1952 when Stephen would have attained the maximum post diluvian age of 70 Bloom, being 1190 years alive having been born in the year 714, would have surpassed by 221 years the maximum antediluvian age, that of Methusalah, 969 years.
pages and a laugh in every one): sixthly, the rhymes, homophonous and cacophonou s, associated with the
names of the new lord mayor, Daniel Tallon, the new high sheriff, Thomas Pile and the new solicitorgeneral,
Dunbar Plunket Barton.
What relation existed between their ages? 16 years before in 1888 when Bloom was of Stephenâs
present age Stephen was 6. 16 years after in 1920 when
Ulysses
1117 of 1305 Stephen would be of Bloomâs present age Bloom would
be 54. In 1936 when Bloom would be 70 and Stephen 54 their ages initially in the rati o of 16 to 0 would be as 17
1/2 to 13 1/2, the proportion increasing and the disparity diminishing according as arbit rary future years were added,
for if the proportion existing in 1883 had continued immutable, conceiving that to be possible, till then 1904
when Stephen was 22 Bloom would be 374 and in 1920 when Stephen would be 38, as Bloom then was, Bloom would be 646 while in 1952 when Stephen would have
attained the maximum post diluvian age of 70 Bloom,
being 1190 years alive having b een born in the year 714,
would have surpassed by 221 years the maximum
antediluvian age, that of Methusalah, 969 years, while, if Stephen would continue to live until he would attain that
age in the year 3072 A .D., Bloom would have been
obliged to have been alive 83,300 years, having been obliged to have been born in the year 81,396 B.C.
What events might nullify these calculations? The cessation of existence of both or either, the
inauguration of a new era or calendar, the annihilation of the world and consequent extermination of the human species, inevitable but impredictable.
Ulysses
1118 of 1305 How many previous encounters proved their
preexisting acquaintance?
Two. The first in the li lacgarden of Matthew Dillonâs
house, Medina Villa, Kimmage road, Roundtown, in
1887, in the company of Stephenâs mother, Stephen being then of the age of 5 and reluctant to give his hand in salutation. The second in the coffeeroom of Breslinâs hotel on a rainy Sunday in the January of 1892, in the company of Stephenâs father and Stephenâs granduncle, Stephen being then 5 years older.
Did Bloom accept the invitation to dinner given then
by the son and afterwards seconded by the father?
Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere
appreciative gratitude, in app reciatively grateful sincerity
of regret, he declined.
Did their conversation on the subject of these
reminiscences reveal a third connecting link between them?
Mrs Riordan (Dante), a widow of independent means,
had resided in the house of Stephenâs parents from 1 September 1888 to 29 Dece mber 1891 and had also
resided during the years 1892, 1893 and 1894 in the City Arms Hotel owned by Elizabeth OâDowd of 54 Prussia street where, during parts of the years 1893 and 1894, she
Ulysses
1119 of 1305 had been a constant informant of Bloom who resided also
in the same hotel, being at that time a clerk in the employment of Joseph Cuffe of 5 Smithfield for the superintendence of sales in the adjacent Dublin Cattle market on the North Circular road.
Had he performed any special corporal work of mercy
for her?
He had sometimes prope lled her on warm summer
evenings, an infirm widow of independent, if limited, means, in her convalescent bathchair with slow revolutions of its wheels as far as the corner of the North
Circular road opposite Mr Gavin Lowâs place of business
where she had remained for a certain time scanning
through his onelensed binocular fieldglasses unrecognisable
citizens on tramcars, r oadster bicycles equipped with
inflated pneumatic tyres, hac kney carriages, tandems,
private and hired landaus, dogcarts, ponytraps and brakes passing from the city to the Phoenix Park and vice versa.
Why could he then support that his vigil with the
greater equanimity?
Because in middle youth he had often sat observing
through a rondel of bossed gla ss of a multicoloured pane
The Scientific and Artistic Convergence
- Bloom reflects on the physical decline of aging and considers resuming Eugen Sandow's exercises to regain 'juvenile agility.'
- The narrative explores the complex, recursive layers of thought between Bloom and Stephen regarding their mutual perceptions of identity and Jewishness.
- A detailed genealogical contrast is provided, tracing Bloom's 'transubstantial' heritage across Europe and Stephen's 'consubstantial' Irish roots.
- The text highlights their divergent religious and educational paths, noting Bloom's three baptisms compared to Stephen's single ceremony.
- The two men are characterized as representing the fundamental temperamental divide between the scientific and the artistic minds.
- Bloom's hesitation to use the clichĂŠ 'university of life' reveals his social anxiety and uncertainty about the repetition of their dialogue.
He thought that he thought that he was a jew whereas he knew that he knew that he knew that he was not.
the spectacle offered with continual changes of the
thoroughfare without, pedestrians, quadrupeds,
Ulysses
1120 of 1305 velocipedes, vehicles, passi ng slowly, quickly, evenly,
round and round and round the rim of a round and round precipitous globe.
What distinct different memories had each of her now
eight years deceased?
The older, her bezique ca rds and counters, her Skye
terrier, her suppositious wealth, her lapses of responsiveness and incipient catarrhal deafness: the younger, her lamp of colza oil before the statue of the Immaculate Conception, her green and maroon brushes
for Charles Stewart Parnell and for Michael Davitt, her
tissue papers.
Were there no means still remaining to him to achieve
the rejuvenation which these reminiscences divulged to a younger companion rendered the more desirable?
The indoor exercises, formerly intermittently practised,
subsequently abandoned, pre scribed in Eugen Sandowâs
Physical Strength and How to Obtain It which, designed
particularly for commercial men engaged in sedentary occupations, were to be made with mental concentration
in front of a mirror so as to bring into play the various
families of muscles and produc e successively a pleasant
rigidity, a more pleasant relaxation and the most pleasant repristination of juvenile agility.
Ulysses
1121 of 1305 Had any special agility been his in earlier youth?
Though ringweight lifting had been beyond his
strength and the full circle gyration beyond his courage yet as a High school scholar he had excelled in his stable and
protracted execution of the half lever movement on the
parallel bars in consequenc e of his abnormally developed
abdominal muscles.
Did either openly allude to their racial difference? Neither. What, reduced to their simplest reciprocal form, were
Bloomâs thoughts about Step henâs thoughts about Bloom
and about Stephenâs thought s about Bloomâs thoughts
about Stephen?
He thought that he though t that he was a jew whereas
he knew that he knew that he knew that he was not.
What, the enclosures of retic ence removed, were their
respective parentages?
Bloom, only born male transubstantial heir of Rudolf
Virag (subsequently Rudolph Bloom) of Szombathely, Vienna, Budapest, Milan, London and Dublin and of Ellen Higgins, second daughter of Julius Higgins (born Karoly) and Fanny Higgins (born Hegarty). Stephen, eldest surviving male consubstantia l heir of Simon Dedalus of
Ulysses
1122 of 1305 Cork and Dublin and of Mary, daughter of Richard and
Christina Goulding (born Grier).
Had Bloom and Stephen been baptised, and where and
by whom, cleric or layman?
Bloom (three times), by the reverend Mr Gilmer
Johnston M. A., alone, in the protestant church of Saint
Nicholas Without, Coombe, by James OâConnor, Philip Gilligan and James Fitzpatrick, together, under a pump in the village of Swords, and by the reverend Charles Malone C. C., in the church of the Three Patrons, Rathgar. Stephen (once) by the reverend Charles Malone C. C., alone, in the church of the Three Patrons, Rathgar.
Did they find their educational careers similar?
Substituting Stephen for Bloom Stoom would have
passed successively through a dameâs school and the high school. Substituting Bloom for Stephen Blephen would have passed successively throug h the preparatory, junior,
middle and senior grades of the intermediate and through the matriculation, first arts, second arts and arts degree
courses of the royal university.
Why did Bloom refrain from stating that he had
frequented the university of life?
Ulysses
1123 of 1305 Because of his fluctuating incertitude as to whether this
observation had or had not been already made by him to Stephen or by Stephen to him.
What two temperaments did they individually
represent?
The scientific. The artistic. What proofs did Bloom addu ce to prove that his
tendency was towards applied, rather than towards pure, science?
Certain possible inventions of which he had cogitated
Inventions and Advertising Schemes
- Bloom reflects on the historical significance of revolutionary inventions like the parachute and the safety pin, imagining their application in educational toys.
- He contemplates the financial success of local bazaars and the untapped potential of modern advertising through 'triliteral monoideal symbols.'
- The text explores various advertising slogans and wordplay, ranging from the effective to the absurd, such as 'Uwantit' and 'Plumtreeâs Potted Meat.'
- Bloom shares a failed business idea for an illuminated showcart to illustrate that originality does not always guarantee commercial success.
- Stephen and Bloom construct contrasting narrative scenes centered on the Queenâs Hotel, leading to the somber memory of Bloomâs fatherâs suicide.
The name on the label is Plumtree. A plumtree in a meatpot, registered trade mark. Beware of imitations. Peatmot. Trumplee. Moutpat. Plamtroo.
when reclining in a state of supine repletion to aid digestion, stimulated by his appreciation of the importance
of inventions now common but once revolutionary, for
example, the aeronautic parachute, the reflecting telescope, the spiral corkscrew, the safety pin, the mineral water siphon, the canal lock with winch and sluice, the suction pump.
Were these inventions principally intended for an
improved scheme of kindergarten?
Yes, rendering obsolete popguns, elastic airbladders,
games of hazard, catapults. They comprised astronomical
kaleidoscopes exhibiting the twelve constellations of the zodiac from Aries to Pisces, miniature mechanical orreries,
arithmetical gelatine lozeng es, geometrical to correspond
Ulysses
1124 of 1305 with zoological biscuits, globemap playing balls,
historically costumed dolls.
What also stimulated him in his cogitations? The financial success achiev ed by Ephraim Marks and
Charles A. James, the form er by his 1d bazaar at 42
Georgeâs street, south, the la tter at his 6 1/2d shop and
worldâs fancy fair and waxwo rk exhibition at 30 Henry
street, admission 2d, children 1d: and the infinite possibilities hitherto unexploited of the modern art of advertisement if condensed in triliteral monoideal symbols,
vertically of maximum visibility (divined), horizontally of maximum legibility (deciphered) and of magnetising
efficacy to arrest involuntary attention, to interest, to
convince, to decide.
Such as? K. II. Kinoâs 11/- Trousers. House of Keys. Alexander
J. Keyes.
Such as not? Look at this long candle. Calculate when it burns out
and you receive gratis 1 pair of our special non-compo boots, guaranteed 1 candle power. Address: Barclay and
Cook, 18 Talbot street.
Bacilikil (Insect Powder).
Veribest (Boot Blacking).
Ulysses
1125 of 1305 Uwantit (Combined pocket twoblade penknife with
corkscrew, nailfile and pipecleaner).
Such as never? What is home without Plumtreeâs Potted Meat? Incomplete. With it an abode of bliss. Manufactured by George Plumtree, 23 Merchantsâ
quay, Dublin, put up in 4 oz pots, and inserted by
Councillor Joseph P. Nannetti, M. P., Rotunda Ward, 19 Hardwicke street, under th e obituary notices and
anniversaries of deceases. The name on the label is Plumtree. A plumtree in a meatpot, registered trade mark.
Beware of imitations. Peatmot. Trumplee. Moutpat.
Plamtroo.
Which example did he adduce to induce Stephen to
deduce that originality, though producing its own reward, does not invariably conduce to success?
His own ideated and rejected project of an illuminated
showcart, drawn by a beast of burden, in which two smartly dressed girls were to be seated engaged in writing.
What suggested scene was then constructed by
Stephen?
Solitary hotel in mountain pass. Autumn. Twilight. Fire
lit. In dark corner young man seated. Young woman
Ulysses
1126 of 1305 enters. Restless. Solitary. She sits. She goes to window.
She stands. She sits. Twilight. She thinks. On solitary hotel paper she writes. She thinks. She writes. She sighs. Wheels
and hoofs. She hurries out. He comes from his dark corner. He seizes solitary pap er. He holds it towards fire.
Twilight. He reads. Solitary.
What? In sloping, upright and backhands: Queenâs Hotel,
Queenâs Hotel, Queenâs Hotel. Queenâs Ho...
What suggested scene was then reconstructed by
Bloom?
The Queenâs Hotel, Ennis, county Clare, where
Rudolph Bloom (Rudolf Virag) died on the evening of
the 27 June 1886, at some hour unstated, in consequence
of an overdose of monkshood (ac onite) selfadministered in
the form of a neuralgic linimen t composed of 2 parts of
aconite liniment to I of chloroform liniment (purchased by him at 10.20 a.m. on the morn ing of 27 June 1886 at the
medical hall of Francis Dennehy , 17 Church street, Ennis)
Domestic Solutions and Intellectual Deficiencies
- Bloom reflects on a past purchase of a straw hat in Ennis, attributing a naming coincidence to pure chance rather than intuition.
- He finds more satisfaction in observing the reactions and narratives of others than in performing his own verbal storytelling.
- Bloom considers the commercial potential of his past school essays and moral apothegms as possible sources of financial or social success.
- The narrative shifts to the 'domestic problem' of how to occupy a wife, listing solutions ranging from parlor games to commercial proprietorship.
- Bloom contemplates more radical hypothetical solutions for wives, including state-inspected masculine brothels for erotic satisfaction.
- He justifies a need for her further education by citing her 'deficient mental development,' such as her inability to write the letter Q or understand geopolitics.
What to do with our wives. What had been his hypothetical singular solutions?
after having, though not in consequence of having, purchased at 3.15 p.m. on the afternoon of 27 June 1886 a new boater straw hat, extra smart (after having, though not in consequence of having, purchased at the hour and in
Ulysses
1127 of 1305 the place aforesaid, the toxin aforesaid), at the general
drapery store of James Cullen, 4 Main street, Ennis.
Did he attribute this hom onymity to information or
coincidence or intuition?
Coincidence. Did he depict the scene verba lly for his guest to see?
He preferred himself to see anotherâs face and listen to
anotherâs words by which potential narration was realised and kinetic temperament relieved.
Did he see only a second co incidence in the second
scene narrated to him, de scribed by the narrator as A
Pisgah Sight of Palestine or The Parable of the Plums ?
It, with the preceding scene and with others unnarrated
but existent by implication, to which add essays on various
subjects or moral apothegms (e.g. My Favourite Hero or
Procrastination is the Thief of Time ) composed during
schoolyears, seemed to him to contain in itself and in conjunction with the personal equation certain possibilities of financial, social, personal and sexual success, whether
specially collected and selecte d as model pedagogic themes
(of cent per cent merit) for the use of preparatory and junior grade students or c ontributed in printed form,
following the precedent of Philip Beaufoy or Doctor Dick
or Heblonâs Studies in Blue , to a publication of certified
Ulysses
1128 of 1305 circulation and solvency or employed verbally as
intellectual stimulation for sy mpathetic auditors, tacitly
appreciative of successful narrative and confidently augurative of successful achievement, during the increasingly longer nights gradually following the summer solstice on the day but three following, videlicet, Tuesday, 21 June (S. Aloysius Gonzaga), sunrise 3.33 a.m., sunset 8.29 p.m.
Which domestic problem as mu ch as, if not more than,
any other frequently engaged his mind?
What to do with our wives. What had been his hypothetical singular solutions?
Parlour games (dominos, halma, tiddledywinks,
spilikins, cup and ball, nap, spoil five, bezique, twentyfive, beggar my neighbour, draugh ts, chess or backgammon):
embroidery, darning or knitting for the policeaided clothing society: musical du ets, mandoline and guitar,
piano and flute, guitar and piano: legal scrivenery or envelope addressing: biweekly visits to variety entertainments: commercial activity as pleasantly commanding and pleasingly obeyed mistress proprietress in a cool dairy shop or warm cigar divan: the clandestine satisfaction of erotic irritation in masculine brothels, state
inspected and medically controlle d: social visits, at regular
Ulysses
1129 of 1305 infrequent prevented intervals and with regular frequent
preventive superintendence, to and from female acquaintances of recognised respectability in the vicinity: courses of evening instruction specially designed to render liberal instruction agreeable.
What instances of deficient mental development in his
wife inclined him in favour of the lastmentioned (ninth)
solution?
In disoccupied moments she had more than once
covered a sheet of paper with signs and hieroglyphics which she stated were Greek and Irish and Hebrew characters. She had interroga ted constantly at varying
intervals as to the correct me thod of writing the capital
initial of the name of a city in Canada, Quebec. She understood little of political co mplications, internal, or
balance of power, external. In calculating the addenda of bills she frequently had recour se to digital aid. After
completion of laconic epistolary compositions she abandoned the implement of calligraphy in the encaustic pigment, exposed to the corrosive action of copperas, green vitriol and nutgall. Unusual polysyllables of foreign origin she interpreted phonetica lly or by false analogy or
Linguistic and Intellectual Parallels
- Bloom reflects on Mollyâs intellectual deficiencies and his varied, often unsuccessful, attempts to educate her through direct instruction and indirect suggestion.
- The dialogue shifts to a lineage of 'seekers of pure truth,' linking the three Moses figuresâof Egypt, Maimonides, and Mendelssohnâto establish a tradition of Jewish eminence.
- Stephen and Bloom exchange fragments of ancient Irish and Hebrew verse, highlighting the phonetic and rhythmic qualities of their respective ancestral tongues.
- A physical comparison of scripts is performed on the flyleaf of a pulp novel, 'Sweets of Sin,' where they transcribe characters to compare their numerical and symbolic values.
- The two men acknowledge that their linguistic knowledge is largely theoretical, focusing on grammatical rules rather than functional vocabulary.
- The text proposes a mythical shared origin for the Irish and Hebrew peoples, tracing both back to a post-deluge seminary founded by a descendant of Noah.
She followed not all, a part of the whole, gave attention with interest comprehended with surprise, with care repeated, with greater difficulty remembered, forgot with ease, with misgiving reremembered, rerepeated with error.
by both: metempsychosis (met him pike hoses), alias (a
mendacious person mentioned in sacred scripture).
Ulysses
1130 of 1305 What compensated in the false balance of her
intelligence for these and such deficiencies of judgment
regarding persons, places and things?
The false apparent parallelism of all perpendicular arms
of all balances, proved true by construction. The counterbalance of her profici ency of judgment regarding
one person, proved true by experiment.
How had he attempted to remedy this state of
comparative ignorance?
Variously. By leaving in a conspicuous place a certain
book open at a certain page: by assuming in her, when alluding explanatorily, latent knowledge: by open ridicule
in her presence of some absent otherâs ignorant lapse.
With what success had he attempted direct instruction? She followed not all, a part of the whole, gave attention
with interest comprehended with surprise, with care repeated, with greater difficulty remembered, forgot with ease, with misgiving rerememb ered, rerepeated with error.
What system had proved more effective? Indirect suggestion implicating selfinterest. Example? She disliked umbrella with rain, he liked woman with
umbrella, she disliked new hat with rain, he liked woman
Ulysses
1131 of 1305 with new hat, he bought new hat with rain, she carried
umbrella with new hat.
Accepting the analogy implied in his guestâs parable
which examples of postexilic eminence did he adduce?
Three seekers of the pure truth, Moses of Egypt, Moses
Maimonides, author of More Nebukim (Guide of the
Perplexed) and Moses Mendelssohn of such eminence that from Moses (of Egypt) to Moses (Mendelssohn) there
arose none like Moses (Maimonides).
What statement was made, under correction, by Bloom
concerning a fourth seeker of pure truth, by name
Aristotle, mentioned, with permission, by Stephen?
That the seeker mentioned had been a pupil of a
rabbinical philosopher, name uncertain.
Were other anapocryphal illustr ious sons of the law and
children of a selected or re jected race mentioned?
Felix Bartholdy Mendelssohn (composer), Baruch
Spinoza (philosopher), Mendoza (pugilist), Ferdinand Lassalle (reformer, duellist).
What fragments of verse from the ancient Hebrew and
ancient Irish languages were cited with modulations of voice and translation of texts by guest to host and by host to guest?
Ulysses
1132 of 1305 By Stephen: suil, suil, suil arun, suil go siocair agus suil go
cuin (walk, walk, walk your way, walk in safety, walk with
care).
By Bloom: Kkifeloch, harimon rakatejch mâbaad lâzamatejch
(thy temple amid thy hair is as a slice of pomegranate).
How was a glyphic comparison of the phonic symbols
of both languages made in substantiation of the oral comparison?
By juxtaposition. On the penultimate blank page of a
book of inferior literary style, entituled Sweets of Sin
(produced by Bloom and so manipulated that its front
cover carne in contact with th e surface of the table) with a
pencil (supplied by Stephen) Stephen wrote the Irish characters for gee, eh, dee, em, simple and modified, and
Bloom in turn wrote the Hebrew characters ghimel, aleph, daleth and (in the absence of mem) a substituted qoph, explaining their arithmetical values as ordinal and cardinal numbers, videlicet 3, 1, 4, and 100.
Was the knowledge possessed by both of each of these
languages, the extinct and the revived, theoretical or practical?
Theoretical, being confined to certain grammatical
rules of accidence and syntax and practically excluding vocabulary.
Ulysses
1133 of 1305 What points of contact existed between these languages
and between the peoples who spoke them?
The presence of guttural sounds, diacritic aspirations,
epenthetic and servile letters in both languages: their
antiquity, both having been taught on the plain of Shinar 242 years after the deluge in the seminary instituted by Fenius Farsaigh, descendant of Noah, progenitor of Israel,
Parallel Heritages and Ancient Melodies
- The text draws extensive parallels between Jewish and Irish histories, citing their shared experiences of dispersal, persecution, and the preservation of sacred literatures.
- Bloom and Stephen find common ground in the evolution of language, tracing a path from Egyptian hieroglyphs to modern telegraphic codes and Ogham script.
- A moment of mutual recognition occurs as Stephen hears the 'accumulation of the past' in song, while Bloom sees the 'predestination of a future' in Stephen.
- Bloom reflects on his own potential alternate lives in the church, at the bar, or on the stage, listing various historical exemplars of success.
- The encounter culminates in a musical exchange where Stephen recites the ballad of 'Little Harry Hughes,' a legend involving a Jewish daughter and a lost ball.
He heard in a profound ancient male unfamiliar melody the accumulation of the past.
and ascendant of Heber and Heremon, progenitors of
Ireland: their archaeological, genealogical, hagiographical, exegetical, homiletic, toponomastic, historical and religious literatures comprising the works of rabbis and culdees, Torah, Talmud (Mischna and Ghemara), Massor,
Pentateuch, Book of the Dun Cow, Book of Ballymote,
Garland of Howth, Book of Kells: their dispersal, persecution, survival and revival: the isolation of their synagogical and ecclesiastical rites in ghetto (S. Maryâs
Abbey) and masshouse (Adam and Eveâs tavern): the proscription of their national costumes in penal laws and
jewish dress acts: the restoration in Chanah David of Zion and the possibility of Irish political autonomy or devolution.
What anthem did Bloom chant partially in anticipation
of that multiple, ethnically irreducible consummation?
Ulysses
1134 of 1305 Kolod balejwaw pnimah
Nefesch, jehudi, homijah.
Why was the chant arrested at the conclusion of this
first distich?
In consequence of defective mnemotechnic. How did the chanter compensate for this deficiency?
By a periphrastic version of the general text.
In what common study did their mutual reflections
merge?
The increasing simplification traceable from the
Egyptian epigraphic hieroglyphs to the Greek and Roman alphabets and the anticipation of modern stenography and telegraphic code in the cune iform inscriptions (Semitic)
and the virgular quinquecostate ogham writing (Celtic). Did the guest comply with his hostâs request?
Doubly, by appending his signature in Irish and Roman
characters.
What was Stephenâs auditive sensation? He heard in a profound ancient male unfamiliar melody
the accumulation of the past.
What was Bloomâs visual sensation?
Ulysses
1135 of 1305 He saw in a quick young male familiar form the
predestination of a future.
What were Stephenâs and Bl oomâs quasisimultaneous
volitional quasisensations of concealed identities?
Visually, Stephenâs: The traditional figure of hypostasis,
depicted by Johannes Damascenu s, Lentulus Romanus and
Epiphanius Monachus as leuc odermic, sesquipedalian with
winedark hair. Auditively, Bloom âs: The traditional accent
of the ecstasy of catastrophe.
What future careers had been possible for Bloom in the
past and with what exemplars?
In the church, Roman, Anglican or Nonconformist:
exemplars, the very reverend John Conmee S. J., the
reverend T. Salmon, D. D., provost of Trinity college, Dr Alexander J. Dowie. At the bar, English or Irish: exemplars, Seymour Bushe, K. C., Rufus Isaacs, K. C. On
the stage modern or Shakespearean: exemplars, Charles Wyndham, high comedian O smond Tearle (died 1901),
exponent of Shakespeare.
Did the host encourage his guest to chant in a
modulated voice a strange legend on an allied theme?
Reassuringly, their place, where none could hear them
talk, being secluded, reassure d, the decocted beverages,
allowing for subsolid residual sediment of a mechanical
Ulysses
1136 of 1305 mixture, water plus sugar plus cream plus cocoa, having
been consumed.
Recite the first (major) part of this chanted legend.
Little Harry Hughes and his schoolfellows all
Went out for to play ball. And the very first ball little Harry Hughes played He drove it oâer the jewâs garden wall.
And the very second ball little Harry Hughes
played He broke the jewâs windows all.
How did the son of Rudolph receive this first part?
With unmixed feeling. Smiling, a jew he heard with
pleasure and saw the unbroken kitchen window.
Recite the second part (minor) of the legend.
Then out there came the jewâs daughter
And she all dressed in green. âCome back, come back,you pretty little boy,
And play your ball again.â
âI canât come back and I wonât come back Without my schoolfellows all.
Ulysses
1137 of 1305 For if my master he did hear
Heâd make it a sorry ball.â She took him by the lilywhite hand And led him along the hall Until she led him to a room Where none could hear him call.
The Predestined Victim
- Stephen Dedalus provides a dark commentary on a ballad, framing the victim as a predestined figure who is led to a secret apartment and immolated.
- Leopold Bloom reflects on the possibility of ritual murder, weighing the influences of superstition, rumor, and atavistic delinquency.
- Bloom considers his own susceptibility to psychological states like hypnotic suggestion and somnambulism, recalling instances of sleep-paralysis and sleepwalking.
- The narrative shifts to Bloom's memories of his daughter Milly, tracing her development from a crying infant to an adolescent asserting her independence.
- Bloom observes Milly's physical traits and behaviors, noting her rejection of childhood toys and her growing secrecy regarding social encounters.
- The departure of Milly is compared to the temporary departure of the family cat, both driven by a 'secret purpose' and the pursuit of a new mate.
One of all, the least of all, is the victim predestined.
She took a penknife out of her pocket And cut off his little head. And now heâll play his ball no more For he lies among the dead.
How did the father of Millicent receive this second
part?
With mixed feelings. Unsmiling, he heard and saw
with wonder a jewâs daughter, all dressed in green.
Condense Stephenâs commentary. One of all, the least of all, is the victim predestined.
Once by inadvertence twice by design he challenges his destiny. It comes when he is abandoned and challenges
him reluctant and, as an apparition of hope and youth,
holds him unresisting. It leads him to a strange habitation,
Ulysses
1138 of 1305 to a secret infidel apartment, and there, implacable,
immolates him, consenting.
Why was the host (victim predestined) sad? He wished that a tale of a d eed should be told of a deed
not by him should by him not be told.
Why was the host (reluctant, unresisting) still? In accordance with the law of the conservation of
energy.
Why was the host (secret infidel) silent? He weighed the possible evidenc es for and against ritual
murder: the incitations of the hierarchy, the superstition of the populace, the propagation of rumour in continued
fraction of veridicity, the envy of opulence, the influence
of retaliation, the sporadic reappearance of atavistic delinquency, the mitigating circumstances of fanaticism, hypnotic suggestion and somnambulism.
From which (if any) of these mental or physical
disorders was he not totally immune?
From hypnotic suggestion: once, waking, he had not
recognised his sleeping apartment: more than once, waking, he had been for an indefinite time incapable of moving or uttering sounds. From somnambulism: once, sleeping, his body had risen, crouched and crawled in the direction of a heatless fire and, having attained its
Ulysses
1139 of 1305 destination, there, curled, unhe ated, in night attire had
lain, sleeping.
Had this latter or any cognate phenomenon declared
itself in any member of his family?
Twice, in Holles street and in Ontario terrace, his
daughter Millicent (Milly) at th e ages of 6 and 8 years had
uttered in sleep an exclamation of terror and had replied to the interrogations of two figures in night attire with a vacant mute expression.
What other infantile memories had he of her? 15 June 1889. A querulous newborn female infant
crying to cause and lessen congestion. A child renamed
Padney Socks she shook wit h shocks her moneybox:
counted his three free moneyp enny buttons, one, tloo,
tlee: a doll, a boy, a sailor she cast away: blond, born of two dark, she had blond ancestry, remote, a violation, Herr Hauptmann Hainau, Austrian army, proximate, a hallucination, lieutenant Mulvey, British navy.
What endemic characteristics were present? Conversely the nasal and frontal formation was derived
in a direct line of lineage which, though interrupted, would continue at distant intervals to more distant
intervals to its most distant intervals.
What memories had he of her adolescence?
Ulysses
1140 of 1305 She relegated her hoop and skippingrope to a recess.
On the dukeâs lawn, entreated by an English visitor, she declined to permit him to make and take away her photographic image (objection not stated). On the South Circular road in the company of Elsa Potter, followed by an individual of sinister aspect, she went half way down Stamer street and turned abrupt ly back (reason of change
not stated). On the vigil of the 15th anniversary of her birth she wrote a letter from Mullingar, county Westmeath, making a brief allusion to a local student (faculty and year not stated).
Did that first division, port ending a second division,
afflict him?
Less than he had imagined, more than he had hoped. What second departure was contemporaneously
perceived by him similarly, if differently?
A temporary departure of his cat. Why similarly, why differently? Similarly, because actuated by a secret purpose the
quest of a new male
Domestic Pedagogy and Proposed Repose
- The text compares the behaviors of Milly Bloom to those of a cat, highlighting her passivity, economy, and instinct for tradition.
- Leopold Bloom utilizes household objects like an owl and a clock as didactic tools to explain complex scientific and mechanical principles to his wife, Molly.
- Molly reciprocates Bloom's instruction with domestic attentiveness and a stated desire to possess a fraction of his scientific knowledge.
- Bloom proposes that Stephen Dedalus stay the night in an improvised cubicle, suggesting mutual benefits for the guest, host, and hostess.
- The narrative explores the potential for a 'reconciliatory union' between Stephen and Milly, suggesting the path to the daughter is through the mother.
- A brief mention of the late Mrs. Emily Sinico leads to a suppressed explanation from Bloom regarding his absence at her funeral.
Because the way to daughter led through mother, the way to mother through daughter.
(Mullingar student) or of a healing herb (valerian).
Differently, because of different possible returns to the inhabitants or to the habitation.
In other respects were their differences similar?
Ulysses
1141 of 1305 In passivity, in economy, in the instinct of tradition, in
unexpectedness.
As? Inasmuch as leaning she sustained her blond hair for
him to ribbon it for her (cf neckarching cat). Moreover, on the free surface of the la ke in Stephenâs green amid
inverted reflections of trees her uncommented spit, describing concentric circles of waterrings, indicated by
the constancy of its permanence the locus of a somnolent prostrate fish (cf mousewatching cat).
Again, in order to remember the date, combatants,
issue and consequences of a famous military engagement
she pulled a plait of her hair (cf earwashing cat).
Furthermore, silly Milly, she dreamed of having had an unspoken unremembered convers ation with a horse whose
name had been Joseph to whom (which) she had offered a tumblerful of lemonade which it (he) had appeared to have accepted (cf hearthdreaming cat). Hence, in passivity,
in economy, in the insti nct of tradition, in
unexpectedness, their differences were similar.
In what way had he utilised gi fts (1) an owl, 2) a clock),
given as matrimonial auguries, to interest and to instruct her?
Ulysses
1142 of 1305 As object lessons to explain: 1) the nature and habits of
oviparous animals, the possibilit y of aerial flight, certain
abnormalities of vision, the secular process of imbalsamation: 2) the pr inciple of the pendulum,
exemplified in bob, wheelgear and regulator, the translation in terms of human or social regulation of the various positions of clockwis e moveable indicators on an
unmoving dial, the exactitude of the recurrence per hour of an instant in each hour when the longer and the shorter
indicator were at the same angle of inclination, videlicet , 5
5/11 minutes past each hour per hour in arithmetical
progression.
In what manners did she reciprocate? She remembered: on the 27th anniversary of his birth
she presented to him a breakfast moustachecup of imitation Crown Derby porcelain ware. She provided: at quarter day or thereabouts if or when purchases had been made by him not for her she showed herself attentive to his necessities, anticipating his desires. She admired: a
natural phenomenon having been explained by him to her she expressed the immediate desire to possess without
gradual acquisition a fraction of his science, the moiety,
the quarter, a thousandth part.
Ulysses
1143 of 1305 What proposal did Bloom, diambulist, father of Milly,
somnambulist, make to Stephen, noctambulist?
To pass in repose the hours intervening between
Thursday (proper) and Friday (normal) on an extemporised cubicle in the apartment immediately above the kitchen and immediately adjacent to the sleeping apartment of his host and hostess.
What various advantages would or might have resulted
from a prolongation of such an extemporisation?
For the guest: security of domicile and seclusion of
study. For the host: rejuvenat ion of intelligence, vicarious
satisfaction. For the hostess: disintegration of obsession,
acquisition of correct Italian pronunciation.
Why might these several provisional contingencies
between a guest and a hostess no t necessarily preclude or
be precluded by a permanent eventuality of reconciliatory
union between a schoolfellow and a jewâs daughter?
Because the way to daughter led through mother, the
way to mother through daughter.
To what inconsequent poly syllabic question of his host
did the guest return a monosyllabic negative answer?
If he had known the late Mrs Emily Sinico, accidentally
killed at Sydney Parade railway station, 14 October 1903.
Ulysses
1144 of 1305 What inchoate corollary statement was consequently
suppressed by the host?
A statement explanatory of hi s absence on the occasion
The Irreparability of the Past
- Stephen Dedalus declines Bloom's offer of asylum, leading to a final exchange of money and a series of hypothetical future collaborations.
- Proposed intellectual and artistic exchanges include Italian lessons, vocal instruction, and peripatetic dialogues across various Dublin landmarks.
- Bloom reflects on the 'irreparability of the past' through the memory of a circus clown who falsely claimed him as a father.
- The 'imprevidibility of the future' is illustrated by Bloom's failed experiment to track a notched coin through the city's economy.
- Bloom's youthful optimism regarding the perfectibility of human life has been tempered by the harsh realities of natural law and social inequality.
- The narrative catalogs the inescapable 'generic conditions' of existence, including birth, decay, natural disasters, and the necessity of destruction for sustenance.
The irreparability of the past: once at a performance of Albert Henglerâs circus in the Rotunda, Rutland square, Dublin, an intuitive particoloured clown in quest of paternity had penetrated from the ring to a place in the auditorium where Bloom, solitary, was seated and had publicly declared to an exhilarated audience that he (Bloom) was his (the clownâs) papa.
of the interment of Mrs Mary Dedalus (born Goulding), 26 June 1903, vigil of the anniversary of the decease of Rudolph Bloom (born Virag).
Was the proposal of asylum accepted? Promptly, inexplicably, with amicability, gratefully it
was declined. What exchange of money took place between host and guest?
The former returned to the latter, without interest, a
sum of money (1-7-0), one pound seven shillings sterling,
advanced by the latter to the former.
What counterproposals were alternately advanced,
accepted, modified, declined, restated in other terms, reaccepted, ratified, reconfirmed?
To inaugurate a prearranged course of Italian
instruction, place the residence of the instructed. To inaugurate a course of vocal instruction, place the residence of the instructress. To inaugurate a series of static
semistatic and peripatetic inte llectual dialogues, places the
residence of both speakers (if both speakers were resident
in the same place), the Ship hotel and tavern, 6 Lower Abbey street (W. and E. Connery, proprietors), the
Ulysses
1145 of 1305 National Library of Ireland, 10 Kildare street, the National
Maternity Hospital, 29, 30 and 31 Holles street, a public
garden, the vicinity of a place of worship, a conjunction of two or more public thoroughfares, the point of bisection of a right line drawn between their residences (if both speakers were resident in different places).
What rendered problematic for Bloom the realisation of
these mutually selfexcluding propositions?
The irreparability of the past: once at a performance of
Albert Henglerâs circus in the Rotunda, Rutland square, Dublin, an intuitive partic oloured clown in quest of
paternity had penetrated from the ring to a place in the
auditorium where Bloom, solitar y, was seated and had
publicly declared to an exhilarated audience that he (Bloom) was his (the clownâ s) papa. The imprevidibility of
the future: once in the summer of 1898 he (Bloom) had marked a florin (2/-) with three notches on the milled edge and tendered it m paym ent of an account due to and
received by J. and T. Davy, family grocers, 1 Charlemont
Mall, Grand Canal, for circulation on the waters of civic finance, for possible, circuitous or direct, return.
Was the clown Bloomâs son? No. Had Bloomâs coin returned?
Ulysses
1146 of 1305 Never.
Why would a recurrent frustration the more depress
him?
Because at the critical turningpoint of human existence
he desired to amend many social conditions, the product of inequality and avarice and international animosity. He believed then that human life was infinitely perfectible,
eliminating these conditions?
There remained the generic conditions imposed by
natural, as distinct from human law, as integral parts of the
human whole: the necessity of destruction to procure
alimentary sustenance: the painful character of the ultimate
functions of separate existenc e, the agonies of birth and
death: the monotonous menstruation of simian and
(particularly) human females extending from the age of puberty to the menopause: inevitable accidents at sea, in mines and factories: certain very painful maladies and their resultant surgical operations, innate lunacy and congenital criminality, decimating epidemics: catastrophic cataclysms which make terror the basis of human mentality: seismic upheavals the epicentres of which are located in densely populated regions: the fact of vital growth, through convulsions of metamorphosis, from infancy through maturity to decay.
Ulysses
1147 of 1305 Why did he desist from speculation?
Because it was a task for a superior intelligence to
The Incertitude of the Void
- Stephen and Bloom exit the house in a ritualistic procession, likened to the biblical exodus from Egypt.
- Bloom finds comfort in his identity as a 'keyless citizen' who navigates the unknown through rational action.
- The characters emerge into the garden to witness the 'heaventree of stars,' prompting a meditation on the vastness of the cosmos.
- Bloom contemplates the astronomical scale of the universe, viewing human life as a mere parenthesis of infinitesimal brevity.
- The narrative shifts from cosmic evolution to microscopic involution, exploring the infinite divisibility of matter down toward nothingness.
- The passage highlights the contrast between the rational, syllogistic mind and the overwhelming scale of the macrocosm and microcosm.
The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.
substitute other more acceptable phenomena in the place of the less acceptable phenomena to be removed.
Did Stephen participate in his dejection? He affirmed his significance as a conscious rational
animal proceeding syllogistically from the known to the unknown and a conscious rational reagent between a micro and a macrocosm inelu ctably constructed upon the
incertitude of the void.
Was this affirmation apprehended by Bloom? Not verbally. Substantially.
What comforted his misapprehension?
That as a competent keyless citizen he had proceeded
energetically from the unknown to the known through the incertitude of the void.
In what order of precedence, with what attendant
ceremony was the exodus from the house of bondage to the wilderness of inhabitation effected?
Lighted Candle in Stick borne by BLOOM Diaconal Hat on Ashplant borne by STEPHEN:
Ulysses
1148 of 1305 With what intonation secreto of what commemorative
psalm?
The 113th, modus peregrinus: In exitu Israel de Egypto:
domus Jacob de populo barbaro .
What did each do at the door of egress? Bloom set the candlestick on the floor. Stephen put the
hat on his head.
For what creature was the door of egress a door of
ingress?
For a cat.
What spectacle confronted th em when they, first the
host, then the guest, emerged silently, doubly dark, from obscurity by a passage from the rere of the house into the penumbra of the garden?
The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue
fruit.
With what meditations did Bloom accompany his
demonstration to his compani on of various constellations?
Meditations of evolution increasingly vaster: of the
moon invisible in incipient lunation, approaching perigee: of the infinite lattiginous sci ntillating uncondensed milky
way, discernible by daylight by an observer placed at the lower end of a cylindrical vert ical shaft 5000 ft deep sunk
from the surface towards the centre of the earth: of Sirius
Ulysses
1149 of 1305 (alpha in Canis Maior) 10 lightyears (57,000,000,000,000
miles) distant and in volume 900 times the dimension of
our planet: of Arcturus: of the precession of equinoxes: of Orion with belt and sextuple sun theta and nebula in
which 100 of our solar systems could be contained: of moribund and of nascent new stars such as Nova in 1901: of our system plunging towards the constellation of Hercules: of the parallax or parallactic drift of socalled fixed stars, in reality evermoving wanderers from immeasurably remote eons to infinitely remote futures in comparison with which the ye ars, threescore and ten, of
allotted human life formed a parenthesis of infinitesimal
brevity.
Were there obverse meditations of involution
increasingly less vast?
Of the eons of geological periods recorded in the
stratifications of the earth: of the myriad minute entomological organic existences concealed in cavities of the earth, beneath removable stones, in hives and mounds, of microbes, germs, bacteria, bacilli, spermatozoa: of the incalculable trillions of billions of millions of imperceptible molecules contained by cohesi on of molecular affinity in a
single pinhead: of the universe of human serum constellated with red and white bodies, themselves
Ulysses
1150 of 1305 universes of void space constellated with other bodies,
each, in continuity, its universe of divisible component bodies of which each was again divisible in divisions of redivisible component bodies, dividends and divisors ever diminishing without actual division till, if the progress were carried far enough, nought nowhere was never reached.
Why did he not elaborate these calculations to a more
precise result?
Because some years previ ously in 1886 when occupied
with the problem of the quadrature of the circle he had learned of .the existence of a number computed to a
relative degree of accuracy to be of such magnitude and of
Cosmic Scales and Human Vanity
- The text explores the staggering mathematical scale of the universe, illustrating how a single calculation could fill thirty-three volumes of paper.
- It contemplates the possibility of extraterrestrial life on other planets, hypothesizing that different anatomical structures might survive where humans cannot.
- The author suggests that regardless of physical form or planetary environment, any sentient race would likely remain tethered to the same inherent vanities as humanity.
- A detailed astronomical survey covers stellar colors, magnitudes, and the historical discoveries of scientists like Galileo, Kepler, and Herschel.
- The narrative links celestial events, such as the appearance of new stars, to the births of significant figures like William Shakespeare and Leopold Bloom.
An apogean humanity of beings created in varying forms with finite differences resulting similar to the whole and to one another would probably there as here remain inalterably and inalienably attached to vanities, to vanities of vanities and to all that is vanity.
so many places, e.g., the 9th power of the 9th power of 9, that, the result having been obtained, 33 closely printed
volumes of 1000 pages each of innumerable quires and reams of India paper would have to be requisitioned in order to contain the complete ta le of its printed integers of
units, tens, hundreds, thous ands, tens of thousands,
hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions, billions, the nucleus of the nebula of every digit of every series containi ng succinctly the potentiality
of being raised to the utmost kinetic elaboration of any
power of any of its powers.
Ulysses
1151 of 1305 Did he find the problems of the inhabitability of the
planets and their satellites by a race, given in species, and
of the possible social and moral redemption of said race by a redeemer, easier of solution?
Of a different order of diffi culty. Conscious that the
human organism, normally capable of sustaining an atmospheric pressure of 19 to ns, when elevated to a
considerable altitude in the terrestrial atmosphere suffered
with arithmetical progression of intensity, according as the line of demarcation between troposphere and stratosphere was approximated from nasal hemorrhage, impeded respiration and vertigo, when proposing this problem for
solution, he had conjectured as a working hypothesis
which could not be proved impossible that a more
adaptable and differently anatomic ally constructed race of
beings might subsist otherwis e under Martian, Mercurial,
Veneral, Jovian, Saturnian, Neptunian or Uranian sufficient and equivalent c onditions, though an apogean
humanity of beings created in varying forms with finite differences resulting similar to the whole and to one
another would probably there as here remain inalterably and inalienably attached to vani ties, to vanities of vanities
and to all that is vanity.
Ulysses
1152 of 1305 And the problem of possible redemption?
The minor was proved by the major.
Which various features of the constellations were in
turn considered?
The various colours significant of various degrees of
vitality (white, yellow, crimson, vermilion, cinnabar): their degrees of brilliancy: their magn itudes revealed up to and
including the 7th: their positions: the waggonerâs star:
Walsingham way: the char iot of David: the annular
cinctures of Saturn: the condensa tion of spiral nebulae into
suns: the interdependent gyr ations of double suns: the
independent synchronous dis coveries of Galileo, Simon
Marius, Piazzi, Le Verrier, Herschel, Galle: the systematisations attempted by Bode and Kepler of cubes of distances and squares of times of revolution: the almost infinite compressibility of hirsute comets and their vast elliptical egressive and reentrant orbits from perihelion to aphelion: the sidereal origin of meteoric stones: the Libyan
floods on Mars about the period of the birth of the younger astroscopist: the annual recurrence of meteoric
showers about the period of the feast of S. Lawrence (martyr, lo August): the monthly recurrence known as the
Ulysses
1153 of 1305 new moon with the old moon in her arms: the posited
influence of celestial on human bodies: the appearance of a
star (1st magnitude) of excee ding brilliancy dominating by
night and day (a new luminous sun generated by the collision and amalgamation in incandescence of two
nonluminous exsuns) about the period of the birth of William Shakespeare over delta in the recumbent neversetting constellation of Cassiopeia and of a star (2nd magnitude) of similar origin but of lesser brilliancy which
had appeared in and disappeared from the constellation of the Corona Septentrionalis about the period of the birth of Leopold Bloom and of other sta rs of (presumably) similar
origin which had (effectively or presumably) appeared in
Celestial Affinities and Silent Reflections
- The narrative connects the life cycles of individuals like Stephen Dedalus and Rudolph Bloom to the vast, indifferent movements of stellar constellations.
- Bloom concludes that the cosmos is not a divine entity but a 'Utopia' of infinite, illusory forms that exist beyond the reach of human certainty.
- The text explores the profound symbolic parallels between the moon and womanhood, citing antiquity, cyclical constancy, and a 'tranquil inscrutability.'
- A domestic lamp serves as a 'visible splendid sign' for the invisible presence of Molly Bloom, bridging the gap between the celestial and the mundane.
- The encounter between Bloom and Stephen culminates in a moment of shared silence and a primal, synchronized act under the night sky.
- Human existence is framed as a brief 'pallor' set against the 'terribility' of an isolated and implacable universe.
Silent, each contemplating the other in both mirrors of the reciprocal flesh of theirhisnothis fellowfaces.
and disappeared from the constellation of Andromeda about the period of the birth of Stephen Dedalus, and in and from the constellation of Auriga some years after the birth and death of Rudolph Bloom, junior, and in and from other constellations so me years before or after the
birth or death of other persons: the attendant phenomena of eclipses, solar and lunar, from immersion to emersion, abatement of wind, transit of shadow, taciturnity of winged creatures, emergence of nocturnal or crepuscular animals, persistence of infernal light, obscurity of terrestrial
waters, pallor of human beings.
Ulysses
1154 of 1305 His (Bloomâs) logical conclusion, having weighed the
matter and allowing for possible error?
That it was not a heavent ree, not a heavengrot, not a
heavenbeast, not a heavenman. That it was a Utopia, there
being no known method from the known to the unknown: an infinity renderable equally finite by the suppositious apposition of one or more bodies equally of the same and of different magnitudes: a mobility of illusory forms immobilised in space, remobilised in air: a past which possibly had ceased to exist as a present before its
probable spectators had entered actual present existence.
Was he more convinced of th e esthetic value of the
spectacle?
Indubitably in consequence of the reiterated examples
of poets in the delirium of the frenzy of attachment or in
the abasement of rejection invoking ardent sympathetic constellations or the frigidity of the satellite of their planet.
Did he then accept as an article of belief the theory of
astrological influences upon sublunary disasters?
It seemed to him as poss ible of proof as of confutation
and the nomenclature employe d in its selenographical
charts as attributable to verifia ble intuition as to fallacious
analogy: the lake of dreams, the sea of rains, the gulf of dews, the ocean of fecundity.
Ulysses
1155 of 1305 What special affinities appeared to him to exist between
the moon and woman?
Her antiquity in preceding and surviving successive
tellurian generations: her nocturnal predominance: her satellitic dependence: her luminary reflection: her constancy under all her phases, rising and setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning: the forced invariability of her aspect: h er indeterminate response to
inaffirmative interrogation: her potency over effluent and refluent waters: her power to enamour, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, to incite to and aid delinquency: the tranquil inscrutability of her visage: the
terribility of her isolated dominant implacable resplendent
propinquity: her omens of tempest and of calm: the
stimulation of her light, her motion and her presence: the admonition of her craters, her arid seas, her silence: her splendour, when visible: her attraction, when invisible.
What visible luminous sign attracted Bloomâs, who
attracted Stephenâs, gaze?
In the second storey (rere) of his (Bloomâs) house the
light of a paraffin oil lamp with oblique shade projected on a screen of roller blind supplied by Frank OâHara, window blind, curtain pole and revolving shutter manufacturer, 16 Aungier street.
Ulysses
1156 of 1305 How did he elucidate the mystery of an invisible
attractive person, his wife Marion (Molly) Bloom, denoted by a visible splendid sign, a lamp?
With indirect and direct verbal allusions or affirmations:
with subdued affection and admiration: with description: with impediment: with suggestion.
Both then were silent? Silent, each contemplating th e other in both mirrors of
the reciprocal flesh of theirhisnothis fellowfaces.
Were they indefinitely inactive? At Stephenâs suggestion, at Bloomâs instigation both,
first Stephen, then Bloom, in penumbra urinated, their
sides contiguous, their organs of micturition reciprocally
rendered invisible by manual circumposition, their gazes, first Bloomâs, then Stephenâs, elevated to the projected luminous and semiluminous shadow.
The Celestial Parting
- Bloom and Stephen stand together in the night, comparing the physical trajectories of their urination and the divergent theological and biological thoughts that occupy their minds.
- A shooting star streaks across the sky from Vega toward Leo, serving as a silent celestial witness to their brief union.
- The physical act of opening the door is described in clinical, mechanical detail, emphasizing the transition from shared space to individual paths.
- As they part ways, the chime of the bells of Saint George triggers different internal echoes: liturgical Latin for Stephen and a simple rhythmic chant for Bloom.
- Bloom reflects on the current state of his acquaintances, listing those asleep in bed and those, like Paddy Dignam, who are in the grave.
- Left alone, Bloom experiences a profound sense of isolation, feeling the metaphorical cold of interstellar space as he contemplates his deceased companions.
Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Reaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.
Similarly? The trajectories of their, first sequent, then
simultaneous, urinations were dissimilar: Bloomâs longer, less irruent, in the incomplete form of the bifurcated penultimate alphabetical letter, who in his ultimate year at
High School (1880) had been capable of attaining the
point of greatest altitude against the whole concurrent strength of the institution, 210 scholars: Stephenâs higher,
Ulysses
1157 of 1305 more sibilant, who in the ultimate hours of the previous
day had augmented by diuretic consumption an insistent vesical pressure.
What different problems presen ted themselves to each
concerning the invisible au dible collateral organ of the
other?
To Bloom: the problems of irritability, tumescence,
rigidity, reactivity, dimension, sanitariness, pilosity.
To Stephen: the problem of the sacerdotal integrity of
Jesus circumcised (I January, holiday of obligation to hear
mass and abstain from unnecessary servile work) and the problem as to whether the divine prepuce, the carnal
bridal ring of the holy Roman catholic apostolic church,
conserved in Calcata, were deserving of simple hyperduly or of the fourth degree of latr ia accorded to the abscission
of such divine excrescences as hair and toenails.
What celestial sign was by both simultaneously
observed?
A star precipitated with great apparent velocity across
the firmament from Vega in the Lyre above the zenith beyond the stargroup of the Tress of Berenice towards the zodiacal sign of Leo.
How did the centripetal remainer afford egress to the
centrifugal departer?
Ulysses
1158 of 1305 By inserting the barrel of an arruginated male key in
the hole of an unstable female lock, obtaining a purchase on the bow of the key and turning its wards from right to left, withdrawing a bolt from its staple, pulling inward spasmodically an obsolescent unhinged door and revealing an aperture for free egress and free ingress.
How did they take leave, one of the other, in
separation?
Standing perpendicular at the same door and on
different sides of its base, the lines of their valedictory arms, meeting at any point and forming any angle less than
the sum of two right angles.
What sound accompanied the union of their tangent,
the disunion of their (respectively) centrifugal and centripetal hands?
The sound of the peal of the hour of the night by the
chime of the bells in the church of Saint George.
What echoes of that sound were by both and each
heard?
By Stephen:
Liliata rutilantium. Turma circumdet.
Iubilantium te virginum. Chorus excipiat.
By Bloom:
Ulysses
1159 of 1305 Heigho, heigho,
Heigho, heigho.
Where were the several members of the company
which with Bloom that day at the bidding of that peal had
travelled from Sandymount in the south to Glasnevin in the north?
Martin Cunningham (in bed), Jack Power (in bed),
Simon Dedalus (in bed), Ned Lambert (in bed), Tom Kernan (in bed), Joe Hynes (in bed), John Henry Menton (in bed), Bernard Corrigan (in bed), Patsy Dignam (in bed), Paddy Dignam (in the grave).
Alone, what did Bloom hear? The double reverberation of retreating feet on the
heavenborn earth, the double vibration of a jewâs harp in the resonant lane.
Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees
below freezing point or the ab solute zero of Fahrenheit,
Centigrade or Reaumur: the incipient intimations of
proximate dawn.
Of what did bellchime and handtouch and footstep and
lonechill remind him?
Ulysses
1160 of 1305 Of companions now in various manners in different
places defunct: Percy Apjohn (killed in action, Modder River), Philip Gilligan (phthisis, Jervis Street hospital),
Matthew F. Kane (accidental drowning, Dublin Bay), Philip Moisel (pyemia, Heytes bury street), Michael Hart
(phthisis, Mater Misericordiae hospital), Patrick Dignam (apoplexy, Sandymount).
What prospect of what phenomena inclined him to
remain?
The disparition of three final stars, the diffusion of
The Rearranged Interior
- Bloom recalls a specific memory from 1887 of waiting for the sunrise after a night of charades.
- Upon reentering the room, Bloom suffers a minor head injury by colliding with the displaced walnut sideboard.
- The furniture in the room has been significantly rearranged, including the translocation of a prune plush sofa and a majolica-topped table.
- Two distinct chairsâone squat and stained, the other slender and caneâare positioned in a way that suggests symbolic and circumstantial significance.
- A vertical piano stands where the sideboard once was, holding remnants of smoking materials and the sheet music for 'Loveâs Old Sweet Song'.
- Bloom surveys these domestic alterations with a mixture of physical pain, focused attention, and eventual amusement.
The right temporal lobe of the hollow sphere of his cranium came into contact with a solid timber angle where, an infinitesimal but sensible fraction of a second later, a painful sensation was located.
daybreak, the apparition of a new solar disk.
Had he ever been a spectator of those phenomena?
Once, in 1887, after a prot racted performance of
charades in the house of Luke Doyle, Kimmage, he had awaited with patience the apparition of the diurnal phenomenon, seated on a wall, his gaze turned in the direction of Mizrach, the east.
He remembered the initial paraphenomena? More active air, a matutinal distant cock, ecclesiastical
clocks at various points, avine music, the isolated tread of an early wayfarer, the visible diffusion of the light of an invisible luminous body, the first golden limb of the resurgent sun perceptible low on the horizon.
Did he remain?
Ulysses
1161 of 1305 With deep inspiration he returned, retraversing the
garden, reentering the passage, reclosing the door. With brief suspiration he reassumed the candle, reascended the stairs, reapproached the door of the front room, hallfloor,
and reentered.
What suddenly arrested his ingress? The right temporal lobe of the hollow sphere of his
cranium came into contac t with a solid timber angle
where, an infinitesimal but se nsible fraction of a second
later, a painful sensation was located in consequence of antecedent sensations transmitted and registered.
Describe the alterations effected in the disposition of
the articles of furniture.
A sofa upholstered in prune plush had been translocated
from opposite the door to the ingleside near the compactly furled Union Jack (an alterati on which he had frequently
intended to execute): the blue and white checker inlaid majolicatopped table had been placed opposite the door in the place vacated by the prune plush sofa: the walnut sideboard (a projecting ang le of which had momentarily
arrested his ingress) had been moved from its position beside the door to a more adv antageous but more perilous
position in front of the door: two chairs had been moved from right and left of the ingleside to the position
Ulysses
1162 of 1305 originally occupied by the blue and white checker inlaid
majolicatopped table.
Describe them. One: a squat stuffed easychair, with stout arms
extended and back slanted to the rere, which, repelled in recoil, had then upturned an irregular fringe of a rectangular rug and now displayed on its amply upholstered seat a centralised diffusing and diminishing discolouration. The other: a slender splayfoot chair of glossy cane curves, placed directly opposite the former, its frame from top to seat and from seat to base being
varnished dark brown, its seat being a bright circle of
white plaited rush.
What significances attached to these two chairs? Significances of similitude, of posture, of symbolism, of
circumstantial evidence, of testimonial supermanence.
What occupied the position originally occupied by the
sideboard?
A vertical piano (Cadby) with exposed keyboard, its
closed coffin supporting a pair of long yellow ladiesâ gloves
and an emerald ashtray containing four consumed matches, a partly consumed cigarette and two discoloured ends of cigarettes, its musicrest supporting the music in the
key of G natural for voice and piano of Loveâs Old Sweet
Ulysses
1163 of 1305 Song (words by G. Clifton Bing ham, composed by J. L.
Molloy, sung by Madam Antoinette Sterling) open at the
last page with the final indications ad libitum, forte , pedal,
animato , sustained pedal, ritirando , close.
With what sensations did Bloom contemplate in
rotation these objects?
With strain, elevating a can dlestick: with pain, feeling
on his right temple a contused tumescence: with attention,
focussing his gaze on a larg e dull passive and a slender
bright active: with solicitati on, bending and downturning
the upturned rugfringe: with amusement, remembering Dr
Bloom's Domestic Reflections
- Leopold Bloom performs a ritualistic lighting of an aromatic incense cone using a rolled prospectus for Agendath Netaim.
- The mantelpiece displays a collection of frozen matrimonial gifts, including a stopped clock, a glass-encased dwarf tree, and an embalmed owl.
- A complex exchange of gazes occurs between Bloom and these inanimate objects, mediated by the reflection of a gilt-bordered mirror.
- Bloom contemplates his own identity as a 'solitary' and 'mutable' man, noting his shifting resemblance from his mother to his father.
- The narrative provides a meticulous inventory of Bloom's bookshelf, detailing the physical condition and specific titles of his diverse library.
- The presence of an overdue library book by Conan Doyle highlights Bloom's minor domestic negligences amidst his philosophical musings.
The truncated conical crater summit of the diminutive volcano emitted a vertical and serpentine fume redolent of aromatic oriental incense.
Malachi Mulliganâs scheme of colour containing the gradation of green: with pleasure, repeating the words and antecedent act and perceiving through various channels of internal sensibility the conseq uent and concomitant tepid
pleasant diffusion of gradual discolouration.
His next proceeding? From an open box on the majolicatopped table he
extracted a black diminutive cone, one inch in height,
placed it on its circular base on a small tin plate, placed his
candlestick on the right corner of the mantelpiece, produced from his waistcoat a folded page of prospectus (illustrated) entitled Agendath Netaim, unfolded the same, examined it superficially, ro lled it into a thin cylinder,
Ulysses
1164 of 1305 ignited it in the candleflame, applied it when ignited to
the apex of the cone till the latter reached the stage of rutilance, placed the cylinder in the basin of the candlestick disposing its unconsumed part in such a manner as to facilitate total combustion.
What followed this operation? The truncated conical crater summit of the diminutive
volcano emitted a vertical and serpentine fume redolent of aromatic oriental incense.
What homothetic objects, other than the candlestick,
stood on the mantelpiece?
A timepiece of striated Conne mara marble, stopped at
the hour of 4.46 a.m. on the 21 March 1896, matrimonial
gift of Matthew Dillon: a dwarf tree of glacial arborescence under a transparent bellshade, matrimonial gift of Luke and Caroline Doyle: an embalmed owl, matrimonial gift of Alderman John Hooper.
What interchanges of looks took place between these
three objects and Bloom?
In the mirror of the giltbordered pierglass the
undecorated back of the dwarf tree regarded the upright back of the embalmed owl. Before the mirror the matrimonial gift of Alderman John Hooper with a clear melancholy wise bright motionless compassionate gaze
Ulysses
1165 of 1305 regarded Bloom while Bloom with obscure tranquil
profound motionless compassi onated gaze regarded the
matrimonial gift of Luke and Caroline Doyle.
What composite asymmetrical image in the mirror then
attracted his attention?
The image of a solitary (ipsorelative) mutable
(aliorelative) man.
Why solitary (ipsorelative)?
Brothers and sisters had he none.
Yet that manâs father was his grandfatherâs son.
Why mutable (aliorelative)?
From infancy to maturity he had resembled his
maternal procreatrix. From matu rity to senility he would
increasingly resemble his paternal procreator.
What final visual impression was communicated to him
by the mirror?
The optical reflection of several inverted volumes
improperly arranged and not in the order of their common
letters with scintillating titles on the two bookshelves opposite.
Catalogue these books.
Ulysses
1166 of 1305 Thomâs Dublin Post Office Directory, 1886 .
Denis Florence MâCarthyâs Poetical Works
(copper beechleaf bookmark at p. 5).
Shakespeareâs Works (dark crimson
morocco, goldtooled). The Useful Ready Reckoner (brown cloth).
The Secret History of the Court of Charles II
(red cloth, tooled binding). The Childâs
Guide (blue cloth).
The Beauties of Killarney (wrappers).
When We Were Boys by William OâBrien
M. P. (green cloth, slightly faded, envelope bookmark at p. 217).
Thoughts from Spinoza (maroon leather).
The Story of the Heavens by Sir Robert Ball
(blue cloth).
Ellisâs Three Trips to Madagascar (brown
cloth, title obliterated).
The Stark-Munro Letters by A. Conan
Doyle, property of the City of Dublin
Public Library, 106 Capel street, lent 21
May (Whitsun Eve) 1904, due 4 June 1904, 13 days overdue (black cloth binding, bearing white letternumber ticket). Voyages in China by âViatorâ (recovered
with brown paper, red ink title).
Philosophy of the Talmud (sewn pamphlet).
Lockhartâs Life of Napoleon (cover wanting,
Ulysses
1167 of 1305 marginal annotations, minimising victories,
aggrandising defeats of the protagonist).
Soll und Haben by Gustav Freytag (black
The Inventory of Bloom's Library
- A detailed catalog of Leopold Bloom's bookshelf reveals a diverse collection ranging from military history and astronomy to physical culture and geometry.
- The physical condition of the booksâdetached covers, erased names, and missing title pagesâsuggests a history of second-hand ownership and utility.
- Bloom reflects on the necessity of order and the inherent insecurity of hiding secret documents within the pages of books.
- The text highlights Bloom's use of mnemotechnics to recall the name of the battle of Plevna without needing to consult his volumes.
- Physical discomfort from his formal clothing leads Bloom to perform a methodical, anatomical undressing to achieve relief and consolation.
The necessity of order, a place for everything and everything in its place: the deficient appreciation of literature possessed by females: the incongruity of an apple incuneated in a tumbler.
boards, Gothic characters, cigarette coupon
bookmark at p. 24).
Hozierâs History of the Russo-Turkish War
(brown cloth, a volumes, with gummed
label, Garrison Library, Governorâs Parade, Gibraltar, on verso of cover).
Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland by William
Allingham (second edition, green cloth, gilt
trefoil design, previous ownerâs name on recto of flyleaf erased).
A Handbook of Astronomy (cover, brown
leather, detached, S plates, antique
letterpress long primer, authorâs footnotes
nonpareil, marginal clues brevier, captions small pica).
The Hidden Life of Christ (black boards).
In the Track of the Sun (yellow cloth,
titlepage missing, recurrent title intestation). Physical Strength and How to Obtain It by
Eugen Sandow (red cloth).
Short but yet Plain Elements of Geometry
written in French by F. Ignat. Pardies and
rendered into English by John Harris D. D. London, printed for R. Knaplock at the Bifhopâs Head, MDCCXI, with dedicatory
Ulysses
1168 of 1305 epiftle to his worthy friend Charles Cox,
efquire, Member of Parliament for the burgh of Southwark and having ink
calligraphed statement on the flyleaf
certifying that the book was the property of Michael Gallagher, dated this 10th day of May 1822 and requefting the perfon who should find it, if the book should be loft or
go aftray, to reftore it to Michael Gallagher,
carpenter, Dufery Gate, Ennifcorthy, county Wicklow, the fineft place in the
world.
What reflections occupied hi s mind during the process
of reversion of the inverted volumes?
The necessity of order, a place for everything and
everything in its place: the deficient appreciation of literature possessed by females: the incongruity of an apple
incuneated in a tumbler and of an umbrella inclined in a
closestool: the insecurity of hiding any secret document behind, beneath or between the pages of a book.
Which volume was the largest in bulk?
Hozierâs History of the Russo-Turkish war.
What among other data did the second volume of the
work in question contain?
Ulysses
1169 of 1305 The name of a decisive battle (forgotten), frequently
remembered by a decisive officer, major Brian Cooper Tweedy (remembered).
Why, firstly and secondly, did he not consult the work
in question?
Firstly, in order to exercise mnemotechnic: secondly,
because after an interval of amnesia, when, seated at the central table, about to consul t the work in question, he
remembered by mnemotechnic the name of the military engagement, Plevna.
What caused him consolation in his sitting posture? The candour, nudity, pose, tranquility, youth, grace,
sex, counsel of a statue erect in the centre of the table, an
image of Narcissus purchased by auction from P. A. Wren,
9 Bachelorâs Walk.
What caused him irritation in his sitting posture?
Inhibitory pressure of collar (size 17) and waistcoat (5 buttons), two articles of clothing superfluous in the costume of mature males and inelastic to alterations of mass by expansion.
How was the irritation allayed? He removed his collar, with contained black necktie
and collapsible stud, from his ne ck to a position on the left
of the table. He unbuttoned successively in reversed
Ulysses
1170 of 1305 direction waistcoat, trousers , shirt and vest along the
medial line of irregular incrispated black hairs extending in triangular convergence from the pelvic basin over the
circumference of the abdome n and umbilicular fossicle
along the medial line of nodes to the intersection of the sixth pectoral vertebrae, thence produced both ways at right angles and terminating in circles described about two equidistant points, right and left, on the summits of the mammary prominences. He unbraced successively each of six minus one braced trouser buttons, arranged in pairs, of which one incomplete.
What involuntary actions followed?
He compressed between 2 fingers the flesh
Bloom's Budget and Ambitions
- Leopold Bloom examines physical marks on his body, including a bee sting scar and the wear on his feet from a day of walking.
- A detailed financial ledger for June 16, 1904, accounts for every penny spent on food, transport, and a loan from Stephen Dedalus.
- Bloom engages in a sensory ritual of self-grooming, inhaling the scent of a clipped toenail with a sense of nostalgic satisfaction.
- The narrative transitions from mundane physical details to Bloom's long-term material aspirations.
- Bloom rejects traditional inheritance models in favor of purchasing a modest, modern, and safe suburban dwelling by private treaty.
He raised his right foot and, having unhooked a purple elastic sock suspender, took off his right sock, placed his unclothed right foot on the margin of the seat of his chair, picked at and gently lacerated the protruding part of the great toenail, raised the part lacerated to his nostrils and inhaled the odour of the quick, then, with satisfaction, threw away the lacerated ungual fragment.
circumjacent to a cicatrice in the left infracostal region below the diaphragm resulting from a sting inflicted 2 weeks and 3 days previously (23 May 1904) by a bee. He scratched imprecisely with his right hand, though insensible of prurition, various points and surfaces of his
partly exposed, wholly abluted skin. He inserted his left
hand into the left lower po cket of his waistcoat and
extracted and replaced a silver coin (I shilling), placed there (presumably) on the occasion (17 October 1903) of the interment of Mrs Emily Sinico, Sydney Parade.
Compile the budget for 16 June 1904.
Ulysses
1171 of 1305
DEBIT
L. s. d. 1 Pork Kidney 0â0â3
1 Copy FREEMANâS JOURNAL 0â0â1
1 Bath And Gratification 0â1â6 Tramfare 0â0â1 1 In Memoriam Patrick Dignam 0â5â0 2 Banbury cakes 0â0â1
1 Lunch 0â0â7
1 Renewal fee for book 0â1â0 1 Packet Notepaper and Envelopes 0â0â2 1 Dinner and Gratification 0â2â0 1 Postal Order and Stamp 0â2â8
Tramfare 0â0â1
1 Pigâs Foot 0â0â4 1 Sheepâs Trotter 0â0â3 1 Cake Fryâs Plain Chocolate 0â0â1 1 Square Soda Bread 0â0â4
1 Coffee and Bun 0â0â4
Loan (Stephen Dedalus) refunded 1â7â0 BALANCE 0-17â5 2-19â3
CREDIT
L. s. d. Cash in hand 0â4â9 Commission recd. Freemanâs Journal 1â7â6 Loan (Stephen Dedalus) 1â7â0
2-19â3
Did the process of divestiture continue?
Ulysses
1172 of 1305 Sensible of a benignant persiste nt ache in his footsoles
he extended his foot to one s ide and observed the creases,
protuberances and salient points caused by foot pressure in the course of walking repeatedly in several different directions, then, inclined, he disnoded the laceknots, unhooked and loosened the laces, took off each of his two boots for the second time, detached the partially moistened right sock through the fore part of which the nail of his great toe had again effracted, raised his right foot and, having unhooked a purple elastic sock suspender,
took off his right sock, placed his unclothed right foot on
the margin of the seat of his chair, picked at and gently
lacerated the protruding part of the great toenail, raised the
part lacerated to his nostrils and inhaled the odour of the
quick, then, with satisfaction, threw away the lacerated ungual fragment.
Why with satisfaction? Because the odour inhaled corresponded to other
odours inhaled of other ungual fragments, picked and lacerated by Master Bloom, pu pil of Mrs Ellisâs juvenile
school, patiently each night in the act of brief genuflection and nocturnal prayer and ambitious meditation.
In what ultimate ambition had all concurrent and
consecutive ambitions now coalesced?
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1173 of 1305 Not to inherit by right of primogeniture, gavelkind or
borough English, or possess in perpetuity an extensive
demesne of a sufficient number of acres, roods and perches, statute land measure (valuation 42 pounds), of grazing turbary surrounding a baronial hall with gatelodge and carriage drive nor, on the other hand, a terracehouse
or semidetached villa, described as Rus in Urbe or Qui si
sana, but to purchase by privat e treaty in fee simple a
thatched bungalowshaped 2 storey dwellinghouse of southerly aspect, surmounted by vane and lightning
conductor, connected with the earth, with porch covered
The Ideal Suburban Villa
- A detailed architectural vision of a suburban residence featuring smart carriage finishes, stucco fronts, and gilt tracery.
- The property is situated on several acres of land, strategically located near transit lines yet isolated enough for privacy and fresh air.
- The interior is meticulously furnished with modern luxuries including an Axminster carpet, a fumed oak bookcase, and a cathedral chime clock.
- Advanced domestic technology and utilities are highlighted, such as an automatic telephone, carbon monoxide gas supply, and a refrigerator.
- The grounds are envisioned as a botanical paradise featuring a humane beehive, tropical palms, and eccentric floral arrangements.
- The household structure includes specific provisions for a tiered staff of servants with defined salaries, bonuses, and retirement plans.
Bentwood perch with fingertame parrot (expurgated language), embossed mural paper at 10/- per dozen with transverse swags of carmine floral design and top crown frieze.
by parasitic plants (ivy or Virginia creeper), halldoor, olive green, with smart carriage finish and neat doorbrasses, stucco front with gilt tracery at eaves and gable, rising, if possible, upon a gentle emin ence with agreeable prospect
from balcony with stone pillar parapet over unoccupied and unoccupyable interjacent pastures and standing in 5 or 6 acres of its own ground, at such a distance from the
nearest public thoroughfare as to render its houselights visible at night above and through a quickset hornbeam hedge of topiary cutting, situate at a given point not less than 1 statute mile from the periphery of the metropolis, within a time limit of not more than 15 minutes from
tram or train line (e.g., Dundrum, south, or Sutton, north,
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1174 of 1305 both localities equally report ed by trial to resemble the
terrestrial poles in being favoura ble climates for phthisical
subjects), the premises to be held under feefarm grant,
lease 999 years, the messuage to consist of 1 drawingroom with baywindow (2 lancets), thermometer affixed, 1 sittingroom, 4 bedrooms, 2 servantsâ rooms, tiled kitchen with close range and scullery, lounge hall fitted with linen wallpresses, fumed oak sectional bookcase containing the
Encyclopaedia Britannica and New Century Dictionary, transverse obsolete medieval and oriental weapons, dinner
gong, alabaster lamp, bowl pendant, vulcanite automatic telephone receiver with adjacent directory, handtufted
Axminster carpet with cream ground and trellis border,
loo table with pillar and claw legs, hearth with massive firebrasses and ormolu mantel chronometer clock, guaranteed timekeeper with cathedral chime, barometer with hygrographic chart, comfortable lounge settees and corner fitments, upholstered in ruby plush with good springing and sunk centre, three banner Japanese screen and cuspidors (club style, rich winecoloured leather, gloss renewable with a minimum of labour by use of linseed oil and vinegar) and pyramidically prismatic central chandelier lustre, bentwood perch with fingertame parrot (expurgated
language), embossed mural paper at 10/- per dozen with
Ulysses
1175 of 1305 transverse swags of carmine floral design and top crown
frieze, staircase, three continuou s flights at successive right
angles, of varnished cleargrained oak, treads and risers, newel, balusters and handrail, with steppedup panel dado, dressed with camphorated wax: bathroom, hot and cold supply, reclining and shower: water closet on mezzanine provided with opaque singlepane oblong window, tipup seat, bracket lamp, brass tierod and brace, armrests, footstool and artistic oleograph on inner face of door: ditto, plain: servantsâ apartments with separate sanitary and hygienic necessaries for cook, general and betweenmaid (salary, rising by biennial unearned increments of 2
pounds, with comprehensive fidelity insurance, annual
bonus (1 pound) and retiring allowance (based on the 65 system) after 30 yearsâ service), pantry, buttery, larder, refrigerator, outoffices, coal and wood cellarage with winebin (still and sparkling vintages) for distinguished guests, if entertained to dinner (evening dress), carbon monoxide gas supply throughout.
What additional attractions might the grounds contain? As addenda, a tennis and fives court, a shrubbery, a glass
summerhouse with tropical pa lms, equipped in the best
botanical manner, a rockery with waterspray, a beehive arranged on humane principles, oval flowerbeds in
Ulysses
1176 of 1305 rectangular grassplots set with eccentric ellipses of scarlet
Bloom's Pastoral Ambitions
- Leopold Bloom envisions an idealized future as a country gentleman living in a residence named Flowerville or Saint Leopoldâs.
- The dream includes a meticulously inventoried estate featuring botanical gardens, a vinery, and specialized agricultural tools.
- His imagined lifestyle balances physical labor like pruning and weeding with intellectual pursuits such as snapshot photography and the study of folklore.
- Bloom contemplates a rise in social status, transitioning from a simple cultivator to a resident magistrate with a family crest and classical motto.
- The vision encompasses seasonal recreations, from summer river boating to winter discussions of unsolved historical mysteries by a peat fire.
- This fantasy represents a longing for domestic stability, longevity, and civic recognition far removed from his current urban reality.
Could Bloom of 7 Eccles street foresee Bloom of Flowerville?
and chrome tulips, blue scillas, crocuses, polyanthus, sweet William, sweet pea, lily of the valley (bulbs obtainable from sir James W. Mackey (Limited) wholesale and retail seed and bulb merchants and nurserymen, agents for chemical manures, 23 Sackville street, upper), an orchard,
kitchen garden and vinery protected against illegal trespassers by glasstopped mural enclosures, a lumbershed with padlock for various inventoried implements.
As? Eeltraps, lobsterpots, fishingrods, hatchet, steelyard,
grindstone, clodcrusher, swatheturner, carriagesack,
telescope ladder, 10 tooth rake, washing clogs, haytedder,
tumbling rake, billhook, paintpot, brush, hoe and so on. What improvements might be subsequently introduced?
A rabbitry and fowlrun, a dovecote, a botanical
conservatory, 2 hammocks (l adyâs and gentlemanâs), a
sundial shaded and sheltered by laburnum or lilac trees, an
exotically harmonically accorded Japanese tinkle gatebell
affixed to left lateral gatepost, a capacious waterbutt, a lawnmower with side delivery and grassbox, a lawnsprinkler with hydraulic hose.
What facilities of transit were desirable?
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1177 of 1305 When citybound frequent connection by train or tram
from their respective intermediate station or terminal. When countrybound velocipede s, a chainless freewheel
roadster cycle with side bask etcar attached, or draught
conveyance, a donkey with wicker trap or smart phaeton with good working solidungular cob (roan gelding, 14 h).
What might be the name of this erigible or erected
residence?
Bloom Cottage. Saint Leopoldâs. Flowerville. Could Bloom of 7 Eccles street foresee Bloom of
Flowerville?
In loose allwool garments with Harris tweed cap, price
8/6, and useful garden boots with elastic gussets and
wateringcan, planting aligne d young firtrees, syringing,
pruning, staking, sowing hayseed, trundling a weedladen wheelbarrow without excessive fatigue at sunset amid the scent of newmown hay, ameliorating the soil, multiplying wisdom, achieving longevity.
What syllabus of intellectual pursuits was
simultaneously possible?
Snapshot photography, comparative study of religions,
folklore relative to various amatory and superstitious practices, contemplation of the celestial constellations.
What lighter recreations?
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1178 of 1305 Outdoor: garden and fieldwork, cycling on level
macadamised causeways ascen ts of moderately high hills,
natation in secluded fresh water and unmolested river boating in secure wherry or light curricle with kedge anchor on reaches free from weirs and rapids (period of estivation), vespertinal perambulation or equestrian circumprocession with inspection of sterile landscape and contrastingly agreeable cott agersâ fires of smoking peat
turves (period of hibernation). Indoor: discussion in tepid security of unsolved historical and criminal problems: lecture of unexpurgated exotic erotic masterpieces: house carpentry with toolbox containing hammer, awl nails,
screws, tintacks, gimlet, tweezers, bullnose plane and
turnscrew. Might he become a gentleman farmer of field produce and live stock?
Not impossibly, with 1 or 2 stripper cows, 1 pike of
upland hay and requisite farming implements, e.g., an end-to-end churn, a turnip pulper etc.
What would be his civic functions and social status
among the county families and landed gentry?
Arranged successively in ascending powers of
hierarchical order, that of gardener, groundsman, cultivator, breeder, and at the zenith of his career, resident
magistrate or justice of the peace with a family crest and
Ulysses
1179 of 1305 coat of arms and appropriate classical motto (Semper
paratus ), duly recorded in the court directory (Bloom,
Leopold P., M. P., P. C., K. P., L. L. D. ( honoris causa ),
Bloomville, Dundrum) and mentioned in court and
fashionable intelligence (Mr and Mrs Leopold Bloom have
left Kingstown for England).
What course of action did he outline for himself in
such capacity?
Bloom's Rectitude and Ambition
- Leopold Bloom envisions himself as a balanced administrator of justice, navigating between clemency and rigour within a complex social hierarchy.
- His personal history reveals a series of religious transitions, moving from his father's Judaism to Protestantism and eventually to Roman Catholicism for marriage.
- Bloom's intellectual development is marked by an early advocacy for Darwinian evolution and the political theory of colonial expansion.
- He demonstrates a lifelong engagement with Irish nationalism and economic reform, supporting figures like Parnell, Davitt, and Gladstone.
- His commitment to civic order is contrasted with his youthful enthusiasm, such as climbing a tree to witness a massive political torchlight procession.
- The text details a meticulous financial plan for acquiring a country residence through a state-aided building society and amortized loans.
In support of his political convictions, had climbed up into a secure position amid the ramifications of a tree on Northumberland road to see the entrance into the capital of a demonstrative torchlight procession.
A course that lay between undue clemency and
excessive rigour: the dispensation in a heterogeneous
society of arbitrary classes, incessantly rearranged in terms of greater and lesser social inequality, of unbiassed homogeneous indisputable justice, tempered with mitigants of the widest possible latitude but exactable to
the uttermost farthing with c onfiscation of estate, real and
personal, to the crown. Loyal to the highest constituted power in the land, actuated by an innate love of rectitude
his aims would be the strict maintenance of public order,
the repression of many abuses though not of all simultaneously (every measure of reform or retrenchment being a preliminary solution to be contained by fluxion in
the final solution), the upho lding of the letter of the law
(common, statute and law merc hant) against all traversers
in covin and trespassers acting in contravention of bylaws
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1180 of 1305 and regulations, all resuscitators (by trespass and petty
larceny of kindlings) of venville rights, obsolete by desuetude, all orotund instigators of international persecution, all perpetuators of international animosities, all menial molestors of domestic conviviality, all recalcitrant violators of domestic connubiality.
Prove that he had loved re ctitude from his earliest
youth.
To Master Percy Apjohn at High School in 1880 he
had divulged his disbelief in the tenets of the Irish (protestant) church (to which his father Rudolf Virag (later
Rudolph Bloom) had been converted from the Israelitic
faith and communion in 1865 by the Society for
promoting Christianity among the jews) subsequently
abjured by him in favour of Roman catholicism at the epoch of and with a view to his matrimony in 1888. To
Daniel Magrane and Francis Wade in 1882 during a juvenile friendship (terminated by the premature emigration of the former) he had advocated during nocturnal perambulations the political theory of colonial (e.g. Canadian) expansion and the evolutionary theories of
Charles Darwin, expounded in The Descent of Man and The
Origin of Species . In 1885 he had publicly expressed his
adherence to the collective and national economic
Ulysses
1181 of 1305 programme advocated by James Fintan Lalor, John Fisher
Murray, John Mitchel, J. F. X. OâBrien and others, the agrarian policy of Michael Davitt, the constitutional agitation of Charles Stewart Parnell (M. P. for Cork City), the programme of peace, retrenchment and reform of William Ewart Gladstone (M. P. for Midlothian, N. B.) and, in support of his political convictions, had climbed up
into a secure position amid th e ramifications of a tree on
Northumberland road to see the entrance (2 February 1888) into the capital of a demonstrative torchlight
procession of 20,000 torchbearers, divided into 120 trade corporations, bearing 2000 torches in escort of the
marquess of Ripon and (honest) John Morley.
How much and how did he propose to pay for this
country residence?
As per prospectus of the Industrious Foreign
Acclimatised Nationalised Friendly Stateaided Building Society (incorporated 1874), a maximum of 60 pounds per annum, being 1/6 of an assured income, derived from giltedged securities, representing at 5 % simple interest on capital of 1200 pounds (estima te of price at 20 yearsâ
purchase), of which to be paid on acquisition and the balance in the form of annual rent, viz. 800 pounds plus 2 1/2 % interest on the same, repayable quarterly in equal
Ulysses
1182 of 1305 annual instalments until extinction by amortisation of loan
Schemes for Rapid Opulence
- The text outlines various speculative methods for acquiring wealth, ranging from complex real estate financing to high-risk gambling and technological exploitation.
- Scientific and mathematical fantasies are proposed, including a telegraph system to exploit time zone differences for horse racing bets and a solution to the quadrature of the circle.
- Industrial wealth is imagined through the reclamation of waste soil for agriculture and the chemical processing of human and animal waste on a national scale.
- Large-scale civic engineering projects are detailed, such as hydroelectric plants at Dublin bar and the transformation of North Bull into a resort with casinos and hotels.
- The passage reflects a meticulous, almost clinical obsession with the intersection of probability, geometry, and economic fantasy.
The unexpected discovery of an object of great monetary value (precious stone, valuable adhesive or impressed postage stamps) in unusual repositories or by unusual means: from the air (dropped by an eagle in flight).
advanced for purchase within a period of 20 years, amounting to an annual rental of 64 pounds, headrent included, the titledeeds to remain in possession of the lender or lenders with a saving clause envisaging forced sale, foreclosure and mutual compensation in the event of protracted failure to pay the t erms assigned, otherwise the
messuage to become the absolute property of the tenant occupier upon expiry of the period of years stipulated.
What rapid but insecure means to opulence might
facilitate immediate purchase?
A private wireless telegraph which would transmit by
dot and dash system the result of a national equine
handicap (flat or steeplechase) of I or more miles and furlongs won by an outsider at odds of 50 to 1 at 3 hr 8 m p.m. at Ascot (Greenwich time), the message being received and available for betting purposes in Dublin at 2.59 p.m. (Dunsink time). Th e unexpected discovery of
an object of great monetary valu e (precious stone, valuable
adhesive or impressed postage stamps (7 schilling, mauve,
imperforate, Hamburg, 1866: 4 pence, rose, blue paper, perforate, Great Britain, 1855: 1 franc, stone, official,
rouletted, diagonal surcharge, Luxemburg, 1878), antique dynastical ring, unique relic) in unusual repositories or by
Ulysses
1183 of 1305 unusual means: from the air (dropped by an eagle in
flight), by fire (amid the carbonised remains of an incendiated edifice), in the se a (amid flotsam, jetsam, lagan
and derelict), on earth (i n the gizzard of a comestible
fowl). A Spanish prisonerâs donation of a distant treasure of valuables or specie or bullion lodged with a solvent banking corporation loo years previously at 5% compound interest of the collective worth of 5,000,000 pounds stg (five million pounds sterlin g). A contract with an
inconsiderate contractee for the delivery of 32 consignments of some given commodity in consideration of cash payment on delivery per delivery at the initial rate
of 1/4d to be increased constantly in the geometrical
progression of 2 (1/4d, 1/2d, 1d, 2d, 4d, 8d, 1s 4d, 2s 8d to 32 terms). A prepared scheme
based on a study of the laws of probability to break the
bank at Monte Carlo. A solution of the secular problem of the quadrature of the circle, government premium 1,000,000 pounds sterling.
Was vast wealth acquirable through industrial channels?
The reclamation of dunams of waste arenary soil,
proposed in the prospectus of Agendath Netaim, Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W. 15, by the cultivation of orange plantations and melonfi elds and reafforestation.
Ulysses
1184 of 1305 The utilisation of waste paper, fells of sewer rodents,
human excrement possessing chem ical properties, in view
of the vast production of the first, vast number of the
second and immense quantit y of the third, every normal
human being of average vitality and appetite producing annually, cancelling byproducts of water, a sum total of 80
lbs. (mixed animal and vegetable diet), to be multiplied by 4,386,035, the total population of Ireland according to census returns of 1901.
Were there schemes of wider scope? A scheme to be formulated and submitted for approval
to the harbour commissioners for the exploitation of white
coal (hydraulic power), obtained by hydroelectric plant at
peak of tide at Dublin bar or at head of water at Poulaphouca or Powerscourt or catchment basins of main
streams for the economic production of 500,000 W. H. P. of electricity. A scheme to enclose the peninsular delta of the North Bull at Dollymount and erect on the space of the foreland, used for golf links and rifle ranges, an asphalted esplanade with casinos, booths, shooting galleries, hotels, boardinghouses, readingrooms, establishments for mixed bathing. A scheme for the use of dogvans and goatvans for the delivery of early morning milk. A scheme for the development of Irish tourist traffic
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1185 of 1305 in and around Dublin by means of petrolpropelled
Schemes and Somnolent Meditations
- Bloom envisions elaborate infrastructure improvements for Dublin, including the restoration of waterways and new tramlines for cattle transport.
- The realization of these grand civic schemes is posited to require the immense financial backing of global magnates like Rothschild or Rockefeller.
- Bloom considers the discovery of an inexhaustible gold seam as the only alternative to dependency on elite financiers.
- He justifies these complex mental exercises as a method of psychological hygiene to ensure sound repose and renovated vitality.
- His philosophical outlook suggests that since most human desires remain unfulfilled, mental placation is necessary to ward off malignant agencies during sleep.
- He fears the potential for irrational violence, such as homicide or suicide, occurring during an aberration of reason while dreaming.
What did he fear? The committal of homicide or suicide during sleep by an aberration of the light of reason, the incommensurable categorical intelligence situated in the cerebral convolutions.
riverboats, plying in the fluvial fairway between Island bridge and Ringsend, charabancs, narrow gauge local railways, and pleasure steamers for coastwise navigation
(10/- per person per day, guide (trilingual) included). A scheme for the repristination of passenger and goods traffics over Irish waterways, when freed from weedbeds. A scheme to connect by tramline the Cattle Market (North Circular road and Prussia street) with the quays (Sheriff street, lower, and East Wall), parallel with the Link line railway laid (in conjunction with the Great Southern
and Western railway line) between the cattle park, Liffey
junction, and terminus of Midland Great Western Railway
43 to 45 North
Wall, in proximity to the t erminal stations or Dublin
branches of Great Central Railway, Midland Railway of England, City of Dublin Steam Packet Company, Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Company, Dublin and Glasgow Steam Packet Company, Glasgow, Dublin and Londonderry Steam Packet Company (Laird line), British and Irish Steam Packet Company, Dublin and Morecambe Steamers, London and Nort h Western Railway Company,
Dublin Port and Docks Board Landing Sheds and transit
sheds of Palgrave, Murphy and Company, steamship
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1186 of 1305 owners, agents for steamers from Mediterranean, Spain,
Portugal, France, Belgium and Holland and for Liverpool
Underwritersâ Association, the cost of acquired rolling
stock for animal transport and of additional mileage operated by the Dublin United Tramways Company, limited, to be covered by graziersâ fees.
Positing what protasis would the contraction for such
several schemes become a natural and necessary apodosis?
Given a guarantee equal to the sum sought, the
support, by deed of gift and transfer vouchers during donorâs lifetime or by bequest after donorâs painless extinction, of eminent financiers (Blum Pasha, Rothschild
Guggenheim, Hirsch, Montefiore, Morgan, Rockefeller)
possessing fortunes in 6 figures, amassed during a successful life, and joining capital with opportunity the thing required was done.
What eventuality would render him independent of
such wealth?
The independent discovery of a goldseam of
inexhaustible ore.
For what reason did he meditate on schemes so difficult
of realisation?
It was one of his axioms that similar meditations or the
automatic relation to himself of a narrative concerning
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1187 of 1305 himself or tranquil recollection of the past when practised
habitually before retiring for the night alleviated fatigue and produced as a result sound repose and renovated vitality.
His justifications? As a physicist he had learned that of the 70 years of
complete human life at least 2/7, viz. 20 years are passed in sleep. As a philosopher he knew that at the termination of any allotted life only an infinitesimal part of any
personâs desires has been realised. As a physiologist he believed in the artificial pla cation of malignant agencies
chiefly operative during somnolence.
What did he fear?
The committal of homicide or suicide during sleep by
an aberration of the light of rea son, the incommensurable
categorical intelligence situated in the cerebral convolutions.
What were habitually his final meditations? Of some one sole unique adv ertisement to cause passers
to stop in wonder, a poster novelty, with all extraneous accretions excluded, reduced to its simplest and most efficient terms not exceeding the span of casual vision and congruous with the velocity of modern life.
What did the first drawer unlocked contain?
Ulysses
1188 of 1305 A Vere Fosterâs handwriting copybook, property of
Milly (Millicent) Bloom, certain pages of which bore
diagram drawings, marked Papli, which showed a large
The Contents of Bloom's Drawer
- A meticulous inventory of Leopold Bloom's private drawer reveals a collection of sentimental mementos, including old photographs and family relics.
- The collection contains evidence of Bloom's secret correspondence under the pseudonym Henry Flower, including letters from Martha Clifford.
- Items of a sexual nature are cataloged, such as erotic photocards and rubber preservatives purchased by mail from London.
- The drawer holds records of Bloom's physical self-improvement efforts, specifically measurements taken during a two-month exercise regimen.
- Commercial and medical curiosities are present, including a prospectus for 'The Wonderworker,' a remedy for rectal complaints.
- The inventory juxtaposes the mundane, like boot renovation recipes, with the profound, such as a sealed prophecy regarding Irish Home Rule.
a sealed prophecy (never unsealed) written by Leopold Bloom in 1886 concerning the consequences of the passing into law of William Ewart Gladstoneâs Home Rule bill of 1886 (never passed into law)
globular head with 5 hairs erect, 2 eyes in profile, the trunk full front with 3 large buttons, 1 triangular foot: 2 fading photographs of queen Alexandra of England and of Maud Branscombe, actress and professional beauty: a Yuletide card, bearing on it a pictorial representation of a
parasitic plant, the legend Mizpah , the date Xmas 1892,
the name of the senders: from Mr + Mrs M. Comerford, the versicle: May this Yuletide bring to thee, Joy and peace and
welcome glee : a butt of red partly liquefied sealing wax,
obtained from the stores department of Messrs Helyâs, Ltd., 89, 90, and 91 Dame st reet: a box containing the
remainder of a gross of gilt âJâ pennibs, obtained from same department of same firm: an old sandglass which rolled containing sand which rolled: a sealed prophecy (never
unsealed) written by Leopold Bloom in 1886 concerning the consequences of the passing into law of William Ewart Gladstoneâs Home Rule bill of 1886 (never passed into
law): a bazaar ticket, no 2004, of S. Kevinâs Charity Fair, price 6d, 100 prizes: an infantile epistle, dated, small em monday, reading: capital p ee Papli comma capital aitch
How are you note of interrogation capital eye I am very
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1189 of 1305 well full stop new paragraph signature with flourishes
capital em Milly no stop: a cameo brooch, property of
Ellen Bloom (born Higgins), deceased: a cameo scarfpin,
property of Rudolph Bloom (born Virag), deceased: 3 typewritten letters, addressee, Henry Flower, c/o. P. O. Westland Row, addresser, Martha Clifford, c/o. P. O. Dolphinâs Barn: the transliterated name and address of the addresser of the 3 letters in reversed alphabetic
boustrophedonic punctated quadrilinear cryptogram
(vowels suppressed) N. IGS./WI. UU. OX/W. OKS. MH/Y. IM: a press cutting from an English weekly
periodical Modern Society , subject corporal chastisement in
girlsâ schools: a pink ribbon which had festooned an Easter
egg in the year 1899: two partly uncoiled rubber preservatives with reserve pockets, purchased by post from Box 32, P. O., Charing Cross, London, W. C.: 1 pack of 1 dozen creamlaid envelopes and feintruled notepaper,
watermarked, now reduced by 3: some assorted Austrian-Hungarian coins: 2 coupons of the Royal and Privileged Hungarian Lottery: a lowpower magnifying glass: 2 erotic photocards showing a) buccal coition between nude senorita (rere presentation, superior position) and nude torero (fore presentation, inferior position) b) anal violation by male religious (fully clothed, eyes abject) of
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1190 of 1305 female religious (partly clothe d, eyes direct), purchased by
post from Box 32, P. O., Char ing Cross, London, W. C.:
a press cutting of recipe for re novation of old tan boots: a
Id adhesive stamp, lavender, of the reign of Queen Victoria: a chart of the me asurements of Leopold Bloom
compiled before, during and after 2 months â consecutive
use of Sandow-Whiteleyâs pulley exerciser (menâs 15/-, athleteâs 20/-) viz. chest 28 in and 29 1/2 in, biceps 9 in and 10 in, forearm 8 1/2 in and 9 in,thigh 10 in and 12in, calf 11in and 12in: 1 prospe ctus of The Wonderworker,
the worldâs greatest remedy for rectal complaints, direct from Wonderworker, Covent ry House, South Place,
London E C, addressed (err oneously) to Mrs L. Bloom
with brief accompanying note commencing (erroneously): Dear Madam.
Quote the textual terms in which the prospectus
claimed advantages for this thaumaturgic remedy.
It heals and soothes while you sleep, in case of trouble
in breaking wind, assists nature in the most formidable way, insuring instant relief in discharge of gases, keeping parts clean and free natural a ction, an initial outlay of 7/6
making a new man of you and life worth living. Ladies find Wonderworker especially useful, a pleasant surprise when they note delightful result like a cool drink of fresh
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Bloom's Secret Drawer
- Leopold Bloom examines a collection of testimonials for the 'Wonderworker,' a medical device supposedly endorsed by a diverse range of social classes.
- Bloom reflects on his own 'virile power of fascination' and his successful interactions with various women throughout the preceding day.
- The contents of a second drawer reveal Bloomâs financial security, including insurance policies, bank balances, and government stock.
- A legal notice documents the family's transition from the Hungarian name Virag to the name Bloom by deed poll.
- Mementos of Bloom's father, Rudolph, evoke a sense of melancholic history through an old haggadah, a daguerreotype, and a suicide note.
- The fragmented phrases of his father's final letter highlight a tragic decline into 'progressive melancholia' and a final plea for kindness.
Be kind to Athos, Leopold ... my dear son ... always ... of me ... das Herz ... Gott ... dein ...
1191 of 1305 spring water on a sultry summerâs day. Recommend it to
your lady and gentlemen friends, lasts a lifetime. Insert long round end. Wonderworker.
Were there testimonials? Numerous. From clergyman, British naval officer,
wellknown author, city man, hospital nurse, lady, mother of five, absentminded beggar.
How did absentminded beggarâs concluding testimonial
conclude?
What a pity the government did not supply our men
with wonderworkers during the South African campaign! What a relief it would have been!
What object did Bloom a dd to this collection of
objects?
A 4th typewritten letter recei ved by Henry Flower (let
H. F. be L. B.) from Martha Clifford (find M. C.).
What pleasant reflection accompanied this action? The reflection that, apart from the letter in question,
his magnetic face, form and address had been favourably received during the course of the preceding day by a wife
(Mrs Josephine Breen, born Jo sie Powell), a nurse, Miss
Callan (Christian name unknown), a maid, Gertrude (Gerty, family name unknown).
What possibility suggested itself?
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1192 of 1305 The possibility of exercising vi rile power of fascination
in the not immediate future after an expensive repast in a
private apartment in the comp any of an elegant courtesan,
of corporal beauty, moderately mercenary, variously instructed, a lady by origin.
What did the 2nd drawer contain? Documents: the birth certificate of Leopold Paula
Bloom: an endowment assurance policy of 500 pounds in the Scottish Widowsâ Assurance Society, intestated Millicent (Milly) Bloom, coming into force at 25 years as with profit policy of 430 pounds, 462/10/0 and 500 pounds at 60 years or death, 65 years or death and death,
respectively, or with profit po licy (paidup) of 299/10/0
together with cash payment of 133/10/0, at option: a bank passbook issued by the Ulster Bank, College Green branch showing statement of a/c for halfyear ending 31 December 1903, balance in depositorâs favour: 18/14/6 (eighteen pounds, fourteen shillings and sixpence, sterling), net personalty: certificate of possession of 900 pounds, Canadian 4 percent (inscribed) government stock (free of
stamp duty): dockets of the Catholic Cemeteriesâ (Glasnevin) Committee, relativ e to a graveplot purchased:
a local press cutting concerning change of name by deedpoll.
Ulysses
1193 of 1305 Quote the textual terms of this notice.
I, Rudolph Virag, now resident at no 52 Clanbrassil
street, Dublin, formerly of Szombathely in the kingdom of Hungary, hereby give notic e that I have assumed and
intend henceforth upon all occa sions and at all times to be
known by the name of Rudolph Bloom.
What other objects relative to Rudolph Bloom (born
Virag) were in the 2nd drawer?
An indistinct daguerreotype of Rudolf Virag and his
father Leopold Virag executed in the year 1852 in the portrait atelier of their (respectively) 1st and 2nd cousin, Stefan Virag of Szesfehervar, Hungary. An ancient
haggadah book in which a pair of hornrimmed convex
spectacles inserted marked the passage of thanksgiving in the ritual prayers for Pessach (Passover): a photocard of the Queenâs Hotel, Ennis, proprietor, Rudolph Bloom: an
envelope addressed: To My Dear Son Leopold .
What fractions of phrases did the lecture of those five
whole words evoke?
Tomorrow will be a week that I received... it is no use
Leopold to be ... with your dear mother ... that is not
more to stand ... to her ... all for me is out ... be kind to
Athos, Leopold ... my dear son ... always ... of me ... das
Herz ... Gott ... dein ...
Ulysses
1194 of 1305 What reminiscences of a hum an subject suffering from
progressive melancholia did these objects evoke in Bloom?
An old man, widower, unkempt of hair, in bed, with
Remorse and Ancestral Migrations
- Bloom reflects on his father Rudolph's suicide and feels a sense of remorse for his youthful disrespect toward Jewish traditions and dietary laws.
- He reevaluates religious practices, finding them no more or less rational than any other belief systems encountered in his adult life.
- The text recounts Rudolphâs history of migrations across Europe, from Szombathely to Dublin, framed as a 'retrospective arrangement' of settlements.
- Time and age have eroded these memories differently: for the father through narcotic toxins and for the son through the distractions of life.
- Bloom contemplates a 'nadir of misery,' envisioning a descent into total destitution, ending as a disenfranchised, moribund lunatic pauper.
- Financial documents like bank passbooks and endowment policies serve as the only tangible shields against this potential social and physical collapse.
Reduce Bloom by cross multiplication of reverses of fortune, from which these supports protected him, and by elimination of all positive values to a negligible negative irrational unreal quantity.
head covered, sighing: an infirm dog, Athos: aconite, resorted to by increasing dose s of grains and scruples as a
palliative of recrudescent neuralgia: the face in death of a septuagenarian, suicide by poison.
Why did Bloom experience a sentiment of remorse? Because in immature impati ence he had treated with
disrespect certain beliefs and practices.
As? The prohibition of the use of fleshmeat and milk at one
meal: the hebdomadary symposium of incoordinately
abstract, perfervidly concrete mercantile coexreligionist excompatriots: the circumcision of male infants: the supernatural character of Juda ic scripture: the ineffability of
the tetragrammaton: the sanctity of the sabbath.
How did these beliefs and practices now appear to him? Not more rational than they had then appeared, not less
rational than other beliefs and practices now appeared.
What first reminiscence had he of Rudolph Bloom
(deceased)?
Rudolph Bloom (deceased) narrated to his son Leopold
Bloom (aged 6) a retrospective arrangement of migrations
Ulysses
1195 of 1305 and settlements in and between Dublin, London,
Florence, Milan, Vienna, Budapest, Szombathely with statements of satisfaction (his grandfather having seen
Maria Theresia, empress of Au stria, queen of Hungary),
with commercial advice (having taken care of pence, the pounds having taken care of th emselves). Leopold Bloom
(aged 6) had accompanied these narrations by constant consultation of a geographical map of Europe (political)
and by suggestions for the establishment of affiliated
business premises in the various centres mentioned.
Had time equally but differently obliterated the
memory of these migrations in narrator and listener?
In narrator by the access of years and in consequence of
the use of narcotic toxin: in listener by the access of years and in consequence of the action of distraction upon
vicarious experiences.
What idiosyncracies of the narrator were concomitant
products of amnesia?
Occasionally he ate without having previously removed
his hat. Occasionally he dr ank voraciously the juice of
gooseberry fool from an inclined plate. Occasionally he removed from his lips the traces of food by means of a lacerated envelope or other accessible fragment of paper.
Ulysses
1196 of 1305 What two phenomena of senescence were more
frequent?
The myopic digital calculation of coins, eructation
consequent upon repletion.
What object offered partial consolation for these
reminiscences?
The endowment policy, the bank passbook, the
certificate of the possession of scrip.
Reduce Bloom by cross mu ltiplication of reverses of
fortune, from which these suppo rts protected him, and by
elimination of all positive valu es to a negligible negative
irrational unreal quantity.
Successively, in descending helo tic order: Poverty: that
of the outdoor hawker of imitation jewellery, the dun for the recovery of bad and doubtful debts, the poor rate and deputy cess collector. Mendic ancy: that of the fraudulent
bankrupt with negligible assets paying 1s. 4d. in the pound, sandwichman, distributor of throwaways, nocturnal vagrant, insinuatin g sycophant, maimed sailor,
blind stripling, superannuated bailiffs man, marfeast, lickplate, spoilsport, pickt hank, eccentric public
laughingstock seated on bench of public park under discarded perforated umbrella. Destitution: the inmate of Old Manâs House (Royal Hospital) Kilmainham, the
Ulysses
1197 of 1305 inmate of Simpsonâs Hospital for reduced but respectable
men permanently disabled by gout or want of sight. Nadir of misery: the aged impotent disfranchised ratesupported moribund lunatic pauper.
With which attendant indignities? The unsympathetic indifference of previously amiable
females, the contempt of musc ular males, the acceptance
The Departure of Everyman
- The text explores the necessity of departure as a means to escape the friction of constant cohabitation and the stagnation of domestic life.
- It presents a logical argument against the perpetual reunion of parents and offspring, labeling the return to the original couple as both absurd and impossible.
- A catalog of geographical allurements is provided, ranging from the natural wonders of Ireland to exotic global landmarks like the Dead Sea and Tibet.
- Navigation for the wanderer is described through both celestial mathematics and earthly, carnal observations.
- The protagonist, Leopold Bloom, is reimagined as both 'Everyman' and 'Noman,' a figure destined for a perpetual, cometary orbit beyond the known stars.
Ever he would wander, selfcompelled, to the extreme limit of his cometary orbit, beyond the fixed stars and variable suns and telescopic planets, astronomical waifs and
of fragments of bread, the simulated ignorance of casual acquaintances, the latration of illegitimate unlicensed vagabond dogs, the infantile discharge of decomposed vegetable missiles, worth little or nothing, nothing or less than nothing.
By what could such a situation be precluded?
By decease (change of state) : by departure (change of
place).
Which preferably? The latter, by the line of least resistance. What considerations rendered departure not entirely
undesirable?
Constant cohabitation impeding mutual toleration of
personal defects. The habit of independent purchase increasingly cultivated. The necessity to counteract by impermanent sojourn the permanence of arrest.
What considerations rendered departure not irrational?
Ulysses
1198 of 1305 The parties concerned, uniting, had increased and
multiplied, which being done, offspring produced and educed to maturity, the parties, if not disunited were obliged to reunite for increa se and multiplication, which
was absurd, to form by reunion the original couple of uniting parties, which was impossible.
What considerations rendered departure desirable? The attractive character of certain localities in Ireland
and abroad, as represented in general geographical maps of
polychrome design or in spec ial ordnance survey charts by
employment of scale numerals and hachures.
In Ireland?
The cliffs of Moher, the windy wilds of Connemara,
lough Neagh with submerged petrified city, the Giantâs Causeway, Fort Camden and Fort Carlisle, the Golden Vale of Tipperary, the islands of Aran, the pastures of royal Meath, Brigidâs elm in Kildare, the Queenâs Island shipyard in Belfast, the Salmon Leap, the lakes of Killarney.
Abroad? Ceylon (with spicegardens supplying tea to Thomas
Kernan, agent for Pulbrook, Robertson and Co, 2 Mincing Lane, London, E. C., 5 Dame street, Dublin), Jerusalem, the holy city (with mosque of Omar and gate of
Ulysses
1199 of 1305 Damascus, goal of aspiration), the straits of Gibraltar (the
unique birthplace of Marion Tweedy), the Parthenon (containing statues of nude Grecian divinities), the Wall street money market (which controlled international finance), the Plaza de Toros at La Linea, Spain (where
OâHara of the Camerons had slain the bull), Niagara (over which no human being had passed with impunity), the land of the Eskimos (eaters of soap), the forbidden country
of Thibet (from which no traveller returns), the bay of Naples (to see which was to die), the Dead Sea.
Under what guidance, following what signs? At sea, septentrional, by nigh t the polestar, located at
the point of intersection of the right line from beta to
alpha in Ursa Maior produced and divided externally at omega and the hypotenuse of the rightangled triangle formed by the line alpha omega so produced and the line alpha delta of Ursa Maior. On land, meridional, a bispherical moon, revealed in im perfect varying phases of
lunation through the posterior interstice of the imperfectly
occluded skirt of a carnose negligent perambulating female, a pillar of the cloud by day.
What public advertisement would divulge the
occultation of the departed?
Ulysses
1200 of 1305 5 pounds reward, lost, stolen or strayed from his
residence 7 Eccles street, missing gent about 40, answering to the name of Bloom, Leopold (Poldy), height 5 ft 9 1/2 inches, full build, olive complexion, may have since grown a beard, when last seen was wearing a black suit. Above sum will be paid for information leading to his discovery.
What universal binomial denominations would be his
as entity and nonentity?
Assumed by any or known to none. Everyman or
Noman.
What tributes his?
Honour and gifts of strangers, the friends of Everyman.
A nymph immortal, beauty, the bride of Noman.
Would the departed neve r nowhere nohow reappear?
Ever he would wander, selfcompelled, to the extreme
limit of his cometary orbit, beyond the fixed stars and
variable suns and telescopic planets, astronomical waifs and
Bloom's Recapitulation and Repose
- Bloom contemplates a cosmic, hypothetical return as an 'estranged avenger' with infinite wealth, yet finds the idea irrational due to the imbalance of time and space.
- Practical inertia prevents further wandering, driven by the lateness of the hour, the peril of the streets, and the physical allure of a warm bed.
- The narrative compares the merits of an occupied bed over an unoccupied one, highlighting the superior 'human calefaction' of a partner over a hot water jar.
- Bloom silently reviews the day's events through a pseudo-religious lens, mapping his mundane activities onto sacred rites and biblical concepts like 'Armageddon' and 'Atonement'.
- The section concludes with Bloom confronting minor mysteries, such as the identity of 'MâIntosh' and the imperfections of his day, including failed business errands.
What past consecutive causes, before rising preapprehended, of accumulated fatigue did Bloom, before rising, silently recapitulate?
strays, to the extreme boundary of space, passing from land to land, among peoples, amid events. Somewhere imperceptibly he would hear and somehow reluctantly, suncompelled, obey the summons of recall. Whence, disappearing from the con stellation of the Northern
Crown he would somehow reappear reborn above delta in
Ulysses
1201 of 1305 the constellation of Cassiopeia and after incalculable eons
of peregrination return an estranged avenger, a wreaker of justice on malefactors, a dark crusader, a sleeper awakened,
with financial resources (by supposition) surpassing those of Rothschild or the silver king.
What would render such return irrational? An unsatisfactory equation between an exodus and
return in time through reversible space and an exodus and return in space through irreversible time.
What play of forces, inducing inertia, rendered
departure undesirable?
The lateness of the hour, rend ering procrastinatory: the
obscurity of the night, rendering invisible: the uncertainty
of thoroughfares, rendering pe rilous: the necessity for
repose, obviating movement: the proximity of an occupied bed, obviating research: the anticipation of warmth (human) tempered with coolness (linen),
obviating desire and rendering desirable: the statue of Narcissus, sound without echo, desired desire.
What advantages were possessed by an occupied, as
distinct from an unoccupied bed?
The removal of nocturnal solitude, the superior quality
of human (mature female) to inhuman (hotwaterjar)
calefaction, the stimulation of matutinal contact, the
Ulysses
1202 of 1305 economy of mangling done on the premises in the case of
trousers accurately folded and placed lengthwise between the spring mattress (striped) and the woollen mattress
(biscuit section).
What past consecutive causes, before rising
preapprehended, of accumulated fatigue did Bloom, before rising, silently recapitulate?
The preparation of breakfast (burnt offering): intestinal
congestion and premeditative defecation (holy of holies): the bath (rite of John): the funeral (rite of Samuel): the advertisement of Alexander Keyes (Urim and Thummim): the unsubstantial lunch (rite of Melchisedek): the visit to
museum and national library (holy place): the bookhunt
along Bedford row, Merchantsâ Arch, Wellington Quay (Simchath Torah): the music in the Ormond Hotel (Shira Shirim): the altercation with a truculent troglodyte in Bernard Kiernanâs premises (holocaust): a blank period of time including a cardrive, a visit to a house of mourning, a leavetaking (wilderness): the eroticism produced by feminine exhibitionism (rite of Onan): the prolonged delivery of Mrs Mina Purefoy (heave offering): the visit to the disorderly house of Mrs Bella Cohen, 82 Tyrone street, lower and subsequent brawl and chance medley in
Ulysses
1203 of 1305 Beaver street (Armageddon)- no cturnal perambulation to
and from the cabmanâs shelter, Butt Bridge (atonement).
What selfimposed enigma did Bloom about to rise in
order to go so as to conclu de lest he should not conclude
involuntarily apprehend?
The cause of a brief sharp unforeseen heard loud lone
crack emitted by the insentient material of a strainveined timber table.
What selfinvolved enigma did Bloom risen, going,
gathering multicoloured multiform multitudinous garments, voluntarily apprehending, not comprehend?
Who was MâIntosh?
What selfevident enigma pondered with desultory
constancy during 30 years did Bloom now, having effected natural obscurity by the extinction of artificial light, silently suddenly comprehend?
Where was Moses when the candle went out? What imperfections in a perfect day did Bloom,
walking, charged with collected articles of recently disvested male wearing appare l, silently, successively,
enumerate?
A provisional failure to obtain renewal of an
advertisement: to obtain a certain quantity of tea from Thomas Kernan (agent for Pulbrook, Robertson and Co,
Ulysses
The Bed of Infinite Series
- Bloom meticulously catalogs the feminine apparel and household objects scattered throughout the bedroom, noting their scents and origins.
- The narrative details Bloom's ritualistic preparation for sleep, characterized by extreme caution and a sense of reverence for the bed as a site of life and death.
- Upon entering the bed, Bloom encounters the physical evidence of another man's recent presence, specifically crumbs and flakes of potted meat.
- Bloom reflects on the philosophical nature of displacement, viewing himself as merely one term in an infinite mathematical series of occupants.
- The text transitions from the physical reality of the room to a mental reconstruction of his wife's romantic history, beginning with a man named Mulvey.
To reflect that each one who enters imagines himself to be the first to enter whereas he is always the last term of a preceding series even if the first term of a succeeding one.
1204 of 1305 5 Dame Street, Dublin, and 2 Mincing Lane, London E.
C.): to certify the presence or absence of posterior rectal orifice in the case of Hellenic female divinities: to obtain
admission (gratuitous or paid) to the performance of Leah
by Mrs Bandmann Palmer at the Gaiety Theatre, 46, 47, 48, 49 South King street.
What impression of an absent face did Bloom, arrested,
silently recall?
The face of her father, the late Major Brian Cooper
Tweedy, Royal Dublin Fusiliers, of Gibraltar and Rehoboth, Dolphinâs Barn.
What recurrent impressions of the same were possible
by hypothesis?
Retreating, at the terminus of the Great Northern
Railway, Amiens street, with constant uniform acceleration, along parallel lines meeting at infinity, if produced: along parallel lines, reproduced from infinity, with constant uniform retardati on, at the terminus of the
Great Northern Railway, Amiens street, returning.
What miscellaneous effects of female personal wearing
apparel were perceived by him?
A pair of new inodorous halfsilk black ladiesâ hose, a
pair of new violet garters, a pa ir of outsize ladiesâ drawers
of India mull, cut on generous lines, redolent of
Ulysses
1205 of 1305 opoponax, jessamine and Murattiâs Turkish cigarettes and
containing a long bright steel safety pin, folded curvilinear,
a camisole of batiste with thin lace border, an accordion underskirt of blue silk moirette, all these objects being disposed irregularly on the top of a rectangular trunk, quadruple battened, having capped corners, with multicoloured labels, initialled on its fore side in white lettering B. C. T. (Brian Cooper Tweedy).
What impersonal objects were perceived? A commode, one leg fractu red, totally covered by
square cretonne cutting, apple design, on which rested a ladyâs black straw hat. Orangekeyed ware, bought of
Henry Price, basket, fancy goods, chinaware and
ironmongery manufacturer, 21, 22, 23 Moore street, disposed irregularly on the washstand and floor and consisting of basin, soapdish and brushtray (on the washstand, together), pitcher and night article (on the floor, separate).
Bloomâs acts? He deposited the articles of clothing on a chair,
removed his remaining articles of clothing, took from beneath the bolster at the he ad of the bed a folded long
white nightshirt, inserted his head and arms into the
proper apertures of the nightshirt, removed a pillow from
Ulysses
1206 of 1305 the head to the foot of the bed, prepared the bedlinen
accordingly and entered the bed.
How? With circumspection, as invariably when entering an
abode (his own or not his own): with solicitude, the snakespiral springs of the mattress being old, the brass quoits and pendent viper radii loose and tremulous under stress and strain: prudently, as entering a lair or ambush of lust or adders: lightly, the less to disturb: reverently, the bed of conception and of birth, of consummation of marriage and of breach of marriag e, of sleep and of death.
What did his limbs, when gradually extended,
encounter?
New clean bedlinen, additional odours, the presence of
a human form, female, hers, the imprint of a human form,
male, not his, some crumbs, some flakes of potted meat, recooked, which he removed.
If he had smiled why would he have smiled? To reflect that each one who enters imagines himself to
be the first to enter whereas he is always the last term of a
preceding series even if the first term of a succeeding one, each imagining himself to be first, last, only and alone
whereas he is neither first nor last nor only nor alone in a series originating in and repeated to infinity.
Ulysses
1207 of 1305 What preceding series?
Assuming Mulvey to be the first term of his series,
Reflections on Infidelity
- Bloom cataloging a long, seemingly infinite list of men associated with his wife, Molly, ending with the current 'occupant of the bed,' Blazes Boylan.
- The protagonist analyzes his rival through a clinical lens, categorizing Boylan's vigor, physical proportions, and commercial success with derogatory descriptors.
- Bloom experiences a complex progression of emotions toward the series of lovers, moving from alarm and desire to a state of fatigue and 'epicene comprehension.'
- A psychological breakdown of envy and jealousy reveals Bloom's view of the sexual act as a mechanical 'piston and cylinder movement' between organisms.
- The narrative concludes with a sense of equanimity, where Bloom rationalizes the adultery as a natural act less calamitous than a cosmic disaster or a violent crime.
- The text highlights the inevitability of adaptation to altered life conditions, framing the betrayal as an irreparable but ultimately minor event in the grand scale of existence.
As not so calamitous as a cataclysmic annihilation of the planet in consequence of a collision with a dark sun.
Penrose, Bartell dâArcy, professor Goodwin, Julius Mastiansky, John Henry Me nton, Father Bernard
Corrigan, a farmer at the Royal Dublin Societyâs Horse Show, Maggot OâReilly, Matthew Dillon, Valentine Blake Dillon (Lord Mayor of Dublin), Christopher Callinan, Lenehan, an Italian organgrinder, an unknown gentleman in the Gaiety Theatre, Benjamin Dollard, Simon Dedalus, Andrew (Pisser) Burke, Joseph Cuffe, Wisdom Hely, Alderman John Hooper, Dr Francis Brady, Father Sebastian of Mount Ar gus, a bootblack at the
General Post Office, Hugh E. (Blazes) Boylan and so each
and so on to no last term.
What were his reflections concerning the last member
of this series and late occupant of the bed?
Reflections on his vigour (a bounder), corporal
proportion (a billsticker), commercial ability (a bester), impressionability (a boaster).
Why for the observer impressionability in addition to
vigour, corporal proportion and commercial ability?
Because he had observed with augmenting frequency in
the preceding members of the same series the same concupiscence, inflammably transmitted, first with alarm,
Ulysses
1208 of 1305 then with understanding, then with desire, finally with
fatigue, with alternating symptoms of epicene comprehension and apprehension.
With what antagonistic sentiments were his subsequent
reflections affected?
Envy, jealousy, abnegation, equanimity. Envy? Of a bodily and mental male organism specially adapted
for the superincumbent posture of energetic human copulation and energetic pis ton and cylinder movement
necessary for the complete sa tisfaction of a constant but
not acute concupiscence reside nt in a bodily and mental
female organism, passive but not obtuse.
Jealousy? Because a nature full and volatile in its free state, was
alternately the agent and reagent of attraction. Because attraction between agent(s) an d reagent(s) at all instants
varied, with inverse proportion of increase and decrease, with incessant circular extension and radial reentrance. Because the controlled contempla tion of the fluctuation of
attraction produced, if desire d, a fluctuation of pleasure.
Abnegation? In virtue of a) acquaintance initiated in September 1903
in the establishment of George Mesias, merchant tailor and
Ulysses
1209 of 1305 outfitter, 5 Eden Quay, b) hospitality extended and
received in kind, reciprocated and reappropriated in person, c) comparative yout h subject to impulses of
ambition and magnanimity, colleagual altruism and amorous egoism, d) extrarac ial attraction, intraracial
inhibition, supraracial prerogative, e) an imminent provincial musical tour, common current expenses, net proceeds divided.
Equanimity? As as natural as any and ev ery natural act of a nature
expressed or understood executed in natured nature by natural creatures in accord ance with his, her and their
natured natures, of dissimilar similarity. As not so
calamitous as a cataclysmic annihilation of the planet in
consequence of a collision with a dark sun. As less reprehensible than theft, hi ghway robbery, cruelty to
children and animals, obtaining money under false pretences, forgery, embezzlement, misappropriation of public money, betrayal of public trust, malingering,
mayhem, corruption of minors, criminal libel, blackmail, contempt of court, arson, treason, felony, mutiny on the high seas, trespass, burglary , jailbreaking, practice of
unnatural vice, desertion from armed forces in the field, perjury, poaching, usury, intelligence with the kingâs
Ulysses
1210 of 1305 enemies, impersonation, criminal assault, manslaughter,
wilful and premeditated murder. As not more abnormal than all other parallel processes of adaptation to altered conditions of existence, resulting in a reciprocal equilibrium between the bodily organism and its attendant
circumstances, foods, beverages, acquired habits, indulged inclinations, significant disease. As more than inevitable, irreparable.
Equanimity and Anatomical Satisfaction
- Bloom reflects on his lack of jealousy regarding Molly's adultery, viewing the act through a lens of logical abnegation rather than emotional outrage.
- He dismisses traditional retributions like assassination or duels, considering instead more pragmatic or cynical outcomes like legal suits or quiet separation.
- His internal justification relies on scientific and linguistic abstractions, reducing the sexual act to a mere grammatical transition between active and passive voices.
- He finds a cosmic sense of peace in the 'apathy of the stars' and the futility of moral protest against natural biological functions.
- The encounter concludes with a ritualistic, sensory appreciation of Molly's physical form, described in highly stylized, geometric, and olfactory terms.
- In his final report to Molly, Bloom practices selective omission, hiding his own clandestine correspondence and the day's more volatile confrontations.
He kissed the plump mellow yellow smellow melons of her rump, on each plump melonous hemisphere, in their mellow yellow furrow, with obscure prolonged provocative melonsmellonous osculation.
Why more abnegation than jealousy, less envy than
equanimity?
From outrage (matrimony) to outrage (adultery) there
arose nought but outrage (copulation) yet the matrimonial
violator of the matrimonially violated had not been
outraged by the adulterous violator of the adulterously violated.
What retribution, if any? Assassination, never, as two wrongs did not make one
right. Duel by combat, no. Divorce, not now. Exposure by mechanical artifice (aut omatic bed) or individual
testimony (concealed ocular wit nesses), not yet. Suit for
damages by legal influence or simulation of assault with evidence of injuries sustained (selfinflicted), not impossibly. Hushmoney by moral influence possibly. If any, positively, connivance, introduction of emulation
Ulysses
1211 of 1305 (material, a prosperous rival agency of publicity: moral, a
successful rival agent of intimacy), depreciation, alienation, humiliation, separation protecti ng the one separated from
the other, protecting the separator from both.
By what reflections did he, a conscious reactor against
the void of incertitude, justify to himself his sentiments?
The preordained frangibility of the hymen: the
presupposed intangibility of the thing in itself: the incongruity and disproportion between the selfprolonging tension of the thing proposed to be done and the selfabbreviating relaxation of the thing done; the fallaciously inferred debility of the female: the muscularity
of the male: the variations of ethical codes: the natural
grammatical transition by inversion involving no alteration of sense of an aorist preterite proposition (parsed as
masculine subject, monosyllabic onomatopoeic transitive
verb with direct feminine object) from the active voice into its correlative aorist preterite proposition (parsed as feminine subject, auxiliary v erb and quasimonosyllabic
onomatopoeic past participle with complementary masculine agent) in the passive voice: the continued product of seminators by generation: the continual
production of semen by distillation: the futility of triumph
Ulysses
1212 of 1305 or protest or vindication: th e inanity of extolled virtue: the
lethargy of nescient matter: the apathy of the stars.
In what final satisfaction did these antagonistic
sentiments and reflections, reduced to their simplest forms, converge?
Satisfaction at the ubiquity in eastern and western
terrestrial hemispheres, in all habitable lands and islands explored or unexplored (the land of the midnight sun, the islands of the blessed, the isles of Greece, the land of promise), of adipose anterior and posterior female hemispheres, redolent of milk and honey and of excretory sanguine and seminal warmth, reminiscent of secular
families of curves of amplitude, insusceptible of moods of
impression or of contrarieties of expression, expressive of mute immutable mature animality.
The visible signs of antesatisfaction? An approximate erection: a solicitous adversion: a
gradual elevation: a tentative revelation: a silent contemplation.
Then? He kissed the plump mellow yellow smellow melons of
her rump, on each plump melonous hemisphere, in their mellow yellow furrow, with obscure prolonged provocative melonsmellonous osculation.
Ulysses
1213 of 1305 The visible signs of postsatisfaction?
A silent contemplation: a te ntative velation: a gradual
abasement: a solicitous avers ion: a proximate erection.
What followed this silent action? Somnolent invocation, less somnolent recognition,
incipient excitation, catechetical interrogation.
With what modifications did th e narrator reply to this
interrogation?
Negative: he omitted to mention the clandestine
correspondence between Martha Clifford and Henry Flower, the public altercation at, in and in the vicinity of the licensed premises of Ber nard Kiernan and Co, Limited,
8, 9 and 10 Little Britain street, the erotic provocation and
response thereto caused by the exhibitionism of Gertrude
Domestic Geometry and Biological Stasis
- The narrator recounts specific details of the day, including a theatrical performance, a pornographic novel, and Stephen Dedalus's minor injury.
- A clinical analysis reveals a decade-long cessation of complete carnal intercourse between the narrator and listener following the death of their infant son.
- The text details a breakdown in mental intimacy, exacerbated by the 'natural comprehension' between the listener and her daughter which restricts the narrator's freedom.
- The narrator's movements are constantly scrutinized through a series of feminine interrogations regarding his destination and purpose.
- The pair lies in a state of relative rest, positioned at specific geographical coordinates and angles to the equator while the earth moves through space.
- The listener is described in the posture of Gea-Tellus, representing a fulfilled and recumbent earth goddess figure.
At rest relatively to themselves and to each other. In motion being each and both carried westward, forward and rereward respectively, by the proper perpetual motion of the earth through everchanging tracks of neverchanging space.
(Gerty), surname unknown. Positive: he included mention of a performance by Mrs Bandmann Palmer of LEAH at the Gaiety Theatre, 46, 47, 48, 49 South King street, an invitation to supper at Wy nnâs (Murphyâs) Hotel, 35, 36
and 37 Lower Abbey street, a volume of peccaminous pornographical tendency entituled SWEETS OF SIN, anonymous author a gentleman of fashion, a temporary
concussion caused by a falsely calculated movement in the course of a postcenal gymnastic display, the victim (since
completely recovered) being Stephen Dedalus, professor
Ulysses
1214 of 1305 and author, eldest surviving son of Simon Dedalus, of no
fixed occupation, an aeronautical feat executed by him (narrator) in the presence of a witness, the professor and
author aforesaid, with promptitude of decision and gymnastic flexibility.
Was the narration otherwise unaltered by
modifications?
Absolutely. Which event or person emerged as the salient point of
his narration?
Stephen Dedalus, professor and author. What limitations of activity and inhibitions of conjugal
rights were perceived by liste ner and narrator concerning
themselves during the course of this intermittent and increasingly more laconic narration?
By the listener a limitation of fertility inasmuch as
marriage had been celebrated 1 calendar month after the 18th anniversary of her birth (8 September 1870), viz. 8 October, and consummated on the same date with female issue born 15 June 1889, having been anticipatorily consummated on the lo September of the same year and complete carnal intercourse , with ejaculation of semen
within the natural female organ, having last taken place 5 weeks previous, viz. 27 November 1893, to the birth on
Ulysses
1215 of 1305 29 December 1893 of second (and only male) issue,
deceased 9 January 1894, aged 11 days, there remained a period of 10 years, 5 months and 18 days during which carnal intercourse had been incomplete, without ejaculation of semen within th e natural female organ. By
the narrator a limitation of activity, mental and corporal, inasmuch as complete mental intercourse between himself
and the listener had not taken place since the consummation of puberty, indicated by catamenic hemorrhage, of the female issue of narrator and listener, 15
September 1903, there remained a period of 9 months and 1 day during which, in consequence of a preestablished
natural comprehension in incomprehension between the
consummated females (listener and issue), complete corporal liberty of action had been circumscribed.
How? By various reiterated feminine interrogation concerning
the masculine destination whither, the place where, the time at which, the duration for which, the object with which in the case of tempor ary absences, projected or
effected.
What moved visibly above the listenerâs and the
narratorâs invisible thoughts?
Ulysses
1216 of 1305 The upcast reflection of a lamp and shade, an
inconstant series of concentric circles of varying gradations of light and shadow.
In what directions did listener and narrator lie? Listener, S. E. by E.: Narrator, N. W. by W.: on the
53rd parallel of latitude, N., and 6th meridian of longitude, W.: at an angle of 45 degrees to the terrestrial
equator.
In what state of rest or motion? At rest relatively to themselves and to each other. In
motion being each and both carried westward, forward and rereward respectively, by the proper perpetual motion
of the earth through everchanging tracks of neverchanging
space.
In what posture? Listener: reclined semilaterally, left, left hand under
head, right leg extended in a straight line and resting on left leg, flexed, in the atti tude of Gea-Tellus, fulfilled,
recumbent, big with seed. Narrato r: reclined laterally, left,
with right and left legs flex ed, the index finger and thumb
The Weary Manchild's Return
- Leopold Bloom returns to bed in a state of exhaustion, described through a rhythmic, nursery-rhyme-like catalog of 'Sinbad the Sailor' variations.
- The narrative shifts into Molly Bloomâs stream-of-consciousness monologue as she reacts to Leopoldâs unusual request for breakfast in bed.
- Molly reminisces about Mrs. Riordan, a pious and miserly former boarder, critiquing her hypocrisy and lack of generosity.
- The text explores Mollyâs perspective on male vulnerability, noting how men become 'weak and puling' and crave female attention when slightly ill.
- Molly expresses skepticism regarding Leopoldâs whereabouts and his 'pack of lies' about his day, analyzing his appetite as a sign of his activities.
Going to dark bed there was a square round Sinbad the Sailor rocâs aukâs egg in the night of the bed of all the auks of the rocs of Darkinbad the Brightdayler.
of the right hand resting on the bridge of the nose, in the attitude depicted in a snapshot photograph made by Percy
Apjohn, the childman weary, the manchild in the womb.
Womb? Weary?
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1217 of 1305 He rests. He has travelled.
With? Sinbad the Sailor and Tinbad the Tailor and Jinbad the
Jailer and Whinbad the Whaler and Ninbad the Nailer and
Finbad the Failer and Binbad the Bailer and Pinbad the Pailer and Minbad the Mailer and Hinbad the Hailer and Rinbad the Railer and Dinbad the Kailer and Vinbad the Quailer and Linbad the Yailer and Xinbad the Phthailer.
When? Going to dark bed there was a square round Sinbad the
Sailor rocâs aukâs egg in the night of the bed of all the auks of the rocs of Darkinbad the Brightdayler.
Where?
* * * * *
Yes because he never did a th ing like that before as ask
to get his breakfast in bed with a couple of eggs since the
City Arms hotel when he used to be pretending to be laid
up with a sick voice doing his highness to make himself interesting for that old faggot Mrs Riordan that he thought he had a great leg of and she never left us a farthing all for masses for herself and her soul greatest miser ever was actually afraid to lay out 4d for her
Ulysses
1218 of 1305 methylated spirit telling me all her ailments she had too
much old chat in her about politics and earthquakes and the end of the world let us have a bit of fun first God help the world if all the women were her sort down on bathingsuits and lownecks of course nobody wanted her to wear them I suppose she was pious because no man would look at her twice I hope Ill never be like her a wonder she didnt want us to cover our faces but she was a welleducated woman certainly and her gabby talk about Mr Riordan here and Mr Riordan there I suppose he was glad to get shut of her and her dog smelling my fur and always edging to get up under my petticoats especially
then still I like that in him polite to old women like that
and waiters and beggars too he s not proud out of nothing
but not always if ever he got anything really serious the matter with him its much better for them to go into a hospital where everything is clean but I suppose Id have to dring it into him for a m onth yes and then wed have a
hospital nurse next thing on the carpet have him staying there till they throw him out or a nun maybe like the smutty photo he has shes as much a nun as Im not yes
because theyre so weak and puling when theyre sick they want a woman to get well if his nose bleeds youd think it was O tragic and that dyinglooking one off the south
Ulysses
1219 of 1305 circular when he sprained his foot at the choir party at the
sugarloaf Mountain the day I wore that dress Miss Stack bringing him flowers the worst old ones she could find at the bottom of the basket anythin g at all to get into a mans
bedroom with her old maids voice trying to imagine he was dying on account of her to never see thy face again though he looked more like a man with his beard a bit grown in the bed father was the same besides I hate bandaging and dosing when he cut his toe with the razor paring his corns afraid hed get bloodpoisoning but if it was a thing I was sick then wed see what attention only of course the woman hides it not to give all the trouble they
do yes he came somewhere Im sure by his appetite
anyway love its not or hed be off his feed thinking of her so either it was one of those night women if it was down
there he was really and the hotel story he made up a pack of lies to hide it planning it Hynes kept me who did I meet ah yes I met do you remember Menton and who else who let me see that big babbyface I saw him and he
not long married flirting with a young girl at Pooles Myriorama and turned my back on him when he slinked out looking quite conscious what harm but he had the
impudence to make up to me one time well done to him mouth almighty and his boiled eyes of all the big stupoes I
Ulysses
Molly Bloom's Domestic Suspicions
- Molly reflects on Leopold Bloom's secretive behavior, suspecting him of writing letters to other women behind her back.
- She recounts past betrayals, specifically an affair or flirtation Bloom had with their former servant, Mary, in Ontario Terrace.
- Molly expresses disdain for the double standards of men, noting that 'one woman is not enough for them' as they age.
- She describes the tension of managing a household where the husband attempts to bring servants to the family dinner table.
- Molly contemplates her own power of seduction, imagining how she might easily confuse and entice a younger man.
- The narrative reveals her internal conflict between indifference toward Bloom's infidelities and a lingering desire for proof and control.
I saw to that better do without them altogether do out the rooms myself quicker only for the damn cooking and throwing out the dirt I gave it to him anyhow either she or me leaves the house
1220 of 1305 ever met and thats called a so licitor only for I hate having
a long wrangle in bed or else if its not that its some little
bitch or other he got in wit h somewhere or picked up on
the sly if they only knew him as well as I do yes because the day before yesterday he was scribbling something a letter when I came into the front room to show him Dignams death in the paper as if something told me and he covered it up with the blottingpaper pretending to be thinking about business so very probably that was it to
somebody who thinks she has a softy in him because all men get a bit like that at his age especially getting on to
forty he is now so as to wh eedle any money she can out of
him no fool like an old fool and then the usual kissing my
bottom was to hide it not that I care two straws now who he does it with or knew be fore that way though Id like to
find out so long as I dont have the two of them under my
nose all the time like that sl ut that Mary we had in
Ontario terrace padding out her false bottom to excite him
bad enough to get the smell of those painted women off him once or twice I had a suspicion by getting him to come near me when I found the long hair on his coat
without that one when I went into the kitchen pretending he was drinking water 1 woman is not enough for them it
was all his fault of course ruining servants then proposing
Ulysses
1221 of 1305 that she could eat at our table on Christmas day if you
please O no thank you not in my house stealing my potatoes and the oysters 2/6 per doz going out to see her
aunt if you please common robb ery so it was but I was
sure he had something on with that one it takes me to find out a thing like that he said you have no proof it was her proof O yes her aunt was very fond of oysters but I told her what I thought of her sugge sting me to go out to be
alone with her I wouldnt lower myself to spy on them the garters I found in her room the Friday she was out that
was enough for me a little bit too much her face swelled
up on her with temper when I gave her her weeks notice
I saw to that better do without them altogether do out the
rooms myself quicker only for the damn cooking and throwing out the dirt I gave it to him anyhow either she or me leaves the house I c ouldnt even touch him if I
thought he was with a dirty ba refaced liar and sloven like
that one denying it up to my face and singing about the
place in the W C too because she knew she was too well off yes because he couldnt poss ibly do without it that long
so he must do it somewhere and the last time he came on my bottom when was it the night Boylan gave my hand a great squeeze going along by the Tolka in my hand there steals another I just pressed th e back of his like that with
Ulysses
1222 of 1305 my thumb to squeeze back singing the young May moon
shes beaming love because he has an idea about him and me hes not such a fool he said Im dining out and going to
the Gaiety though Im not going to give him the satisfaction in any case God knows hes a change in a way
not to be always and ever wearing the same old hat unless I paid some nicelooking boy to do it since I cant do it myself a young boy would like me Id confuse him a little alone with him if we were Id let him see my garters the new ones and make him turn red looking at him seduce him I know what boys feel with that down on their cheek
doing that frigging drawing out the thing by the hour
question and answer would you do this that and the other
Molly Bloom's Sacred and Profane
- Molly reflects on the physical and psychological toll of sexual encounters, dismissing the societal weight placed on 'the first time' as mere talk.
- She recounts a confession with Father Corrigan, critiquing the priest's intrusive questioning about the specific location of a man's touch.
- The narrative explores a fantasy of intimacy with a priest, noting the sensory appeal of incense and the perceived safety of such an affair.
- Molly observes the vulnerability of men, specifically noting the rare and impactful sight of a man crying.
- A sudden thunderstorm triggers a moment of religious terror, prompting Molly to revert to prayer and contrition despite her husband's atheism.
I said on the canal bank like a fool but whereabouts on your person my child on the leg behind high up was it yes rather high up was it where you sit down yes O Lord couldnt he say bottom right out and have done with it
with the coalman yes with a bishop yes I would because I told him about some dean or bis hop was sitting beside me
in the jews temples gardens when I was knitting that woollen thing a stranger to Du blin what place was it and
so on about the monuments and he tired me out with statues encouraging him makin g him worse than he is who
is in your mind now tell me who are you thinking of who is it tell me his name who tell me who the german Emperor is it yes imagine Im him think of him can you
feel him trying to make a whore of me what he never will he ought to give it up now at this age of his life simply
Ulysses
1223 of 1305 ruination for any woman and no satisfaction in it
pretending to like it till he comes and then finish it off
myself anyway and it makes your lips pale anyhow its done now once and for all with all the talk of the world about it people make its only the first time after that its
just the ordinary do it and think no more about it why cant you kiss a man without going and marrying him first you sometimes love to wildly wh en you feel that way so
nice all over you you cant help yourself I wish some man or other would take me sometime when hes there and kiss me in his arms theres nothing like a kiss long and hot
down to your soul almost paralyses you then I hate that
confession when I used to go to Father Corrigan he
touched me father and what harm if he did where and I said on the canal bank like a fool but whereabouts on your person my child on the leg be hind high up was it yes
rather high up was it where you sit down yes O Lord
couldnt he say bottom right out and have done with it what has that got to do with it and did you whatever way he put it I forget no father and I always think of the real father what did he want to know for when I already confessed it to God he had a nice fat hand the palm moist
always I wouldnt mind feeling it neither would he Id say by the bullneck in his hors ecollar I wonder did he know
Ulysses
1224 of 1305 me in the box I could see his face he couldnt see mine of
course hed never turn or le t on still his eyes were red
when his father died theyre lost for a woman of course must be terrible when a man crie s let alone them Id like to
be embraced by one in his vestments and the smell of incense off him like the pope besides theres no danger with a priest if youre married hes too careful about himself then give something to H H the pope for a penance I
wonder was he satisfied with me one thing I didnt like his
slapping me behind going away so familiarly in the hall though I laughed Im not a horse or an ass am I I suppose he was thinking of his fathers I wonder is he awake
thinking of me or dreaming am I in it who gave him that
flower he said he bought he smelt of some kind of drink not whisky or stout or p erhaps the sweety kind of paste
they stick their bills up with some liqueur Id like to sip those richlooking green and ye llow expensive drinks those
stagedoor johnnies drink with the opera hats I tasted once with my finger dipped out of t hat American that had the
squirrel talking stamps with fath er he had all he could do
to keep himself from falling asleep after the last time after we took the port and potted me at it had a fine salty taste
yes because I felt lovely and tired myself and fell asleep as sound as a top the moment I popped straight into bed till
Ulysses
1225 of 1305 that thunder woke me up God be merciful to us I thought
the heavens were coming down about us to punish us
when I blessed myself and said a Hail Mary like those awful thunderbolts in Gibraltar as if the world was coming to an end and then they co me and tell you theres no God
what could you do if it wa s running and rushing about
nothing only make an act of contrition the candle I lit that evening in Whitefriars street chapel for the month of May
see it brought its luck though hed scoff if he heard because
he never goes to church mass or meeting he says your soul
Molly Bloom's Intimate Reflections
- The narrator reflects on a recent intense sexual encounter, comparing the physical experience to animalistic strength and vigor.
- She contemplates the physical toll of childbirth and the societal expectation for women to be constantly burdened by large families.
- The stream of consciousness shifts to memories of social jealousy and past arguments regarding religion and politics.
- She analyzes her husband's intellectual nature and his specific knowledge of the human body and medicine.
- The narrator considers her own power of seduction and the subtle ways she can manipulate male attention and jealousy.
- A sense of competition with other women emerges as she weighs her husband's past attractions against her own influence over him.
nice invention they made for women for him to get all the pleasure but if someone gave them a touch of it themselves theyd know what I went through
you have no soul inside only grey matter because he doesnt know what it is to hav e one yes when I lit the lamp
because he must have come 3 or 4 times with that
tremendous big red brute of a thing he has I thought the vein or whatever the dickens they call it was going to burst though his nose is not so big after I took off all my
things with the blinds down after my hours dressing and perfuming and combing it like iron or some kind of a thick crowbar standing all the time he must have eaten
oysters I think a few dozen he was in great singing voice no I never in all my life felt anyone had one the size of that to make you feel full up he must have eaten a whole sheep after whats the idea makin g us like that with a big
hole in the middle of us or like a Stallion driving it up into
Ulysses
1226 of 1305 you because thats all they want out of you with that
determined vicious look in his eye I had to halfshut my eyes still he hasnt such a t remendous amount of spunk in
him when I made him pull out and do it on me considering how big it is so much the better in case any of it wasnt washed out properly the last time I let him finish it in me nice invention they made for women for him to
get all the pleasure but if someone gave them a touch of it themselves theyd know what I went through with Milly nobody would believe cutting her teeth too and Mina
Purefoys husband give us a s wing out of your whiskers
filling her up with a child or twins once a year as regular as
the clock always with a smell of children off her the one
they called budgers or something like a nigger with a shock of hair on it Jesusjack th e child is a black the last
time I was there a squad of them falling over one another and bawling you couldnt hear your ears supposed to be healthy not satisfied till they have us swollen out like elephants or I dont know what supposing I risked having another not off him though still if he was married Im sure hed have a fine strong child bu t I dont know Poldy has
more spunk in him yes thatd be awfully jolly I suppose it was meeting Josie Powell and the funeral and thinking about me and Boylan set him off well he can think what
Ulysses
1227 of 1305 he likes now if thatll do him any good I know they were
spooning a bit when I came on the scene he was dancing
and sitting out with her the night of Georgina Simpsons housewarming and then he wanted to ram it down my neck it was on account of not liking to see her a wallflower that was why we had the standup row over politics he began it not me when he said about Our Lord
being a carpenter at last he made me cry of course a woman is so sensitive about everything I was fuming with
myself after for giving in onl y for I knew he was gone on
me and the first socialist he said He was he annoyed me so
much I couldnt put him into a temper still he knows a lot
of mixedup things especially ab out the body and the inside
I often wanted to study up that myself what we have inside us in that family phys ician I could always hear his
voice talking when the room was crowded and watch him after that I pretended I had a coolness on with her over
him because he used to be a bit on the jealous side whenever he asked who are you going to and I said over to Floey and he made me the present of Byronâs poems and the three pairs of gloves so that finished that I could quite easily get him to make it up any time I know how Id even supposing he got in with her again and was going out to see her somewhere Id know if he refused to eat the
Ulysses
1228 of 1305 onions I know plenty of ways ask him to tuck down the
collar of my blouse or touch him with my veil and gloves
Molly's Reflections on Marriage
- Molly Bloom contemplates the dynamics of jealousy and attraction, recalling how she used to provoke her friend Josie's envy.
- She compares her husband Leopold's quirks with the more repulsive habits of other men, such as Josie's husband who sleeps in muddy boots.
- The narrative explores the performative nature of female friendship and the subtle competition for male attention.
- Molly reflects on the case of Mrs. Maybrick, who poisoned her husband, musing on the desperation that drives women to such extremes.
- Despite her frustrations, she acknowledges Poldy's small domestic virtues, like wiping his feet and blacking his own boots.
- She concludes that men are fundamentally dependent on women, despite their often aggravating behavior.
I used to tell her a good bit of what went on between us not all but just enough to make her mouth water but that wasnt my fault
on going out I kiss then would send them all spinning however alright well see then let him go to her she of course would only be too delighted to pretend shes mad in love with him that I wouldnt so much mind Id just go to her and ask her do you love him and look her square in
the eyes she couldnt fool me but he might imagine he was and make a declaration to her with his plabbery kind of a manner like he did to me though I had the devils own job to get it out of him though I liked him for that it showed
he could hold in and wasnt to be got for the asking he was
on the pop of asking me too the night in the kitchen I was
rolling the potato cake theres something I want to say to
you only for I put him off letting on I was in a temper with my hands and arms full of pa sty flour in any case I let
out too much the night before talking of dreams so I didnt want to let him know more than was good for him she
used to be always embracing me Josie whenever he was there meaning him of course glauming me over and when I said I washed up and down as far as possible asking me
and did you wash possible the women are always egging on to that putting it on th ick when hes there they know
by his sly eye blinking a bit putting on the indifferent
Ulysses
1229 of 1305 when they come out with some thing the kind he is what
spoils him I dont wonder in the least because he was very
handsome at that time trying to look like Lord Byron I
said I liked though he was too beautiful for a man and he was a little before we got engaged afterwards though she didnt like it so much the day I was in fits of laughing with the giggles I couldnt stop about all my hairpins falling out one after another with the mass of hair I had youre always
in great humour she said yes because it grigged her because she knew what it mean t because I used to tell her
a good bit of what went on between us not all but just enough to make her mouth water but that wasnt my fault
she didnt darken the door mu ch after we were married I
wonder what shes got like now after living with that dotty husband of hers she had her face beginning to look drawn and run down the last time I saw her she must have been just after a row with him because I saw on the moment she was edging to draw down a conversation about husbands and talk about him to run him down what was it
she told me O yes that sometimes he used to go to bed with his muddy boots on when the maggot takes him just imagine having to get into be d with a thing like that that
might murder you any moment what a man well its not the one way everyone goes mad Poldy anyhow whatever
Ulysses
1230 of 1305 he does always wipes his feet on the mat when he comes
in wet or shine and always blacks his own boots too and he always takes off his hat wh en he comes up in the street
like then and now hes going about in his slippers to look for 10000 pounds for a postcard U p up O sweetheart May wouldnt a thing like that simply bore you stiff to
extinction actually too stupid even to take his boots off now what could you make of a man like that Id rather die 20 times over than marry another of their sex of course hed never find another woman like me to put up with him the way I do know me come sleep with me yes and he knows that too at the botto m of his heart take that Mrs
Maybrick that poisoned her husband for what I wonder in
love with some other man yes it was found out on her wasnt she the downright villain to go and do a thing like that of course some men can be dreadfully aggravating
drive you mad and always the worst word in the world what do they ask us to marry them for if were so bad as all that comes to yes because they cant get on without us
white Arsenic she put in his tea off flypaper wasnt it I wonder why they call it that if I asked him hed say its
from the Greek leave us as wise as we were before she
must have been madly in love with the other fellow to run
the chance of being hanged O she didnt care if that was
Molly's Stream of Memory
- Molly Bloom reflects on the distinct ways different men, including Boylan and Poldy, are attracted to her body and clothing.
- She recalls a specific encounter with Boylan at the DBC tea rooms where he became fixated on her feet and shoes.
- Molly contrasts Leopold's peculiar fetishes, such as his obsession with her muddy boots and her undergarments, with more conventional flirtations.
- The narrative reveals Molly's awareness of her own power and the 'madness' men exhibit regarding female anatomy and apparel.
- She reminisces about past romantic encounters, including a kiss on the choir stairs with Bartell d'Arcy after a performance.
- Molly considers her own value and how Leopold 'got her cheap' by not knowing her full history before their engagement.
he was lo times worse himself anyhow begging me to give him a tiny bit cut off my drawers that was the evening coming along Kenilworth square
Ulysses
1231 of 1305 her nature what could she do besides theyre not brutes
enough to go and hang a woman surely are they
theyre all so different Boylan talking about the shape of
my foot he noticed at once even before he was introduced when I was in the D B C with Poldy laughing and trying
to listen I was waggling my foot we both ordered 2 teas and plain bread and butter I saw him looking with his two old maids of sisters when I stood up and asked the girl where it was what do I care with it dropping out of me and that black closed breeches he made me buy takes you half an hour to let them down wetting all myself always
with some brandnew fad every other week such a long
one I did I forgot my suede gloves on the seat behind that
I never got after some robber of a woman and he wanted me to put it in the Irish times lost in the ladies lavatory D B C Dame street finder return to Mrs Marion Bloom and I saw his eyes on my feet going out through the turning door he was looking when I looked back and I went there for tea 2 days after in the hope but he wasnt now how did that excite him because I wa s crossing them when we
were in the other room first he meant the shoes that are too tight to walk in my hand is nice like that if I only had a ring with the stone for my month a nice aquamarine Ill stick him for one and a gold bracelet I dont like my foot
Ulysses
1232 of 1305 so much still I made him spend once with my foot the
night after Goodwins botchup of a concert so cold and
windy it was well we had that rum in the house to mull and the fire wasnt black out when he asked to take off my stockings lying on the hearthrug in Lombard street west and another time it was my muddy boots hed like me to walk in all the horses dung I could find but of course hes not natural like the rest of the world that I what did he say I could give 9 points in 10 to Katty Lanner and beat her what does that mean I aske d him I forget what he said
because the stoppress edition just passed and the man with the curly hair in the Lucan dairy thats so polite I think I
saw his face before somewhere I noticed him when I was
tasting the butter so I took my time Bartell dArcy too that he used to make fun of when he commenced kissing me
on the choir stairs after I sang Gounods Ave Maria what
are we waiting for O my heart kiss me straight on the brow and part which is my brown part he was pretty hot for all his tinny voice too my low notes he was always
raving about if you can believe him I liked the way he used his mouth singing then he said wasnt it terrible to do that there in a place like that I dont see anything so terrible about it Ill tell him about that some day not now
and surprise him ay and Ill take him there and show him
Ulysses
1233 of 1305 the very place too we did it so now there you are like it or
lump it he thinks nothing can happen without him knowing he hadnt an idea about my mother till we were engaged otherwise hed never hav e got me so cheap as he
did he was lo times worse himself anyhow begging me to give him a tiny bit cut off my drawers that was the evening coming along Kenilworth square he kissed me in the eye of my glove and I had to take it off asking me questions is it permitted to enquire the shape of my bedroom so I let him keep it as if I forgot it to think of me
when I saw him slip it into his pocket of course hes mad on the subject of drawers thats plain to be seen always
skeezing at those brazenfaced things on the bicycles with
their skirts blowing up to their navels even when Milly and I were out with him at the open air fete that one in
the cream muslin standing right against the sun so he could see every atom she had on when he saw me from
behind following in the rain I saw him before he saw me however standing at the corner of the Harolds cross road
with a new raincoat on him with the muffler in the Zingari colours to show off his complexion and the brown
Molly Bloom's Erotic Recollections
- Molly reflects on the double standards of men who demand to know a woman's whereabouts while pursuing their own clandestine affairs.
- She recalls a specific encounter in the rain where she teased a suitor, negotiating his advances while managing the risk of public discovery.
- The narrative explores the contrast between a man's 'company manners' and the explicit, 'savage' desires revealed in private letters and physical intimacy.
- Molly compares the techniques and temperaments of various lovers, noting a preference for those who understand the art of making love over those who are clumsy or rushed.
- The passage captures the domestic anxiety of unexpected visitors and the performative nature of maintaining appearances while managing secret trysts.
I was dying to find out was he circumcised he was shaking like a jelly all over they want to do everything too quick take all the pleasure out of it
hat looking slyboots as usual what was he doing there
where hed no business they can go and get whatever they like from anything at all with a skirt on it and were not to
Ulysses
1234 of 1305 ask any questions but they want to know where were you
where are you going I could feel him coming along
skulking after me his eyes on my neck he had been keeping away from the house he felt it was getting too warm for him so I halfturned and stopped then he pestered me to say yes till I took off my glove slowly watching him he said my openwork sleeves were too cold for the rain
anything for an excuse to put his hand anear me drawers drawers the whole blessed time till I promised to give him the pair off my doll to carry about in his waistcoat pocket
O Maria Santisima he did look a big fool dreeping in the
rain splendid set of teeth he had made me hungry to look
at them and beseeched of me to lift the orange petticoat I
had on with the sunray plea ts that there was nobody he
said hed kneel down in the wet if I didnt so persevering he would too and ruin his ne w raincoat you never know
what freak theyd take alone with you theyre so savage for it if anyone was passing so I lifted them a bit and touched
his trousers outside the way I used to Gardner after with
my ring hand to keep him from doing worse where it was too public I was dying to find out was he circumcised he was shaking like a jelly all over they want to do everything too quick take all the pleasure out of it and father waiting
all the time for his dinner he told me to say I left my purse
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1235 of 1305 in the butchers and had to go back for it what a Deceiver
then he wrote me that letter with all those words in it how could he have the face to any woman after his company manners making it so awkward after when we met asking me have I offended you with my eyelids down of course he saw I wasnt he had a few brains not like that other fool Henny Doyle he was always breaking or tearing
something in the charades I hate an unlucky man and if I knew what it meant of course I had to say no for form
sake dont understand you I said and wasnt it natural so it is of course it used to be written up with a picture of a womans on that wall in Gibralta r with that word I couldnt
find anywhere only for children seeing it too young then
writing every morning a letter sometimes twice a day I liked the way he made love then he knew the way to take
a woman when he sent me the 8 big poppies because mine was the 8th then I wrote the night he kissed my heart at Dolphins barn I cou ldnt describe it simply it
makes you feel like nothing on earth but he never knew
how to embrace well like Gardner I hope hell come on
Monday as he said at the sa me time four I hate people
who come at all hours answer the door you think its the vegetables then its somebody and you all undressed or the door of the filthy sloppy kitchen blows open the day old
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1236 of 1305 frostyface Goodwin called about the concert in Lombard
street and I just after dinner all flushed and tossed with boiling old stew dont look at me professor I had to say Im
a fright yes but he was a real old gent in his way it was
impossible to be more respect ful nobody to say youre out
you have to peep out through the blind like the messengerboy today I thought it was a putoff first him sending the port and the peaches first and I was just beginning to yawn with nerves thinking he was trying to make a fool of me when I knew his tattarrattat at the door he must have been a bit late because it was l/4 after 3 when I saw the 2 Dedalus girls coming from school I
never know the time even that watch he gave me never
Molly Bloom's Train of Thought
- Molly reflects on the logistical complications of her upcoming trip to Belfast and her husband Leopold's trip to Ennis.
- She recalls a humorous and stubborn incident where Leopold insisted on finishing boiling soup while a train was departing.
- Molly contemplates the thrill of travel and the possibility of a romantic encounter in a first-class carriage.
- She reminisces about her singing career and the social maneuvers Leopold used to secure her performances.
- Molly expresses disdain for contemporary Irish politics and Sinn Fein, contrasting them with her memories of British soldiers.
he walks down the platform with the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it hadnt he the nerve and the waiter after him making a holy show of us screeching and confusion for the engine to start but he wouldnt pay till he finished it
seems to go properly Id want to get it looked after when I
threw the penny to that lame sailor for England home and beauty when I was whistling there is a charming girl I love and I hadnt even put on my clean shift or powdered myself or a thing then this da y week were to go to Belfast
just as well he has to go to Ennis his fathers anniversary the 27th it wouldnt be pleasant if he did suppose our rooms at the hotel were beside each ot her and any fooling went on
in the new bed I couldnt tell him to stop and not bother me with him in the next room or perhaps some protestant
clergyman with a cough knocking on the wall then hed
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1237 of 1305 never believe the next day we didnt do something its all
very well a husband but you cant fool a lover after me telling him we never did anything of course he didnt believe me no its better hes going where he is besides
something always happens with him the time going to the Mallow concert at Maryborough ordering boiling soup for the two of us then the bell r ang out he walks down the
platform with the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it hadnt he the nerve and the waiter after him making a holy show of us screeching and confusion for the engine
to start but he wouldnt pay till he finished it the two gentlemen in the 3rd class carriage said he was quite right
so he was too hes so pighead ed sometimes when he gets a
thing into his head a good jo b he was able to open the
carriage door with his knife or theyd have taken us on to Cork I suppose that was done out of revenge on him O I love jaunting in a train or a car with lovely soft cushions I wonder will he take a 1st class for me he might want to do
it in the train by tipping the guard well O I suppose therell be the usual idiots of men gaping at us with their eyes as stupid as ever they can possibly be that was an exceptional man that common workman that left us alone in the
carriage that day going to Howth Id like to find out something about him l or 2 tunnels perhaps then you have
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1238 of 1305 to look out of the window all the nicer then coming back
suppose I never came back what would they say eloped with him that gets you on on the stage the last concert I sang at where its over a year ago when was it St Teresas hall Clarendon St little chits of missies they have now singing Kathleen Kearney and her like on account of father being in the army and my singing the absentminded beggar and wearing a brooch for Lord Roberts when I had the map of it all and Poldy not Irish enough was it him managed it this time I wouldnt put it past him like he got
me on to sing in the Stabat Mater by going around saying
he was putting Lead Kindly Light to music I put him up
to that till the jesuits found out he was a freemason
thumping the piano lead Thou me on copied from some old opera yes and he was go ing about with some of them
Sinner Fein lately or whatever they call themselves talking his usual trash and nonsense he says that little man he showed me without the neck is very intelligent the coming man Griffiths is he well he doesnt look it thats all I can say still it must have been him he knew there was a boycott I hate the mention of their politics after the war
that Pretoria and Ladysmith and Bloemfontein where Gardner lieut Stanley G 8th Bn 2nd East Lancs Rgt of enteric fever he was a lovely fellow in khaki and just the
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Molly Bloom's Military Memories
- Molly recalls a romantic farewell at a canal lock with a soldier she calls her Irish beauty.
- She criticizes the pointlessness of war and the old men like Kruger who send young men to die of fever.
- The narrative shifts to her admiration for military pageantry, specifically the Spanish cavalry and the Black Watch.
- Molly contemplates her current companion's wealth, his stylish clothes, and his anger over losing money on a horse race.
- She reflects on social etiquette and the desire for luxury items like hallmarked silver and fine Belfast linen.
- The stream of consciousness reveals her frank observations on male behavior and her own physical desires.
I love to see a regiment pass in review the first time I saw the Spanish cavalry at La Roque it was lovely after looking across the bay from Algeciras all the lights of the rock like fireflies
1239 of 1305 right height over me Im sure he was brave too he said I
was lovely the evening we kissed goodbye at the canal lock my Irish beauty he was pale with excitement about going away or wed be seen from the road he couldnt stand properly and I so hot as I never felt they could have made their peace in the beginning or old oom Paul and the rest of the other old Krugers go and fight it out between them
instead of dragging on for years killing any finelooking men there were with their fever if he was even decently shot it wouldnt have been so bad I love to see a regiment
pass in review the first time I saw the Spanish cavalry at La Roque it was lovely after l ooking across the bay from
Algeciras all the lights of the rock like fireflies or those
sham battles on the 15 acres the Black Watch with their
kilts in time at the march past the 10th hussars the prince of Wales own or the lancers O the lancers theyre grand or the Dublins that won Tugela his father made his money over selling the horses for the cavalry well he could buy me a nice present up in Belfast after what I gave him theyve lovely linen up there or one of those nice kimono things I must buy a mothball like I had before to keep in the drawer with them it would be exciting going round with him shopping buying those things in a new city better leave this ring behind want to keep turning and
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1240 of 1305 turning to get it over the knuckle there or they might bell
it round the town in their papers or tell the police on me but theyd think were married O let them all go and
smother themselves for the fat lot I care he has plenty of money and hes not a marrying man so somebody better get it out of him if I could find out whether he likes me I looked a bit washy of course when I looked close in the handglass powdering a mirror never gives you the expression besides scrooching do wn on me like that all the
time with his big hipbones hes heavy too with his hairy chest for this heat always having to lie down for them
better for him put it into me from behind the way Mrs
Mastiansky told me her husband made her like the dogs do
it and stick out her tongue as far as ever she could and he so quiet and mild with his tingating cither can you ever be up to men the way it takes them lovely stuff in that blue suit he had on and stylish tie and socks with the skyblue silk things on them hes cert ainly well off I know by the
cut his clothes have and his he avy watch but he was like a
perfect devil for a few minutes after he came back with the stoppress tearing up the tickets and swearing blazes because he lost 20 quid he said he lost over that outsider that won
and half he put on for me on account of Lenehans tip cursing him to the lowest pits that sponger he was making
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1241 of 1305 free with me after the Glencree dinner coming back that
long joult over the featherb ed mountain after the lord
Mayor looking at me with his dirty eyes Val Dillon that big heathen I first noticed him at dessert when I was cracking the nuts with my teeth I wished I could have picked every morsel of that ch icken out of my fingers it
was so tasty and browned and as tender as anything only for I didnt want to eat everyt hing on my plate those forks
and fishslicers were hallmarked silver too I wish I had some I could easily have s lipped a couple into my muff
when I was playing with them then always hanging out of
them for money in a restauran t for the bit you put down
your throat we have to be thankful for our mangy cup of
Molly Bloom's Material Reflections
- Molly contemplates her physical appearance, worrying about her weight and the aging of her skin.
- She critiques the quality of goods and gifts received, from laddered stockings to flat stout and cheap wine.
- The narrative explores the social necessity of style and the harsh judgment women face when they lack a male partner or fine clothes.
- Molly calculates her remaining years of youth, weighing her age against other women like Mrs. Galbraith.
- She expresses a desire for luxury and a rejection of 'measuring and mincing' when it comes to household spending.
God spare his spit for fear hed die of the drouth or I must do a few breathing exercises I wonder is that antifat any good might overdo it the thin ones are not so much the fashion now
tea itself as a great complime nt to be noticed the way the
world is divided in any case if its going to go on I want at least two other good chemises for one thing and but I dont know what kind of draw ers he likes none at all I
think didnt he say yes and half the girls in Gibraltar never wore them either naked as God made them that Andalusian singing her Manola she didnt make much secret of what she hadnt yes and the second pair of silkette stockings is laddered after one days wear I could have brought them back to Lewers this morning and kicked up a row and made that one change them only not to upset
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1242 of 1305 myself and run the risk of walking into him and ruining
the whole thing and one of those kidfitting corsets Id want advertised cheap in the Gentlewoman with elastic gores on the hips he saved the one I have but thats no good what
did they say they give a delightful figure line 11/6 obviating that unsightly broad appearance across the lower
back to reduce flesh my belly is a bit too big Ill have to
knock off the stout at dinner or am I getting too fond of it the last they sent from ORourkes was as flat as a pancake he makes his money easy Larry they call him the old mangy parcel he sent at Xmas a cottage cake and a bottle of hogwash he tried to palm off as claret that he couldnt
get anyone to drink God spare hi s spit for fear hed die of
the drouth or I must do a few breathing exercises I wonder is that antifat any good might overdo it the thin ones are not so much the fashion now garters that much I have the violet pair I wore to day thats all he bought me
out of the cheque he got on the first O no there was the face lotion I finished the last of yesterday that made my skin like new I told him over and over again get that made
up in the same place and d ont forget it God only knows
whether he did after all I said to him 111 know by the bottle anyway if not I suppose 111 only have to wash in my piss like beeftea or chickensoup with some of that
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1243 of 1305 opoponax and violet I thought it was beginning to look
coarse or old a bit the skin underneath is much finer
where it peeled off there on my finger after the burn its a pity it isnt all like that and the four paltry handkerchiefs
about 6/- in all sure you cant get on in this world without
style all going in food and rent when I get it Ill lash it
around I tell you in fine style I always want to throw a handful of tea into the pot measuring and mincing if I buy a pair of old brogues itself do you like those new shoes yes how much were they Ive no clothes at all the brown costume and the skirt and jacket and the one at the cleaners 3 whats that for any woman cutting up this old
hat and patching up the other the men wont look at you
and women try to walk on you because they know youve no man then with all the thin gs getting dearer every day
for the 4 years more I have of lif e up to 35 no Im what am
I at all 111 be 33 in September will I what O well look at that Mrs Galbraith shes much older than me I saw her when I was out last week her beautys on the wane she was
a lovely woman magnificent head of hair on her down to her waist tossing it back like that like Kitty OShea in
Grantham street 1st thing I did every morning to look across see her combing it as if she loved it and was full of it
pity I only got to know her the day before we left and that
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Molly's Musings on Men and Fashion
- Molly reflects on the scandals of the aristocracy, specifically the Prince of Wales and his rumored affair with the 'Jersey Lily' Lillie Langtry.
- She criticizes the crude and unrealistic nature of the erotic and Rabelaisian literature Bloom brings home, finding the depictions of women and childbirth absurd.
- Molly expresses frustration with Bloom's lack of professional ambition and his preference for 'plottering' about the house rather than securing a stable bank or office job.
- She recounts a past attempt to help Bloom's career at Mr. Cuffe's, recalling her self-consciousness about her dress and the subtle flirtation that occurred with her employer.
- The narrative highlights Molly's disdain for Bloom's unsolicited advice on her fashion choices, which she finds impractical and aesthetically displeasing.
I hate that pretending of all things with that old blackguards face on him anybody can see its not true.
1244 of 1305 Mrs Langtry the jersey lily the prince of Wales was in love
with I suppose hes like the first man going the roads only for the name of a king theyre all made the one way only a black mans Id like to try a beauty up to what was she 45 there was some funny story about the jealous old husband what was it at all and an oyst er knife he went no he made
her wear a kind of a tin thing round her and the prince of Wales yes he had the oyster knif e cant be true a thing like
that like some of those books he brings me the works of Master Francois Somebody suppo sed to be a priest about a
child born out of her ear bec ause her bumgut fell out a
nice word for any priest to write and her aâe as if any
fool wouldnt know what that meant I hate that pretending
of all things with that old blackguards face on him anybody can see its not true and that Ruby and Fair Tyrants he brought me that twice I remem ber when I
came to page 5 o the part about where she hangs him up out of a hook with a cord flagellate sure theres nothing for a woman in that all inventi on made up about he drinking
the champagne out of her slipper after the ball was over like the infant Jesus in the crib at Inchicore in the Blessed Virgins arms sure no woman could have a child that big taken out of her and I thought first it came out of her side because how could she go to the chamber when she
Ulysses
1245 of 1305 wanted to and she a rich lady of course she felt honoured
H R H he was in Gibraltar the year I was born I bet he found lilies there too where he planted the tree he planted more than that in his time he might have planted me too
if hed come a bit sooner then I wouldnt be here as I am he ought to chuck that Freeman with the paltry few shillings he knocks out of it and go into an office or something where hed get regul ar pay or a bank where
they could put him up on a throne to count the money all the day of course he prefers plottering about the house so you cant stir with him any side whats your programme today I wish hed even smoke a pipe like father to get the .
smell of a man or pretending to be mooching about for
advertisements when he could have been in Mr Cuffes still only for what he did then sen ding me to try and patch it
up I could have got him promoted there to be the manager he gave me a great mirada once or twice first he was as stiff as the mischief really and truly Mrs Bloom only
I felt rotten simply with the old rubbishy dress that I lost the leads out of the tails with no cut in it but theyre coming into fashion again I bought it simply to please him I knew it was no good by the finish pity I changed my mind of going to Todd and Bums as I said and not Lees it was just like the shop itself rummage sale a lot of trash I
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1246 of 1305 hate those rich shops get on y our nerves nothing kills me
altogether only he thinks he knows a great lot about a womans dress and cooking mathering everything he can scour off the shelves into it if I went by his advices every blessed hat I put on does that suit me yes take that thats alright the one like a weddingc ake standing up miles off
my head he said suited me or the dishcover one coming down on my backside on pin s and needles about the
shopgirl in that place in Grafton street I had the misfortune to bring him into and she as insolent as ever
she could be with her smirk saying Im afraid were giving you too much trouble what shes there for but I stared it
out of her yes he was awfully stiff and no wonder but he
changed the second time he looked Poldy pigheaded as usual like the soup but I could see him looking very hard at my chest when he stood up to open the door for me it
was nice of him to show me out in any case Im extremely sorry Mrs Bloom believe me without making it too
marked the first time after him being insulted and me being supposed to be his wife I just half smiled I know my chest was out that way at the door when he said Im extremely sorry and Im sure you were
Molly Bloom's Bodily Reflections
- Molly reflects on the physical sensations of breastfeeding and the lingering effects of her husband Leopold's physical attention.
- She contrasts the aesthetic beauty of the female form with what she perceives as the grotesque and exposed nature of male anatomy.
- The narrative recalls past financial struggles, including Leopold's suggestion that she pose naked for a wealthy patron or work as a wet nurse.
- Molly criticizes Leopold's inability to explain complex concepts simply, noting his tendency to use 'jawbreakers' about philosophy while failing at basic tasks.
- She expresses a sense of power and exhaustion regarding male desire, noting that men are like 'big infants' who want everything in their mouths.
I declare somebody ought to put him in the budget if I only could remember the half of the things and write a book out of it the works of Master Poldy
yes I think he made them a bit firmer sucking them like
that so long he made me thir sty titties he calls them I had
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1247 of 1305 to laugh yes this one anyhow stiff the nipple gets for the
least thing Ill get him to keep that up and Ill take those eggs beaten up with marsala fatten them out for him what
are all those veins and things curious the way its made 2 the same in case of twins theyre supposed to represent beauty placed up there like those statues in the museum one of them pretending to hide it with her hand are they so beautiful of course compared with what a man looks like with his two bags full and his other thing hanging down out of him or sticking up at you like a hatrack no
wonder they hide it with a cabbageleaf that disgusting Cameron highlander behind the meat market or that other
wretch with the red head behi nd the tree where the statue
of the fish used to be when I was passing pretending he
was pissing standing out for me to see it with his
babyclothes up to one side the Queens own they were a
nice lot its well the Surreys relieved them theyre always trying to show it to you every time nearly I passed outside the mens greenhouse near the Harcourt street station just to try some fellow or other tryi ng to catch my eye as if it
was I of the 7 wonders of the world O and the stink of those rotten places the night coming home with Poldy after the Comerfords party oranges and lemonade to make you feel nice and watery I went into r of them it was so
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1248 of 1305 biting cold I couldnt keep it when was that 93 the canal
was frozen yes it was a few mont hs after a pity a couple of
the Camerons werent there to see me squatting in the mens place meadero I tried to draw a picture of it before I tore it up like a sausage or something I wonder theyre not afraid going about of getting a kick or a bang of something there the woman is beauty of course thats admitted when
he said I could pose for a picture naked to some rich fellow in Holles street when he lost the job in Helys and I was selling the clothes and strumming in the coffee palace would I be like that bath of the nymph with my hair down yes only shes younger or Im a little like that dirty
bitch in that Spanish photo he has nymphs used they go
about like that I asked him ab out her and that word met
something with hoses in it and he came out with some jawbreakers about the incarnat ion he never can explain a
thing simply the way a body can understand then he goes and burns the bottom out of the pan all for his Kidney this
one not so much theres the mark of his teeth still where
he tried to bite the nipple I had to scream out arent they fearful trying to hurt you I had a great breast of milk with
Milly enough for two what was the reason of that he said I
could have got a pound a week as a wet nurse all swelled
out the morning that delicate looking student that stopped
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1249 of 1305 in no 28 with the Citrons Penrose nearly caught me
washing through the window only for I snapped up the towel to my face that was his studenting hurt me they used to weaning her till he got doctor Brady to give me the belladonna prescription I had to get him to suck them they were so hard he said it was sweeter and thicker than cows then he wanted to m ilk me into the tea well hes
beyond everything I declare somebody ought to put him in the budget if I only cou ld remember the I half of the
things and write a book out of it the works of Master
Poldy yes and its so much smoother the skin much an hour he was at them Im sure by the clock like some kind
of a big infant I had at me they want everything in their
mouth all the pleasure thos e men get out of a woman I
can feel his mouth O Lord I must stretch myself I wished
Molly Bloom's Sensory Stream
- Molly reflects on the intense physical pleasure and raw sexual release of her recent encounter.
- She observes the contrast between men who talk too much and those who act with silent, savage intensity.
- The sound of a distant train whistle evokes thoughts of industrial strength and the lonely lives of working men.
- Molly describes her domestic management, including clearing out old newspapers and overcoats to cool the house.
- Memories of Gibraltar surface, triggered by the heat and the smell of rain on sun-baked rock.
- She recalls a letter from her friend Hester, reminiscing about Parisian fashion, tea, and past flirtations.
O Lord I wanted to shout out all sorts of things fuck or shit or anything at all only not to look ugly or those lines from the strain who knows the way hed take it
he was here or somebody to let myself go with and come again like that I feel all fire inside me or if I could dream it when he made me spend the 2nd time tickling me behind with his finger I was coming for about 5 minutes with my legs round him I had to hug hi m after O Lord I wanted to
shout out all sorts of things fuck or shit or anything at all only not to look ugly or those lines from the strain who knows the way hed take it you want to feel your way with a man theyre not all like him thank God some of them
Ulysses
1250 of 1305 want you to be so nice about it I noticed the contrast he
does it and doesnt talk I gave my eyes that look with my
hair a bit loose from the tum bling and my tongue between
my lips up to him the savage brute Thursday Friday one
Saturday two Sunday three O Lord I cant wait till Monday
frseeeeeeeefronnnng train somewhere whistling the
strength those engines have in them like big giants and the water rolling all over and out of them all sides like the end
of Loves old sweeeetsonnnng the poor men that have to
be out all the night from their wives and families in those roasting engines stifling it was today Im glad I burned the half of those old Freemans and Photo Bits leaving things
like that lying about hes getting very careless and threw
the rest of them up in the W C 111 get him to cut them tomorrow for me instead of having them there for the next year to get a few pe nce for them have him asking
wheres last Januarys paper and all those old overcoats I bundled out of the hall making th e place hotter than it is
that rain was lovely and refreshing just after my beauty sleep I thought it was going to get like Gibraltar my goodness the heat there befo re the levanter came on black
as night and the glare of the rock standing up in it like a big giant compared with their 3 Rock mountain they think is so great with the red sentries here and there the
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1251 of 1305 poplars and they all whitehot and the smell of the
rainwater in those tanks watc hing the sun all the time
weltering down on you faded all that lovely frock fathers friend Mrs Stanhope sent me from the B Marche paris
what a shame my dearest Doggerina she wrote on it she was very nice whats this her other name was just a p c to tell you I sent the little present have just had a jolly warm bath and feel a very clean dog now enjoyed it wogger she called him wogger wd give anything to be back in Gib and hear you sing Waiting and in old Madrid Concone is the name of those exercises he bought me one of those
new some word I couldnt make out shawls amusing things
but tear for the least thing still there lovely I think dont
you will always think of the lovely teas we had together scrumptious currant scones and raspberry wafers I adore
well now dearest Doggerina be sure and write soon kind she left out regards to your father also captain Grove with love yrs affly Hester x x x x x she didnt look a bit married just like a girl he was years older than her wogger he was awfully fond of me when he held down the wire with his foot for me to step over at th e bullfight at La Linea when
that matador Gomez was given the bulls ear these clothes we have to wear whoever inve nted them expecting you to
walk up Killiney hill then for example at that picnic all
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Molly Bloom's Vivid Memories
- Molly recalls the visceral and violent spectacle of a Spanish bullfight and the cruelty shown toward the horses.
- She reminisces about her intimate friendship with Hester and the youthful games they played before life felt old.
- The narrative captures the electric moment of a first romantic encounter on the Alameda esplanade.
- Molly reflects on her literary tastes and the physical discomforts of heat and aging in her current bed.
- The departure of friends and the sight of officers on shore leave evoke a sense of stagnant isolation and a desire to escape.
I looked up at the church first and then at the windows then down and our eyes met I felt something go through me like all needles
1252 of 1305 staysed up you cant do a blessed thing in them in a crowd
run or jump out of the way thats why I was afraid when that other ferocious old Bu ll began to charge the
banderilleros with the sashes and the 2 things in their hats and the brutes of men shouting bravo toro sure the women were as bad in thei r nice white mantillas ripping
all the whole insides out of those poor horses I never heard of such a thing in all my life yes he used to break his heart at me taking off the dog barking in bell lane poor brute and it sick what became of them ever I suppose theyre dead long ago the 2 of them its like all through a
mist makes you feel so old I made the scones of course I
had everything all to myself then a girl Hester we used to
compare our hair mine was th icker than hers she showed
me how to settle it at the back when I put it up and whats this else how to make a knot on a thread with the one hand we were like cousins what age was I then the night
of the storm I slept in her bed she had her arms round me then we were fighting in the morning with the pillow
what fun he was watching me whenever he got an opportunity at the band on the Alameda esplanade when I was with father and captain Grove I looked up at the church first and then at the windows then down and our eyes met I felt something go through me like all needles
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1253 of 1305 my eyes were dancing I remem ber after when I looked at
myself in the glass hardly rec ognised myself the change he
was attractive to a girl in spite of his being a little bald intelligent looking disappointed and gay at the same time
he was like Thomas in the shadow of Ashlydyat I had a splendid skin from the sun and the excitement like a rose I
didnt get a wink of sleep it w ouldnt have been nice on
account of her but I could have stopped it in time she gave me the Moonstone to read that was the first I read of Wilkie Collins East Lynne I read and the shadow of Ashlydyat Mrs Henry Wood He nry Dunbar by that other
woman I lent him afterwards with Mulveys photo in it so
as he see I wasnt without and Lord Lytton Eugene Aram
Molly bawn she gave me by Mrs Hungerford on account
of the name I dont like books with a Molly in them like
that one he brought me about the one from Flanders a whore always shoplifting anything she could cloth and stuff and yards of it O this blanket is too heavy on me thats better I havent even one decent nightdress this thing gets all rolled under me besides him and his fooling thats better I used to be weltering then in the heat my shift drenched with the sweat stuck in the cheeks of my bottom on the chair when I stood up they we re so fattish and firm when
I got up on the sofa cushions to see with my clothes up
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1254 of 1305 and the bugs tons of them at night and the mosquito nets I
couldnt read a line Lord how long ago it seems centuries of course they never came back and she didnt put her address right on it either she may have noticed her wogger people were always going aw ay and we never I remember
that day with the waves and the boats with their high heads rocking and the smell of ship those Officers uniforms on shore leave made me seasick he didnt say anything he was very serious I had the high buttoned boots on and my skirt was blo wing she kissed me six or
seven times didnt I cry yes I belie ve I did or near it my lips
were taittering when I said goodbye she had a Gorgeous
wrap of some special kind of blue colour on her for the
voyage made very peculiarly to one side like and it was extremely pretty it got as dull as the devil after they went I was almost planning to run aw ay mad out of it somewhere
were never easy where we are father or aunt or marriage
Molly Bloom's Stream of Memory
- Molly reflects on the sensory chaos of military life, from the booming of ceremonial guns to the smell of soldiers' mess tins.
- She recalls the social dynamics of men like Captain Groves, whose drunken storytelling and false compliments she views with cynical detachment.
- The narrative captures a profound sense of isolation and boredom, where days feel like years and she resorts to mailing herself empty letters.
- Molly criticizes the perceived intelligence of men, suggesting they are oblivious to subtle social cues and romantic signals.
- She navigates a mental catalog of past acquaintances and domestic updates, ranging from Canadian recipes to the deaths of old friends.
- The passage highlights the mundane frustrations of daily life, such as swindling coalmen and the repetitive nature of household advertisements.
the days like years not a letter from a living soul except the odd few I posted to myself with bits of paper in them so bored sometimes I could fight with my nails
waiting always waiting to guiiiide him toooo me waiting nor speeeed his flying feet their damn guns bursting and booming all over the shop especially the Queens birthday and throwing everything down in all directions if you didnt open the windows when general Ulysses Grant whoever he was or did suppose d to be some great fellow
landed off the ship and old Sprague the consul that was
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1255 of 1305 there from before the flood dressed up poor man and he in
mourning for the son then the same old bugles for reveille
in the morning and drums rolling and the unfortunate poor devils of soldiers walking about with messtins smelling the place more than the old longbearded jews in their jellibees and levites assembly and sound clear and gunfire for the men to cross the lines and the warden marching with his keys to lo ck the gates and the bagpipes
and only captain Groves and father talking about Rorkes drift and Plevna and sir Garnet Wolseley and Gordon at Khartoum lighting their pipes for them everytime they went out drunken old devil with his grog on the
windowsill catch him leaving any of it picking his nose
trying to think of some other dirty story to tell up in a corner but he never forgot himself when I was there sending me out of the room on some blind excuse paying
his compliments the Bushmills whisky talking of course
but hed do the same to the ne xt woman that came along I
suppose he died of galloping drink ages ago the days like years not a letter from a living soul except the odd few I posted to myself with bits of paper in them so bored
sometimes I could fight with my nails listening to that old Arab with the one eye and hi s heass of an instrument
singing his heah heah aheah a ll my compriments on your
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1256 of 1305 hotchapotch of your heass as bad as now with the hands
hanging off me looking out of the window if there was a
nice fellow even in the oppo site house that medical in
Holles street the nurse was after when I put on my gloves and hat at the window to s how I was going out not a
notion what I meant arent they thick never understand what you say even youd want to print it up on a big poster for them not even if you shake hands twice with
the left he didnt recognise me either when I half frowned at him outside Westland row chapel where does their great intelligence come in Id like to know grey matter they have it all in their tail if you ask me those country
gougers up in the City Arms intelligence they had a damn
sight less than the bulls and cows they were selling the meat and the coalmans bell t hat noisy bugger trying to
swindle me with the wrong bill he took out of his hat what a pair of paws and pots and pans and kettles to mend
any broken bottles for a poor man today and no visitors or
post ever except his cheques or some advertisement like that wonderworker they sent him addressed dear Madam only his letter and the card from Milly this morning see she wrote a letter to him who did I get the last letter from
O Mrs Dwenn now what possessed her to write from Canada after so many years to know the recipe I had for
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1257 of 1305 pisto madrileno Floey Dillon since she wrote to say she
was married to a very rich arch itect if Im to believe all I
hear with a villa and eight rooms her father was an awfully nice man he was near seventy always goodhumoured well now Miss Tweedy or Miss Gillespie theres the piannyer that was a solid silver coffee service he had too on the mahogany sideboard then dying so far away I hate people that have always their poor story to tell everybody has their own troubles that poor Nancy Blake died a month ago of acute neumonia well I didnt know her so well as all that she was Floeys friend mo re than mine poor Nancy its
a bother having to answer he always tells me the wrong
things and no stops to say like making a speech your sad
Molly Bloom's Romantic Recollections
- Molly reflects on the emotional power of receiving love letters and how they transform one's perception of the world.
- She criticizes the formulaic and overly formal writing styles found in letter-writing guides, preferring simple words that can be interpreted freely.
- The narrative shifts to her memories of Mrs. Rubio, a judgmental and religious servant in Gibraltar who disapproved of Molly's habits.
- Molly recalls the excitement of her first romantic encounter with Mulvey, including the thrill of receiving his secret letter.
- She describes her youthful flirtations and the fabrication of a Spanish suitor to impress Mulvey during their early courtship.
- The passage highlights Molly's anxiety about aging and the fleeting nature of a woman's social value.
true or no it fills up your whole day and life always something to think about every moment and see it all round you like a new world
bereavement symphathy I always make that mistake and newphew with 2 double yous in I hope hell write me a longer letter the next time if its a thing he really likes me O thanks be to the great God I got somebody to give me what I badly wanted to put so me heart up into me youve
no chances at all in this pla ce like you used long ago I
wish somebody would write me a loveletter his wasnt
much and I told him he could write what he liked yours
ever Hugh Boylan in old Madr id stuff silly women believe
love is sighing I am dying still if he wrote it I suppose thered be some truth in it true or no it fills up your whole
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1258 of 1305 day and life always someth ing to think about every
moment and see it all round you like a new world I could write the answer in bed to let him imagine me short just a
few words not those long crossed letters Atty Dillon used to write to the fellow that was something in the four courts that jilted her after out of the ladies letterwriter
when I told her to say a few simple words he could twist how he liked not acting with precipat precip itancy with equal candour the greatest earthly happiness answer to a gentlemans proposal affirmatively my goodness theres nothing else its all very fine for them but as for being a woman as soon as youre old they might as well throw you
out in the bottom of the ashpit.
Mulveys was the first when I was in bed that morning
and Mrs Rubio brought it in with the coffee she stood there standing when I asked her to hand me and I pointing at them I couldnt think of the word a hairpin to open it with ah horquilla disobliging old thing and it staring her in the face with her switch of fa lse hair on her and vain about
her appearance ugly as she was near 80 or a loo her face a
mass of wrinkles with all her re ligion domineering because
she never could get over the Atlantic fleet coming in half the ships of the world and the Union Jack flying with all her carabineros because 4 drunk en English sailors took all
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1259 of 1305 the rock from them and because I didnt run into mass
often enough in Santa Maria to please her with her shawl
up on her except when there was a marriage on with all her miracles of the saints and her black blessed virgin with the silver dress and the sun dancing 3 times on Easter Sunday morning and when the priest was going by with the bell bringing the vatican to the dying blessing herself for his Majestad an ad mirer he signed it I near jumped out
of my skin I wanted to pick him up when I saw him following me along the Calle Real in the shop window then he tipped me just in passing but I never thought hed
write making an appointment I had it inside my petticoat
bodice all day reading it up in every hole and corner while
father was up at the drill instr ucting to find out by the
handwriting or the language of stamps singing I remember
shall I wear a white rose and I wanted to put on the old
stupid clock to near the time he was the fi rst man kissed
me under the Moorish wall my sweetheart when a boy it never entered my head what kissing meant till he put his
tongue in my mouth his mouth was sweetlike young I put my knee up to him a few times to learn the way what did I tell him I was engaged for for fun to the son of a Spanish nobleman named Don Miguel de la Flora and he believed me that I was to be married to him in 3 years time theres
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1260 of 1305 many a true word spoken in jest there is a flower that
bloometh a few things I told him true about myself just for
Molly Bloom's Gibraltar Memories
- Molly recalls a youthful romantic encounter with a lieutenant named Mulvey on the cliffs of Gibraltar.
- She describes the physical landscape of the Rock including St. Michael's cave, the Barbary apes, and the high galleries.
- The narrative details her deliberate efforts to entice him through her dress and physical proximity while maintaining certain boundaries.
- She reflects on the anxieties of the encounter, including fears of pregnancy and the physical mechanics of their intimacy.
- The memory is characterized by a fluid stream of consciousness that blends sensory details with past anxieties and desires.
- Molly concludes the recollection by struggling to remember his exact name, eventually settling on Harry Mulvey.
I loved rousing that dog in the hotel rrrsssstt awokwokawok his eyes shut and a bird flying below us he was shy all the same I liked him like that moaning I made him blush a little
him to be imagining the Spanish girls he didnt like I suppose one of them wouldnt have him I got him excited he crushed all the flowers on my bosom he brought me he couldnt count the pesetas and the perragordas till I taught him Cappoquin he came from he said on the black water but it was too short then the day before he left May yes it was May when the infant king of Spain was born Im always like that in the spring Id like a new fellow every year up on the tiptop under the rockgun near OHaras tower I told him it was struc k by lightning and all about
the old Barbary apes they sent to Clapham without a tail
careering all over the show on each others back Mrs Rubio said she was a regula r old rock scorpion robbing
the chickens out of Inces farm and throw stones at you if you went anear he was lookin g at me I had that white
blouse on open in the front to encourage him as much as I
could without too openly they were just beginning to be plump I said I was tired we lay over the firtree cove a wild place I suppose it must be the highest rock in existence the galleries and casemates and t hose frightful rocks and Saint
Michaels cave with the icicle s or whatever they call them
hanging down and ladders all the mud plotching my boots
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1261 of 1305 Im sure thats the way down the monkeys go under the sea
to Africa when they die the ships out far like chips that was the Malta boat passing yes the sea and the sky you could do what you liked lie there for ever he caressed them outside they love doin g that its the roundness there I
was leaning over him with my white ricestraw hat to take the newness out of it the left side of my face the best my blouse open for his last day transparent kind of shirt he had I could see his chest pink he wanted to touch mine with his for a moment but I wouldnt lee him he was awfully put out first for fear you never know consumption or leave me with a child embarazada that old servant Ines told
me that one drop even if it got into you at all after I tried
with the Banana but I was afraid it might break and get lost up in me somewhere be cause they once took
something down out of a wo man that was up there for
years covered with limesalts theyre all mad to get in there where they come out of youd think they could never go far enough up and then theyre done with you in a way till the next time yes because theres a wonderful feeling there so tender all the time how did we finish it off yes O yes I pulled him off into my handkerc hief pretending not to be
excited but I opened my legs I wouldnt let him touch me inside my petticoat because I had a skirt opening up the
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1262 of 1305 side I tormented the life out of him first tickling him I
loved rousing that dog in the hotel rrrsssstt awokwokawok his eyes shut and a bird flying below us he was shy all the
same I liked him like that m oaning I made him blush a
little when I got over him t hat way when I unbuttoned
him and took his out and drew back the skin it had a kind of eye in it theyre all Butto ns men down the middle on
the wrong side of them Molly darling he called me what was his name Jack Joe Harry Mulvey was it yes I think a lieutenant he was rather fair he had a laughing kind of a voice so I went round to th e whatyoucallit everything was
whatyoucallit moustache had he he said hed come back
Molly Bloom's Gibraltar Memories
- Molly reminisces about her youthful romance with Lieutenant Mulvey in Gibraltar nearly twenty years ago.
- She reflects on the physical freedom and wildness of her youth, contrasting it with the social expectations of the 'new woman'.
- The narrative explores her transition from her maiden name and her mother's name, Lunita Laredo, to becoming Mrs. Bloom.
- Molly considers the transient nature of men's lives at sea and the intensity of the brief connections they form with women.
- The passage captures a vivid sensory landscape of the Mediterranean, from the smell of old handkerchiefs to the sight of the Atlas Mountains.
I was jumping up at the pepper trees and the white poplars pulling the leaves off and throwing them at him he went to India he was to write the voyages those men have to make to the ends of the world and back.
Lord its just like yesterday to me and if I was married hed
do it to me and I promised him yes faithfully Id let him block me now flying perhaps hes dead or killed or a captain or admiral its nearly 20 years if I said firtree cove he would if he came up behi nd me and put his hands over
my eyes to guess who I might recognise him hes young still about 40 perhaps hes married some girl on the black water and is quite changed they all do they havent half the
character a woman has she little knows what I did with her beloved husband before he ever dreamt of her in broad daylight too in the sight of the whole world you might say they could have put an article about it in the
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1263 of 1305 Chronicle I was a bit wild after when I blew out the old
bag the biscuits were in from Benady Bros and exploded it Lord what a bang all the woodcocks and pigeons screaming coming back the same way that we went over middle hill round by the old guardhouse and the jews burialplace pretending to read out the Hebrew on them I wanted to fire his pistol he said he hadnt one he didnt
know what to make of me with his peak cap on that he always wore crooked as often as I settled it straight H M S Calypso swinging my hat that old Bishop that spoke off the altar his long preach about womans higher functions about girls now riding the bicycle and wearing peak caps
and the new woman bloomers God send him sense and
me more money I suppose theyre called after him I never thought that would be my name Bloom when I used to write it in print to see how it looked on a visiting card or practising for the butcher and oblige M Bloom youre looking blooming Josie used to say after I married him
well its better than Breen or Br iggs does brig or those
awful names with bottom in them Mrs Ramsbottom or some other kind of a bottom Mulvey I wouldnt go mad about either or suppose I divorced him Mrs Boylan my mother whoever she was migh t have given me a nicer
name the Lord knows after the lovely one she had Lunita
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1264 of 1305 Laredo the fun we had running along Williss road to
Europa point twisting in and out all round the other side of Jersey they were shaking and dancing about in my blouse like Millys little ones now when she runs up the
stairs I loved looking down at them I was jumping up at the pepper trees and the white poplars pulling the leaves off and throwing them at him he went to India he was to
write the voyages those men have to make to the ends of the world and back its the least they might get a squeeze or two at a woman while th ey can going out to be
drowned or blown up some where I went up Windmill hill
to the flats that Sunday mo rning with captain Rubios that
was dead spyglass like the sentry had he said hed have one
or two from on board I wore that frock from the B Marche paris and the coral necklace the straits shining I could see over to Morocco almost the bay of Tangier white and the Atlas mountain with snow on it and the straits like a river so clear Harry Molly darling I was thinking of him on the sea all the time after at mass when
my petticoat began to slip down at the elevation weeks and weeks I kept the handkerchief under my pillow for the smell of him there was no dece nt perfume to be got in
that Gibraltar only that cheap peau dEspagne that faded and left a stink on you more than anything else I wanted
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Molly Bloom's Midnight Musings
- Molly reflects on past lovers, specifically Gardner and the heavy Claddagh ring she gave him before he died in the Boer War.
- She expresses deep disdain for her musical rivals, dismissing them as 'squealers' and 'sparrowfarts' who lack her talent and passion.
- The narrative shifts between her memories of romantic conquest and her current physical discomforts, including her husband's cold feet.
- Molly contemplates her potential as a prima donna and plans her future performances to incite envy in other women.
- The stream of consciousness captures her raw physical reality, from the digestion of a pork chop to her desire for a private room.
I knew more about men and life when I was I S than theyll all know at 50 they dont know how to sing a song like that.
1265 of 1305 to give him a memento he gave me that clumsy Claddagh
ring for luck that I gave Gardner going to south Africa where those Boers killed him with their war and fever but they were well beaten all the same as if it brought its bad luck with it like an opal or pearl still it must have been pure 18 carrot gold because it was very heavy but what
could you get in a place like that the sandfrog shower from Africa and that derelict ship that came up to the harbour Marie the Marie whatyoucallit no he hadnt a moustache that was Gardner yes I can see his face cleanshaven Frseeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefrong that train again
weeping tone once in the dear deaead days beyondre call
close my eyes breath my lips forward kiss sad look eyes
open piano ere oer the world th e mists began I hate that
istsbeg comes loves sweet sooooooooooong Ill let that out full when I get in front of the footlights again Kathleen Kearney and her lot of squealers Miss This Miss That Miss Theother lot of sparrowfarts s kitting around talking about
politics they know as much ab out as my backside anything
in the world to make themselves someway interesting Irish homemade beauties soldiers daughter am I ay and whose are you bootmakers and publicans I beg your pardon coach I thought you were a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever they got a chance of walking
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1266 of 1305 down the Alameda on an of ficers arm like me on the
bandnight my eyes flash my bust that they havent passion
God help their poor head I knew more about men and life when I was I S than theyll all know at 50 they dont know
how to sing a song like that Gardner said no man could
look at my mouth and teeth smiling like that and not think of it I was afraid he mightnt like my accent first he so English all father left me in spite of his stamps Ive my
mothers eyes and figure anyhow he always said theyre so snotty about themselves some of those cads he wasnt a bit
like that he was dead gone on my lips let them get a
husband first thats fit to be looked at and a daughter like
mine or see if they can excite a swell with money that can
pick and choose whoever he wants like Boylan to do it 4 or 5 times locked in each others arms or the voice either I could have been a prima donna only I married him comes looooves old deep down chin back not too much make it double My Ladys Bower is too long for an encore about the moated grange at twilight and vaunted rooms yes Ill sing Winds that blow from the south that he gave after the
choirstairs performance Ill c hange that lace on my black
dress to show off my bubs and Ill yes by God Ill get that
big fan mended make them burst with envy my hole is itching me always when I thin k of him I feel I want to I
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1267 of 1305 feel some wind in me better go easy not wake him have
him at it again slobbering after washing every bit of myself back belly and sides if we had even a bath itself or my own room anyway I wish hed sleep in some bed by himself
with his cold feet on me give us room even to let a fart God or do the least thing better yes hold them like that a bit on my side piano quietly sweeeee theres that train far
away pianissimo eeeee one more song
that was a relief wherever y ou be let your wind go free
who knows if that pork chop I took with my cup of tea
after was quite good with the heat I couldnt smell anything off it Im sure that queerlooking man in the
porkbutchers is a great rogue I hope that lamp is not
Molly Bloom's Midnight Musings
- Molly reflects on her past in Gibraltar, recalling the cold winters and her youthful habit of dancing naked before a mirror.
- She expresses frustration with Leopoldâs late-night drinking and his tendency to act like 'the king of the country' when demanding breakfast in bed.
- The narrative shifts to domestic planning, as Molly considers buying fresh fish to escape the monotony of 'everlasting butcherâs meat.'
- She contemplates a potential picnic outing but quickly dismisses the idea of traveling with Leopold due to his incompetence and social posturing.
- Molly vividly recalls a disastrous boating trip at Bray where Leopoldâs arrogance nearly led to them drowning in a rough tide.
I suppose well have him sitting up like the king of the country pumping the wrong end of the spoon up and down in his egg wherever he learned that from
smoking fill my nose up with smuts better than having him leaving the gas on all night I couldnt rest easy in my bed in Gibraltar even getting up to see why am I so damned nervous about that t hough I like it in the winter
its more company O Lord it was rotten cold too that winter when I was only about ten was I yes I had the big doll with all the funny clothes dressing her up and undressing that icy wind skeeting across from those mountains the something Nevad a sierra nevada standing at
the fire with the little bit of a short shift I had up to heat myself I loved dancing about in it then make a race back
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1268 of 1305 into bed Im sure that fellow opposite used to be there the
whole time watching with the lights out in the summer and I in my skin hopping around I used to love myself then stripped at the washstand dabbing and creaming only when it came to the chamb er performance I put out the
light too so then there were 2 of us goodbye to my sleep for this night anyhow I hope he s not going to get in with
those medicals leading him astray to imagine hes young again coming in at 4 in the morning it must be if not more still he had the manners not to wake me what do they find
to gabber about all night squandering money and getting drunker and drunker couldnt they drink water then he
starts giving us his orders for eggs and tea and Findon
haddy and hot buttered toast I suppose well have him sitting up like the king of th e country pumping the wrong
end of the spoon up and down in his egg wherever he learned that from and I love to hear him falling up the stairs of a morning with the cups rattling on the tray and
then play with the cat she rubs up against you for her own sake I wonder has she fleas shes as bad as a woman always licking and lecking but I hate their claws I wonder do they see anything that we cant staring like that when she sits at the top of the stairs so long and listening as I wait always what a robber too that lovely fresh place I bought I think
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1269 of 1305 Ill get a bit of fish tomorrow or today is it Friday yes I will
with some blancmange with bla ck currant jam like long
ago not those 2 lb pots of mixed plum and apple from the London and Newcastle Williams and Woods goes twice as far only for the bones I hate those eels cod yes Ill get a nice piece of cod Im alwa ys getting enough for 3
forgetting anyway Im sick of that everlasting butchers meat from Buckleys loin chop s and leg beef and rib steak
and scrag of mutton and calfs pluck the very name is enough or a picnic suppose we a ll gave 5/- each and or let
him pay it and invite some other woman for him who Mrs Fleming and drove out to the furry glen or the strawberry
beds wed have him examining all the horses toenails first
like he does with the letters no not with Boylan there yes with some cold veal and ham mixed sandwiches there are little houses down at the bottom of the ba nks there on
purpose but its as hot as blaze s he says not a bank holiday
anyhow I hate those ruck of Mary Ann coalboxes out for the day Whit Monday is a cursed day too no wonder that bee bit him better the seaside bu t Id never again in this life
get into a boat with him af ter him at Bray telling the
boatman he knew how to row if anyone asked could he ride the steeplechase for the gold cup hed say yes then it came on to get rough the o ld thing crookeding about and
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1270 of 1305 the weight all down my side telling me pull the right reins
now pull the left and the tide all swamping in floods in
through the bottom and his oar slipping out of the stirrup its a mercy we werent all drow ned he can swim of course
me no theres no danger whatsoev er keep yourself calm in
Molly's Midnight Reflections
- Molly Bloom reflects on her husband Leopold's failed business schemes and his tendency to make grand, unfulfilled promises.
- She recalls the sensory details of her past, including the smell of the sea at Catalan Bay and the ruined state of her new white shoes.
- Molly expresses a deep-seated fear of intruders and isolation in their large house, especially with their daughter Milly away.
- She criticizes Leopold's decision to send Milly away to learn photography, suspecting it was a calculated move to keep her away from his and Molly's private affairs.
- The narrative captures her disdain for certain men in her life and her cynical view of Leopold's physical courage during a past burglary scare.
- Her thoughts drift between the mundane, such as the book 'Sweets of Sin', and the visceral, like her desire to punish those who annoy her.
I dont like being alone in this big barracks of a place at night I suppose Ill have to put up with it
his flannel trousers Id like to have tattered them down off him before all the people and give him what that one calls flagellate till he wa s black and blue do him all the good in
the world only for that longnosed chap I dont know who he is with that other beauty Burke out of the City Arms
hotel was there spying around as usual on the slip always where he wasnt wanted if there was a row on youd vomit
a better face there was no love lost between us thats 1
consolation I wonder what kind is that book he brought
me Sweets of Sin by a gent leman of fashion some other
Mr de Kock I suppose the people gave him that nickname going about with his tube from one woman to another I couldnt even change my new white shoes all ruined with the saltwater and the hat I had with that feather all blowy
and tossed on me how annoying and provoking because the smell of the sea excited me of course the sardines and the bream in Catalan bay round the back of the rock they were fine all silver in the fishermens baskets old Luigi near a hundred they said came from Genoa and the tall old
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1271 of 1305 chap with the earrings I dont like a man you have to climb
up to to get at I suppose th eyre all dead and rotten long
ago besides I dont like being al one in this big barracks of a
place at night I suppose Ill have to put up with it I never brought a bit of salt in even when we moved in the confusion musical academy he was going to make on the first floor drawingroom wit h a brassplate or Blooms
private hotel he suggested go and ruin himself altogether the way his father did down in Ennis like all the things he
told father he was going to do and me but I saw through him telling me all the lovely places we could go for the honeymoon Venice by moonlight with the gondolas and
the lake of Como he had a picture cut out of some paper
of and mandolines and lanterns O how nice I said whatever I liked he was going to do immediately if not sooner will you be my man will you carry my can he ought to get a leather medal with a putty rim for all the plans he invents then leaving us here all day youd never
know what old beggar at the door for a crust with his long story might be a tramp and put his foot in the way to prevent me shutting it like that picture of that hardened
criminal he was called in Lloy ds Weekly news 20 years in
jail then he comes out and murders an old woman for her money imagine his poor wife or mother or whoever she is
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1272 of 1305 such a face youd run miles aw ay from I couldnt rest easy
till I bolted all the doors and windows to make sure but its worse again being locked up like in a prison or a madhouse they ought to be all shot or the cat of nine tails
a big brute like that that w ould attack a poor old woman
to murder her in her bed Id cut them off him so I would
not that hed be much use still better than nothing the night I was sure I heard burglars in the kitchen and he went down in his shirt with a candle and a poker as if he was looking for a mouse as whit e as a sheet frightened out
of his wits making as much nois e as he possibly could for
the burglars benefit there isnt much to steal indeed the
Lord knows still its the feeling especially now with Milly
away such an idea for him to send the girl down there to learn to take photographs on account of his grandfather instead of sending her to Skerrys academy where shed
have to learn not like me getti ng all IS at school only hed
do a thing like that all the same on account of me and Boylan thats why he did it Im certain the way he plots and
plans everything out I couldnt turn round with her in the place lately unless I bolted the door first gave me the fidgets coming in without kn ocking first when I put the
chair against the door just as I was washing myself there
below with the glove get on your nerves then doing the
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Molly's Reflections on Milly
- Molly expresses resentment toward her daughter Milly's perceived laziness and lack of gratitude for domestic labor.
- She observes a growing flirtatious bond between Leopold and Milly, suspecting him of favoring the girl while viewing Molly as 'laid on the shelf.'
- Molly details Milly's rebellious behavior, including smoking cigarettes, riding bicycles at night, and flirting with local boys.
- The narrative explores the physical and emotional distance growing between mother and daughter, highlighted by Milly's refusal to kiss Molly goodbye.
- Molly reflects on the nature of romantic love and sacrifice, skeptical of its existence in the modern world compared to theatrical ideals.
I suppose he thinks Im finished out and laid on the shelf well Im not no nor anything like it well see well see now
1273 of 1305 loglady all day put her in a glasscase with two at a time to
look at her if he knew she broke off the hand off that little gimcrack statue with her roughness and carelessness before she left that I got that little It alian boy to mend so that you
cant see the join for 2 shillin gs wouldnt even teem the
potatoes for you of course shes right not to ruin her hands
I noticed he was always talking to her lately at the table explaining things in the paper and she pretending to understand sly of course that comes from his side of the
house he cant say I pretend thin gs can he Im too honest as
a matter of fact and helping her into her coat but if there was anything wrong with her it s me shed tell not him I
suppose he thinks Im finished out and laid on the shelf
well Im not no nor anything like it well see well see now
shes well on for flirting t oo with Tom Devans two sons
imitating me whistling with those romps of Murray girls
calling for her can Milly come out please shes in great demand to pick what they can out of her round in Nelson street riding Harry Devans bicyc le at night its as well he
sent her where she is she was just getting out of bounds wanting to go on the skatingrink and smoking their cigarettes through their nose I smelt it off her dress when I was biting off the thread of the button I sewed on to the bottom of her jacket she couldnt hide much from me I tell
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1274 of 1305 you only I oughtnt to have sti tched it and it on her it
brings a parting and the last plumpudding too split in 2 halves see it comes out no matter what they say her tongue is a bit too long for my taste y our blouse is open
too low she says to me the pan calling the kettle blackbottom and I had to tell h er not to cock her legs up
like that on show on the windo wsill before all the people
passing they all look at her like me when I was her age of
course any old rag looks well on you then a great touchmenot too in her own wa y at the Only Way in the
Theatre royal take your foot away out of that I hate
people touching me afraid of her life Id crush her skirt
with the pleats a lot of that touching must go on in
theatres in the crush in the dark theyre always trying to
wiggle up to you that fellow in the pit at the Gaiety for
Beerbohm Tree in Trilby the last time Ill ever go there to
be squashed like that for any Trilby or her barebum every
two minutes tipping me there and looking away hes a bit daft I think I saw him aft er trying to get near two
stylishdressed ladies outside Switzers window at the same little game I recognised him on the moment the face and everything but he didnt remember me yes and she didnt even want me to kiss her at the Broadstone going away well I hope shell get someone to dance attendance on her
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1275 of 1305 the way I did when she wa s down with the mumps and
her glands swollen wheres this and wheres that of course she cant feel anything deep ye t I never came properly till I
was what 22 or so it went into the wrong place always only the usual girls nonsense and giggling that Conny Connolly writing to her in white ink on black paper sealed with sealingwax though she clapped when the curtain came down because he looked so handsome then we had Martin Harvey for breakfast dinner and supper I thought to myself afterwards it must be real love if a man
gives up his life for her that way for nothing I suppose
there are a few men like that left its hard to believe in it
though unless it really happened to me the majority of
them with not a particle of love in their natures to find
two people like that nowadays full up of each other that
Molly Bloom's Domestic Reflections
- Molly reflects on the behavior of her daughter Milly, noting her vanity and restlessness as she grows into womanhood.
- She recounts a physical altercation with a servant, expressing frustration over domestic incompetence and the lack of proper help.
- Molly criticizes Leopold's social choices, specifically his decision to bring Stephen Dedalus home through the kitchen.
- She expresses a weary resignation toward the constant cycle of domestic labor and the physical ailments of those around her.
- The narrative shifts to Molly's immediate physical discomfort as her menstrual cycle begins, which she views as a recurring nuisance.
- She contemplates the lack of peace in her life, suggesting that only death will offer a true respite from her burdens.
I wonder he didnt tear a big hole in his grand funeral trousers as if the one nature gave wasnt enough for anybody hawking him down in to the dirty old kitchen now is he right in his head I ask
would feel the same way as you do theyre usually a bit foolish in the head his father must have been a bit queer to
go and poison himself after her still poor old man I suppose he felt lost shes always making love to my things
too the few old rags I have wanting to put her hair up at I S my powder too only ruin her skin on her shes time enough for that all her life aft er of course shes restless
knowing shes pretty with her lips so red a pity they wont stay that way I was too but th eres no use going to the fair
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1276 of 1305 with the thing answering me like a fishwoman when I
asked to go for a half a stone of potatoes the day we met Mrs Joe Gallaher at the trottingmatches and she pretended not to see us in her trap with Friery the solicitor we
werent grand enough till I gave her 2 damn fine cracks
across the ear for herself take that now for answering me like that and that for your impudence she had me that
exasperated of course contradicting I was badtempered too because how was it there was a weed in the tea or I didnt sleep the night before cheese I ate was it and I told her over and over again not to leave knives crossed like that because she has nobody to comm and her as she said herself
well if he doesnt correct her faith I will that was the last
time she turned on the tearta p I was just like that myself
they darent order me about the place its his fault of course having the two of us slaving here instead of getting in a woman long ago am I ever going to have a proper servant again of course then shed see him coming Id have to let her know or shed revenge it arent they a nuisance that old Mrs Fleming you have to be walking round after her putting the things into her hand s sneezing and farting into
the pots well of course shes old she cant help it a good job I found that rotten old smelly dishcloth that got lost
behind the dresser I knew there was something and
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1277 of 1305 opened the area window to let out the smell bringing in
his friends to entertain them like the night he walked home with a dog if you please that might have been mad
especially Simon Dedalus son his father such a criticiser with his glasses up with his tall hat on him at the cricket match and a great big hole in his sock one thing laughing
at the other and his son that got all those prizes for whatever he won them in the intermediate imagine climbing over the railings if anybody saw him that knew us I wonder he didnt tear a big hole in his grand funeral trousers as if the one nature gave wasnt enough for anybody hawking him down in to the dirty old kitchen
now is he right in his head I ask pity it wasnt washing day
my old pair of drawers might have been hanging up too on the line on exhibition for all hed ever care with the ironmould mark the stupid old bundle burned on them he
might think was something else and she never even rendered down the fat I told her and now shes going such as she was on account of her paralysed husband getting
worse theres always somethin g wrong with them disease
or they have to go under an opera tion or if its not that its
drink and he beats her Ill hav e to hunt around again for
someone every day I get up theres some new thing on sweet God sweet God well when Im stretched out dead in
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1278 of 1305 my grave I suppose 111 have some peace I want to get up
a minute if Im let wait O Jesus wait yes that thing has come on me yes now wouldnt t hat afflict you of course all
the poking and rooting and ploughing he had up in me now what am I to do Friday Saturday Sunday wouldnt that pester the soul out of a body unless he likes it some men do God knows theres always something wrong with us 5 days every 3 or 4 weeks usual monthly auction isnt it
simply sickening that night it came on me like that the
one and only time we were in a box that Michael Gunn
gave him to see Mrs Kendal and her husband at the Gaiety
something he did about insurance for him in Drimmies I
Molly Bloom's Midnight Reflections
- Molly recalls the discomfort of sitting through a play about adultery while dealing with her menstrual cycle.
- She critiques the hypocrisy of men who demand proof of virginity, noting how easily such 'stains' can be faked with red ink or juice.
- The narrative shifts to her physical discomforts, including the heat of her pubic hair and the noise of the jingling bed.
- Molly reflects on her own anatomy and beauty, admiring the whiteness and softness of her thighs.
- She expresses a fleeting desire to experience life as a man to appreciate the beauty of women from their perspective.
- Her thoughts turn to medical anxieties and the clinical, dismissive way doctors treat female anatomy and ailments.
O Lord what a row youre making like the jersey lily easy easy O how the waters come down at Lahore
was fit to be tied though I wouldnt give in with that
gentleman of fashion staring do wn at me with his glasses
and him the other side of me talking about Spinoza and his soul thats dead I suppos e millions of years ago I smiled
the best I could all in a swamp leaning forward as if I was interested having to sit it out then to the last tag I wont
forget that wife of Scarli in a hurry supposed to be a fast
play about adultery that idiot in the gallery hissing the woman adulteress he shouted I suppose he went and had a
woman in the next lane running round all the back ways after to make up for it I wish he had what I had then hed
boo I bet the cat itself is better off than us have we too
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1279 of 1305 much blood up in us or what O patience above its
pouring out of me like the sea anyhow he didnt make me pregnant as big as he is I dont want to ruin the clean sheets
I just put on I suppose the clean linen I wore brought it on too damn it damn it and they always want to see a stain
on the bed to know youre a virgin for them all thats troubling them theyre such fools too you could be a
widow or divorced 40 times over a daub of red ink would do or blackberry juice no tha ts too purply O Jamesy let
me up out of this pooh sw eets of sin whoever suggested
that business for women what between clothes and cooking and children this damn ed old bed too jingling like
the dickens I suppose they c ould hear us away over the
other side of the park till I suggested to put the quilt on the floor with the pillow under my bottom I wonder is it nicer in the day I think it is easy I think Ill cut all this hair off me there scalding me I might look like a young girl wouldnt he get the great suckin the next time he turned
up my clothes on me Id give anything to see his face wheres the chamber gone easy Ive a holy horror of its breaking under me after that old commode I wonder was I
too heavy sitting on his knee I made him sit on the easychair purposely when I took off only my blouse and skirt first in the other room he was so busy where he
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1280 of 1305 oughtnt to be he never felt me I hope my breath was
sweet after those kissing comf its easy God I remember one
time I could scout it out st raight whistling like a man
almost easy O Lord how noi sy I hope theyre bubbles on it
for a wad of money from some fellow 111 have to
perfume it in the morning dont forget I bet he never saw a better pair of thighs than that look how white they are the smoothest place is right there between this bit here how
soft like a peach easy God I wouldnt mind being a man and get up on a lovely woman O Lord what a row youre making like the jersey lily easy easy O how the waters come down at Lahore
who knows is there anything the matter with my
insides or have I something growing in me getting that thing like that every week when was it last I Whit
Monday yes its only about 3 weeks I ought to go to the doctor only it would be like before I married him when I had that white thing coming from me and Floey made me go to that dry old stick Dr Collins for womens diseases on
Pembroke road your vagina he called it I suppose thats how he got all the gilt mirro rs and carpets getting round
those rich ones off Stephens green running up to him for
every little fiddlefaddle her vagina and her cochinchina
theyve money of course so theyre all right I wouldnt
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Molly Bloom's Intimate Reflections
- Molly recalls a medical examination where she felt a mix of disdain and amusement toward the doctor's clinical and invasive questions.
- She reflects on Leopold Bloom's peculiar obsession with her bodily functions and his romanticization of them through poetic language.
- The narrative captures the early days of their courtship, including his political ambitions and his attempts to appear sophisticated.
- Molly criticizes the impracticality of household items like chamber pots while observing Bloom's strange sleeping posture at the foot of the bed.
- She compares Bloom's sleeping form to a statue of an Indian god they once saw in a museum, noting his eccentric habits and religious theories.
I wouldnt trust him too far to give me chloroform or God knows what else still I liked him when he sat down to write the thing out frowning so severe his nose intelligent like that
1281 of 1305 marry him not if he was the last man in the world besides
theres something queer about their children always smelling around those filthy bitches all sides asking me if what I did had an offensive odour what did he want me to do but the one thing gold maybe what a question if I smathered it all over his wrinkly old face for him with all my compriments I suppose hed know then and could you pass it easily pass what I thought he was talking about the rock of Gibraltar the way he put it thats a very nice invention too by the way only I like letting myself down after in the hole as far as I ca n squeeze and pull the chain
then to flush it nice cool pins and needles still theres
something in it I suppose I always used to know by Millys
when she was a child whether she had worms or not still all the same paying him for that how much is that doctor one guinea please and asking me had I frequent omissions where do those old fellows get all the words they have omissions with his shortsigh ted eyes on me cocked
sideways I wouldnt trust him too far to give me
chloroform or God knows what else still I liked him when he sat down to write the thing out frowning so severe his nose intelligent like that you be damned you lying strap O anything no matter who except an idiot he was clever enough to spot that of course that was all thinking of him
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1282 of 1305 and his mad crazy letters my Precious one everything
connected with your glorious Body everything underlined that comes from it is a th ing of beauty and of joy for ever
something he got out of some nonsensical book that he had me always at myself 4 and 5 times a day sometimes
and I said I hadnt are you sure O yes I said I am quite sure
in a way that shut him up I knew what was coming next only natural weakness it was he excited me I dont know how the first night ever we met when I was living in Rehoboth terrace we stood staring at one another for about lo minutes as if we met somewhere I suppose on
account of my being jewess looking after my mother he
used to amuse me the things he said with the half
sloothering smile on him and all the Doyles said he was going to stand for a member of Parliament O wasnt I the born fool to believe all his blather about home rule and the land league sending me that long strool of a song out of the Huguenots to sing in French to be more classy O beau pays de la Touraine that I never even sang once explaining and rigmaroling about religion and persecution he wont let you enjoy anything naturally then might he as
a great favour the very 1st opportunity he got a chance in Brighton square running into my bedroom pretending the ink got on his hands to wash it off with the Albion milk
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1283 of 1305 and sulphur soap I used to use and the gelatine still round
it O I laughed myself sick at him that day I better not
make an alnight sitting on this affair they ought to make chambers a natural size so that a woman could sit on it
properly he kneels down to do it I suppose there isnt in all
creation another man with the habits he has look at the way hes sleeping at the foot of the bed how can he without a hard bolster its well he doesnt kick or he might
knock out all my teeth breathing with his hand on his nose like that Indian god he took me to show one wet
Sunday in the museum in Kildare street all yellow in a
pinafore lying on his side on his hand with his ten toes
sticking out that he said was a bigger religion than the jews
Molly Bloom's Midnight Reflections
- Molly contemplates the physical discomforts and history of her marriage, recalling the many houses they have lived in over sixteen years.
- She expresses frustration with Leopold Bloom's financial instability and his tendency to lose jobs due to his own 'impudence' or bad luck.
- The narrative reveals her deep suspicion of men's deceitfulness, noting that their many pockets are never enough to hold all their lies.
- She reflects on the grotesque nature of the medical books Bloom brings home, contrasting them with the mundane realities of domestic life.
- Molly recalls Bloom's dramatic behavior in the past, such as sleeping naked on the floor to mimic Jewish mourning rituals after a disagreement.
- The passage captures her internal conflict between resentment of his habits and the habitual intimacy of their shared life.
deceitful men all their 20 pockets arent enough for their lies then why should we tell them even if its the truth they dont believe you
and Our Lords both put together all over Asia imitating him as hes always imitating everybody I suppose he used
to sleep at the foot of the be d too with his big square feet
up in his wifes mouth damn this stinking thing anyway wheres this those napkins are ah yes I know I hope the old
press doesnt creak ah I knew it would hes sleeping hard had a good time somewhere still she must have given him great value for his money of course he has to pay for it from her O this nuisance of a thing I hope theyll have something better for us in th e other world tying ourselves
up God help us thats all right for tonight now the lumpy
Ulysses
1284 of 1305 old jingly bed always reminds me of old Cohen I suppose
he scratched himself in it often enough and he thinks father bought it from Lord Napier that I used to admire
when I was a little girl because I told him easy piano O I like my bed God here we are as bad as ever after 16 years how many houses were we in at all Raymond terrace and Ontario terrace and Lombard street and Holles street and he goes about whistling every time were on the run again his huguenots or the frogs ma rch pretending to help the
men with our 4 sticks of furniture and then the City Arms hotel worse and worse says Wa rden Daly that charming
place on the landing always somebody inside praying then
leaving all their stinks after them always know who was in
there last every time were just getting on right something happens or he puts his big foot in it Thoms and Helys and
Mr Cuffes and Drimmies either hes going to be run into
prison over his old lottery tick ets that was to be all our
salvations or he goes and gives impudence well have him coming home with the sack soon out of the Freeman too
like the rest on account of those Sinner Fein or the freemasons then well see if the little man he showed me dribbling along in the wet all by himself round by Coadys lane will give him much consol ation that he says is so
capable and sincerely Irish he is indeed judging by the
Ulysses
1285 of 1305 sincerity of the trousers I sa w on him wait theres Georges
church bells wait 3 quarters the hour l wait 2 oclock well thats a nice hour of the night for him to be coming home
at to anybody climbing down in to the area if anybody saw
him Ill knock him off that li ttle habit tomorrow first Ill
look at his shirt to see or Ill see if he has that French letter
still in his pocketbook I suppo se he thinks I dont know
deceitful men all their 20 pockets arent enough for their lies then why should we tell them even if its the truth they
dont believe you then tucked up in bed like those babies
in the Aristocrats Masterpiece he brought me another time
as if we hadnt enough of that in real life without some old
Aristocrat or whatever his name is disgusting you more
with those rotten pictures children with two heads and no legs thats the kind of villainy theyre always dreaming about with not another thing in their empty heads they ought to get slow poison the half of them then tea and toast for him buttered on both sides and newlaid eggs I suppose Im nothing any more when I wouldnt let him lick me in Holles street one ni ght man man tyrant as ever
for the one thing he slept on the floor half the night naked the way the jews used when somebody dies belonged to them and wouldnt eat any breakfast or speak a word wanting to be petted so I thought I stood out enough for
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Molly's Musings on Men
- Molly Bloom critiques her husband Leopold's sexual technique and his tendency to be easily distracted by other women.
- She expresses disdain for the social circle of men in Dublin, viewing them as hypocritical 'good-for-nothings' who squander money in pubs.
- The narrative reflects on the funeral of Paddy Dignam, contrasting the somber event with the messy, drunken lives of the attendees.
- Molly recalls various musical performances and the flirtatious nature of Simon Dedalus, noting his 'delicious' voice despite his flaws.
- She resolves to protect her husband from the influence of his 'friends' who mock him behind his back while taking advantage of his sense.
I see it all now plainly and they call that friendship killing and then burying one another and they all with their wives and families at home
1286 of 1305 one time and let him he does it all wrong too thinking
only of his own pleasure his tong ue is too flat or I dont
know what he forgets that weth en I dont Ill make him do
it again if he doesnt mind himself and lock him down to sleep in the coalcellar with the blackbeetles I wonder was it her Josie off her head with my castoffs hes such a born liar too no hed never have th e courage with a married
woman thats why he wants me and Boylan though as for her Denis as she calls him that forlornlooking spectacle you couldnt call him a husband yes its some little bitch hes
got in with even when I was with him with Milly at the College races that Hornblower with the childs bonnet on
the top of his nob let us into by the back way he was
throwing his sheeps eyes at those two doing skirt duty up and down I tried to wink at him first no use of course and thats the way his money goes th is is the fruits of Mr Paddy
Dignam yes they were all in great style at the grand funeral in the paper Boylan brought in if they saw a real officers funeral thatd be something reversed arms muffled drums
the poor horse walking behind in black L Boom and Tom Kernan that drunken little barrelly man that bit his tongue
off falling down the mens W C drunk in some place or other and Martin Cunningham and the two Dedaluses and Fanny MCoys husband white head of cabbage skinny
Ulysses
1287 of 1305 thing with a turn in her eye trying to sing my songs shed
want to be born all over again and her old green dress with the lowneck as she cant attract them any other way like dabbling on a rainy day I see it all now plainly and they call that friendship killing and then burying one another and they all with thei r wives and families at home
more especially Jack Power keeping that barmaid he does of course his wife is always sick or going to be sick or just
getting better of it and hes a goodlooking man still though
hes getting a bit grey over the ears theyre a nice lot all of them well theyre not going to get my husband again into
their clutches if I can help it making fun of him then
behind his back I know well when he goes on with his
idiotics because he has sense enough not to squander every
penny piece he earns down their gullets and looks after his wife and family goodfornothings poor Paddy Dignam all the same Im sorry in a way for him what are his wife and 5 children going to do unless he was insured comical little teetotum always stuck up in some pub corner and her or
her son waiting Bill Bailey wont you please come home her widows weeds wont improve her appearance theyre awfully becoming though if youre goodlooking what men wasnt he yes he was at the Glencree dinner and Ben Dollard base barreltone the night he borrowed the
Ulysses
1288 of 1305 swallowtail to sing out of in Holles street squeezed and
squashed into them and grinning all over his big Dolly face like a wellwhipped childs botty didnt he look a balmy ballocks sure enough that must have been a spectacle on
the stage imagine paying 5/- in the preserved seats for that
to see him trotting off in his trowlers and Simon Dedalus too he was always turning up half screwed singing the second verse first the old love is the new was one of his so
sweetly sang the maiden on the hawthorn bough he was always on for flirtyfying too when I sang Maritana with him at Freddy Mayers privat e opera he had a delicious
glorious voice Phoebe dearest goodbye sweetheart
sweetheart he always sang it not like Bartell Darcy sweet
tart goodbye of course he had the gift of the voice so there was no art in it all over you like a warm showerbath O Maritana wildwood flower we sang splendidly though it was a bit too high for my reg ister even transposed and he
was married at the time to May Goulding but then hed say or do something to knock the good out of it hes a widower now I wonder what sort is his son he says hes an author and going to be a univ ersity professor of Italian and
Molly's Musings on Stephen
- Molly Bloom reflects on a photograph of herself and considers her aging appearance compared to the young Stephen Dedalus.
- She recalls seeing Stephen as a child and connects his recent arrival to a tarot card reading she performed earlier that morning.
- Molly expresses a desire for an intellectual companion who can appreciate her, contrasting Stephen with her husband's mundane business talk.
- She romanticizes the idea of Stephen as a poet, hoping he lacks the pretentious or unkempt traits of typical university students.
- Her thoughts drift to sensual memories of Gibraltar and the aesthetic beauty of young men, viewing Stephen as a potential source of 'consolation.'
- She calculates their age difference, concluding that at twenty-three or twenty-four, he is not too young for her.
I hope he hasnt long greasy hair hanging into his eyes or standing up like a red Indian what do they go about like that for only getting themselves and their poetry laughed at
Im to take lessons what is he driving at now showing him
my photo its not good of me I ought to have got it taken in drapery that never look s out of fashion still I look
Ulysses
1289 of 1305 young in it I wonder he didnt make him a present of it
altogether and me too after all why not I saw him driving down to the Kingsbridge station with his father and mother I was in mourning t hats 11 years ago now yes hed
be 11 though what was the good in going into mourning for what was neither one thin g nor the other the first cry
was enough for me I heard the deathwatch too ticking in
the wall of course he insisted hed go into mourning for
the cat I suppose hes a man no w by this time he was an
innocent boy then and a darling little fellow in his lord Fauntleroy suit and curly hair like a prince on the stage when I saw him at Mat Dillons he liked me too I
remember they all do wait by God yes wait yes hold on he
was on the cards this morning when I laid out the deck union with a young stranger neit her dark nor fair you met
before I thought it meant hi m but hes no chicken nor a
stranger either besides my face was turned the other way what was the 7th card after that the 10 of spades for a journey by land then there was a letter on its way and scandals too the 3 queens and th e 8 of diamonds for a rise
in society yes wait it all came out and 2 red 8s for new garments look at that and didnt I dream something too yes there was something about poetry in it I hope he hasnt long greasy hair hanging into his eyes or standing up like a
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1290 of 1305 red Indian what do they go about like that for only getting
themselves and their poetry laughed at I always liked poetry when I was a girl fir st I thought he was a poet like
lord Byron and not an ounce of it in his composition I thought he was quite different I wonder is he too young hes about wait 88 I was married 88 Milly is 15 yesterday 89 what age was he then at Dillons 5 or 6 about 88 I suppose hes 20 or more Im not too old for him if hes 23
or 24 I hope hes not that stuc kup university student sort
no otherwise he wouldnt go sitting down in the old kitchen with him taking Eppss cocoa and talking of course
he pretended to understand it all probably he told him he
was out of Trinity college hes very young to be a professor
I hope hes not a professor like Goodwin was he was a potent professor of John Jameson they all write about some woman in their poetry well I suppose he wont find
many like me where softly sigh s of love the light guitar
where poetry is in the air the blue sea and the moon
shining so beautifully coming back on the nightboat from Tarifa the lighthouse at Europa point the guitar that fellow
played was so expressive will I ever go back there again all new faces two glancing eyes a lattice hid Ill sing that for him theyre my eyes if hes anything of a poet two eyes as darkly bright as loves own star arent those beautiful words
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1291 of 1305 as loves young star itll be a change the Lord knows to have
an intelligent person to talk to about yourself not always listening to him and Billy Pre scotts ad and Keyess ad and
Tom the Devils ad then if anything goes wrong in their business we have to suffer Im sure hes very distinguished Id like to meet a man like t hat God not those other ruck
besides hes young those fine young men I could see down
in Margate strand bathingplace from the side of the rock standing up in the sun naked like a God or something and then plunging into the sea with them why arent all men like that thered be some consolation for a woman like that lovely little statue he bought I could look at him all day
long curly head and his shoulders his finger up for you to
Molly Bloom's Erotic Reawakening
- Molly fantasizes about a young poet, contrasting his perceived cleanliness and beauty with the 'pig-like' lack of hygiene in other men.
- She envisions a future where she mentors the poet in physical love, leading to mutual fame and public recognition of their affair.
- Molly expresses deep frustration with her husband's lack of refinement, comparing his crude behavior to that of a 'butcher' or an 'ignoramus.'
- She reflects on the double standards of sexual freedom, rejecting the idea that women should be 'chained up' while men pick and choose partners.
- The narrative reveals Molly's physical loneliness, noting her husband's coldness and his 'unnatural' habits that leave her feeling neglected.
- She contemplates the nature of desire and the female body, wondering what it would be like to experience pleasure from a male perspective.
I can help it if Im young still can I its a wonder Im not an old shrivelled hag before my time living with him so cold never embracing me except sometimes when hes asleep
listen theres real beauty and poetry for you I often felt I wanted to kiss him all over al so his lovely young cock
there so simple I wouldnt mind taking him in my mouth if nobody was looking as if it was asking you to suck it so clean and white he looks with his boyish face I would too in 1/2 a minute even if some of it went down what its only like gruel or the dew theres no danger besides hed be so clean compared with those pigs of men I suppose never dream of washing it from I ye ars end to the other the most
of them only thats what gives the women the moustaches Im sure itll be grand if I can only get in with a handsome
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1292 of 1305 young poet at my age Ill throw them the 1st thing in the
morning till I see if the wishcard comes out or Ill try pairing the lady herself and see if he comes out Ill read and study all I can find or learn a bit off by heart if I knew who he likes so he wont think me stupid if he thinks all women are the same and I can teach him the other part Ill
make him feel all over him till he half faints under me then hell write about me lover and mistress publicly too with our 2 photographs in all the papers when he becomes
famous O but then what am I going to do about him though
no thats no way for him has he no manners nor no
refinement nor no nothing in his nature slapping us
behind like that on my bo ttom because I didnt call him
Hugh the ignoramus that doesnt know poetry from a cabbage thats what you get for not keeping them in their
proper place pulling off his s hoes and trousers there on the
chair before me so barefaced without even asking permission and standing out that vulgar way in the half of a shirt they wear to be admi red like a priest or a butcher
or those old hypocrites in the time of Julius Caesar of
course hes right enough in hi s way to pass the time as a
joke sure you might as well be in bed with what with a
lion God Im sure hed have something better to say for
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1293 of 1305 himself an old Lion would O well I suppose its because
they were so plump and tempti ng in my short petticoat he
couldnt resist they excite myself sometimes its well for men all the amount of pleas ure they get off a womans
body were so round and white for them always I wished I
was one myself for a change just to try with that thing they have swelling up on you so hard and at the same time so soft when you touch it my uncle John has a thing long
I heard those cornerboys saying passing the comer of Marrowbone lane my aunt Mary has a thing hairy because it was dark and they knew a girl was passing it didnt make me blush why should it either its only nature and he puts
his thing long into my aunt Marys hairy etcetera and turns
out to be you put the handle in a sweepingbrush men again all over they can pick and choose what they please a married woman or a fast widow or a girl for their different tastes like those houses round behind Irish street no but were to be always chained up theyre not going to be
chaining me up no damn fear once I start I tell you for
their stupid husbands jealousy why cant we all remain friends over it instead of quarrelling her husband found it out what they did together well naturally and if he did can he undo it hes coronado any way whatever he does and
then he going to the other mad extreme about the wife in
Ulysses
1294 of 1305 Fair Tyrants of course the man never even casts a 2nd
thought on the husband or wife either its the woman he wants and he gets her what el se were we given all those
desires for Id like to know I c ant help it if Im young still
can I its a wonder Im not an old shrivelled hag before my
time living with him so cold never embracing me except
sometimes when hes asleep the wrong end of me not knowing I suppose who he has any man thatd kiss a womans bottom Id throw my hat at him after that hed kiss
anything unnatural where we havent I atom of any kind of
Molly Bloom's Midnight Musings
- Molly reflects on the universal female desire for affection and physical intimacy to maintain a sense of youth and vitality.
- She contemplates the thrill of anonymous sexual encounters with sailors or strangers as a rebellion against social constraints.
- Molly criticizes male hypocrisy, noting how 'fine gentlemen' frequent prostitutes before returning home to their wives.
- She argues that the world would be more peaceful and stable if governed by women, who lack the destructive impulses of men.
- The narrative shifts to a poignant memory of her lost son, Rudy, and the lasting grief that altered her relationship with Leopold.
- She expresses frustration with her domestic role and Leopold's eccentricities while acknowledging her own unmet emotional needs.
itd be much better for the world to be governed by the women in it you wouldnt see women going and killing one another and slaughtering
expression in us all of us the same 2 lumps of lard before ever Id do that to a man pfooh the dirty brutes the mere
thought is enough I kiss the feet of you senorita theres
some sense in that didnt he kiss our halldoor yes he did
what a madman nobody understands his cracked ideas but me still of course a woman wan ts to be embraced 20 times
a day almost to make her look young no matter by who so long as to be in love or loved by somebody if the fellow you want isnt there sometimes by the Lord God I was thinking would I go around by the quays there some dark evening where nobodyd know me and pick up a sailor off
the sea thatd be hot on for it and not care a pin whose I
was only do it off up in a gate somewhere or one of those
wildlooking gipsies in Rathfarnham had their camp
Ulysses
1295 of 1305 pitched near the Bloomfield l aundry to try and steal our
things if they could I only sent mine there a few times for
the name model laundry sending me back over and over some old ones odd stockings that blackguardlooking fellow with the fine eyes peelin g a switch attack me in the
dark and ride me up against the wall without a word or a murderer anybody what they do themselves the fine gentlemen in their silk hats that K C lives up somewhere
this way coming out of Hardwic ke lane the night he gave
us the fish supper on account of winning over the boxing match of course it was for me he gave it I knew him by
his gaiters and the walk and when I turned round a minute
after just to see there was a wom an after coming out of it
too some filthy prostitute then he goes home to his wife after that only I suppose the half of those sailors are rotten
again with disease O move ov er your big carcass out of
that for the love of Mike listen to him the winds that waft my sighs to thee so well he may sleep and sigh the great Suggester Don Poldo de la Flora if he knew how he came out on the cards this morning hed have something to sigh for a dark man in some perp lexity between 2 7s too in
prison for Lord knows what he does that I dont know and Im to be slooching around down in the kitchen to get his lordship his breakfast while hes rolled up like a mummy
Ulysses
1296 of 1305 will I indeed did you ever see me running Id just like to
see myself at it show them attention and they treat you like dirt I dont care what anybody says itd be much better for the world to be governed by the women in it you wouldnt see women going and killing one another and
slaughtering when do you ever see women rolling around drunk like they do or gambling every penny they have and losing it on horses yes because a woman whatever she does she knows where to stop sure they wouldnt be in the world at all only for us they dont know what it is to be a woman and a mother how could they where would they all of them be if they hadnt al l a mother to look after them
what I never had thats why I suppose hes running wild
now out at night away from his books and studies and not living at home on account of the usual rowy house I suppose well its a poor case that those that have a fine son like that theyre not satisfied and I none was he not able to
make one it wasnt my fault we came together when I was watching the two dogs up in her behind in the middle of the naked street that dishearte ned me altogether I suppose
I oughtnt to have buried him in that little woolly jacket I
knitted crying as I was but give it to some poor child but I
knew well Id never have anoth er our 1st death too it was
we were never the same since O Im not going to think
Ulysses
Molly Bloom's Midnight Musings
- Molly reflects on Stephen Dedalus's departure, wondering why he refused to stay the night and imagining his potential ruin in the city streets.
- She critiques the nature of women, describing them as a 'dreadful lot of bitches' made snappy by their various troubles.
- The narrative shifts to her memories of Gibraltar, recalling the exotic names of people and streets like 'Paradise ramp' and 'the devils gap steps'.
- Molly considers her own intellect and desires, wishing to exchange Spanish lessons for Italian and longing for conversation with an 'intelligent welleducated person'.
- She fantasizes about a domestic future where Stephen lives in their spare room, writing and studying while she brings him breakfast in bed.
I always knew wed go away in the end I can tell him the Spanish and he tell me the Italian then hell see Im not so ignorant
1297 of 1305 myself into the glooms about that any more I wonder why
he wouldnt stay the night I felt all the time it was somebody strange he brought in instead of roving around the city meeting God knows who nightwalkers and pickpockets his poor mother w ouldnt like that if she was
alive ruining himself for life perhaps still its a lovely hour so silent I used to love coming home after dances the air of the night they have friends they can talk to weve none
either he wants what he wont get or its some woman ready to stick her knife in you I hate that in women no wonder they treat us the way they do we are a dreadful lot of bitches I suppose its all the troubles we have makes us
so snappy Im not like that he could easy have slept in
there on the sofa in the other room I suppose he was as shy as a boy he being so y oung hardly 20 of me in the
next room hed have heard me on the chamber arrah what harm Dedalus I wonder its like those names in Gibraltar Delapaz Delagracia they had the devils queer names there father Vilaplana of Santa Maria that gave me the rosary
Rosales y OReilly in the Ca lle las Siete Revueltas and
Pisimbo and Mrs Opisso in Governor street O what a
name Id go and drown myself in the first river if I had a name like her O my and all the bits of streets Paradise ramp and Bedlam ramp and Ro dgers ramp and Crutchetts
Ulysses
1298 of 1305 ramp and the devils gap steps well small blame to me if I
am a harumscarum I know I am a bit I declare to God I
dont feel a day older than then I wonder could I get my tongue round any of the Spanish como esta usted muy bien gracias y usted see I havent forgotten it all I thought I had only for the grammar a noun is the name of any person place or thing pity I never tried to read that novel cantankerous Mrs Rubio lent me by Valera with the questions in it all upside down the two ways I always knew wed go away in the end I can tell him the Spanish and he tell me the Italian then hell see Im not so ignorant
what a pity he didnt stay Im sure the poor fellow was dead
tired and wanted a good sleep badly I could have brought
him in his breakfast in bed with a bit of toast so long as I
didnt do it on the knife for bad luck or if the woman was going her rounds with the watercress and something nice and tasty there are a few olives in the kitchen he might
like I never could bear the look of them in Abrines I could do the criada the r oom looks all right since I
changed it the other way you see something was telling me all the time Id have to introduce myself not knowing me from Adam very funny wouldnt it Im his wife or pretend we were in Spain with him half awake without a Gods notion where he is dos huevos estrellado s senor Lord
Ulysses
1299 of 1305 the cracked things come into my head sometimes itd be
great fun supposing he stayed with us why not theres the room upstairs empty and Milly s bed in the back room he
could do his writing and studies at the table in there for all the scribbling he does at it and if he wants to read in bed in the morning like me as he s making the breakfast for I
he can make it for 2 Im sure Im not going to take in lodgers off the street for him if he takes a gesabo of a house like this Id love to have a long talk with an intelligent welleducated person Id have to get a nice pair of red slippers like those Turks with the fez used to sell or
yellow and a nice semitransparent morning gown that I
badly want or a peachblossom dressing jacket like the one
Molly Bloom's Morning Plans
- Molly contemplates a trip to the morning markets to enjoy the fresh produce and the possibility of a chance encounter.
- She plans to provoke her husband's jealousy and desire by dressing provocatively and flaunting her recent infidelity.
- Molly justifies her adultery as a natural consequence of human design and a minor sin in a 'vale of tears.'
- She schemes to manipulate him for money to buy new underclothes while maintaining an air of indifference.
- The narrative captures her internal shift from resentment to a calculated, playful dominance over her domestic sphere.
- She reflects on the cyclical nature of the morning as the world wakes up, from China to the local convent.
I know what Ill do Ill go about rather gay not too much singing a bit now and then mi fa pieta Masetto then Ill start dressing myself to go out presto non son piu forte
long ago in Walpoles only 8/ 6 or 18/6 Ill just give him
one more chance Ill get up early in the morning Im sick of Cohens old bed in any case I might go over to the markets
to see all the vegetables and cabbages and tomatoes and carrots and all kinds of splendid fruits all coming in lovely
and fresh who knows whod be the 1st man Id meet theyre out looking for it in the morning Mamy Dillon used to
say they are and the night too that was her massgoing Id love a big juicy pear now to melt in your mouth like when I used to be in the longing way then Ill throw him up his eggs and tea in the moustachecup she gave him to
Ulysses
1300 of 1305 make his mouth bigger I suppo se hed like my nice cream
too I know what Ill do Ill go about rather gay not too much singing a bit now and then mi fa pieta Masetto then Ill start dressing myself to go out presto non son piu forte
Ill put on my best shift and drawers let him have a good
eyeful out of that to make hi s micky stand for him Ill let
him know if thats what he wanted that his wife is I s l o fucked yes and damn well fucked too up to my neck nearly not by him 5 or 6 times handrunning theres the
mark of his spunk on the clean sheet I wouldnt bother to even iron it out that ought to satisfy him if you dont
believe me feel my belly unless I made him stand there
and put him into me Ive a mind to tell him every scrap
and make him do it out in fr ont of me serve him right its
all his own fault if I am an ad ulteress as the thing in the
gallery said O much about it if thats all the harm ever we did in this vale of tears God knows its not much doesnt
everybody only they hide it I suppose thats what a woman is supposed to be there for or He wouldnt have made us
the way He did so attractive to men then if he wants to kiss my bottom Ill drag open my drawers and bulge it
right out in his face as large as life he can stick his tongue 7 miles up my hole as hes there my brown part then Ill tell him I want LI or perhaps 30/- Ill tell him I want to buy
Ulysses
1301 of 1305 underclothes then if he gives me that well he wont be too
bad I dont want to soak it all out of him like other women
do I could often have written ou t a fine cheque for myself
and write his name on it for a couple of pounds a few
times he forgot to lock it up besides he wont spend it Ill
let him do it off on me behind provided he doesnt smear
all my good drawers O I suppose that cant be helped Ill do
the indifferent l or 2 questions Ill know by the answers when hes like that he cant keep a thing back I know every turn in him Ill tighten my bottom well and let out a few
smutty words smellrump or lick my shit or the first mad
thing comes into my head then Ill suggest about yes O
wait now sonny my turn is coming Ill be quite gay and
friendly over it O but I was forgetting this bloody pest of a
thing pfooh you wouldnt know which to laugh or cry were such a mixture of plum and apple no Ill have to wear the old things so much the be tter itll be more pointed hell
never know whether he did it or not there thats good enough for you any old thing at all then Ill wipe him off
me just like a business his omis sion then Ill go out Ill have
him eying up at the ceiling where is she gone now make him want me thats the only way a quarter after what an unearthly hour I suppose they re just getting up in China
now combing out their pigtails for the day well soon have
Ulysses
1302 of 1305 the nuns ringing the angelus theyve nobody coming in to
spoil their sleep except an o dd priest or two for his night
office or the alarmclock next d oor at cockshout clattering
Molly Bloom's Final Soliloquy
- Molly contemplates the beauty of nature and the divine, dismissing atheism as a lack of creative power and a fear of death.
- She plans to decorate her home with flowers and clean the piano keys with milk in anticipation of a potential guest.
- The narrative shifts into a vivid memory of Leopold Bloom's proposal sixteen years prior on Howth Head.
- Molly reflects on the sensual power of a woman's body and her ability to influence Bloom through his understanding of her nature.
- Her stream of consciousness weaves together local Dublin errands with exotic memories of Gibraltar, Spanish girls, and Moorish markets.
I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes
the brains out of itself let me see if I can doze off 1 2 3 4 5 what kind of flowers are those they invented like the stars
the wallpaper in Lombard street was much nicer the apron he gave me was like that something only I only wore it
twice better lower this lamp and try again so as I can get up early Ill go to Lambes th ere beside Findlaters and get
them to send us some flowers to put about the place in case he brings him home tomorrow today I mean no no Fridays an unlucky day first I want to do the place up
someway the dust grows in it I think while Im asleep then
we can have music and cigarettes I can accompany him first I must clean the keys of the piano with milk whatll I wear shall I wear a white rose or those fairy cakes in Liptons I love the smell of a rich big shop at 7 1/2d a lb or the other ones with the cherri es in them and the pinky
sugar I Id a couple of lbs of those a nice plant for the middle of the table Id get that cheaper in wait wheres this
I saw them not long ago I love flowers Id love to have the
whole place swimming in roses God of heaven theres
nothing like nature the wild m ountains then the sea and
the waves rushing then the beautiful country with the
Ulysses
1303 of 1305 fields of oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the
fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to
see rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches primroses and violets nature it is as for them saying theres no God I wouldnt give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning why dont they go and create something I often asked him atheists or whatever they call themselves
go and wash the cobbles off themselves first then they go howling for the priest and they dying and why why because theyre afraid of hell on account of their bad conscience ah yes I know them well who was the first
person in the universe before there was anybody that
made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so
there you are they might as we ll try to stop the sun from
rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhodod endrons on Howth head in
the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out
of my mouth and it was leapye ar like now yes 16 years ago
my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that wa s one true thing he said in
his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I
Ulysses
1304 of 1305 liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a
woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many
things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old capt ain Groves and the sailors
playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and th e Spanish girls laughing in
their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the
morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the
devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby
Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years o ld yes and those handsome
Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old
windows of the posadas 2 glanc ing eyes a lattice hid for
her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at
Ulysses
Molly Bloom's Final Affirmation
- A sensory-rich stream of consciousness recalling the vibrant landscapes of Algeciras and Gibraltar.
- The recollection of youth and beauty, symbolized by the 'Flower of the mountain' and the Alameda gardens.
- A nostalgic reflection on the beginning of a romantic relationship under the Moorish wall.
- The internal monologue captures the moment of decision and the surrender to physical and emotional intimacy.
- The text concludes with a rhythmic, repetitive affirmation of life and desire through the word 'yes'.
and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.
1305 of 1305 Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp
and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a gi rl where I was a Flower of the
mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the
Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as
well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to
ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes
my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him
yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I
said yes I will Yes.
Trieste-Zurich-Paris 1914-1921